Mrs. Crosby writes: “I am sure it was in exchanging modern ideas over the after luncheon coffee cups that they together with Miss Loundes and Miss Lewis (both as British as buns) brewed the scheme for instigation of a Girls Scout movement right there at Rosemary.”
Polly was chosen as the first initiate, and got the name Policumteenawa, signifying Little-Possum-By-the-Fire, or some such.
Mrs. Allen contends that the let-it-all-hang-out generation of the sixties was not all that revolutionary and really was not a patch on the nineteen twenties.
Reading the life of Harry Crosby, I’m inclined to agree with her.
Short version, he was a connected Boston boy of privilege gone to the bad. He prepped at St. Marks and was to go to Harvard (of course), but he found the lure of World War One more attractive and so went off to join the American Field Service Ambulance Corps. Not exactly soft duty – he was nearly killed by an artillery shell, for which he was awarded the Croix de Guerre. Continue reading →
On the American east coast, the gold standard for radical lawyer has always been William Kunstler, classic show-boater and last best hope to the downtrodden and damned.
No surprise that the west coast should one-up him in the person of Gladys Towles Root.
She got into the mouthpiece business decades before the notion of women lawyers was credible – Adam’s Rib was nothing to her. Having endured law school and passed the bar, she was unable to join any firms in California. The woman thing again. Nothing daunted, she hung out her own shingle, a few blocks away from Skid Row and waited for trade. Continue reading →