A Mighty Pen
My mother wrote letters. For her, letters were a means of communication, an art form, a way to express herself, and throughout her life one of the few ways an ordinary woman could make her views known.
Born in 1913, Florence Wick was a reader from the age of four. Like all grade school students at that time, she studied the Palmer Method, and she developed strikingly beautiful handwriting. An album made by a family friend contains letters she wrote at age six.
Besides regular handwritten correspondence to friends and relatives, Flo wrote letters to Congressional representatives, media people and writers commenting on their stories, and hundreds of letters to the editor of our local paper in Yakima, Washington. She'd had lots of practice. Taking shorthand and composing and typing letters was her job as a secretary.
I had thought all of her letters were lost, but while going through files helping my brother Don move to Canada we discovered a box containing copies of some of her letters. The earliest is a letter to the editor condemning bigotry and discrimination against immigrants, written in 1949. The last, disparaging toxic pesticides, she wrote a couple of months before her death on August 9, 1983. Most of the letters are from the 1970s. They deal with government policy; environmentalism; and the rights of women, minorities, prisoners and seniors. Many letters eloquently protest the war in Vietnam and its casualties.
My parents, Florence and Carroll Martin, on their wedding day 1947
My mother changed the course of her own life through letters. She told me that when she applied to work for the Red Cross during World War II, a college degree was a basic requirement. She had only a high school education but she made her case in a letter and was accepted. I've often wished I had a copy of that letter. Flo served in the Red Cross as a "donut gal" in Italy, France and Germany during and after the war, earning a bronze star. Although only two of her letters from Europe survive, the letters she wrote to her mother (her father had died in 1938) were passed on to a local newspaper reporter who turned them into reports from the front lines. Along with photos and mementos, these newspaper clippings were pasted into a huge album my mother made upon her return from Europe. The war had changed her. She had lost her fiancé to a land mine in 1944 and when she returned home it seemed Americans' concerns had focused more on the dearth of gasoline and nylon stockings than the deaths of millions. People didn't want to talk about the war. Making the giant album served as an antidote to her depression.
What strikes me about the letters is their universality and timelessness. I remember her phoning me to read me a letter she had written about war. In it she proposed that the government employ a department of peace instead of a department of war. "It's great," I said. "Send it!" "I did," she said. "Twenty years ago." Her letters illuminate conversations of her time, and they also instruct us now in the 21st century. I think they deserve to be read and I've scanned some of the most compelling to publish here.
1949: Re-read Emma Lazarus' inscription
Attacks on immigrants are a common feature of American history. Flo was proud of her parents, immigrants from Sweden and Norway, and she wrote many letters with this theme.
Collective Living
Family memoir
gay in the 1970s
gender neutral language
My mother Florence Martin
My mother Florence Wick
nontraditional jobs
Pagan holiday
Protesting capitalism
queer fashion
queer history
Romance novels and TV
San Francisco history
The Lives They Lived
The Wick Family July 27, 1938
tradeswomen
tradeswomen inc.
War protest
Author: Molly Martin
I'm a long-time tradeswoman activist, retired electrician and electrical inspector. I live in Santa Rosa, CA. molly-martin.com. I also share a travel blog with my wife Holly: travelswithmoho.wordpress.com. View all posts by Molly Martin
Author Molly MartinPosted on October 12, 2020 February 25, 2021 Categories Immigration, Politics, UncategorizedTags Emma Lazarus' inscription, immigrants, My mother Florence Martin
One thought on "A Mighty Pen"
Wow, Molly, I'm SO impressed by all the writing you've done. I clicked on a few more links and read more. There is so much! Good for you.
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