It’s like trying to hate your grandma because she doesn’t like rock and she voted for Ronald Reagan: You disagree with her musical taste, you think her politics dangerously goofy–but darn it, she still makes the best butterscotch pie around. And she’s your grandma.
The conference was at the spanking-clean Oak Brook Hills Hotel, which is actually in Westmont–but given the bland interchangeability of western suburbs, it could have been Riverdale in an Archie comic strip. And, many people may be thinking right about now, wouldn’t that be the perfect place for the DAR?
These daffy statements, not surprisingly, heated up the Ferguson controversy. Two DAR members called for King’s impeachment for her handling of the case, and a Washington Post editorial suggested that if the DAR wanted privacy, they could have it without their tax-exempt status. At this point the DAR apparently hired a public-relations firm. King announced new bylaws would be passed prohibiting discrimination by local chapters, and acceded to requests from Ferguson’s lawyers to set up a program encouraging minority membership. Ferguson finally got her local membership.
“That’s right, that’s what it’s all about,” Mrs. Dwinell nodded, smiling. And darned if they didn’t go and make me feel right at home.
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The Oak Brook Hills Hotel was awash in tasteful two- piece suits and flesh-tone stockings on Day One of the DAR Illinois convention. Pants were nonexistent, unless you count the waiters and the man from the J.S. Caldwell jewelry company who sat behind a table loaded with pin samples, the DAR version of badges. Some Daughters transform into human pincushions–“Volunteer Genealogist,” “State Chairman Pin,” “Friends of the DAR Schools,” and so on. Strict rules govern pin wearing to keep the most enthusiastic collectors from getting totally out of hand: pins go on blue or white ribbons, up to a maximum of four ribbons no longer than 12 inches each.
The crowd was largely over 50, with a fair percentage over 65. Younger women, between 18 and 35, were acting as “pages,” who volunteer to usher and run errands in white dresses and white gloves. Some pages looked positively middle-aged, creating a disturbing What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? effect. Nearly everyone prefers not only the moniker “Mrs.,” but also the use of her husband’s first name. A cursory glance at the list of speakers in the convention program could leave the impression that this was a men’s group.
The Sons of the American Revolution sent a former Illinois president, Burton Showers, to deliver greetings. To the extent that they toil, the Sons do so in obscurity. They were founded first, but acted like a tree-house club and wouldn’t let any girls in. Now the girls have their revenge: the Sons, with about 26,000 members, are a mere shadow of the DAR. While the DAR maintains a vast Washington headquarters, including a museum and the landmark Constitution Hall, the Sons tend a relatively modest Louisville, Kentucky, headquarters featuring a recently completed replica of George Washington’s library at Mount Vernon and a diorama of Independence Hall in Philadelphia. (“If you ever get to Louisville, please stop by our headquarters!” Showers said at one point. “Oh! I never thought of that,” mumbled a surprised Mrs. Krieg. )
