That is astonishing. And you all seem to have an unlimited amount of energy and enthusiasm. It's inspiring. Beyond your weekly vigils at Rockefeller Center, your group has ventured into more alien territory, courting arrest and incarceration. Tell our readers about that, please.
We have gone "far
out" in our activities. Our most famous venture was our arrest and
jailing at the Times Square recruiting center. Eighteen of us older
women, almost all of us grandmothers, attempted to enlist in the military so we
could hopefully replace our young G.I.sin harm's way. We had
lived long, full lives, we reasoned, so better us than the young people to
take the bullets and explosive devices. The center appeared to be empty
-- it was locked down -- but we knew they were in there, as I saw a head pop up
from under a desk and then quickly duck down again.
After our acquittal, we tried to capitalize on our new-found notoriety by touring the East Coast to Washington DC speaking, and performing at churches, peace meetings, and rallies. Since our arrest, we've regularly organized events, trying to make them as colorful and newsworthy as possible. We trekked across the Brooklyn Bridge a couple of times in a sort of parade; some of us went to Europe to speak, perform and participate in protests; we went to Washington again in an event we called "100 Grannies Lobby 100 Senators;" we held a six-day dawn-to-dark "Endless Memorial" at the Times Square recruiting center, where 300 people recited non-stop the names of our military and Iraqi civilian fatalities; and many other occurrences.
I personally wrote songs, comedy sketches and small playlets that we performed at colleges and peace meetings. For instance, I wrote a comedy monologue for one of our grannies, Carol Husten, to perform as if she were Barbara Bush. We also had the asset of one of our grannies, Vinie Burrows, being a marvelous actress. She performed deeply moving, dramatic monologues. Incidentally, some of the grannies have been arrested in subsequent actions since the Times Square enlistment one.
So, the recruiters were actually cowering behind desks and locked doors when you came to enlist. What were they so afraid of? Seniors are definitely taking their chances when they risk arrest. I was struck by the description in your book that touches on exactly what they confiscated before locking all of you in your cells.
I still marvel at the fact that the City officials actually arrested 18 old women. It boggles the mind. What could they possibly have hoped to gain? However, the police treated us very gently -- I'm sure most of them were embarrassed and ashamed to be handcuffing women who could be their grandmothers. For instance, one very handsome young man lifted me up tenderly from the ground, as I was unable to do so on my own steam.
Once incarcerated, two each to a cell, they took everything from us except the clothes we were wearing -- pocketbooks, reading material, food, drinks, meds, even shoelaces. This was a problem for me, a diabetic, who shouldn't allow too much time to elapse between meals. I asked one of the women guards to please bring me something because of my condition. It took quite a while, but she finally brought me a few cookies. In general, the women guards for the cell block we were in were unpleasant, sort of like the ones in B movies of the 40's. They couldn't seem to differentiate us, a bunch of social activist old grandmothers, from their usual occupants, who I presume to be prostitutes and petty thieves.
Isn't it dangerous to deprive people of their medications? Were there some unnerving moments after the doors clanged shut?
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