#Susan Ware
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By Rachel Hartigan
Published: 9 March 2023
The history of the first women who flew is a tale of breathtaking bravery and lives cut tragically short.
On 8 March 1910 — 113 years ago today — Raymonde de Laroche, a former Parisian stage actress, became the first licensed female pilot in the world.
Nine years later, she was killed when the experimental aircraft she was flying dove into the ground.
Harriet Quimby, a well-known journalist, became the first American woman to obtain a pilot’s license in 1911.
She died a year later when her new plane pitched her into Boston Harbor.
In 1921, Bessie Coleman was the first Black woman to receive a pilot’s license — she had to travel to France to find a flight school that would teach her.
But five years later, she was killed when a wrench got caught in her plane’s controls, sending the plane plummeting.
Flying was perilous in aviation’s earliest days.
"The planes were flimsy contraptions fashioned from bamboo, wire and fabric,” according to the late historian Eileen Lebow.
They didn’t have seat belts or even a roof to hold the pilot should the aircraft flip over.
Yet women like Laroche, Quimby and Coleman were willing to risk their lives for the freedom that flights promised.
“Aviation was a new profession seemingly free from the gender expectations and sex typing that limited women elsewhere,” noted historian Susan Ware at the National Air and Space Museum’s inaugural Amelia Earhart Lecture in Aviation History in 2022.
“Women were getting in at the beginning.”
For many of them, the thrill of flying was intoxicating but so was the opportunity to be assessed on their own merits.
“These women wanted to be judged as human beings rather than as women,” says Ware.
Coleman especially saw flight as a path toward broader gender and racial equality.
"I knew we had no aviators, neither men nor women, and I knew the Race needed to be represented along this most important line,” she said shortly after she returned to the United States from France in 1921.
“I thought it my duty to risk my life to learn aviating and to encourage flying among men and women of the Race who are so far behind.”
Before she died, she’d planned to open a flight school that would welcome African American aviators.
Many early women fliers shared the dream that achievement in this field would lead to more independence.
As one journalist and amateur pilot wrote in 1930, “A woman who can find fulfillment in the skies will never again need to live her life in some man’s spare moments.”
Some of that independence would come from the ease of travel that aviation promised in its earliest incarnation.
Many people, including Amelia Earhart, believed at first that airplanes would become as commonly owned by families as bicycles and automobiles already had.
Other women embraced the financial independence that they thought the new field would offer.
Neta Snook, whose first solo flight was in a plane she rebuilt, made her living by offering up her plane for aerial advertising, test flying experimental aircraft, taking paying passengers up for aerial tours, and teaching beginning fliers, including Earhart.
Gladys Roy, on the other hand, earned good money as a stunt pilot, dancing the Charleston and playing tennis on the wings midflight for amazed crowds at air shows.
(Snook retired from aviation when she became pregnant in her mid-twenties and lived to be 95; Roy died at 25 when she accidentally stepped into a propeller.)
Sisters Katherine and Marjorie Stinson took a more long-term approach, establishing a flight school in Texas with their mother and brother that trained, among others, Canadian pilots in the run up to World War I.
When the U.S. entered the war, the country’s civil aviation — including the Stinson School for Flying — was shut down.
Katherine went to Europe to serve as an ambulance driver while Marjorie became an aeronautical draftsman for the Navy.
War and the development of commercial aviation conspired to dampen women’s hopes of equality in the air.
Experienced women pilots such as LaRoche and Katherine Stinson volunteered to serve in their countries’ nascent air forces during World War I.
They were denied, the military preferring to train unseasoned men.
The same pattern occurred in World War II, although Women’s Airforce Service Pilots (WASPs) did ferry U.S. military planes as civilian pilots during the conflict.
(The Soviet Union, however, had three female air combat regiments.)
The dream of every family owning a private plane never did materialize; the infrastructure required would have been too extensive.
Instead, the commercial aviation industry developed, hiring men — many of whom had been trained as pilots by the military.
It was no use pointing out, as Earhart did, that "if women had access to the training and equipment men had we could certainly do as well."
Helen Richey became the first female commercial pilot in 1934 but was hounded out of her job.
The U.S. Commerce Department, under pressure from the all-male pilots’ union, decreed that women weren’t allowed to fly scheduled routes in bad weather.
(They’d previously considered “grounding female pilots for nine days a month during menstruation,” according to Ware).
There wouldn’t be another female commercial pilot until 1973, when Emily Howell Warner was hired by Frontier.
#Raymonde de Laroche#Harriet Quimby#Bessie Coleman#Eileen Lebow#Susan Ware#National Air and Space Museum#Amelia Earhart#Neta Snook#Gladys Roy#Katherine and Marjorie Stinson#Women’s Airforce Service Pilots (WASPs)#Helen Richey#Emily Howell Warner#female pilot#International Women's Day#International Women's Month#National Geographic#Nat Geo
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William Ware Theiss makes some adjustments to Susan Oliver's costume on the set of the first Star Trek pilot, "The Cage."
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EDWARD
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Every song by the Human League that I know sounds like it came from Yo Gabba Gabba and I just want to know if that’s like their whole discography or just the stuff I know,,, anyway stan them both or don’t idk
made this visualization for you lol
#music#80s music#hot80stakes#80s#the human league#heaven 17#philip oakey#martyn ware#ian craig marsh#joanne catherall#susan ann sulley#i've been trying to get into the human league after enjoying a lot of heaven 17 and this just dhhss dead#i will never emotionally recover from this
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Teacher's Pet part 7
Synopsis: The first time.
A/n: I'm touch starved. And illiterate. Please enjoy! I cried 3 times writing this. Also, to my mutuals, I love you. To my readers, I love you. To Peter Capaldi, Sir??? Please??? One chance! To the 12th doctor, come home the kids miss you...
Oh, her face. The nervous look was delicious. The way she was trying to throw her weight around. The way she was making these cords of rationalization and connections.
His little doe-eyed human. A fawn. Maybe he’d call her that…
The way that she came undone. Of course, he felt her heart rate accelerating. Dangerously close to deafening. Her pupils dilated and sharpened, the little hitch her breathing took.
He felt himself give in to the animal. A byproduct of his exposure to Earthlings. His body adjusted and he felt all too eager to feel like an ape. Act like an ape. Not a species that rose above physical reproduction and it’d many impulses. Missy was right. These Earth girls were dangerous.
This was a very coordinated dance he was playing. Give her a bit of a taste of the real grandeur. Something in both mind and body so intimate.
She wasn’t wrong, as she said he was playing God. Perceptive. Very. He liked that about her, saw things from a side of the map others didn’t, even if she went in an atypical way.
He crowded himself in her brain in such a miniscule way as he closed in on her. Ending the space between them.
But he wasn’t going to leap until she gave him a clear sign of consent. He wasn’t a monster, of course. Just a man. A man with needs at the end of the day.
“Maybe.” She shivered. Getting further under his spell.
“Maybe isn’t good enough.” He pushed on her further. Getting closer.
He saw her give up and in.
There was his cue! He gripped the chair, letting his hands to brush onto hers.
She let her head shake in affirmation.
Game over. He won.
He went in, crushing her lips with a biting kiss. Cutting deeply between her breaths. He removed one hand from his grasp on the chair and tenderly grasped the angle of her face between it. Fully feral, taking what he was owed.
He was watching her eyes and saw the startled look fading. Something that spoke against her dignity and guard. It was real, real and he invoked it in her! A victory! Clear and concise!
He convinced himself to pull himself off of her. Give her the option of comfort.
“Now darling…” He muttered, petting her hair. “I can take you here on this chair. Or the floor.”
Her famous thinking and asymmetrical wit fired back.
“Make it a cliché. Fuck me on the desk.” She heaved. Collecting herself before leading herself there.
“Your wish is my command.”
She already was starting to remove her clothes. Already well-trained. He wouldn’t have to break her in as a companion. Maybe she wouldn’t be fate to a dark tragedy if he took her off to the stars.
He shook himself of those tragic thoughts.
He’d keep her here on Earth. His little safe secret. His to keep, his to cherish. To own. Away from covetous eyes or unforeseen consequences.
Maybe one day he’d introduce Missy to her. Trot her out. Have her behold his wares. His reward.
The possibilities were endless.
Back in the present moment, however. He had a beautiful woman, wet and ready on his desk.
He turned the photo of Susan around and put it face down.
His cock was hardening.
He quickly undid his trousers and produced a condom from his back pocket. He valued her illusions of safety. He doubted that he’d impregnate or infect her. But she’d probably thank him for the consideration.
He grasped the nape of her neck, curling a fistful of her hair in his grasp. Inhaling the scent, perfume, sweat, her pheromones and a trace of tobacco and the outdoors. An ode to her environments. He took and pulled her forward and lain flat against the surfaces.
Popping kisses across her breasts and caressing her throat with his lips and practically lapping up the beginning of a moan coming from her mouth.
His other hand got busy, she had to be ready for him. He could give her that. A bit of pleasure before he properly entered her. A long finger snaked it’s way to her pussy.
He could be different. He was. A trillion times better. No human man could outdo him.
He slowly stroked her clit with his thumb as he parted her folds. Delicate work. Like rewiring the TARDIS or building a device to track and contain shadow creatures from the 12th dimension. Miniscule little circles speeding up on the throbbing little head. Her entire cunt was slick. Made the entry with his middle finger deft into the tight center.
She was very muscular down there. It was a nice, tight vice grip. Would be great to feel with his twitching cock. His balls were aching…
His little fawn was starting to relax her grip on the desk, she leaned back like a very good girl and her legs sprawled open further. Her back arched up and her breathing hitched a bit more again. Her head cocked to the side and she watched him, her hands playing with themselves as they rest on her stomach.
“Show me some courage.” He goaded, slipping another finger inside. “You’ve been wanting this. I’ve seen you. I’ve noticed how you can’t stop watching me. Wanting me. Poor (y/n), can’t focus on her studies because of clever old me.”
He worked her deeper, as she rushed out a caustic, “Fuck you.” She clenched herself around his fingers. “Fuck you for making me want you!” She tried to accuse as she whimpered along.
“There’s a doll.” He said before releasing his grasp on her cunt. He could take that response.
He leaned forward and kissed her as he put on the condom. She grasped his hair and replied wordlessly, ferociously. Her breath tasted of her freshly consumed hot chocolate, old mint and honey tea, a cigarette and some mix of dental products. There was revelation and acceptance in her eyes and screaming loudly from her mind.
He wondered if, with the way she was broadcasting, if anyone sensitive enough to these frequencies in the next solar system over was picking it up.
Laying an arm across her chest and one braced on the desk. It was time.
He slowly thrust into her. A nice, even motion. Working slowly and evenly, he made sure that he was careful to not cause any pain. He’d forgotten a very important aspect of sex with humans, they needed lubrication to keep it nice and more than pleasurable. He hoped what little came on the condom already and how soaked she was would keep things feeling nice for her. He was spoken for.
He leaned down, putting the full weight of his body on her and went a little harder and a little faster. Whispering in her praise about what a good and patient human she was. That she was so smart and clever. A good student. And a new bright star in his personal cosmos.
His little pet fawn rocked her hips up, trying to match his pace in synchronization.
Eventually matching his.
It was a delight! He resisted the urge to go faster, even though time was running out. He didn’t exactly hang a sock on the door. Someone was bound to walk in. But he let himself luxuriate in the experience of his flesh on hers.
(Y/n) put her hands on his shoulders and brought herself up around, bucking up and trying to get herself to go faster. A hazy, lost clouded her face. But her jaw was determined.
What else could he do but oblige? He sped up, grunting. He would finish them both up.
He felt himself fluster and her legs kick up around his body.
An electric shot of pleasure rocked through his body and arched out from him, he could feel a monumental shudder come as he orgasmed. The tips of his fingers felt numb and his hearts beat alight in his chest- echoed by the singular heart in hers. All three pounding as he cupped her and brought her to a sitting position, pulling himself out of her.
He purred, as he pulled the used condom off his shaft. A gentle lob into the bin dealt with that.
“Are you still needy, darling? Want me to Doctor it?” He chuckled internally at his little joke.
“Yes, please, Professor.” She cried out. Clearly not finished. He reminded himself to correct her at another time and inform her of his true Chosen Name. But for now she needed to cum. He could do that for her.
He got on both knees and brushed her swollen, raw eager cunt.
He was like a man on death row, and his last meal was served.
He kissed her inner thighs and wrapped an arm around her thighs. He kissed her folds and gave a little suck and her knees automatically buckled towards his head. Her hands playfully combing through his hair. He continued to kiss and nibble and lick. Deeper and harder. More attention to her clit…
Her moans and grunts turned to suppressed screams. She was thrashing around his desk beautifully.
“Oh, I’m so close!” She confessed after a particularly hard to hold in shout.
He rewarded her with her orgasm.
Static electricity passed between then it seemed. A connecting current. Good, he thought, bonding.
Somehow, they ended up on the floor in front of his desk and she was wrapped in her jacket and his hoodie was laid on top of her legs. His pants were still pulled down to his shoes.
She spoke first.
It was shaky and her stammer was back.
“I don’t want to seem rude…but I don’t want to…not…do this again. And don’t think I did this for…wrong reasons. Please… don’t give me special treatment…because I let you hit…I never wanted this to happen…or had any ulterior motives. I really liked you. From the first class I had with you…I…yeah.” She seemingly couldn’t finish the sentence. She started to bring her hand up to rip off a finger nail.
The Doctor stopped her, bringing her hand down and resting it on her lap, his firmly on top.
“Yeah. Me too. I don’t take lovers anymore. I don’t need a distraction, but you? Wandered into my classroom like a fawn separated from its mother too early. A mystery. And of course you aren’t. I’ve seen your ethics. You may have some push and pull. But you’re still not a cheat. You would have found other ways to get ahead if you were…”
“Yeah.” She stared at the carpet.
“You’ll get special treatment because you’re special.”
“Oh.”
“Why don’t I whatsapp you? We can discuss this further. I have a class to teach soon. And you have your life.”
The two cleaned up, dressed up, swapped numbers and the Doctor kissed her hand gingerly.
He had to think.
“Don’t be lasagne.” He said. Shaking his head at a memory.
“Okay…I won’t.” (Y/n) shot him a puzzled look.
“And please, (y/n) take the hot chocolate.”
She reached down and took it before scurrying out.
Putting the picture of Susan back in place, he smiled at the guitar on the wall…
Lots to plot, more to do.
She might be perfect yet!
#personal#doctor who#doctor who fanfiction#self insert#i wrote this#12th doctor#12th doctor x reader#12th doctor x you#you x 12th doctor#reader x 12th doctor#im in my midlife crisis era#lol#power thru#no beta we die like men
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Sherman Smith at Kansas Reflector:
TOPEKA — As the Kansas Legislature renewed its yearslong assault on transgender children, Sen. Mary Ware told her Senate colleagues Monday she had a “simple” question for them.
“What is the acceptable number of youth suicides?” Ware asked.
The Suicide and Crisis Lifeline is a hotline for individuals in crisis or for those looking to help someone else. To speak with a certified listener, call 988.
Crisis Text Line is a texting service for emotional crisis support. To speak with a trained listener, text HELLO to 741741. It is free, available 24/7, and confidential.
Ware’s question set the tone for debate in the Senate, which voted 27-13 to override Gov. Laura Kelly’s veto of Senate Bill 233, legislation that would ban gender-affirming care for anyone younger than 18. But the override attempt fell short in the House on an 82-43 vote, two short of the two-thirds majority required.
The bill would have blocked teenagers from receiving hormone therapy and other treatments recognized as necessary by medical professionals. And it would have banned state employees from supporting “social transitioning,” which is defined to include an individual changing their preferred pronouns or manner of dress.
Rep. Susan Concannon, R-Beloit, and Rep. Jesse Borjon, R-Topeka, flipped their votes from earlier in the month to sustain the governor’s veto. Two other Republicans — Rep. Mark Schreiber of Emporia and Rep. David Younger of Ulysses — also joined Democrats in blocking the legislation from becoming law.
“We hear about mental health, about suicide, and ask why,” Concannon said. “We’re not listening to the impact of youth. Government involvement is not the answer.”
On the Senate side, Sen. John Doll, R-Garden City, and Sen. Carolyn McGinn, R-Sedgwick, joined the chamber’s 11 Democrats in supporting the veto.
Opponents of the bill pointed to extensive medical research that shows transgender children, who are already at an elevated risk for suicide, are more likely to die from suicide if they don’t receive gender-affirming care.
“This bill ignores, or should I say tramples, on the rights of some Kansas citizens to live peaceably, lawfully and free to make their own decisions about their own bodies,” Ware said.
Republicans argued the bill would protect children from life-altering decisions they could end up regretting.
[...]
The House delayed taking action as Republican leadership tried to secure enough votes to override the governor’s veto. Before closing the roll call, Republicans locked the chamber doors and issued a procedural declaration that requires every member to cast a vote, rather than abstain.
Borjon said he would support a ban on gender reassignment surgery and limits on the use of hormone blockers for minors. But for him, the bill went too far in restricting speech and behavioral health care for transgender youths.
Rep. Tobias Schlingensiepen, a Topeka Democrat and pastor, said it was clear the “politically motivated bill” would make the lives of trans kids and their families more difficult.
Good news: Kansas's anti-trans gender-affirming care ban for trans youths will not take effect, as Gov. Laura Kelly (D)'s veto of SB233 has been sustained in the House. #KSLeg
See Also:
Erin In The Morning: Kansas Republican Votes No On Trans Ban: "Govt. Involvement Is Not The Answer"
#Kansas#Gender Affirming Healthcare#Kansas SB233#Transgender Health#Transgender#Anti Trans Extremism#Laura Kelly#Social Transition
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Not the original asker but dear Lord now I'm thiiiiiiiiiiirsting for RO x MC song representation for crushing/cusp of romance stage.
Koda: Mine Would Be You by Blake Shelton
Scarlett: I Won’t Say I’m In Love by Susan Egan or Say You Love Me by Jessie Ware
Cyrus/Cyra: When The Darkness Comes by Colbie Caillat
Quinn: Eyes Off You by PrettyMuch
Caden: Stay by Rihanna ft. Mikky Ekko
Sloane: When I Look At You by Miley Cyrus
Blake: 8 Letters by Why Don’t We
Reginald/Regina: Someone To You by Banners
#midnight sun#asks#ro: blake herrera#ro: r presley#ro: c aurelia#ro: quinn grant#ro: sloane addams#ro: koda kingston#ro: caden randall#ro: scarlett voltaire#song recs#scenario asks
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After I finished making a midterm exam, Molly and I went to a secret Japanese tea house. It appears on no map, has no hours, no sign. It is as though it exists, somehow, outside this world. When you enter, you give your phone to the owner to lock in a box for the duration of your visit.
We stayed for nearly 6 hours—sat reading poems, chatting with the eccentric owner about Sufism and the ocean and his peculiar flower arrangements consisting of a mix of living and dead plant matter.
How can I describe it, the strange sensation of being alive, late at night in those dim lights, surrounded by beauty. I got up to look at the wares, inhaled the hinoki essential oil—Max Richter was playing as I stared at blank notecards and imagined writing someone a heartfelt note, writing bravely, from that bewitched and emotionally authentic space I was in. I felt a sudden pang. It was the moment opening, with all its counterfactuals, what could have been, what will never be—how deeply I could feel, in that instant, the texture of my grief.
When I’m in the hustle and bustle of my busy and now quite ordinary life, I think, if only I could really hear the voice that says,
“Jackie, it was not for this that you were created.”
Then I would give away all my things and spend my days in prayer.
Susan Howe writes that for Sarah Edwards, “all works of God are a kind of language or voice to instruct us in things pertaining to calling and confusion.”
“...each soul comes upon the call of God in his word. I read words but don’t hear God in them.”
Did I pray, how long in supplication, with my inner eye fixed on that phantom, the phantom with her eyes stitched shut, limbs covered in oak moss. A dream of the opening of the eyes, the inert limbs now lithe and moving toward you. Ordinary objects and sounds are suddenly strange. That’s when the phantom slips through, when I hear the birds singing in a tree...
The blooming moment. Retrospectively, I am convinced that its condition of possibility was the confiscation of my phone, that it is only when we are unplugged that we can sense these holy emanations.
How calm we were, leafing through the book of Japanese death poems (jisei) in the tea house. What will be the last words I write before dying? For all I know, it could be this, or this. I remembered the dying words of George Mackay Brown: “I see hundreds and hundreds of ships sailing out of the harbour.” I remember the fragments Kafka wrote while dying, “lemonade everything was infinite,” his concern for the peony, the improvised performance—the incantation—I did at the Zinc Bar in 2015 using Kafka’s dying words, how J wept in the audience, then wrote me about the snow:
I am the guy, by the way, who said hi on the street, in the snow, after your reading. … I did indeed cry after your Kafka-Cixous incantation, partly because that phrase has been magic to me my whole life. I read Cixous' novel by that name when I studied with her and Derrida in my twenties... Her seminars were amazing. One day, funnily enough, she gave a seminar on snow in Proust, simply because snow was on the ground in Paris. For all sorts of reasons your whole reading shook and tenderised me deeply. I suppose, with the snow through the tinted glass outside, it will forever be, my imagination of what you read will forever be blanche niege texte.
(standing on the corner in manhattan with that powdery snow i was looking at the flowers when you walked past actually, turned, swivelled, i had needed to get out of the bar because the reading had touched me so much . . . i then went and wandered in the snow for an hour, till i happened on a subway, and back to my friend's in brooklyn . . . i have been thinking more today about how effective your reading was to me. it sort of made me feel i could only read poetry from now on if i was embodied, since what convinced in your reading beyond the obvious was the adjustments to us, the audience, the interruptions, the ability to break off, and then the actual concentration because of the embodiments . . . at most poetry readings i am constantly thinking 'i am at a poetry reading' and can't really get beyond the poem-as-poem-at-reading. when you read i was suddenly completely focused. the bodily resonation was right, a recuperation of grace, so i could listen. like before the internet or something. it returned me all the way to early cixous and feminine writing and what that could still mean, a writing beyond master-works and over-sociality of tact, agua viva, what korine might call 'mistakist' heaven. it was my first time in new york. my last night. stop. for now. cut the flowers.)
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How many of these famous autists do you recognize? And this isn't even a complete list!
So many amazing wonderful people are autistic. I will never understand why people hate us so much.
Actors/actresses/entertainment:
Chloe Hayden
Talia Grant
Rachel Barcellona
Sir Anthony Hopkins
Dan Akroyd
David Byrne
Darryl Hannah
Courtney Love
Jerry Seinfeld
Roseanne Barr
Jennifer Cook
Chuggaaconroy
Stephanie Davis
Rick Glassman
Paula Hamilton
Dan Harmon
Paige Layle
Matthew Labyorteaux
Wentworth Miller
Desi Napoles
Freddie Odom Jr
Kim Peek
Sue Ann Pien
Henry Rodriguez
Scott Steindorff
Ian Terry
Tara Palmer -Tomkinson
Albert Rutecki
Billy West
Alexis Wineman- Miss America contestant
Athletes:
Jessica- Jane Applegate
Michael Brannigan
David Campion
Brenna Clark
Ulysse Delsaux
Tommy Dis Brisay
Jim Eisenreich
Todd Hodgetts
John Howard
Anthony Ianni
Lisa Llorens
Clay Matzo
Frankie Macdonald
Jason McElwain
Chris Morgan
Max Park
Cody Ware
Amani Williams
Samuel Von Einem
Musicians:
Susan Boyle
Elizabeth Ibby Grace
David Byrne
Johnny Dean
Tony DeBlois
Christopher Dufley
Jody Dipiazza
Pertti Kurikka
James Jagow
Ladyhawke
Kodi Lee
Left at London
Red Lewis Clark
Abz Love
Thristan Mendoza
Heidi Mortenson
Hikari Oe
Matt Savage
Graham Sierota
SpaceGhostPurp
Mark Tinley
Donald Triplett
Aleksander Vinter
Comedians:
Hannah Gatsby
Robert White
Bethany Black
Scientists/inventors/mathematians/Researchers:
Damian Milton
Bram Cohen
Michelle Dawson
Carl Sagan
Writers:
Neil Gaimen
Mel Bags
Kage Baker
Amy Swequenza
M. Remi Yergeau
Sean Barron
Lydia X Z Brown
Matt Burning
Dani Bowman
Nicole Cliffe
Laura Kate Dale
Aoife Dooley
Corrine Duyvus
Marianne Eloise
Jory Flemming
Temple Grandin
John R Hall
Naomi Higashida
Helan Hoang
Liane Holliday Willey
Luke Jackson
Rosie King
Thomas A McKean
Johnathan Mitchell
Jack Monroe
Caiseal Mor
Morenike Giwa- Onaiwu
Jasmine O'Neill
Brant Page Hanson
Dawn Prince-Hughs
Sue Robin
Stephen Shore
Andreas Souvitos
Sarah Stup
Susanna Tamaro
Chuck Tingle
Donna Williams
Leaders:
Julia Bascom
Ari Ne'eman
Sarah Marie Acevedo
Sharon Davenport
Joshua Collins
Conner Cummings
Kevin Healy
Poom Jenson
Amy Knight
Jared O'Mara
David Nelson
Shaun Neumeier
Master Sgt. Shale Norwitz
Jim Sinclair
Judy Singer
Dr. Vernon Smith
Artists:
Miina Akkijjyrkka
Danny Beath
Deborah Berger
Larry John Bissonnette
Patrick Francis
Goby
Jorge Gutierrez
Lina Long
Johnathan Lerman
Julian Martin
Haley Moss
Morgan Harper Nichols
Tim Sharp
Gilles Tehin
Willem Van Genk
Richard Wawro
Poets:
David Eastham
Christopher Knowles
David Miedzianik
Henriette Seth F
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Shakespeare wrote that a voice soft, gentle and low was “an excellent thing in woman,” yet the public voices of women in his day, except for the Queen, were nonexistent. Females were barred from the stage in Elizabethan England. Lower-class dialects were merrily amusing to the British elite, but when the harsh, untutored accents were spoken by women, they grated on upper-class ears as particularly strident and shrill. The fishwife hawking her wares in the market went into the dictionary as a coarse, vulgar-tongued woman; her husband the fishmonger remained a mere seller of fish. If Eskimos have several words for snow because snow looms so large in their daily lives, what may we conclude about the English, who devised so many words to define a woman with a loud, unpleasant voice, a short temper and impertinent speech? The fishwife is joined by the shrew, the harridan, the magpie, the virago, the termagant and the scold.
-Susan Brownmiller, Femininity
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Black Femme Character Dependency Dark Skin Directory: S
S: The Characters
Sally Ann | Sally Bates | Sam M’Pele | Samatha | Samantha Knight | Sarah Langworthy | Sarah Wilson | Sasha | Savannah Jackson | Selah Summers | Senna | Shalika | Shanelle Onyx | Shanice Murray | Sharon | Shinobu Jacobs | Shoutout | Shuri | Simone Bethson | Sister Helley | Sister Krone | Sister Night | Snow White | Sojourner Mullien | Solara Shockley | Sparkle Cadet | Stacy Kingston | Starr Carter | Stephanie Edwards | Storm | Sue Wilson | Sunny Madison | Susie Carmichael | Sydney
S: The Entertainers
Saidah Arrika Ekulona | Samantha Liana Cole | Samantha Marie Ware | Sandra Dede (sandramabelle) | Saniyya Sidney | Sara Martins | Sasha Lambon | Sasheer Zamata | Sese Madaki Ali | Shahadi Wright Joseph | Shanice Williams | Shannon Thornton | Sharon Duncan Brewster | Sharon Ferguson | Sharon Pierre-Louis | Shea Couleé | Sherri Shepherd | Sheryl Lee Ralph | Shyko Amos | Sibongile Mlambo | Sierra McClain | Simbi Khali | Simona Brown | Simone Biles | Simone Missick | Sindi-Dlathu | Skai Jackson | Skye P. Marshall | Sokhna Cisse | Sokhna Niane | Sonya Eddy | Sophia Walker | Stefanee Martin | Stella Okech | Subah Koj | Sufe Bradshaw | Susan Wokoma | Symphony Sanders
#BFCD DS Directory#S#BFCD Dark Skin December#BFCD Dark Skin December 2023#DSD: S#Girl That's Queuedt#Black Female Characters#Black Women in Entertainment
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January 11th 1940, John Buchan, diplomat, soldier, barrister, journalist, historian, politician, publisher, poet and novelist passed away.
Born in Perth the eldest son of a Free Church of Scotland minister, he spent time in the Borders as a child before the family moved to the Gorbals in Glasgow, he went on to have a truly extraordinary life from humble beginnings.
Educated at Hutchesons Grammar School Buchan graduated from Glasgow University then gained a scholarship to Brasenose College, Oxford. During his time there – ‘spent peacefully in an enclave like a monastery’ – he wrote two historical novels.
In 1901 he became a barrister of the Middle Temple and a private secretary to the High Commissioner for South Africa. In 1907 he married Susan Charlotte Grosvenor; they had three sons and a daughter. After spells as a war correspondent, Lloyd George’s Director of Information and MP, Buchan – now Sir John Buchan, Baron Tweedsmuir of Elsfield - moved to Canada in 1935 where he had been appointed Governor-General.]
Despite poor health throughout his life, Buchan’s literary output was remarkable – thirty novels, over sixty non-fiction books, including biographies of Sir Walter Scott and Oliver Cromwell, and seven collections of short stories. In 1928 he won the prestigious James Tait Black Memorial Prize, Britain’s oldest literary prize for his biography of the Marquis of Montrose. Buchan’s distinctive thrillers – ‘shockers’ as he called them – were characterised by suspenseful atmosphere, conspiracy theories and romantic heroes, notably Richard Hannay (based on the real-life military spy William Ironside) and Sir Edward Leithen.
Buchan was a favourite writer of Alfred Hitchcock, whose screen adaptation of The Thirty-Nine Steps was phenomenally successful, the pair can be seen together in the second photo.
John Buchan served as Governor-General of Canada until his death on this day in 1940, the year his autobiography Memory Hold-the-door was published. His last novel Sick Heart River was published posthumously in 1941.
From The Pentlands Looking North And South is a poem by John Buchan I can relate to, The Pentlands was part of my playground when growing up on the outskirts of Edinburgh.
Around my feet the clouds are drawn
In the cold mystery of the dawn;
No breezes cheer, no guests intrude
My mossy, mist-clad solitude;
When sudden down the steeps of sky
Flames a long, lightening wind. On high
The steel-blue arch shines clear, and far,
In the low lands where cattle are,
Towns smoke. And swift, a haze, a gleam,--
The Firth lies like a frozen stream,
Reddening with morn. Tall spires of ships,
Like thorns about the harbour's lips,
Now shake faint canvas, now, asleep,
Their salt, uneasy slumbers keep;
While golden-grey, o'er kirk and wall,
Day wakes in the ancient capital.
Before me lie the lists of strife,
The caravanserai of life,
Whence from the gates the merchants go
On the world's highways; to and fro
Sail laiden ships; and in the street
The lone foot-traveller shakes his feet,
And in some corner by the fire
Tells the old tale of heart's desire.
Thither from alien seas and skies
Comes the far-questioned merchandise:--
Wrought silks of Broussa, Mocha's ware
Brown-tinted, fragrant, and the rare
Thin perfumes that the rose's breath
Has sought, immortal in her death:
Gold, gems, and spice, and haply still
The red rough largess of the hill
Which takes the sun and bears the vines
Among the haunted Apennines.
And he who treads the cobbled street
To-day in the cold North may meet,
Come month, come year, the dusky East,
And share the Caliph's secret feast;
Or in the toil of wind and sun
Bear pilgrim-staff, forlorn, fordone,
Till o'er the steppe, athwart the sand
Gleam the far gates of Samarkand.
The ringing quay, the weathered face
Fair skies, dusk hands, the ocean race
The palm-girt isle, the frosty shore,
Gales and hot suns the wide world o'er
Grey North, red South, and burnished West
The goals of the old tireless quest,
Leap in the smoke, immortal, free,
Where shines yon morning fringe of sea
I turn, and lo! the moorlands high
Lie still and frigid to the sky.
The film of morn is silver-grey
On the young heather, and away,
Dim, distant, set in ribs of hill,
Green glens are shining, stream and mill,
Clachan and kirk and garden-ground,
All silent in the hush profound
Which haunts alone the hills' recess,
The antique home of quietness.
Nor to the folk can piper play
The tune of "Hills and Far Away,"
For they are with them. Morn can fire
No peaks of weary heart's desire,
Nor the red sunset flame behind
Some ancient ridge of longing mind.
For Arcady is here, around,
In lilt of stream, in the clear sound
Of lark and moorbird, in the bold
Gay glamour of the evening gold,
And so the wheel of seasons moves
To kirk and market, to mild loves
And modest hates, and still the sight
Of brown kind faces, and when night
Draws dark around with age and fear
Theirs is the simple hope to cheer.--
A land of peace where lost romance
And ghostly shine of helm and lance
Still dwell by castled scarp and lea,
And the last homes of chivalry,
And the good fairy folk, my dear,
Who speak for cunning souls to hear,
In crook of glen and bower of hill
Sing of the Happy Ages still.
O Thou to whom man's heart is known,
Grant me my morning orison.
Grant me the rover's path--to see
The dawn arise, the daylight flee,
In the far wastes of sand and sun!
Grant me with venturous heart to run
On the old highway, where in pain
And ecstasy man strives amain,
Conquers his fellows, or, too weak,
Finds the great rest that wanderers seek!
Grant me the joy of wind and brine,
The zest of food, the taste of wine,
The fighter's strength, the echoing strife
The high tumultuous lists of life--
May I ne'er lag, nor hapless fall,
Nor weary at the battle-call!...
But when the even brings surcease,
Grant me the happy moorland peace;
That in my heart's depth ever lie
That ancient land of heath and sky,
Where the old rhymes and stories fall
In kindly, soothing pastoral.
There in the hills grave silence lies,
And Death himself wears friendly guise
There be my lot, my twilight stage,
Dear city of my pilgrimage.
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“Hamada examining newly unloaded ware from the glaze kiln.”
From: “Shoji Hamada : a potter's way and work” by Peterson, Susan, 1981.
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"Lift" (2001) is an independent drama written and directed by DeMane Davis and Khari Streeter. The film stars Kerry Washington, Lonette McKee, Eugene Byrd, and Barbara Montgomery. The film appeared at the Sundance Film Festival 2001 but never earned a theatrical release. Instead, Showtime aired the movie until they released it on DVD.
The late 90s and early 2000s saw an explosion of black films, but many didn't receive theatrical treatment. However, several were well-put-together movies that deserve a second run. "Lift" is a decent movie and an excellent role for Washington before her superstardom. Also, the film is a nostalgic reminder of what the early 2000s looked like.
Directors: DeMane Davis, Khari Streeter
Writers: DeMane Davis, Khari Streeter
Starring Kerry Washington, Lonette McKee, Eugene Byrd, Barbara Montgomery, Samantha Brown, Sticky Fingaz, Todd Williams, Jacqui Parker, Naheem Allah, Susan Alger, Annette Miller, Pooch Hall, Braun Philip, Daniel Laurent, John Fiore, Crystal Tyson,
Storyline
Niecy (Kerry Washington) works at an expensive Boston department store, using her knowledge of fashion and security to steal clothing from other stores. In her inner-city neighborhood, she resells her wares to friends and family while struggling to connect with her mother, Elaine (Lonette McKee), and worrying about her relationship with her drug dealer boyfriend, Angelo (Eugene Byrd). To steal a necklace for her mother, Niecy agrees to help gangster Christian (Todd Williams) with a large heist.
Available on DVD and streaming services
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More Reading Recommendations for Women's Equality Day
The Woman's Hour by Elaine Weiss
Nashville, August 1920: Thirty-five states have ratified the Nineteenth Amendment, twelve have rejected or refused to vote, and one last state is needed. It all comes down to Tennessee, the moment of truth for the suffragists, after a seven-decade crusade. Following a handful of remarkable women who led their respective forces into battle, this is the inspiring story of activists winning their own freedom in one of the last campaigns forged in the shadow of the Civil War, and the beginning of the great twentieth-century battles for civil rights.
When Women Stood by Alexandra Allred
From early Amazons to modern-day athletes, women have been fighting for their rightful place in the world. The history of these female athletes - whether warriors on the battlefield or competitors in the sports arena - has often been neglected, yet it is through sports that women have changed society, gaining entry into education, politics, and more. This inspiring chronicle shines a light on the amazing women who refused to accept the status quo and fought for something better for themselves and for those who would follow.
Why They Marched by Susan Ware
For far too long, the history of how American women won the right to vote has been told as the tale of a few iconic leaders, all white and native-born. But Susan Ware uncovered a much broader and more diverse story waiting to be told. This book is a tribute to the many women who worked tirelessly in communities across the nation, out of the spotlight, protesting, petitioning, and insisting on their right to full citizenship. Ware’s deeply moving stories provide a fresh account of one of the most significant moments of political mobilization in American history.
Young and Restless by Mattie Kahn
This volume recounts one of the most foundational and underappreciated forces in moments of American revolution: teenage girls. From the American Revolution itself to the Civil Rights Movement to nuclear disarmament protests and the women’s liberation movement, through Black Lives Matter and school strikes for climate, Mattie Kahn uncovers how girls have leveraged their unique strengths to organize and lay serious political groundwork for movements that often sidelined them.
#womens rights#women's history#nonfiction#nonfiction books#reading recommendations#reading recs#book recommendations#book recs#library books#tbr#tbrpile#to read#book tumblr#booklr#book blog#library blog
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Andy Capp - ITV - February 22, 1988 - March 28, 1988
Sitcom (6 episodes)
Running Time: 30 minutes
Stars:
James Bolam as Andrew "Andy" Capp
Paula Tilbrook as Flo Capp
Mike Savage as Bookie
Keith Smith as Chalkie
George Waring as Clifford
John Arthur as Jack
Jeremy Gittins as Keith
Andy Mulligan as Meredith
Ian Bleasdale as Milkie
Shirley Dixon as Mother-in-law
Richard Tate as Pawnbroker
Keith Marsh as Percy
Susan Brown as Ruby
Colette Stevenson as Shirley
Ian Thompson as The Vicar
Kevin Lloyd as Walter
Philip Lowrie as Mr Watson
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