Denise Bradberry
The only reason I am included in this story is that I am the recording secretary of the Old Orchard Fort Chapter, DAR, about which the reader has now learned most of the secrets. While I think I keep fairly complete minutes, what I write for official inclusion does not always reflect the entire nature of what goes on. Consequently some of the daughters came to me and insisted that the story would be incomplete without a full account of the June meeting. The minutes are very simple and accurate, but they don’t give the flavor of the whole meeting at all. I shall present the minutes first and then tell what really happened.
The Old Orchard Fort Chapter, NSDAR, met on June 7 in the home of Mrs. Donald M. Winebower. Refreshments of white cake with the letters DAR iced on each square, lime punch, and assorted nuts were served from a
beautifully decorated table. At the conclusion of a social period, Mrs. Henry Delaporte, Regent, gaveled the meeting to order. The DAR Ritual was led by the Chaplain. The Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America was led by Mrs. Arthur Holman, after which the American Creed was led by Mrs. William D. Carver. Mrs. John R. Carrew led the first stanza of the National Anthem, accompanied by Mrs. Delaporte at the piano.
The National Defense report was given by Mrs. Percy Ledbetter, chairman of the National Defense committee. After a thought-provoking presentation of the relative strengths of American and Russian defenses in Europe, Mrs. Ledbetter pointed out that force of arms, though important, is inadequate without accompanying moral strength.
After Mrs. Ledbetter’s report, discussion followed, during which it was suggested that our Chapter could perhaps take steps to support a stronger morality in our own city and it was moved by Mrs. L. C. Hardacre that the matter be further investigated by Mrs. Ledbetter and Mrs. Bushrow.
Mrs. Carl McTeague presented a program on the preservation of documents.
The meeting was adjourned.
Denise Bradberry
Recording Secretary
In order for readers to understand just what was going on at this meeting, they must know something about Mrs. Ledbetter.
Mrs. Percy Ledbetter is a dumpling of a little lady about five feet, two inches tall with thin white hair that has a tendency to yellow. She puts it up on rollers and then combs it down over her ears and back into a bun. She has lots of bosom and wears dark dresses with a small pattern. All of her dresses have white collars with tatted edging.
She has the mildest blue eyes that peer out from gold-framed spectacles with very thick lenses, and her complexion is as white as paper. She has soft, soft skin that appears never to have been struck by the sun and is consequently scarcely wrinkled at all. She wears a little round brooch at her throat. On her left hand is her wedding band, and she wears a gold watch with a black ribbon band on that wrist. On her right wrist she wears a gold bracelet in the shape of a snake with tiny emeralds for eyes.
Where she gets the heavy stockings she always wears, I can’t imagine; but her shoes look like the Enna Jetiks my first-grade teacher used to wear.
Mrs. Ledbetter has taught the Loyal Matron’s Class at the First Baptist Church longer than anyone can remember; and though she is mild of voice, she is strong of conviction.
It is always a delight when she speaks on any subject, because although the material she deals with frequently comes from the Reader’s Digest or some other periodical readily found in a dentist’s or doctor’s office, the seriousness with which Mrs. Ledbetter addresses great problems is worthy of a Supreme Court justice. She absolutely quivers with fervor. And one gets the impression that if Mrs. Ledbetter were to remove her finger only once from the hole in the dike, the whole Atlantic Ocean would seep in and drown the nation.
After Mrs. Ledbetter got through telling the ladies just how many missiles the Russians still have and what kind, and how many missiles we have and what kind, she said something like this: “But oh! I regret to say that there is a greater danger at
home. It has been borne in on me that the moral fiber of our young people is being destroyed.”
There was such awe in her voice that I thought she was going to tell us about Demon Rum. But, no, it was a strip joint on the corner of Division and one of those cross streets. There is an old building down there, and it seems that somebody put in a mangy club of some sort. I just supposed that it was the run-of-the-mill honky-tonk that we have around here with “strang” band and nasal country singers.
But “strip” had come to Borderville without my knowing it. The mere presence of strippers would have been enough to fire Mrs. Ledbetter’s burners, but it seems that this joint had a “ladies only” night.
“Actually,” Mrs. Ledbetter said in a hushed voice, “our young women go into that vile place to ogle the bodies of unclothed men.”
A good number of our membership are in their midseventies, and they are dear old things that probably never heard of a male stripper. They let out one tremendous simultaneous gasp.
“Yes,” she assured the ladies, “here in our own city we have this dreadful thing.” Then, true to form, she demonstrated that she had done her homework. She started with the Egyptians and marched on through the Greeks and the Romans—I’ m sure she got it out of a Sunday-school book—and demonstrated from history that lascivious carousals always presage the destruction of once-great civilizations. I don’t know where the old dear picked up the talent, but she really made a very interesting program out of the evils of nude or near-nude dancing, especially on the part of men.
After about fifteen minutes she turned to Helen Delaporte and said, “Madam Regent, that concludes my report.”
As she sat down, ladies were clicking their tongues and shaking their heads while exchanging scandalized glances.
Then suddenly from the back of the room came Harriet Bushrow’s decided accents. “Have you ever seen one of these lascivious dances, Opal?”
Oh, dear no, of course she hadn’t.
“Then how do you know all this you have been telling us?”
It seemed that Mrs. Ledbetter has a neighbor who has a young woman living in her house who, unaware of the kind of entertainment provided on the nights for “ladies only,” had attended this place, called, I believe, the Gold Coast.
Harriet was in her full glory. She was in her summer party dress. It was really quite handsome but perhaps not what one would expect of any octogenarian except Harriet. It looked like shantung—green with white stripes. She had on a white straw picture hat with red poppies on it and of course those famous cut-crystal beads she always wears. Harriet was obviously enjoying the sensation Opal Ledbetter had produced by her lecture. “Don’t you think some of us ought to investigate,” Harriet said, “so we can make our complaint to somebody?”
Opal was absolutely flabbergasted, and we all held our breath.
“After all, what good does it do if we just deplore it here among ourselves!” Harriet continued. “I think some of us should investigate and lodge a complaint.”
Opal was opening and closing her mouth rapidly and looking as if Death had called for her before she could get out of the bathtub.
Then little Mrs. Mursey in her mild voice chirped up with: “You know, Carry Nation actually went into the saloons to fight against liquor.”
And Mildred Hardacre said in her very ladylike way, “Madam Regent, I do think that someone ought to lodge a complaint—perhaps to the city council.”
“That’s on the Tennessee side,” one of the ladies observed. She lived on the Virginia side and her remark was made in a tone that suggested that nothing so crude could ever happen on the Virginia side of the street.
There was further discussion back and forth before it was finally decided that Mrs. Ledbetter should investigate further with the help of Mrs. Bushrow and report at a subsequent meeting of the chapter.
Helen Delaporte as usual maintained her dignity in spite of all, but I am afraid that I had to look very steadily at my shoe buckles. The meeting closed, and I thought we had heard the last of that matter, and so did Helen—or did she?
I am the youngest member of the chapter. I am a widow. I sell real estate, and I have two children in high school. Sometimes it is difficult to get to the meetings of the chapter, but I have enjoyed the membership of this chapter more than I have enjoyed that of any other organization I have ever belonged to.
Many people make fun of the DAR, and I suppose I do it myself sometimes. It’s said to be snobbish. It is not. In fact it is just the opposite. Upon invitation, there is one basic requirement for admission. Members must be descended from an American patriot, male or female, of the Revolutionary War. But once that step is negotiated, there is not a more democratic organization in the country.
In the DAR there are rich and poor, professional and nonprofessional, Catholics, Protestants, and Jews. One of our members is ninety-eight, and I am forty-one. I have profited from knowing these women, and I find it touching that they all love this wonderful country we live in.
I understand from these women, descendants of the Revolutionary patriots, how our forefathers managed to win a war against the tremendous power and wealth of England. Like those staunch old fellows, the Daughters have independent
minds; and like their forebears, when they set themselves to it, they carry their plans to a firm conclusion.
So even though I sometimes smile at what goes on in the chapter, it is a smile of pride.