Born in 1869, Mary Colter traveled with her family through frontier Minnesota, Colorado and Texas.  When her father died in 1886, she needed a way to support her mother and sister.  After graduating from the California School of Design in San Francisco, she returned to St. Paul, Minnesota where she taught mechanical drawing at Mechanic Arts High School.  But she was destined for bigger things.

Enter Fred Harvey, the man who forged a tourism empire in the American Southwest.  Harvey may be best known for his bevy of pretty, wholesome Harvey Girls who came west to work in his hotels. But Mary Colter was never a Harvey girl.  In 1901 Harvey hired her to decorate the interior of the Alvarado Hotel in Albuquerque, New Mexico.  Her talents were recognized, and she began working full-time for Harvey’s company in 1910, moving from interior designer to architect.

As one of the few female architects in the country (although she was never licensed) Mary Colter completed 21 projects in 30 years for Fred Harvey.  She created a series of landmark hotels in places like Santa Fe, Gallup, New Mexico and Winslow, Arizona.  But her most famous and enduring work was done at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon.

Because she was fascinated with Native American architecture and the landscape of the Southwest, her Grand Canyon buildings took on this flavor and became her signature works.  She was a perfectionist with a reputation for bossiness, creating structures that looked ancient and rugged as soon as they were finished.

A chain-smoker, she often wore pants and a Stetson.  She knew how to shoot a pistol and was an avid collector of Indian jewelry.  Her collection numbered about a thousand pieces, and she wore rings on every finger.

Mary Colter lived to the age of 88.  By the end of her life, many of her important buildings had been abandoned or torn down.  Disheartened, she told a reporter, “There is such a thing as living too long.”

Her Grand Canyon buildings, however, have been preserved.  If you go there you can see them today, in all their haunting beauty.

Here’s a link to more photos of her work: 

http://www.friendsof1800.org/COLTER/colter.html

Have you seen Mary Colter’s buildings at Grand Canyon?  Do you have a favorite piece of architecture somewhere?

A Greek scholar as a girl, she wrote and published plays. She and her younger sister Camilla came to America in 1818 to see one of those plays.

After observing her surroundings while traveling, she wrote Views of Society and Manners in America. The book, ahead of its time, was widely read in Europe and established the author’s reputation as a savant.

During her travels, she met former presidents, Thomas Jefferson and James Madison. The tour gave her a first glimpse at slavery, after which she threw herself into abolitionism and wrote another book. Besides her efforts through the written word, she bought 640 acres of wilderness near Memphis and created a place where slaves could learn skills and adapt to freedom.

Fanny continued writing and lecturing, and in the late 1820s she took a position on equal property rights and equal educational opportunities for women. Ahead of her time, she promoted fair divorce laws and accessible birth control.

Public speaking was an activity reserved for men, and Fanny took sharp criticism. Scandalous gossip was directed at her, preachers denounced her, and the press characterized her as “a female monster whom all decent people ought to avoid.” Tall and imposing, she was eloquent and her speeches effective.

Her signature look was an all-white suit or dress, and she carried a copy of The Declaration of Independence, often referring to it. In 1829 she founded the Workingmen’s Association in New York City and in the 1830s was a supporter of the Jacksonian democracy. In 1831 she married.

After having two children, she wrote a book in 1838 calling for world government. She divorced in 1852, perhaps utilizing those divorce laws she’d fought so hard for, and died a few months later after falling on the ice.

Fanny Wright will live on in history as the first female public speaker and a fierce advocate for women’s rights.

I admire strong women. Meredith Abbot in my October Christmas novella is just that. Daughter of a railroad tycoon, the only thing expected of her is to marry well. She’s doing her best, but a snowstorm and a sexy U.S. Marshal derail her plans. When outlaws ambush their Pullman, Jonah Cavanaugh discovers Meredith is no shrinking violet.

I’d love to send an advance copy to someone who comments today!

LADY GYPSY was my 2nd book with Dorchester and was initially released the month the Towers came down.  For those of us unfortunate enough to have new releases out during that chaotic time, our distribution took a huge hit.  There were days when I wondered if my book ever got out of the New York warehouse.

Thanks to the raging popularity of ebooks, though, LADY GYPSY is alive again and has reminded me how fascinating Gypsies were.  Liza, the heroine, is one of my all-time favorites.  Fathered by a Gaje (non-Gypsy) she never knew, she and her Gypsy mother are outcasts by her people.  By the sheer nature of her story and the life she was forced to live,  she’s unique and colorful.  The way I depicted her with the obstacles she must overcome were true.

Let me share with you some of the Gypsy ways:

Scratching – Most Gypsies were highly suspicious of the Gaje.  When they encountered one they deemed unwelcome, they would scratch themselves or start coughing violently, giving the implication they possessed a skin or lung ailment which quite effectively sent the Gaje scurrying.  They would take this skill into the Gaje stores, too, a butcher shop, for example.  After scratching and scratching, they would freely touch hams or sausages.  The disgusted butcher would send them on their way with the ‘soiled’ meat free of charge or at a drastically reduced price.

With their possessions few, from time to time the Gypsy would stop at a farmhouse and ‘borrow’ something they needed, say a pair of scissors or an old pot.  The Rom (Gypsies) found it unecessary to return the item to its owner; they would simply leave it behind when they were finished with it.  In their minds, they weren’t ‘keeping’ the item, and besides, another kumpania (family group) would come along and could use it as well.

Vurma - leaving signs or messages along a trail.  If a Gypsy had to break camp quickly to avoid the police, they would leave signs for family members left behind.  They’d hang bits of material or lengths of colored thread on tree branches slightly higher than the normal range of vision, choosing branches pointing in the direction they’d left.   Pinecones, small heaps of stones, chicken bones, broken glass, etc. would be used, too, pointing the way if there were no trees along the road.

Ghost Vomit (Johai) –  The Rom believed a spirit called ‘little grandmother’ (Mamioro) brought disease and fed on filth.  They believed she left behind ghost vomit (slime found on garbage) which could heal Gypsy ills.  Mixed with flour and baked until it was hard, the Gypsy would chip off small pieces and carry it in their bujo, a small medicine bag.  Johai would be mixed with garlic and pepper and other herbs, placed in a small bag, then sewn into an unbaptized child’s clothing, for example, or a sick person’s clothing, to keep them safe.

Marhime – Most of us think of Gypsies as being eternally dirty in their shabby clothes, uncombed hair and bare feet, but in truth, they were fanatics in their cleanliness rituals.  A woman was considered marhime (dirty) from the waist down.  If her skirt hems touched a man besides her husband, he was soiled by her and considered unclean, a source of shame amongst the kumpania.  If her skirts brushed against plates, cups or drinking glasses, they had to be destroyed. 

While parked along a riverbank, a kumpania followed five different orders for drawing water.  Water for cooking and drinking was taken farthest upstream; next to that, water for washing dishes and bathing.  Farther downstream, water for horses, then water for washing clothes, and lastly, the water used for the clothes of pregnant or menstruating women.  Right down to using separate buckets for each use.

However odd we might think it, this custom of considering women marhime assured her of both privacy and protection, giving her dignity, power, and a sense of mystery to men.  Not necessarily a bad thing, eh?

These are only a few of the strange Gypsy beliefs that I”ve incorporated into Liza’s world.   To read more:

LADY GYPSY, Kindle Edition

LADY GYPSY, Nook Edition

Also available at Smashwords!

Do you know of any other customs, Gypsy or otherwise?  Do you or your family have any quirks the rest of us would think a bit strange?

With all the recent hoopla about Paul Revere’s ride going on LOL, I came across a valiant young woman who fell through the cracks of history. Sybil Ludington, America’s female Paul Revere, took a night time ride through Dutchess County, New York in 1777 to warn the militia that the British were burning the town of Danbury, Connecticut.

She was 16. 

Sybil, whose name is spelled many ways (she herself signed “Sebal” to her Revolutionary War Pension application), was one of twelve children born to a respected officer of the 7th Regiment of the Dutchess County Militia. Colonel Henry Ludington later became an aide for General George Washington. 

She had just turned sixteen in April 1877 when twenty transports and six warships bearing a total of 2,000 British troops landed at Fairfield, Connecticut, moving eight miles inland. They harmed no private property along the way. 

They were after the storehouses of Continental Army supplies that had recently been moved to Danbury, Connecticut for safe keeping. Unfortunately, the stores of food, tents, clothing, wine and rum were poorly guarded. Rather than destroy the wine and rum, British soldiers consumed it, and drunken troops started fires as military discipline waned. 

Messengers were set afield to announce the arrival of the British and the fires. 

Upon hearing the news from a messenger, Colonel Ludington tried to round up his scattered 400-man militia, but night had fallen thick and stormy. The exhausted messenger, unfamiliar with the outlying area, was of little help. So Sybil stepped up to ride out and alert the settlers. 

Whether she volunteered or her father instructed her with the route, no one knows for sure.

What is known is, Sybil began her ride in heavy rain about nine p.m. She traveled 40 miles from her home. Returning the next day, she not only had avoided capture by British soldiers in the area, but had outrun British loyalists, and “Skinners” –outlaws who cared about neither side. 

Although Colonel Ludington’s militia arrived too late to save Danbury, they fought the Brits as they left the area.

After the war, Sybil married a Catskill lawyer, Edmond Ogden, and had one son, Henry. Upon her death at 77 in February, 1839, Sybil was buried near her father in the historic Maple Avenue Cemetery in Patterson, NY. Today, historical markers trace her route, and a sculpture by artist Anna Huntington commemorates Sybil’s ride can be seen on the shore of Lake Geneida in Carmel NY. 

Poet Berton Braley penned a clever take on Longfellow:

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of a lovely feminine Paul Revere
Who rode an equally famous ride
Through a different part of the countryside,
Where Sybil Ludington’s name recalls
A ride as daring as that of Paul’s.

In April, Seventeen Seventy-Seven,
A smoky glow in the eastern heaven
(A fiery herald of war and slaughter)
Came to the eyes of the Colonel’s daughter.
“Danbury’s burning,” she cried aloud.
The Colonel answered, “‘T is but a cloud,
A cloud reflecting the campfires’ red,
So hush you, Sybil, and go to bed.”

“I hear the sound of the cannon drumming”
“‘T is only the wind in the treetops humming!
So go to bed, as a young lass ought,
And give the matter no further thought.”
Young Sybil sighed as she turned to go,
“Still, Danbury’s burning–that I know.”

Sound of a horseman riding hard
Clatter of hoofs in the manoryard
Feet on the steps and a knock resounding
As a fist struck wood with a mighty pounding.
The doors flung open, a voice is heard,
“Danbury’s burning–I rode with word;
Fully half of the town is gone
And the British–the British are coming on.
Send a messenger, get our men!”
His message finished the horseman then
Staggered wearily to a chair
And fell exhausted in slumber there.

The Colonel muttered, “And who, my friend,
Is the messenger I can send?
Your strength is spent and you cannot ride
And, then, you know not the countryside;
I cannot go for my duty’s clear;
When my men come in they must find me here;
There’s devil a man on the place tonight
To warn my troopers to come–and fight.
Then, who is my messenger to be?”
Said Sybil Ludington, “You have me.”

“You!” said the Colonel, and grimly smiled,
“You!” My daughter, you’re just a child!”
“Child!” cried Sybil. “Why I’m sixteen!
My mind’s alert and my senses keen,
I know where the trails and the roadways are
And I can gallop as fast and as far
As any masculine rider can.
You want a messenger? I’m your man!”

The Colonel’s heart was aglow with pride.
“: Spoke like a soldier. Ride, girl, ride
Ride like the devil; ride like sin;
Summon my slumbering troopers in.
I know when duty is to be done
That I can depend on a Ludington!”

So over the trails to the towns and farms
Sybil delivered the call to arms.
Riding swiftly without a stop
Except to rap with a riding crop
On the soldiers’ doors, with a sharp tattoo
And a high-pitched feminine halloo.
“Up! up there, soldier. You’re needed, come!
The British are marching!” and the drum
Of her horse’s feet as she rode apace
To bring more men to the meeting place.

Sybil grew weary and faint and drowsing,
Here limbs were aching, but still she rode
Until she finished her task of rousing
Each sleeping soldier from his abode,
Showing her father, by work well done,
The he could depend on a Ludington.

Dawn in the skies with its tints of pearl
And the lass who rode in a soldier’s stead
Turned home, only a tired girl
Thinking of breakfast and then of bed
With never a dream that her ride would be
A glorious legend of history;
Nor that posterity’s hand would mark
Each trail she rode through the inky dark,
Each path to figure in song and story
As a splendid, glamorous path of glory–
To prove, as long as the ages run,
That “you can depend on a Ludington.”

Such is the legend of Sybil’s ride
To summon the men from the countryside
A true tale, making her title clear
As a lovely feminine Paul Revere!

Although I’ll feature more of “our” horses in a future blog, I couldn’t resist showing you baby Jasper and his mama. And the rescue of horses brought to mind something I’d seen on a History Channel program long ago, about a woman fighting to preserve and protect the wild horses and burros on the American plains. I couldn’t remember the rescuer’s name. Mustang Sally stuck in my mind. But researching her, I found out she was “Wild Horse Annie”, otherwise known as Velma Johnston. 

Truth is, the moniker “Wild Horse Annie” was given to her as a pejorative by men who thought her cause amusing, if not silly. But she wore it as a badge of courage.

 Born in Washoe, Nevada, in 1912, Velma Bronn grew up on her parents’ “Lazy Double Heart Ranch”. Here she learned all about the humane treatment of horses and training them by gentle methods. A childhood bout of polio had her in a body cast for six months and left her with some disfigurements that caused cruelty from her schoolmates. This led her to concentrate on studies and the animals in her life. 

After her marriage to Charles Johnston, she and her husband took over the operation of her family ranch, later turning  it into a “dude” ranch for children. And Velma took a job as a secretary for an insurance company.

 At this time, no humane laws protected the herds of wild horses descended from the horses and burros left behind by explorers, conquistadors, miners, and pioneers. Most ended up slaughtered for pet foods, and the capture methods were horrific. Hard to write, but many were chased by airplanes or trucks until they collapsed from exhaustion, nostrils then wired shut, necks tied to truck tires while the vehicle continued its chase. After that horror, animals were packed so tightly in truck beds they couldn’t move, or fell and were trampled.

Velma was to write that she knew airplanes were used to capture the mustangs, but the practice didn’t touch her directly until 1950, when her ignorance was jarred.  While driving to work one day, she watched blood dripping from the truck in front of her and followed it to a rendering plant. Outraged and sickened by what she saw, especially the suffering and death of a year-old foal, Velma vowed to do something to keep this horror from happening again.

Her efforts got her Nevada county to pass a ban on the aircraft capture in 1952, and to pass laws that prevented round up by vehicles on private property. Nonetheless, federal lands were exempt…and 80% of Nevada was federal land. But Velma continued her fight.  On 8 September 1959, her efforts resulted in the federal law prohibiting the hunting and capture of horses on state land. Public Law 86-234 became known as the Wild Horse Annie Act.

 In 1971, under Velma’s influence, Congress unanimously passed the Wild Free-Roaming Horses and Burros Act, which banned capture, injury or disturbances of wild horses and burros, and for their transfer to suitable areas when populations became too large. 

Before her death from cancer in 1977 at age 65, Velma had been featured in Time magazine, and is said to have inspired Marilyn Monroe’s’ character in Arthur Miller’s 1961 Western, The Misfits. Appearing as herself, Velma starred alongside Lloyd Bridges and Dina Merrill in the 1973 Western, Running Wild. 

Of course there are still “gathers” (round-ups) and controversy, mismanagement and claims of mistreatment, but that’s something for another blog, another day.

 For today, I just loved learning about another strong Woman of the West.