Fashion that Kills: Clothing and the Crimean War

It's no secret I love clothes. I literally have a wardrobe built on the premise that wearing plaid button ups with the right striped tie is an attainable victory every day.

This is what I did recently with a tie of mine for a work function:

The Eldridge Knot, worn at a past work event; definitely a hit with the donors.

I think most people would agree that when they enjoy dressing themselves it's a relationship between them and the story that their clothes carry with them. What you wear can say a lot about you, and when I have the most fun with clothing is when someone else sees a story there, or gets excited about what it is I'm doing with the patterns, colors or cuts of the cloth. The best is when I get into conversations I never thought I'd have access to. Case in point: you can't imagine how many straight, middle-aged men stopped me at work while I was donning the Eldridge knot. A door had suddenly opened to a group of people I normally wouldn't have any common connection with. Awesome.

Hurray for History

Now, I love history. Or rather, I love to absorb random pockets of history because I can't possibly consume all the history that is out there--so I get obsessed with learning about particular time periods in a certain area and the people involved. Hence my watching 14 hours of Ken Burns' Civil War documentary not too long ago.

Most recently that has turned into my obsession with the demise of Yugoslavia and the last hundred years of wars in the Balkans.

You know. Like you do.

In talking to my mother, who we can safely say is to blame for my love of playing dress up, we started getting into a fascinating conversation:  apparently, there are a LOT of popular fashion items that have a brutal history to them.

Fashion That Killed

When we think of fashion and famous fights, I think the most obvious (and recently re-popularized in 2013) fashion trend would be this one:

The Gladiator Sandal:

Now if the mosaics in Roman archeological sites are any indication of truth, these were totally worn by gladiators. Technically they were just a universal shoe in Roman culture. But, you have to admit, the mosaics depicting gladiatorial fights kind of makes it hard not to think of them as... well, gladiatorial. Side note: I wonder what they would do if any of these men knew they'd one day be inspiring the likes of Serena Gomez to be chic and Summer-y, yet casual.

Detail of Gladiator mosaic, a Thraex (left) fighting a Murmillo (right), Römerhalle, Bad Kreuznach
© Carole Raddato

I didn't realize, however, there were several additions to modern clothing that came about relatively recently. In doing more research on some of my favorite items of clothing, I found out that they're all linked together in a surreal series of historical events.

Still Crimean After All These Years

First off...

The Raglan Sleeve:

This first item was actually created prior to the 1850's--I'll circle back to how it's linked to the Crimean War later. But, I bring it up because it's a great example of where fashion meets practicality. 

Now, you might recognize this design from your favorite intramural baseball team. There's a reason why this shirt is oh-so-popular in sports: the seam that goes diagonally across the shoulder makes for easier movement. 

It was created by the tailor of Lord Raglan. Lord Raglan had lost his arm in the Battle of Waterloo (the decisive battle that ended Napoleon's campaign to take over the European continent). He was adored and adorned in medals for his service. And he made a nifty addition to sportswear.

Field Marshal FitzRoy James Henry Somerset, 1st Baron Raglan.  Note: Raglan Sleeve not painted.

Getting dressed is hard when you've lost your favored arm. And thanks to his tailor, he had a sleeve cap to the shoulder, as opposed to a  hard vertical line up and down between arm and chest. This just made getting dressed easier. Now I'm curious how many fashion trends have been created out of a need to help someone with a physical disability...

Moving on to....

The Balaclava:

You might recognize this from every modern terrorist group ever.

Now this was actually popularized during the Crimean War (if you're having a hard time placing the Crimean War think Florence Nightengale, the phrase 'thin red line' and Tennyson's poetry). These knit helmets were sent over to British troops from England to Ukraine. Apparently it was freezing in Ukraine. Absolutely frigid. So, what to do instead of stop fighting over territories you're not actually native to but claim sovereignty over? Wear knit helmets, that's what!

I find it ironic that the first group that came to my mind when seeing a balaclava was actually IRA terrorists, setting car bombs off on the English

Next, we move on to...

The Cardigan:

Oh, how I love my cardis. They are oh-so-dapper with the right button up and tie. But, cardigan sweaters apparently also come from a very real need for comfort during wartime.

Again, during the Crimean War they were popularized amongst soldiers along with those lovely balaclavas. It was named after the famous British Army Major General James Brudenell, the 7th Earl of Cardigan. Hah!

Major General James Brudenell, Earl of Cardigan (cardigan sweater not pictured).

Fun fact? This is the guy that lead the Charge of the Light Brigade. The same Light Brigade that poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson immortalized in his poetry. Generally speaking, when people describe your mission as charging into a valley of death, things aren't looking too perky. But, you will be remembered for being heroic--as well as getting an adorable sweater named after you.

Fashion That Kills

Now. After doing this research a couple things became clear:  if it looks good, it'll stay fashionable. And also, it is a very, very small world.

Here's an odd fact: years after the Raglan Sleeve took off, Lord Raglan ALSO ended up serving in the Crimean War. Even though he had a successful beginning to his military career, things didn't go well for him in Crimea. He was part of the confused and ill-communicated orders that resulted in the Charge of the Light Brigade. Easy-to-get-into-shirts or no, Raglan wasn't very popular. He was  blamed routinely by the press for the lack of clothing and supplies for the British Troops, which again resulted in the massive shipment of balaclavas and cardigans. He died during the War. But, not from war wounds; he was older, weak, and severely depressed by the troublesome and ill-conceived military campaigns he was part of. 

In thinking about all of this, I find it even more surreal that this very same stretch of land is in conflict right now. Crimea has gone back to being a Russian territory. It's like it's 1854 all over again. 

Also startling, Russian "masked gunman" have taken over Ukranian governmental buildings. They're wearing something you now might recognize with a tinge of historical hindsight:

This was the latest article on the Ukranian crisis on BBC World News today.

Cry-me-a' River

I have no grandiose message here--if I were to sum everything up it would probably be that clothing and how it comes into our cultures is more powerful than you might think. Don't assume just cause it's clothing it can't carry a wallop to it. I would also say that it's ironic who wears what today, given the history behind it all.

I think we use clothing to hide. But, the beauty of clothing is that it also ultimately is a lens through which the true inner self shines through. When I think of balaclavas, I think of restless angry men wanting to look impressive, terrifying and devoid of humanity. But, at the same time I see someone so desperate to be anonymous out of fear of repercussions over their behavior. How human can you get?

-Beryl

What's Portuguese for Opossum?

Back in July I was plagued by a problem—there was a noise I needed to recreate and I had a limited schedule of rehearsals of Cat in the Hat to figure it out. This was aside from the other initial problem I had when first approached to do the show, which was not knowing whether it was a book about a cat inside a hat versus a feline with fashion forward style.

It was an easy mistake, people. Also seriously, children's books have LONG SINCE jumped the shark, with such notable titles as these: "Mommy, Why is There a Server in the House?" and "It Hurts When I Poop!" And my personal favorite:

Is it wrong that what I actually find offensive about this is the father's hair?

Needle is to Haystack as Noise is to THE WORLD

Now back to the noise.

I tried asking friends who are musicians. I went to local music shops that specialized in unique instruments. I tried the larger chain stores that promised to teach its incoming patrons to be a genius on guitar in ten lessons or less. And in attempting to imitate the noise with my voice, I got a lot of strange looks and very little else in return, outside of an offer for the first guitar lesson for free so long as I'd stop scaring the other customers.

I came back home and tried to Google it. But, that in of itself surmised my problem: how do you Google a noise? How do you describe a sound?

I'm Copyrighting the Idea for the App for This

Time was creeping by. I was working under multiple hats for the show (sound designer, composer, live musician and sound effect maker) for an amazing local theatre company, Bay Area Children’s Theatre Company. They do wonderful work and I was lucky to work for them. There's no punchline coming up with this paragraph, btw. I am unabashedly plugging BACT. Go see a show and see why it's worth it to pay for live theatre again.

If you know your Dr. Seuss, you’ll understand why I was on the hunt for noises that sounded like chaos; I was looking for sounds to help underscore the moment when two characters, Thing 1 and Thing 2, destroy everything in a house. I had several noises in mind, noises I had access to (discordant toy piano, cymbals crashing, off-tempo booms on drums). But, this infernal unknown noise kept popping up in my head as a potential alternative. Rehearsals were flying by and the rest of the design continued on, leaving my anonymous noise in the dust. All I wanted was to Shazam my my voice and call it a day. The technology is there but my app--YouToot, as I like to think of it--doesn't exist. Yet.

A Seal Giving Birth or a Manakin Mating Call?

He is. Just watch him dance.

I couldn't let it go. Even long after the show ended, I kept looking--er, hearing for it. When asked, I described the sound as, “somewhere between a tropical bird honking and a harbor seal having a baby.” If you Google that you immediately get routed off to the Everglades National Park Flora & Fauna website, which was interesting but not exactly helpful. 

One thing that occurred to me though, upon reading about the size, weight and nautical speed of an alligator, is that the sound I was convinced existed (contrary to the raised eyebrows I got when describing it) sounded organic: it sounded like a living thing. And therefore, could be created through some form of friction, either air passing through, quickly, or a skin of some sort was being stretched and rubbed for the effect of an exaggerated squawk. This was the first clue. 

So, in combination with the fact that I knew this instrument wasn’t your average string, wood or brass instrument, I started to look up weird percussion instruments, and just for fun, weird percussion instruments that you’d find near tropical birds. This in turn brought me to the courting noises of the manakin bird and this illuminating video of animal noises in different languages, which reminded me of David Sedaris' Christmas essay 6 to 8 Black Men.

Now you see how this process easily could get off track. Eventually though, I stumbled onto Brazilian Samba percussion instruments, which finally brought me to the cuíca.

Meet Caluromys Philander, the Bare-tailed Woolly Opossum, aka La Cuíca

This little weird creature wrapped in what looks like green leathery felt (we're coming full circle now with animals and clothing) makes an odd, high-pitched sound. It's native to Brazil, and as such is called 'la cuíca' colloquially. I'd like to note that on the possum's wikipage it is classified as "Least Concern" on the scale of conservation status. Aside from the offensive nature to being a least concern to humans, I feel like taking the International Union for Conservation of Nature aside and pointing out the incredibly fertile ground for new, creative naming opportunities they're missing out on here. How about, "We didn't even know you existed so that's probably why you're still alive! Yay!" which pairs wonderfully with the updated extinct status, "We didn't even know you existed so that's probably why you're now all dead!" and the ever-hopeful, "You shit gold, therefore you shall become our idol. Praise thee, non-humanoid creature." By these new naming standards I've just come up with, I would like to knight the Bare-tailed Woolly Opossum with the conservation status of, "There are too many of you to kill and we don't eat your meat that much. Go, thrive."

Meet Puíta, the Brazilian friction drum, aka La Cuíca

Not the lady. The hand drums next to the lady. Focus, people.

Anyway, going back to the unique sound this animal makes, there is an Afro-Brazilian friction drum, a cuíca, which (you've guessed it) apparently sounds just like its namesake, the cuíca opossum.

The way the instrument works is there is a piece of wood stuck in between a regular cylindrical open-ended hand-drum, and the friction of rubbing the wood stick up and down with a cloth causes a vibration into the skin of the drum. These vibrations ripple outward, thus creating a series of tonal noises and screeches, depending on the strength and pressure of the strokes. If you Google it, you’ll hear my tropical bird and/or harbor seal giving birth, although sadly there aren’t many demonstration videos of its opossum namesake. Here's a professional cuíca player:

After all that, I was content I didn't end up using the noise. For one, the good quality ones are expensive and even the fake ones involve using two hands, which I was not able to spare while playing discordant piano noises, crashing a cymbal and kicking a bass drum. But, knowing what it was felt cathartic—I hadn’t been going insane, this was something that existed and continues to be a vibrant, if not quirkily unique, addition to musical world.

Sound is Stories

After going through this round robin research it ocurred to me that if I had had the name cuíca to begin with, I would have had my answer weeks in advance, whether or not the sound was appropriate. For three months all I wanted was to Shazam my description or my voice and call it a day. I know the technology is there--but my app, YouToot, as I like to think of it, doesn't exist. Yet. However, even the process of finding this sound has now in turn become a story to tell. Kind of meta when you think about it. When I told Dad about this he gave me this book for Christmas. Fiona gave us mudmasks. 

A Baker Christmas: Pores and Patents

The issue of not even having a language to describe all the noises we experience every day gets to the heart of why it is I love expressing stories with sound. It is a fluid processs of discovery. While I didn’t end up using the cuíca as part of my design, it is just one of a myriad of instruments I’ve come across while trying to find the most fitting audio to tell a story. For many people, stories are considered as existing solely within the domain of words. Yet, the first stories were all heard and memorized, passed audibly from group to group. Kind of like... the story of Jesus.... and how that was first told and retold. 

What? I'm trying to link this to Christmas as much as possible, guys. 

Sound is Community
But, seriously. Think about it. The birth of Christ was first experienced aurally. Well, not for Mary. I'm pretty sure she felt that one (although you could argue hearing is feeling--I'm sure pregnant women everywhere would argue there's a difference between music and your vagina passing a baby). For the rest of us though, the most important story for the majority of the Western world was aural in nature for the first 1200 years of its existence. Gutenberg's and Luther's Bibles weren't printed until the 1450s and 1534, respectively, even though requests to the Holy Roman Empire for colloquial translations started as early as the 8th century. Not to hammer the point home, but when you think about it further--and this is the part that warms me to the core--each Sunday this story is still being told. As opposed to an hour of quiet reading time at Church, we're hearing this story each week. 

Sound is communal in nature. And I find personal meaning in openly connecting and re-connecting myself over and over with the aural world. It's why I am a sound designer. It's definitely why I am a musician and a performer. In my ever-growing search for the right sounds I am comforted that there is probably a noise--or measured silence--to tell even the smallest stories. The question now is how to find them--and how to hear for them. 

-Beryl

p.s. the average speed of an alligator has been clocked around 10 mph. But, consensus is that they can go much faster in short bursts. And if you are more than welcome to test that theory.  

The Middle-Aged Librarian WWII Spy You Never Knew About

My friend Danielle requested I create a comic-book version of Shakespeare's play Antony and Cleopatra.  While I think a) there very much should be a comic book version of every tragedy play ever written by Shakespeare and b) I would be the perfect candidate to draft these, I c) don't have the time to draw it.  Yet.

Instead, this week I am going to introduce you to yet another woman who isn't nearly as famous as she should be.  This is part of my Random Acts of Hindsight Feminism (see: Anna Mae Wong and Nicolaa De La Haye or the post inspired by Dr. Marlene Zuk).  Looking back, I am shocked that these women are not nearly as famous as their male counterparts. 

Feminist whingeing aside, I have found a new woman to admire for her gumption, her gallantry and un-gripulous nature.  Don't ask me how I got that last 'g' word.  It's incredibly hard to find a good 'g' word.*

Rose Valland

Oh sure, you might have barely noticed her.  You might have decided, as I think most would, to look at the Giant Naked Lady instead.  

You might have completely ignored that mousey little woman with her pristine stereotypical Librarian fashion.  

But, you see, so did the Nazis.  

Godwin's Law Doesn't Count When You're Actually Having A Discussion About WWII, Right?  

The Nazis, I think all sane people can agree, are an emblem of When Humans Go Really, Really--No, Really--Bad.  I am not going to summarize what they did or even entertain the idea of explaining why they're bad because if you HAVEN'T learned about their actions during World War II by now you grew up in a walnut shell.  Or you're a crazy maladjusted dictator of Iran.  Just saying.

So among the many horrible things this army did systematically, the German Army in the 1940s began an enormous, secretive operation of art proliferation.  After the invasion of France in 1940 and the "armistice" between France and Germany was signed and ratified, Hitler and Goehring had a particular surreal project in mind:  the confiscation of cultural artifacts they liked and the eradication of everything else.

Keep in mind, Adolf Hitler applied to the Akademie der Bildenden Künste Wien, aka the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts, as a painter.  He was denied admission.  Twice.**  

That's where Rose Valland comes in.

You May Have A Systematic Way Of Looting But We've Got An Art Historian With A Memory Like A Polyurethane Mattress 

I can't help it.  I like someone automatically if they're a smoker.***  

Rose was the overseer of the Jeu de Paume Museum in Paris right when that armistice went through. Hitler had just decided not to obliterate Paris.  Among the many odd facts about Hitler, he both adored and envied Paris and was "happy" when he finally got to visit the city.  It seems a bit hypocritical to point out as an American, but I always thought one doesn't have to overrun a country to become a tourist.

Anyway, the Germans created an organization solely dedicated to systematic looting of the occupied territories.  It was called the Einsatzstab Reichsleiter Rosenberg für die Besetzen Gebietesay that three times fastor the ERR for short.  The ERR used the Jeu de Paume as their central storage and sorting unit before sending thousands of pieces of art--pieces of culture--to Germany.

Emptied frames of the works stolen by the Nazis during WWII

I Spy With My German-Fluent Eye


Rose was a quiet woman.  She didn't dress flamboyantly and didn't cause much attention, which is a good thing because for over four years she recorded the distribution and looting of over 20,000 pieces of art.  Much to the German's chagrin, Rose could also understand German.  


Imagine that sweet, quiet librarian you always thought nothing of, spying on every conversation between brutal, murderous Nazis.  She would just sit there, soaking up the information, memorizing the names, titles and locations of every piece, and would later write it down every night in a secret journal to be distributed to the Allied Forces if and when the invasion would occur.  She also risked her life to send this information the French Underground so that bombs wouldn't be dropped on the trains shipping out the priceless pieces of art. 

And that's why you should know about Rose Antonia Maria Valland.  Yes, she has been awarded and remembered by the French Government for her incredible work.  She published the book Le front de l'art in 1961 describing her incredible story and proceeded to become the chair of many artistic preservation boards.  However, I would have much preferred to learn about her during my sparse education of important women in, say, middle school or high school or hell even in college.  The fact that I'm learning about her now leads me to believe that many other Americans have no idea about her.

So, remember:  Rose Valland.

Bad. Ass.

-Beryl

*I think I now understand why the 'g' spot is not called the 's' spot or the 'f' spot because in English, well, it wouldn't be as nearly evasive, wouldn't it?

**Please now join with me in the ritual "What if...?" and imagine how Adolf Hilter might have handled Art 135B, Introduction to Charcoal and Pencil.  Would he have been the type to break his pencil lead repeatedly, unfamiliar with the medium, only to then stab it in his professor's chest for getting a low mark?  Or would he have instead rushed with a fury at his own canvas during Elementary Oil Painting 11 because the damn thing wouldn't dry instantly unlike his darling little watercolor paints?  Personally, I like to envision Hitler after graduating from art school, unable to be taken seriously as a real artist, and ending up trapped in a job as a greeting card artist for slogans like "A Special Message for Someone Special!" or "Miracles come in all sizes!" and "Eye will always luv u!" That last slogan would have to have an image of a cute kitten with big eyes or a magnifier on a happy baby's eyeball or something.  And yes, all slogans would have to be in Comic Sans MS.

***Small Disclaimer:  I like you automatically if you're a smoker but only if you're also French, female and a middle-aged Spy working against the Nazis.

Cricket Love

So I was listening to npr (big shock there) the other day and I got stuck--you know, stuck in the car because you don't want to stop listening to what's playing.

Marlene Zuk (caption later added)

It was with Marlene Zuk, a professor of biology from UC Riverside.  She's just come out with a new fanch-schmancy book (hence the npr interview) and it's called Sex On Six Legs.

I can't help it.  My nerdy little brain just went POP when I heard that there was a book out there talking specifically about the kinky activities of insects.  It combines two things I am naturally fascinated by:  weird ass natural science and sex.  What more could I want?  That meeting I was going to could wait another few minutes, right?  Who needs to talk about the future of my company's finances when there is a discussion going on about cricket sex?  Not I, said the fly.*  Wait, did I tell you I'm one of nine people who founded a theatre company?  I didn't?  Next blog post.

It's My Party And I'll Write About Insect Sex If I Want To

Anyway, fun fact about Marlene Zuk that I just learned:  she got her Ph.D the year I was born.  Another fun fact:  my birthday is next Friday (if you don't buy me a present then I will make this blog invisible to you).  I was planning on just taking the week off from the blog this time around since my scheduled Tuesday posts have been thrown out of wack now.  But, I figured.  Hey.  If  it's my birthday week then this means I get to write about crickets having sex.  Because that's what I do with my free time.  Don't judge.

So here's the story.  Field Crickets in Hawaii were introduced back in 1877.   From what I've learned, whenever I see the words "introduced" alongside a year in the 1800s it usually means White People Ships Crawling With Invasive Species scraping up onto the other beaches of the world.

For example...

A Dramatic Representation of the arrival of Invasive Diseases to The Bahamas

But, however it happened, these Austrailian field crickets (aka Teleogryllus oceanicus because that's easier to say) are now living and chirping away on Kauai island.  These are the bug(ger)s that Dr. Zuk was talking up to Dave Davies.

If you didn't already know, that chirping you hear on those classic summer nights are male crickets singing their hearts out (or wings, depending on how you look at it) to attract lady crickets.  Lady crickets are all about them nice vibrations (hey hey) and will go after the one with the best audio display. Same old story, those who breed get to pass on genes and those who don't get to become queer bloggers who work in theatre.  I mean, what?

Anyway, life would be fab as a male cricket, singing your love songs to your ladies on Kuai.  Except for the fact that there's just one hitch.

Someone else is listening.


No Really, This Is Creepy.

You know the classic story of a stalker-fan of someone's music gets too close and pulls a Mercy on you? Well, it turns out Mr. Singing Field Cricket has got one fan he doesn't want.  They're called the Ormia ochracea.  It's a parasitic fly (don't you get a little inner cringe every time you read "parasitic" in a sentence?).   According to Dr. Zuk, the female flucan "hear the song as well or better than a female cricket," and will land on the cricket, laying her eggs on and around the body of the guy.  The larvae then burrow and live off of the cricket's tissue for a week or so and then...

"They burst out like the movie Alien."

You know, Dr. Zuk.  I like it when the movie Alien is not reinforced as a reality in the natural world.  

Learning Dating Techniques From Crickets

The best part about this story is that around 2003 something changed.  A mutation occured in the male cricket population:  some male crickets are not able to sing.  They just... are tone deaf (re: don't rub their wings).  But, of course, if they don't sing how do they get to pass on their genes?  And if they don't pass on their genes, then how has this mutation continued to grow?

Turns out, insects are more shrewd than I am.  These silent males literally hang out around the dude who's singing, waiting for the females to literally mistake them for him.  It's like sitting around at a campfire, while Grace Slick is singing folk songs, meanwhile you're Yoko Ono off to the side listening and some hot-hottie comes up to you and is like "Hey.  I love your voice.  C'mon.  Let's get out of here."

And what are you going to do to right this moral wrong?  Nothing.  Nothing at all.  Because you're a cricket.  And you just want to live long enough to have sex and not get eaten by a parasitic fly out to plant her babies in your body.

I think we can all learn from the Silent Field Cricket.  I am now going to try and hang around Adele's next concert off to the side and whenever some cute-cutie walks by I'll be like "That's me singing" and all will be solved.  Right?

-Beryl

*But, unfortunately Me, said the B.  Don't worry, theatre kids.  I went to the meeting and was on time.  But oh you BETCHA I listened to the feed on the npr website later on that evening.  Now you can listen too.


EDITED TO ADD:  Just FYI, I actually like Yoko Ono.  She's badass and has put up with a lot of crap over the years.  I just prefer Grace Slick when it comes to vocal power.   

13th Century Wave of Feminism: Nicolaa De La Haye

Nicolaa just makes me want to cuddle up with a castle.

Born around 1150AD, and a descendent of a lord in Lincolnshire, Nicola eventually inherited the role of "Constable of Lincoln Castle" (just think CEO of your own real estate that included battle axes).  

One day the French came to invade (as they often did during the Middle Ages) and that day turned into a month-long siege.  

You'd think that'd be the end of Nicolaa and her haye.  But, no.

Nicolaa held out.

 She went on to direct the defense against her attackers and eventually beat them out.

With the defeat of the French (which would later be known as The Second Battle for Lincoln, as part of The First Baron's War*) she basically stopped England from being invaded again.  Ironically, her descendants were the invaders from the first invasion (aka the Normans) but we won't go there today.

*Side note:  this is also the War that lead to the signing of the Magna Carta.  Magna Carta = the founding document and basis for all human rights equality in the Western world.  Just kind of important.

Anyway, Nicolaa didn't stop after saving the country.  During the battle, a knight by the name of William Marshal came to help defend her castle against the French.  But, as a reward for his chivalry he went back to London to try and "legally" take her rights to the castle away.  Far from a wallflower, Nicolaa follows after Marshal to London, approaches the courts and re-secures the castle under her name.

More Feminist Whinging

So, why did I get only Joan of Arc when I could have had not-crazy, job-security-savvy woman? 

I know this is an old complaint.  But, seriously women existed as long as men have--women who were just as smart or just as capable--and yes, just as naive and asinine--as the men around them.  So where are they to be found in the history books?  Where are the stories that allow women to be finally more than just an exception to the rule?  

Yes, we all know the names of those exceptional exceptions to the rule because they were incredible.  But, I want more than just that because exceptions leave you with a huge gap of knowledge of how they got there and also what made them so exceptional in the first place.  Nicolaa was exceptional yes, but she was also down to earth and still worked in a system that was fully endorsed and run by the men in power around her.  

When learning about the Middle Ages in school all I remember is that guys got to hear about the politicians, scientists and inventors that defined relationships between the universe and life.  Meanwhile, girls got to learn about a schizophrenic fundamentalist nutso who got burned at the stake.

It's just that, in between Hatshepsut and Hilary Clinton, you know there have been millions of women that have lived.  It's still sobering to think we've got a small handful of names remembered.

-Beryl

My Family's Big Love: I'm Descended From Polygamists

Hi.


I got sick.  I caught a virus that rendered my throat incapable of doing anything a throat is made to do (pass breath, handle the food, the drink and the other body-stuffs we pretend doesn't happen, like food that burps back up but we swallow back down--I mean, what?).  


I'm trying to look on the positive side, though.  Right after my throat burned itself into a no-entry zone I found out that I do not have Herpes, HPV, or HIV/AIDS.  It was a win/sorta lose kind of moment.


Anyway, in getting so sick I deliberately separated myself as much as possible from my friends.  Being quarantined, I can say now from experience, is not fun.  I get antsy enough as it is when Downton Abbey episodes have run dry on Netflix.  So, in a vague attempt to avoid stir-craziness I started up my latest Campaign of Learning and began researching the people I could socialize with and avoid infecting:  my ancestors. 


You Know When You Kind of Know About Something But Don't Really Know It Until You Actually Start Researching What It Really Means And Then You Wish You Hadn't?

When I was a kid I had heard about my family on one side having more than one family.  Or that two sisters had the same husband.  Or that my grandpa had left a church.  I had asked questions about it in the past, but for some reason even after repetitive explanations from my mom and dad, it didn't quite sink in what it all really meant.


I started off with the photo that had confused me for a long, long time.  It had been sitting on the family mantel surrounded by a pretty antique metal frame.  One day, while hacking up my lung (and lunch), I decided to take a closer look inside and break out the photos to see what they said on the backs.  

This is how I destroy antiques.

Meet Charles Henry Haderlie:

Or, as he was fondly called back in Switzerland, Karl Heinrich Häderli. Yea, that last name was hard for me to pronounce first time I saw it.  Think "Hey!-D.A.R.E.-lie" Sounds kind of like an anti-drug abstinence program.


Karl--or as I like to think of him, Crazy Charley--was a polygamist.  No, that doesn't mean he was an avid gamer, as I had foolishly hoped. Charles had more than one wife.

To make matters even more intriguing, his wives were also sisters.


Meet The Schiesses.


Btws, Schiess is pronounced "sheess"not "shies," as I had again foolishly thought; that would have meant that they were the Shit family in Swiss.   

Mr and Mrs. Schiess and their children, Anna Barbara, Bertha (at age 5)  Jacob and John.

Around 1876 Johannes Ulrich Schiess, or as I like to think of him, Mr. I'm The Only One Whose Beliefs Matter, uprooted his entire family from their gorgeous little farm in Appenzell Switzerland to go Manifest Destiny with Joseph Smith and join the Church of Latter Day Saints.  


Big Love Just Got Very Real.


As hard as it may be to comprehend in the Post-3rd Wave Feminism world of the Bay Area, as hard as it is for me to see this as anything but some form of voodoo cult culture, the two daughters of Ulrich pictured above ended up being married to the same man, Crazy Charles Henry.  

Bertha (now age 17) with new hubby Charles Henry, who at the time was already married to her sister.

It gets better.


Meet The Haderlies.

Gotta love those 1940s up-doos and wide-lapel suits.  Pictured above are the thirteen--yes, thirteen--children of Bertha Schiess and Charles Henry Haderlie.  Just for kicks, here they are again as children in 1905, when Bertha had only had nine by that point:

The Haderlie 9; the baby is Mabel, little girl is Ina, top right is Clifford.

Déjà vu-Doo Cult?


Ok.  I really should stop passing judgment on polygamists.  I mean, without them and their crazy-breeding techniques, I would not exist.  Flat out that is the truth.


But.


Charles Henry didn't just marry two women.  He didn't marry just two sisters and have an exorbitant amount of kids with his second wife.  


He also was simultaneously making thirteen other children with Anna Barbara, Bertha's sister, bringing that up to 26 children total. 




Wait.  What?  


26 children.  From three people...you can get 26?  Don't women's uteruses fall out after their fifth child?    Don't men's penises fall off after the 10th?  I don't understand.


Apparently Charles Henry Haderlie did.  Like a crazed scientist, trying to force a "solution" to his original crack-pot idea, he placed the two sets of children and wife on either side of the Idaho and Wyoming state border, both along Tin Cup Creek. 


That's right.  That was the dude's solution.  


Got two families?  No prob.  Put them in different states.  That way, no one will know and no one will have the awkward family reunion moment of wearing the same genes to the same party.  


That was a bad pun.


I apologize. 


According to what we have from record accounts, the families did not consort with one another, but merely shared resources (one owned a ranch, the other a lumber mill).   And, apparently tensions ran particularly high after one incident where one of the boys from the mill got fresh with one of the girls from the ranch and he and his siblings were politely met with gunpoint by their half-brothers upon a return visit.


When Did Mormons Become a Fad?


If you're interested to know how I'm related to all of this, it's quite simple.  I'm the great-grand-daughter of one of those thirteen kids pictured above:  Clifford Moroni Haderlie, to be exact.  His eldest son, Eugene, is the very same Eugene who just celebrated his 90th birthday a week and a half ago, aka my grandpa.


Eugene politely declined to be a part of the Church of Latter Day Saints as a young man, and was excommunicated.  Our relatives who still belonged to the Church kept trying to get him to come back for a while afterwards but they stopped when my grandma (a British war bride who had survived the London Blitz) said she'd haunt them forever as a ghost even after she died if they kept it up.


They stopped calling after that.


Anyway, it seemed fitting to "come out" to everyone about my family's somewhat sordid history.  The Book of Mormon, written by South Park's creators, has become the latest broadway smash musical.  Also, Big Love, the HBO series on a fictional Utah polygamist family, just concluded with its last episode only a few weeks ago.  I find it oddly coincidental that the two head writers of Big Love, Mark V. Olsen and Will Scheffer are a gay male couple, as I now find myself in a slightly intriguing position:  


It's 2011 and here I am.  I am the great-grand-daughter of a devout Mormon family (among many others) and I am an out, lesbian atheist.  My existence is somewhat of the exact opposite of what Charles Henry Haderlie had intended in producing so many heirs; his religion was forgotten with my mom and standard procreation could easily stop with me and with that, his line of genes.

I find that fantastically sweet as a form of revenge, in the name of all and any women who were badgered into being second wives.  But, I don't like to end blogs on a vengeful note.  So, let's go back to genealogy.


WOO UPDATE:


This is Woo with HER extended family.  Here are her half siblings from the same mother.

Can you see the resemblance?

Woo, Blue and Roxy

Also, this is Woo's late mother, McKinley.

I like to think Woo got her mom's eyes.  Something about that bulginess and confused glassy stare...