Volume 14 , Issue 11

1st Woman To Vote In Congress Election (Mrs. C. W. Rogers)

The picture in that news article shows the first woman to vote in the Congress Election. It was Mrs. C. W. Rogers. It was in the 10 March 1918, Section 5, Magazine Section, page 17 that we found this article where suffrage worker tells her news in rhyme and opens up the glad Sprintime, as written by Eleanor Booth Simmons, and titled -- "And Now The Suffragette Doth Shine."

The rhyming article begins:

"Ruth Litt, a Suffolk farmerette
And justly famous suffragette,
is slated, it is said, to be
The Democratic nominee
for congress from the district where
her pumpkins grace the county fair.
The lady's coy; she laughs, "A fig
for office! -- come and see the pig
with which my farm, sirs, wolk'd away
with porcine prizes t'other day."
Still, if her country needs her, she
the Lady from New York may be.
The surf amendment still hangs fire,
and Jimmy Wadsworth wakes the ire
of women whom he (represents!!!!!)
and likewise many suffrage gents
because it seems he will vote true
to Mrs. Wadsworth's well known view,
to wit: That woman's place is home,
from which she should not ever roam
Except to fight the Feminists,
And Socialists, and suffragists --
that fearsome, awful three-in-one
That so obscures the antis' sun."

Ah well, a vulgar phrase to quote,
the Senator has got the goat
of every suffragist of note,
and Ida Harper says of him
that this will be the end of Jim,
so far as being Senator,
or President, or Governor,
or -- anything we're voting for.

Reprisal? Aye, and 'tis a tool
suffs have acquired, sirs, in your school.

They wish that bill was passed; the work
drags on them, yet they may not shirk.
Poor Mrs. Carrie Chapman Catt
is very tired of staying at
the town of Washington, D.C.
E'en like the good old antisa, she
doth sorely long at home to be.
Each morn she asks, in earnest tones,
of Suff Committee Chariman Jones:
"Is this the psychologic day!
Have we the votes to pass it? Say!
Is Chamberlain's appendix out
and is he back?-- But is there doubt
that Simmons will consent to pair? --
Is Calder, our good standby, there?" --
And still the Chairman counsels, "Wait!
'Tis not the psychologic date."

But Big Boss Mary Garrett Hay,
return'd from Washington today.
She says that bill will pass right soon,
will pass before another moon,
and Albany will ratify
before our Solons say good-by.

And Legislatures thirty-six --
with, it may be, some futile kicks --

are very sure to do the same.

So we shall realize the aim
that ruled the life of Susan B.,
and would that she were here to see!

An epoch dawn'd last week for us,
without the slightest jar or fuss--
no outcrop of divorce, no fights
'twixt man and wife on women's rights--
some thirty thousand, maybe more,
of womenfolk from districts four--
two on Manhattan's crowded isle--
did leave their wonted tasks a while,
and, as New York now says they can,
did cast their votes for Congressman.

'Tis rumor'd 'mid the local gems
of news that Wagner of the Dems
and Koenig of the G.O.P.
did call Miss mary Hay to see--
she of the City Suff Partie.
They call'd, and took her by the hand--
oh, not together, understand;
but great minds often share a hunch;
so Bob stroll'd round once after lunch,
and Sam, he also sought Miss Hay--
this was before election day--
and each in heartfelt tones did say:
"Miss Hay, my party, always fair,
and true, and just, and right, and square;
my party -- as you know the first
the shackles on your sex to burst--
aims Tuesday next to set the pace
with women watchers at each place
of voting." "Splendid!" cried Miss Hay.
So Bob and Sam, they hied away,
and Sam, he comb'd the G.O.P.
for women who would watchers be.

Bob sought the woman Democrat,
and proudly each his quarry sat
election day behind the rails,
points sacred hitherto to males,
except for suffrage watchers once
or twice allow'd to do the stunts.

Election day pass'd with éclat.
Nice family groups -- Papa, Mamma
and Baby waiting in its cart
while inside Wifie did her part
With Hubby -- all that morning graced
small shops wherein the polls were placed.
The women watchers lent an air,
and did their work with loyal care.
men of the district, most polite,
anxious Miss Voter should vote right,
did hover -- not too near the gates --
with praises of their candidates.
Yes, Woman's Hour has surely struck.
To her New York has "pass'd the buck."
Elections now will be the rage,
and soon the Empire State will stage
a function on a mammoth scale;
in fact, next fall's will be a whale.

A maiden who at Occoquan
spent sixty days for standing on
the pavement at the White House gate,
where with a banner she did wait
to show the President a phrase
that he had writ in other days--
the Mistress Margaret Fotheringham,
a White House picket with a lamb-
like mien -- and little -- but oh my!

the kind, you know, to do or die--
a Red Cross worker now, she pants
to serve our soldier boys in France.
At Bellevue Hospital is she,
a-learning how to make beef tea
and daintily things that cannot fail
to tempt a poor sick wounded male.
But very soon she hopes to sail
to do her bit for Uncle Sam,
does Mistress margaret Fotheringham,
who was a White House picket once,
and still defends the picket stunts.

You'd make Miss Fotheringham quite hot
by doubting she's a patriot.
"I've fifteen cousins at the front,"
she says. "We Fotheringhams are wont
to stand for truth and liberty,
and that's the reason why, you see--
the very reason why I went
as picket to the President."

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