Voice of action. [volume] (Seattle, Wash.) 1933-1936, 1934-10-05
INTRODUCTION

In the Seattle Times there was
run a series OF articles outlining
the horrors of forgetting. even
when the job-seekers were
young and pretty and charm
ing.
The articles are clever and
amusing, hard as 1t is to believe
that job-hunting could be am
using. The point wish to make
is that neither of the two girls
making those stories can pos
sibly know the full terror OF
the process--that remains for
the older women from IS to GO.
The following story was told
to me by the old woman who
suffered the pangs of hell try
ing to get something to do
Mary Burgess.
. n
This, she said to herself, Is a
regular Witch Fry, and I'm the
Witch. She was sixty years old,
she had made homes, borne child.
rem, reared them with infinite
love and so many mistakes that
all this, she thought, is my pun
ishment for those mistakes.
Now she sat, as many another
base done, planning how to make
a couple of dollars a day till that
much desired time when dollars
would mean nothing to her.
Thinking. thinking. thinking,
how she could manage so that at
the end of her life she need not
become a burden to anyone;
least of all to her children. Think
ing how she might. to the bitter
end, keep a shred OF self-respect.
Eeasy enough, some will say,
and likely, if given the opportuni-
ty she will add that old, old bro
mide that anyone in America who
really wants to work can get all
that they can do. When so as
sailed, she would raise her eyes
to the Rabbit before her and feel
utterly confounded and condemn
ed. Sometimes she even felt sorry
for Rabbit, and would find her
self hoping that he, or she, for
some Rabbits wear petticOats,
might never come to the seeking
of a job at sixty, no matter how
many mistakes they made on the
journey to that Outcast age.
What can you do, one asked
her.
Said she, / am a really skillful
graduate nurse.
Graduate nurse, said Rabbit,
and there was a smile, trying hard
to hide itself behind his up-tO-the
last-minute eyes. He, 1t was evid-
ent, was watching procession OF
pretty little flappers in spOtless
white, charming in youth and the
beauty of youth, with very new
diplomas clasped nj their white
hands. She, too, saw that process
sion, and realized more keenly
than ever, how hopeless was the
case of a woman of her age, at
tempting to compete with all
this bubbling life-even though
her skill would prove these new
corners infants. What did her
skill avail against youth and
charm?
How valuable was the concen-
tration she could bring to the
care and cure OF those sick in
mind, or body, compared to the
lack of all the things that Mister,
and indeed, Mrs. Rabbit, too,
quite obviously desired in a
nurse? What was the present val
ue of all of her years of experience
in giving comfort and help to
whatever poor creature fate
brought into her care?
Quite clearly, she realized, that
it was all utterly worthless. since
time, that same concentration,
and hard work had chiselled lines
all over a face that never had
been beautiful. and now was wOr-
ried, weary and sad. Rabbits
smile made it only too clear that
her professional skill was no use
to her. or anyone else, anymore.
A brisk, business-like woman
at the Nurses Registry did not
smile as Bobbit had dane. She
knew only too well that this was
no laughing matter for Sixty.
Yes she said, Your qualifica-
tiOns are fine, and your record
good. |, personally. know that
you would be valuable asset
to the people who would never
think of employing woman of
your age. I'm sorry"
This was expert opinion, and
from it Mrs. Sixty gathered that
nursing was definitely out. as far
as she was concerned.
Poor old thing, she sat herself
down in her housekeeping"
room to face the truth. She her.
self could see how funny it was,
how ridiculous, for her to be
tramping about the labor mar
kets with her paltry wares. She,
too, was amused and at the same
time frightened almost to the
death she honestly desired.
Well, there are land ladies with
out-stretched hands, there is need
for food and clothes, even when
youth and hope are dead and de-
Gently buried, so, Mrs. Sixty said