one day when he’s got something going in midtown?”
The aide was uncertain, but the mayor took to the idea with enthusiasm. He arrived with an entourage of five, plus reporters from the Times, Post, News, A.P. and U.P.I., photographers and a Channel 5 news crew of four, but there was plenty of room for everyone.
“This,” said the mayor, “is one helluva office for a twenty-eight-year-old girl.”
“It’s a form of advertising,” said Shirley. “Besides, when I was a kid growing up in the Bronx, we had a very tight little apartment. I always wanted a big living room. I guess this is it. It’s the waste space that makes it marvelous.”
The TV people asked Shirley and the mayor to stand a little closer together , asked everyone to keep quiet, then gave the signal to start.
“I am proud,” said the mayor, “to present the city’s highest civilian award, the La Guardia Medallion, to Shirley Hartman, first because of her imaginative plan for the constructive use of a devastated area, second for having become in a very short time one of the most creative female forces in her profession, and third for the sheer vivacity she exudes, which has helped transform the city of New York. This medal, which has previously been given to half a dozen men, now goes for the first time to a woman.”
Shirley, whose many public appearances did not greatly diminish the qualms she felt during the first moments of each new event, thought to say “Thank you” and be done with it. But it would seem uncharacteristic of her. She didn’t want to cop out, she wanted to take advantage of the moment.
“Your Honor,” she said, “I could accept this medal on behalf of all the underprivileged male executives in New York who can’t get a good secretary any more because of all of us females who are striking out into the professions that up until recently were barred to us.”
The mayor was smiling. Should she go on?
“Your Honor, the entrance to this city is guarded by a woman. When the Statue of Liberty was first set down on an island in the harbor, that lady was supposed to signify—especially to foreigners and new immigrants—that they were dropping anchor in the land of the free. In our own time what we have dropped is the whole ball of wax. Nothing is very free any more, not even the free offers in advertising.”
The mayor couldn’t help laughing.
“Maybe it is funny,” continued Shirley. “We devote as much energy to the pursuit of misery as the pursuit of happiness. We are one nation, easily divisible.”
“Shirley,” interrupted the mayor on camera, “you sound like you’re running for office.”
“Not a chance,” said Shirley, “I don’t want to live the way you do.” She was smiling. “But,” she continued, “I have some suggestions. The city budget never seems to get balanced. It’s not your fault, it’s been that way through many administrations. You see, men who do budgeting are mainly running businesses, and sometimes businesses succeed and sometimes they fail. Families can’t afford to fail. They can’t spend what they don’t have. That’s why the sex that does most of its budgeting at home ought to be given a crack at City Hall. For starters, you ought to think of appointing a woman as budget director.”
“I never thought of that,” said the mayor, the most noncommittal remark he could make for the public record.
“Also,” said Shirley, “I think you ought to put a woman in charge of your army.”
“What army?” said the mayor, blinking.
“The police. You’re always talking about the war against crime. Cops and robbers. I get you before you get me. I say put a woman in charge as police commissioner, and you’ll see the difference. In fact, when you yourself retire to higher office, I think the people of this city ought to elect not one of those feeble retreads without charisma who are elbowing each other for the job, but a woman, and then watch the middle class come
The aide was uncertain, but the mayor took to the idea with enthusiasm. He arrived with an entourage of five, plus reporters from the Times, Post, News, A.P. and U.P.I., photographers and a Channel 5 news crew of four, but there was plenty of room for everyone.
“This,” said the mayor, “is one helluva office for a twenty-eight-year-old girl.”
“It’s a form of advertising,” said Shirley. “Besides, when I was a kid growing up in the Bronx, we had a very tight little apartment. I always wanted a big living room. I guess this is it. It’s the waste space that makes it marvelous.”
The TV people asked Shirley and the mayor to stand a little closer together , asked everyone to keep quiet, then gave the signal to start.
“I am proud,” said the mayor, “to present the city’s highest civilian award, the La Guardia Medallion, to Shirley Hartman, first because of her imaginative plan for the constructive use of a devastated area, second for having become in a very short time one of the most creative female forces in her profession, and third for the sheer vivacity she exudes, which has helped transform the city of New York. This medal, which has previously been given to half a dozen men, now goes for the first time to a woman.”
Shirley, whose many public appearances did not greatly diminish the qualms she felt during the first moments of each new event, thought to say “Thank you” and be done with it. But it would seem uncharacteristic of her. She didn’t want to cop out, she wanted to take advantage of the moment.
“Your Honor,” she said, “I could accept this medal on behalf of all the underprivileged male executives in New York who can’t get a good secretary any more because of all of us females who are striking out into the professions that up until recently were barred to us.”
The mayor was smiling. Should she go on?
“Your Honor, the entrance to this city is guarded by a woman. When the Statue of Liberty was first set down on an island in the harbor, that lady was supposed to signify—especially to foreigners and new immigrants—that they were dropping anchor in the land of the free. In our own time what we have dropped is the whole ball of wax. Nothing is very free any more, not even the free offers in advertising.”
The mayor couldn’t help laughing.
“Maybe it is funny,” continued Shirley. “We devote as much energy to the pursuit of misery as the pursuit of happiness. We are one nation, easily divisible.”
“Shirley,” interrupted the mayor on camera, “you sound like you’re running for office.”
“Not a chance,” said Shirley, “I don’t want to live the way you do.” She was smiling. “But,” she continued, “I have some suggestions. The city budget never seems to get balanced. It’s not your fault, it’s been that way through many administrations. You see, men who do budgeting are mainly running businesses, and sometimes businesses succeed and sometimes they fail. Families can’t afford to fail. They can’t spend what they don’t have. That’s why the sex that does most of its budgeting at home ought to be given a crack at City Hall. For starters, you ought to think of appointing a woman as budget director.”
“I never thought of that,” said the mayor, the most noncommittal remark he could make for the public record.
“Also,” said Shirley, “I think you ought to put a woman in charge of your army.”
“What army?” said the mayor, blinking.
“The police. You’re always talking about the war against crime. Cops and robbers. I get you before you get me. I say put a woman in charge as police commissioner, and you’ll see the difference. In fact, when you yourself retire to higher office, I think the people of this city ought to elect not one of those feeble retreads without charisma who are elbowing each other for the job, but a woman, and then watch the middle class come
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