Read My Pins (7 page)

COLLECTION OF THE AUTHOR
Violets, designer unknown.

and a gift from my parents, a Bohemian garnet set with detachable pendant/pin.

The piece of jewelry that meant the most to me, then as now, was created by Katie, my youngest daughter. It is a heart-shaped pin, composed of clay, presented to me on Valentine’s Day when Katie was five. I have often worn it since. The pin reflects one of the indispensable purposes of jewelry: to bind families together and connect one generation to the next. When I was a child, my sole treasures were a ring—a gold band with a single small diamond—that my mother had worn and a gold cross that I remember never being without. On my wedding day, my parents gave me a garnet set (a necklace, pin, bracelet, and earrings), featuring the Czechoslovak national stone. Usually, the cherished family gifts go from the elder to the younger, but as was the case with Katie’s valentine, sometimes the giving goes the other way round.

My most cherished jewelry: A heart pin made by Katie

After Joe’s Aunt Alicia Patterson Guggenheim died, my daughters and I received a small share of her jewelry. This included a beautiful pink tourmaline heart and a diamond-and-sapphire poppy pin with matching earrings. There was also a pair of earrings with little pearls and a jade fish on the end that were meant to go with the jade dragon pin I had been given earlier. Although I adored these pieces, I so feared losing them that I rarely wore them. In any case, showy jewelry made me uncomfortable. Because of the social status of Joe’s family, he had been considered the perfect escort for Chicago’s well-bred young ladies, taking them to debutante balls and similar high society affairs. Suddenly he began to appear with me. Having nothing suitable to wear, I sewed a dark-red velvet dress to go with the garnets I had received from my parents. It had a tight waist and quite a low neckline so the garnets would show. I still have the dress as a reminder both of the evening and of the years when—for me—a tight waist was possible.

My life changed when Joe and I moved to Washington in the early 1960s. Jacqueline Kennedy, with her affinity for Givenchy and Oleg Cassini gowns and Schlumberger jewelry, was bringing unprecedented glamour to the nation’s capital and America’s global image. She wore diamonds to Paris, pearls to India, and bangles everywhere. Jackie, as she was called, was recognized as a fashion trendsetter, known by millions for her jewelry, handbags, hats, and hair. This was also the era of such spectacular movie icons as Elizabeth Taylor, Audrey Hepburn, and Marilyn Monroe, who, when singing “Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend,” embodied the stereotype of a woman willing to be possessed but only in return for possessions.

Still, even in the swinging sixties, status in Washington was determined more by power than by glitter. My husband and I socialized with other young couples turned on by the promise and politics of the Kennedy administration. The men in our group
mostly had jobs in government or as journalists; the women were active with children and social causes.

Poppy, Verdura.

Meli Melo, Cartier.

Wrapped Heart, Verdura.

The jewelry worn by the wives in our circle consisted primarily of engagement and wedding rings, the occasional pearl necklace, and earrings that were generally nondescript but sometimes op art or pop art. We thought of jewelry as a traditional and fun means of adornment that was paid for by (usually male) acquaintances or that came to us through family ties. A fancier or more expensive item might make some statement about how much a husband could afford, but it was not a declaration of any depth about the woman wearing it.

Following my divorce in 1983, I found myself tapping into another sort of tradition. By then, I had completed my education and started out in politics. I had begun drawing a salary of my own working for a U.S. senator, Edmund S. Muskie of Maine, and then in the White House under Jimmy Carter, in whose honor I wore a pin shaped like a Georgia peanut. After that, I followed in
my father’s footsteps, becoming a university professor. Though devastated when my marriage fell apart, I soon found my own spirit and voice. From that time on, when my mind turned to jewelry or clothes, I thought less about the expectations of others and more about my own sense of identity and pride.

Suffragette pin, designer unknown.

My experiences, of course, were hardly unique. Women have been striding toward independence for many generations. In Great Britain in the early twentieth century, supporters of the suffragette movement wore medals or brooches in the shades of green, white, and violet—signifying, respectively, hope, purity, and dignity. Not coincidentally, the initial letters of the colors (
G
,
W
,
V
) suggested an acronym: “Give Women the Vote!” In the United States, suffragettes were equally flamboyant, greeting Woodrow Wilson’s inauguration with an 8,000-person march down Pennsylvania Avenue led by a woman dressed as Joan of Arc and seated on a white horse. During Wilson’s second term, activists who were thrown into jail for picketing were given a distinctive Jailed for Freedom brooch, produced by the indomitable women’s-rights advocate Alice Paul. The pin displayed a prison door with a chain and heart-shaped padlock. In 1920, shortly before Wilson left office, the Nineteenth Amendment to the Constitution was ratified, and women were finally accorded the opportunity to vote in federal elections.

SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION NATIONAL MUSEUM OF AMERICAN HISTORY
The silver Jailed for Freedom pin was awarded to suffragettes who were imprisoned after picketing in front of the White House in 1917.
Jailed for Freedom, Nina Evans Allender and Alice Paul
.
Courtesy of Smithsonian Institution National Museum of American History.

In my case, I didn’t have a special color, didn’t dress as Saint Joan, didn’t go to jail, and didn’t think of myself as belonging to a movement. Instead, I was in my mid-forties and venturing from marriage into—for the first time—the status of a fully grown, unattached adult. Although medals, ribbons, T-shirts, hats, and, I suppose, tattoos were optional means of expression, I found myself frequently turning to pins or brooches. I preferred them to necklaces because a perfectly presentable pin is less expensive than a comparable necklace. I also preferred pins because for years I did not want to wear a ring. In fact, the only one I felt comfortable
wearing was purchased in the Philippines and made of black onyx. My thinking at the time was that every divorced woman should wear a black ring.