During the writing of my book, Drag Me Out Like a Lady: An Activist’s Journey, I posted the draft of each chapter on this blog as I finished it. I did this in part so that if it should happen to not get published, there would be at least the draft of it online. I also did it because it was both fun and enlightening to add links and images. Now that the book is available, I have removed the text from those entries but left the links and the images to assist any of my readers of the book who might wish to engage in further research. I also did that because images are fun and there is a limit to how many images can be included in a book, as well as a higher standard of quality that does not apply to a blog.
Chapter 11
A is for Anthropologist
My childhood home in Miami.
Me and my friend, Glenda, a year or two before our adventure in Little River.
In my missionary phase, on my way to church in Lakeland, Florida, the summer after high school graduation. I had just been given the car in the background as my graduation present.
My great-grandma, Mary Ann Harn, who is listed on the 1910 census as a “mulatto.” She is the daughter of a mixed-race father I assume must have been a former slave, a “black Seminole” who lived with Seminoles after leaving Georgia. She was raised among Seminoles, which may explain why my family believed she was part-Seminole, even though I have no Native American DNA.
Kon-Tiki, the balsa wood raft sailed by Thor Heyerdahl from South America to Tahiti in 1947.
A mask used in the film The Loon’s Necklace, similar to the mask of the West Wind that inspired my contemplation in the museum late one night. The actual mask of the West Wind had pursed lips, as if blowing.
A second mask, also one used in the film The Loon’s Necklace, is blowing in the same way the mask that intrigued me in the museum blew. The museum mask was like the white mask previously shown, only blowing like this one.
Grover Krantz, Bigfoot expert, physical anthropologist and my good friend.
Willie Mae Ryan, “Mama Winnie,” matriarch of a large extended family I studied, also my mother-in-law, who enthusiastically supported my study.
Northwest Indian Cemetery Protective Association
Comprehensive Employment and Training Act,
California Environmental Quality Act.
https://www.academia.edu/1370991/Northwest_California_Coast_Ancient_and_Historic_Native_American_Sites_Along_a_Rugged_Coast link to a mention of the Stone Lagoon salvage archaeology dig led by Dave Fredrickson that would never have happened without me.
Yurok women in tribal dress. NICPA, the Indian organization for which I worked, included several other tribes, but was founded by a Yurok and Yuroks predominated the board of directors.
Anthropologist Gregory Bateson, whose lecture helped me return to anthropology and whose writing led me into human ecology.
John Guido, my boss at WSU library, who did much to help my flagging professional confidence when I first arrived at WSU.
John Bodley in the field studying the Campa tribe of Amazonia.
The Floating Lotus Magic Opera Company.
Gerry Young, ecologist and third member of my doctoral committee.
Members of the Floating Lotus Magic Opera Company onstage.
A photo taken of me being an anthropologist, shortly after the publication of my book, Beyond Counterculture, by a National Geographic photographer doing a story on SoHum, for which he was using the book as a reference. It was not published.
Alternative Energy Engineering
Members of the SoHum drama group, Pure Shmint, onstage.
Anthropologist Hortense Powdermaker, who spoke to a meeting of the Kroeber Anthropological Society on her work with hippies.
Cover of one of the works of Michael J. Harner, whose ethnographic field notes I helped type up at the Lowie Museum.
My book, Beyond Counterculture: the community of Mateel, published 1990 by WSU Press.
The photo I now think of as my “blacklist” photo, taken ca. 1969 and placed in my departmental file at Berkeley.
My stepson, Jenecois Ryan, who was the first black child to attend Redway Elementary School.
The flyer for my self-designed course, Preherstory, at Humboldt State University.
You Have to be Carefully Taught
Jesus loves the little children
On my way to Sunday School in Cleveland, age 4 or so. The bag is not a canteen. It’s a purse based on canteen design, a military style lingering from World War II.
Jesus is shown loving all the children of the world. This is the type of picture, though of better artistic quality, I might have cut and pasted in my Sunday School book.
Cab Calloway, as I remember him from the local Miami TV show I loved. The picture does not begin to convey how dynamic he was.
This woman is not the woman I met on the street in Miami, but the woman I met looked a lot like her. This woman is Katrina Wilson-Davis, the former principal of a defunct Liberty City Charter School. I hope she will not be offended by this use of her beautiful image. Photo by Ryan Stone for The New York Times
Looking adorable, a year or two before my clandestine trip to Liberty City.
*I have not posted an image of Liberty City because I cannot find one that comes near what I remember. All the online images are too recent and relate to how god-awful Liberty City is, being a ghetto and all. I can only surmise that there are no images available of the bus route, that things got a lot worse-looking since 1952, that it looked better at night or that my memories were distorted by my age at the time and/or the intervening 64 years.
Uncle John, the Bigot, and my cousin Paula, ca. 1944.
The great-grandma who blessed me in North Little Rock, 1957, Phoebe Price, with my great-grandpa, Will Price, who was a police officer in Little Rock for many years.
Great-grandpa Will, seated, and Uncle Luther as a young man.
A car that looks a lot like the car in which my Uncle Luther drove me and my cousins to downtown Little Rock in the summer of 1957.
My cousins and I on our way to Sunday School, ca. 1945.
A doll similar to the one I bought only to test the depth of the prejudice of my Uncle John. Mine did not have a dress.
My father as a young man. This photo is an indication of his height and shows him with the expression he might have had when intimidating my Uncle John, decades later, on racial issues.
My dad and I in California, on one of my parents’ several trips to visit me and my children after his first heart attack.
The fence between the white Groveland school complex and Stucky Still was still there in the 1970s, when I took this picture, but the barbed wire was gone and there was now a gate in it, presumably to allow black children easy access to the now-integrated schools. The basketball court was new to me. When I was a student, you looked across a green field to the fence and no one went as near it as this court is.
Lake County Sheriff Willis McCall
Norma Padgett testifying at the trial of the Groveland Four.
One of the streets near Groveland High School, looking much more peaceful than it likely did after the riot in 1949.
As a sophomore at Groveland High School, I am sitting on my bed in our house on the road to Tavares. About 40 feet from the window behind me is the road that carried the lynch mob eight years earlier.
families of the Groveland Four.
My mother managed to get a shot of my performance at the GHS talent contest, which I lost.
Mahalia Jackson at the Newport Jazz Festival, 1958.
One of the Tallahassee lunch counter sit-ins. Although there are no identifications accompanying this picture, downloaded from Florida Memory , I am sure that the young man in the center is Roy. Of two Tallahassee friends who have seen this picture, one agrees with me and the other waffles.
This book cover illustration of Mahalia conveys well how I feel about her, her music and her influence on my life.
The Norman College Choir, Norman Park, Georgia, 1961.
Bobby Seale, co-founder of the Black Panther party, as he looked to me at Oakland City College, 1964.
My second husband, John, as he looked shortly after we met.
John and I at a party in Berkeley, ca. 1968.
Chapter 13
Me and Men
My senior portrait, sans glasses, since I never wore them for pictures. The photographer begged me to smile, but I held firm.
Summer of 1960, still a virgin but not for long. This photo was taken by an alleged Playboy photographer who had met Sarah and I in Daytona Beach to photograph her. I tagged along. Hearing me say to Sarah that I was too unsexy for Playboy, he went on a tear to show me that was not the case and insisted I pose for him. I have cropped it down to my face because I can’t bear to see how bad I looked in a bathing suit.
The character, Wojohowitz on the sitcom Barney Miller, played by Max Gail, is a glamorized version of how I imagine Stevie might have looked as an adult.
Roland W. Eves, whom I never did quite marry, as he looked in 1962.
Contemporary selfie.
Bellydancing was a natural outcome of my sexual liberation. High on my list of criteria for the ideal man is that he would never dream of limiting my dancing in any way.
My Tallahassee friend, Roger Pick, clowning with a baguette at a reunion of the Tally group at Roy’s in the 80s.
On a trip to Yalapa, Mexico, in the late 70s.
At my first wedding, wearing the dress my mother made for me, after forcing the marriage.
Ralph Gaither, on whom I had a major crush as a pre-teen.
Playing guitar in Berkeley, photo by my second husband, who was less fidgety when I played than some others of the men in my life have been.
With my fourth husband, Lenny, mandolin player and yodelist, on my left, and Soloman Mogerman. We are three-quarters of an amateur folk band.
Enjoying a beer in recent times at a local restaurant
Chapter 13
MAKING MY PEACE WITH WOMEN
With my baby son, Utah, in our garden on Elk Ridge, Briceland, California, 1974.
My father and sister, as my sister recuperates from getting hit by a car as she walked to choir practice. This is a rare show of physical affection from my father, but it illustrates the concept of sexual dimorphism in humans and suggests how terrifying my father was. I have seen that fist as it came through two layers of dry wall, about two feet from my own face, as he punched the wall in rage.
By the time I got to Berkeley, all hair restrictions were long gone and I wore it beatnik long, as straight as possible without ironing and parted in the middle. This is a rare capture of me in glasses. Photo by C. William Clewlow.
A rare photo of me wearing glasses that are not sunglasses. This is in the 1980’s.
My mother, my sister and I in non-lady mode, picking up our new puppy from a neighbor. As usual in photos of me with family from this period, I’m looking forlorn and left out, but the photo illustrates that, when not on the way to church, my mother and sister could be quite ordinary.
When Worlds Collide, 1951 movie, script by Phillip Wylie. It scared the crap out of me and made me want to be an astronomer.
A model of a ferris wheel built with an erector set that looks much like the one my brother built.
Hard at work as a reporter for the Lake County Record-Bee, my first full-time staff writer job.
Jazz great Dave Brubeck, as he looked when I met him.
Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?
One of the amateur bellydance troupes I have danced with, Jezebel, named for the original Biblical queen, not the sexist 1950’s country song. We are here invoking the Great Mother, before performing at the Mateel Summer Arts Fair in Benbow, CA, sometime in the 90s. I am the dancer in front on the right.
I am often contacted by persons wishing to interview me for oral histories of the 1960s because of my participation in the documentary film, “Berkeley in the Sixties.” 
Berkeley Backlog 