Gloria, Where Are You?
I can go on the road— because I can come home. I come home—because I'm free to leave.
Gloria Steinem, "On the Road"
I received an invitation to Gloria Steinem's three-floor upscale Manhattan apartment. Would I like to visit, peruse the memorabilia of the Women's Liberation Movement dating back to the 1960's, and perhaps have a cup of green tea, sit and chat for a while, toast Gloria's 87th birthday? As my visit would be managed by Google Arts & Culture, I'd be unable to ask any probing questions, however. In fact, the visit would only be virtual, and not interactive, not even a chat function, more like a museum tour. That stung. I wonder if Gloria knows about it? As a former investigative journalist herself, I am certain she would not approve of the anonymity of Google's Street View tool. Indeed, the apartment was desolate as I entered, no human in sight except for those framed on the walls. Yes, the bookcase, of course, that is of interest, but was it enough? No. I was looking forward to seeing Gloria in person. I wondered if I would bring up my connection with Ms. Magazine. It was brief, but unforgettable. I had been assigned an article, what I cannot remember. Just the very fact that I was working for Ms., that in itself was heavenly. And there were editorial meetings and social occasions and we once or twice must have said hello. But Gloria, where are you now? On the road again? I read somewhere that you fled to California as the pandemic lockdown began, leaving your home to the Google curators. Maybe you are living in a pod with your good friend, Alice Walker. Maybe you will stay in California and never return to the townhouse. Maybe you will end your life in California. Maybe the townhouse will become a customized mausoleum, a structure planned well in advance of a person's death, by the person herself.
What a strange experience, dear Gloria. How much you have meant to women of the Second Wave, what an iconic figure you have become, honored in life and as you certainly will be in the after-life. And have you aged a hundred years this year, as all of us have, no matter our chronological age? Are you 187 and still counting? Has time collapsed or expanded for you? How are you feeling? Healthy? You are a breast cancer survivor. Brava to that and so much more, Gloria.
Your absence became a presence as I entered your apartment. Alas, only the camera was my guide. No voice-over narration, your strong mezzo silenced, and just some potted written history of the women's movement, most of which can be found online on Oprah's site or in Wikipedia. Alas, did someone you hold dear suggest this special invitation to promote your foundation? Is that what this is all about? If so, I forgive you.