Mr. Speaker, today I'm filled with great sadness that on the eve of the 109th Congress we mourn the passing of my longtime friend and colleague, Shirley Chisholm, the first African-American woman elected to Congress and the first of her…
Mr. Speaker, today I'm filled with great sadness that on the eve of the 109th Congress we mourn the passing of my longtime friend and colleague, Shirley Chisholm, the first African-American woman elected to Congress and the first of her race to seek a major party nomination for the Presidency. She died at her Ormond Beach, FL home on New Year's Day at the age of 80.
I commend to my colleagues the following article describing a time in the life of Shirley Chisholm written by Wil Haygood in the Washington Post on January 4, 2005.
[From the Washington Post, Jan. 4, 2005]
A Woman of the People
Shirley Chisholm took a back seat to no one
(By Wil Haygood)
There was something so plain and yet so defiant about her.
Studious and yet a little jazzy, especially in front of those
Brooklyn church ladies.
Shirley Chisholm, the former congresswoman who died New
Year's Day in Florida at age 80, came along at a moment in
the 1960s when there was a bubbling symmetry between the
women's liberation movement and the civil rights movement.
She was holding two candles in the wind.
At church podiums in Brooklyn, she'd talk about babies
eating paint they had peeled from the walls, and she'd talk
about malnourished schoolchildren, and she'd raise her fist,
and her big mound of cloudlike hair would bob, and she would
start to crying, tears rolling from beneath those beatnik-era
glasses. She would turn her back to the audience--as if she
couldn't stand her own tears--and then turn around to face
the folk in the pews, and they'd be stomping.
``I used to say to her, `You should go into drama,'
``recalls Edolphus Towns, a Democratic congressman from
Brooklyn. ``She could drop tears at any time.''
Chisholm began her working life in 1950s Brooklyn. She was
the director of a day-care center and worked as an
educational consultant for the city. The tots had parents and
she befriended them and got herself elected to the New York
State Assembly in 1964. She was headed to Albany, the same
place that launched the national political careers of
Theodore Roosevelt, Thomas Dewey, Franklin D. Roosevelt and
many others.
In the '60s, the talk in New York of black political
figures focused on names such as Basil Patterson, Percy
Sutton, Charlie Rangel. They were young lions who belonged to
Harlem political clubs. (There was also Adam Clayton Powell,
the once-powerful congressman who had crawled back to
Congress in 1969 after an expulsion and scandalous headlines.
But his day was now gone.)
But Patterson and Sutton and Rangel suddenly had to yank
their heads and look across the bridge, to Brooklyn.
Shirley who?
``Shirley came out of Brooklyn, and that was one of the
roughest political arenas you can come out of--even today,''
says Rep. Rangel (D), who knew Chisholm for decades. ``For
her to succeed, she had to be a little strange--and certainly
extraordinary.''
In addition to being a woman and from Brooklyn, Chisholm
was also--unlike Powell, Sutton, Rangel and Patterson--dark-
skinned. Given the history of skin color, she had an extra
ladder to climb, and did so with relish, carrying herself
with the insouciance of the world's most attractive woman.
So there she'd be, needing a ride to Albany and getting
herself over to Harlem so that Sutton, who was also in the
assembly, could pick her up.
``Shirley would meet us on the corner of 125th and
Seventh--now Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard--and ride with us
to Albany,'' says Sutton. ``We did that for two years.''
Sutton noted something about Chisholm on those rides. She
was hungry for debate: ``Even if she agreed with you, she'd
want to debate you!''
With the '60s drawing to a close, Chisholm was swimming in
the waters of history. ``She had the imagination,'' says
Rangel, ``of being first--and tenacious.''
So she announced in 1968 that she was running for Congress.
There were howls of laughter, though not from the church
ladies, who saw themselves in the reflection of her beatnik
eyeglasses.
In 1968, she became the first black woman elected to
Congress. She grinned and gave the peace sign. It wasn't
black power. It was Shirley power. She wound up serving seven
terms.
She pushed for antipoverty legislation and became a star.
Ebony magazine wanted her, and so did Ms. magazine. She
appeared with Reps. Barbara Jordan and Bella Abzug. She was
known as honest and honorable. ``Chisholm would not set up
any kind of a side deal for her mother, brother, or cousin,''
says William Howard, who served as her financial adviser.
When Chisholm announced a run for the presidency in 1972,
it seemed a little strange. She was the first black to
conduct a large-scale presidential campaign within one of the
major parties. The Congressional Black Caucus hardly had the
numbers then that it has now, but she rolled her eyes when
its members asked why she hadn't discussed her presidential
plans with them. ``Shirley had a lot of self-confidence,''
says Rangel.
``I Am Woman'' by Helen Reddy was humming on the jukebox
that year.
``Black people needed somebody,'' says Sutton. ``We had
lost Martin and Malcolm.'' He raised the first $25,000 for
her presidential campaign.
At the Democratic National Convention in Miami Beach, she
was smiling from the podium--those glasses, that hair, the
dark skin. Simply getting there was a huge victory.
``The next time a woman runs,'' she wrote in her 1973
autobiography, ``The Good Fight,'' ``or a black, a Jew or
anyone from a group that the country is `not ready' to elect
to its highest office, I believe he or she will be taken
seriously from the start. The door is not open yet, but it is
ajar.''
And, in time, they came: Geraldine Ferraro, Jesse Jackson,
Joseph Lieberman.
The last time William Howard saw Chisholm was a year and a
half ago in Manhattan. She had wanted to go dancing. She was
peering at him, through those beatnik glasses, out on the
dance floor, imploring him to tell the band to play something
jazzy.