Mrs. King and Ms. Friedan: struggles continue

It wasn't like the Super Bowl or anything, but Coretta Scott King got a major send-off Tuesday. There were 15,000 people at her funeral, including four presidents, and reports estimated 150,000 viewed her body.

They weren't just saying goodbye to Mrs. King. They were putting to rest an era, and making statements with their presence and their words about themselves and us as a nation.

There's been a lot of that lately, as people who made a mark on the country in the '60s and '70s reach the end of their lives. This week people buried two women who helped shape our lives, Mrs. King and Betty Friedan, two very different people.

Jimmy Carter, one of numerous speakers, said Mrs. King's handshake and that of Dr. King's father were each worth "a million Yankee votes" when he ran for president. He was always one for telling the truth about things.

She was a touchstone, a symbol. Bill Clinton said folks ought not forget that there was a real woman in the coffin, but even in life, for most people she was an icon as much as she was a person.

People stood next to her because it was worth votes and diversity points, but perhaps not just because of that.

She played the traditional role of holding things together at home while her man jousted with dragons, but she was never separate from the struggle and its hardships, and she became a leader in her own right after his death.

You have to be a special person to become an icon, and she was.

Friedan took on the marginalization of women, who like herself and Coretta King gave up careers for home. Her book, "The Feminine Mystique," energized the women's movement. Friedan was also a founder of the National Organization for Women. She said she wanted to start an NAACP for women.

Friedan became a symbol, but not one as widely embraced as Mrs. King. She was on the prickly side.

I met Friedan once in the '70s when I was a young reporter just out of college. The paper I worked for sent me to cover her visit to El Paso.

I was excited and nervous. What a wonderful opportunity to meet someone who was changing the world for the better. I walked into the room and she exploded. How dare they send me, a clueless man to interview her.

She stormed off, but her handler calmed her down and brought her back, and I learned that people who have great ideas are not necessarily nice.

That night I covered her speech to a large group of women at the Jewish Community Center. This was in the dark ages, so I had to call in my story from a pay phone in the foyer.

My city editor asked me to describe Friedan. What, I asked?

Is she as ugly as they say?

I don't think that's part of the story.

Just tell me what she looks like, her nose, is it really big? Our readers want to know these things.

We argued back and forth, which was really uncomfortable because I thought her looks were not relevant, and because I was surrounded by women, who were becoming increasingly interested in my end of the conversation about Friedan's nose.

Later that year there was a national women's conference in Texas. A new reporter (my future wife) pleaded to be sent to write about it. But the same editor decided I should cover it because I wasn't a woman or a man and could be neutral. I'm pretty sure he meant that I wasn't a white man. I declined and said we were all professionals and he should send a woman.

We wouldn't have that conversation today, but there are still conversations that need to be had about equality and justice.

Some try to place the issues that era raised in a sealed coffin, but they won't stay. They'll haunt us as long as there are poor people, people who are denied their rights, as long as violence remains a favored choice for solving problems.

I have no doubt there will be new voices to rally us.

Jerry Large: 206-464-3346 or jlarge@seattletimes.com.

His column runs Thursdays and Sundays.