When Women Were Dragons(65)
25.
On April 15, 1947 (eight years prior to the Mass Dragoning), five academics and one librarian were summoned by congressional subpoena to testify before the House Un-American Activities Committee. Or, more specifically, they were summoned to testify before a subcommittee of a subcommittee of HUAC. Both the name of the subcommittee and the sub-subcommittee—as well as the names of the congresspeople who sat on each—were secret at the time, and are still unknown, and likely unknowable, lost in a sea of redactions. The testimony, too, remains sealed, despite the current efforts among historians and researchers to gain an understanding of the ways in which science was stifled and silenced in the years leading up to the Mass Dragoning and in the decade after.
The sub-subcommittee intended the hearings to be a quiet affair. The subpoenas themselves were given under seal, and the six individuals were subjected to a court-mandated gag order. This order was largely respected by the five academics. The librarian, on the other hand, fully ignored the order, and while the major news outlets avoided contacting her out of fear of being blacklisted, she cheerfully gave interviews with several underground newspapers dedicated to Socialism, racial justice, and sexual equality—Cultura Proletaria, The Liberator, La Fuerza, The Daily Worker, to name a few. She did this knowing that it could land her in prison for contempt of Congress, but also knowing that most members of Congress don’t bother reading the underground presses anyway, and that her interviews would likely not even come to public consciousness until after she returned to her home in Wisconsin.
Following the closed-door testimony, four members of the sub-subcommittee expressed frustration that they were not provided with any information that could tie the group to “larger global efforts to upend our way of life,” which was of course taken to mean Communism. One member said, off the record, “All I know is that we all just spent a lot of damn time learning nothing of consequence, except what it feels like to get your ass handed to you by a goddamned librarian.” It is unknown, exactly, to what the representative is referring. Or to whom.
Of the six individuals interviewed, three were forced to plead the Fifth rather than give the names of their colleagues, and were sentenced to three to four years in prison. All five academics were removed from their university posts and blackballed in academia after that.
It was rumored that they all were hired in library jobs. At the same library.
As for the librarian, robust efforts by a particular Wisconsin senator to remove her from her job did not bear fruit: it turned out that the librarian in question was the single largest funder of her own library’s system, and managed a high-yield endowment that would keep the organization not only flush with cash but wealthy enough that it regularly handed generous grants to other, more needy districts. She was, it seemed, untouchable. She faced no penalties and served no time. She simply returned to her library.
And if it was up to congressional norms and processes, her identity would never have been revealed. It is only thanks to the underground press (and her library’s commitment to the cataloguing, preservation, storage, and access to those newspapers) that we know her name at all: Helen Gyzinska.
I did not know any of this at the time. Mrs. Gyzinska was not the sort of person who advertised all that she knew, nor did she tout the various causes of which she was a dynamic part. She simply did the work and didn’t much fuss about it. I didn’t know any of this until after she passed away.
How many underground scientists did she shelter? How many blacklisted academics did she secretly fund? As of this writing, her impact on the preservation and continuation of science, fostering connections between researchers around the world, compounding what was known and energizing the questions being asked, is still being unraveled and uncovered—the web of her influence was broad, and varied, and intricately complex.
It’s not a bad way to live, actually.
26.
I stayed away from the library for a full week after my outburst. I was more irritable as a result. I missed the library so much. I scowled as I brought Beatrice to school and I snapped at a boy in calculus who complained about his grade on the quiz and I eviscerated a girl who told me I’d be prettier if I let my hair grow longer and I told my literature teacher to go sit on a tack. I’m not exactly sure why, but that’s what got me sent to the main office.
I didn’t mind, because I thought I’d see Sister Kevin. Instead I found a harried-looking woman at the desk with a button on her sweater that said VOLUNTEER.
“Hello,” I said. “I was sent down for poor behavior. Is Sister Kevin here?”
The volunteer looked like she might cry. “No,” she said. “Sister Kevin hasn’t been seen in days. I’m sure she’s, you know. Doing . . . whatever it is that nuns do. Feeding the poor or something. Just forgot to leave a note. Nothing to worry about. I do wish she had left some instructions, though. I don’t know how anything works!”
I felt a twist of anxiety in my stomach. I liked Sister Kevin. “Is she okay?”
“Of course she’s fine. You’ve met her. She’s just . . . flighty.” She searched the desk drawers. “There is a form I’m supposed to fill out, I just know it. Why did no one leave me instructions?”
“Maybe you should ask the principal?” I said. We both turned to the closed door of the principal’s office. Mr. Alphonse was in there, shouting at someone on the phone. The volunteer went pale. I grimaced.