A View Into the Embattled World of Women Construction Workers.

Show: FRESH AIR
Date: APRIL 17, 1998
Time: 12:00
Tran: 041701np.217
Type: FEATURE
Head: Personal History
Sect: News; Domestic
Time: 12:06

TERRY GROSS, HOST: This is FRESH AIR. I'm Terry Gross.

Katherine Graham won a Pulitzer Prize this week for her autobiography. On this archive edition, we have an interview recorded after the book's publication last year. At a time when newspaper women were pretty much confined to the women's pages, Katherine Graham became the publisher of the Washington Post and she led the paper through its transformation into a major force in the political life of Washington and the nation.

She gave the go-ahead on the publication of the Pentagon Papers, and had reporters keep on the Watergate story, in spite of White House pressure to get off it. Before she retired in 1993, she was sometimes called the "iron lady," but her memoir "Personal History" reveals the insecurities beneath the surface.

The Post was a family-owned paper. Graham unexpectedly inherited the position of publisher when her husband Phillip Graham (ph) committed suicide in 1963. He had taken the paper over from Katherine Graham's father when he retired. Her father had made his fortune on Wall Street. He purchased the Post in 1933 when Katherine Graham was in high school.

I asked what her reaction was.

KATHERINE GRAHAM, FORMER PUBLISHER, THE WASHINGTON POST, AUTHOR, "PERSONAL HISTORY": I was very excited. I'd had a previous interest in journalism. I had even gone on the school paper before he bought the Post. And it whetted my interest, obviously, and I was excited.

Of course, it wasn't like it is today. It was one of five newspapers. It was fifth in a field of five and it had a circulation of 50,000. And it was in a really run-down old building on Pennsylvania Avenue.

And so although it was thrilling, it wasn't -- it wasn't like it would be today.

GROSS: In 1940, you got married to Phillip Graham, who you describe in your memoir as having a beautiful mix of intellectual, physical, and social charm, and that he was warm and funny on top of that. When your husband was 30, your father made him the associate publisher of the Post and your husband virtually became your father's deputy.

How did you feel about your husband going into journalism and going into the family business?

GRAHAM: I was thrilled and loved it. I loved Washington. I loved the paper. We had discussed, when he went in the army -- my father said: "are you interested?" because I'd -- he was having a terrible struggle making the paper pay, making it viable. And he said: "I don't want to go through this unless there's some future for the paper. Are you interested?"

And my brother was a psychiatrist and nobody thought of women ever managing anything. And I said: "it's up to you. I don't want to try to influence you 'cause it's you who are going have to do it and it's your life." He had planned to go into law and politics in Florida where he came from. And so, he thought about it a long time and we talked about it a long time.

And finally, he agreed that after the war was over, he could come right on the paper. And that's what he did. I loved it.

GROSS: Now in 1948, when you were 31, your father decided to pass the paper on to you and your husband, but he gave your husband I think nearly three times more shares than he gave you. How did you feel about that inequity? After all, you were the direct descendant of the Washington Post family?

GRAHAM: I had no reservations about it. My father said: "I'm doing this because I think no man should work for his wife" -- obviously, a sexist view of things, but not unusual in those days. And I had no problem with it. I thought it was OK.

GROSS: You describe your husband as using the Washington Post to right wrongs, that you now think is inappropriate for journalism. Give us an example of how he used the paper to change things, as opposed to just reporting on what happened?

GRAHAM: The first thing he tried to change was the city itself. He redeveloped the -- he was very instrumental in the redevelopment of Southwest Washington, and he certainly had it covered by reporters more than normally it would have been.

And more importantly and more negatively for the paper, he got involved with president -- future President, then-Majority Leader Lyndon Johnson. And he was enamored with Johnson, and he really used the paper to support Johnson.

Most importantly, for instance, during the civil rights battle, we were for home rule and civil rights and all that sort of thing. He influenced the coverage of a riot that occurred about opening a swimming pool. And Ben Bradlee had covered it and he was indignant.

And my husband said: "Buster, come on up and let me -- come to my office. I want you to see what's going on." And in his office, he had Oscar Chapman (ph), then Secretary of the Interior; and he had Clark Clifford who was then in the White House; and he had a lot of people. And he made a deal with them: if the Post downplayed that story, they would open the swimming pools next year.

Now, that was a positive act, but it was involving the paper in an active way that really shouldn't be done. I mean, you should report what is going on in stead of using it to deal with the government.

GROSS: Oh, what was at issue here, I think, was that the swimming pool was segregated and your husband wanted it to be integrated.

GRAHAM: Of course. Right.

GROSS: And...

GRAHAM: Which was a worthwhile goal, but which he really committed the error of downplaying the news in order to make the deal about their opening the swimming pool next -- for the following summer.

GROSS: You write that as your husband got more power in Washington, he also developed a drinking problem and the symptoms of manic depression. As for yourself, you write:

"Despite my pleasure in the life I was leading during those years, I can see now that I was having problems I didn't acknowledge to myself. I was growing shyer and less confident as I got older. I still didn't know how to look my best or how to handle myself in social situations. I was afraid of being boring and went on believing that people related to us entirely because of my husband."

"As for him, at the same time that he was building me up, he was tearing me down. As he emerged on the journalistic and political scenes, I increasingly saw my role as the tail to his kite. And the more I felt overshadowed, the more it became a reality."

When did you realize this -- the sense that you were becoming more insecure and more overshadowed by your husband?

GRAHAM: I only realized that in retrospect. Two or three close friends when I went to them at the time that he left the house and went off with a young woman from Newsweek said to me: "good." And I said: "good? how can you say that? It's just devastating. It's awful." And they said: "don't you realize what he's doing to you? That you're the butt of the family jokes?" And I said: "no, I don't think that's right and I really am distraught."

So it shook me up that they viewed it that way, but I realized, really many years afterwards, that probably that was right.

GROSS: What was happening in your life that made you feel increasingly insecure and insubordinate?

GRAHAM: I was intimidated by him to the point where I didn't talk when we went out. I just let him talk. And sometimes if I did talk or -- he would look at me as if I were going on too long. And it was that kind of thing that -- that really made me think: "gee, I must be boring." And, I guess, led to my silence.

GROSS: You write that as your husband's behavior grew more erratic with his manic depression, and he had an affair, he left you and then decided to buy back your stock within the Washington Post and take over the paper with his new lover. And in spite of your lack of confidence, you decided you were going to fight to hold onto the paper.

How did you decide, given your insecurity at that time, to fight to hold onto it?

GRAHAM: Because I first didn't -- you know, I knew he was ill. And when he left, I thought: "oh, well, he's ill." And finally I realized that this was real and he was going to lawyers and he wanted a divorce -- and that he was going to take the paper with him. And I thought: "well, I can't help what he's doing, but I can fight to keep the paper and I'm going to."

I mean, if he wanted a divorce, I was going to go into court. And the reason I think I thought I could do this was I didn't -- I knew that the paper had been built up with my father. I knew my father had supported Phil. I knew that I had in, my own way, supported Phil. And I thought he was great and that he had added greatly to the paper, but I had participated in the buildup through my father's earliest years and struggles -- and year after year, discouragement because they kept losing money.

And all that made me emotional about the paper. I loved the paper. And I just wasn't going to give up. I didn't think particularly how I would do it. I just was going to dig in.

GROSS: What did your family think? Did they think that you should hold onto the paper because, after all, you were the blood member of the family? Or did they feel that, well, you were the woman and even if you were divorcing, it would be better of in a man's hands.

GRAHAM: No. No, nobody thought that. My father had already died when this happened, but my mother was alive and supported me absolutely and said, you know, "we've got to hold onto the paper." And so did all my friends and associates.

GROSS: Then your husband came back to you. But one day after saying he was going to lie down, he went to the bedroom and shot himself. You heard the gun go off and found him -- found him dead. Did you ever think he would go that far? That his manic depression had gotten that severe?

GRAHAM: No, and he was very deceptive. He told us all that he was feeling better and he seemed to be feeling better. He'd been in a mental hospital and had gotten the day off. And I was deceived and the hospital was deceived into thinking he was better than he was. And as I hear is mostly the case, he had talked a lot about suicide when he ill, but never done it. And he wasn't talking about suicide at the time that he clearly had it on his mind.

I think that happens.

GROSS: Did he talk about suicide with you? Or just with other people?

GRAHAM: He did with me earlier in the years, when he was depressed.

GROSS: My guest is Katherine Graham, former publisher of the Washington Post. More after a break.

This is FRESH AIR.

Katherine Graham won a Pulitzer Prize this week for her autobiography Personal History. On this archive edition, we're listening to an interview recorded with her last year.

After your husband's suicide, you were, as you write, "pushed into a new and unknown life." What did you initially think you were going to do?

GRAHAM: I thought I was going to work because I had -- I now owned a controlling shares of the company in the paper. And I thought I therefore had the responsibility to learn what made it happen and what made it tick. And that I would go to work, solely to learn. That's the way I viewed it.

GROSS: As opposed to actually take control.

GRAHAM: Yes. I thought that there was a man who was chairman of the board, Fritz Beebe (ph). And my husband had brought him on just about a year or two before he died. And he was wonderful and he wanted me to go to work. And there were a lot of men running the divisions and the editors. And I thought: "fine, this will just go on the way it is and I can learn."

GROSS: One of your colleagues, a man, said to you: "you're not going to work are you? You mustn't. You're young and attractive and you'll get remarried."

Did you think: "well maybe that's what I should be doing. I should, you know, just get remarried, start a new family life at home."

GRAHAM: No. That was said by a friend, not a colleague -- Chip Bohlen, who was in the foreign service then and was a distinguished diplomat. And I saw him abroad just before I came home and went to work, and he -- that's what he said. And I thought -- I said: "of course, I'm going to work." And it didn't occur to me, in fact, that there was anything -- any conflict with getting married if I wanted to. I didn't really think.

But in fact, it was so totally demanding that I probably couldn't have gotten remarried. But I didn't think about it.

GROSS: You write that early on after taking over the Post, you were "encumbered by a deep feeling of uncertainty and inferiority, and a need to please and to be liked." You say: "I was unable to make a decision that might displease those around me."

How did that effect your decisionmaking early on? And your interactions with the staff?

GRAHAM: Oh, it got in my way a lot, but it's a very lot of -- it tends to be female baggage and it still is to some extent. But it was much worse then. But the way it affected my performance is that I couldn't say: "I've listened to everybody and now I think we ought to do this." I had to get everybody to agree to whatever it was, and if everybody didn't agree, I'd go around begging them to see my point of view. And it was just a very poor way to be a leader.

GROSS: Suddenly, you were -- your social circle expanded, but that circle was really pretty similar to the one you had before with your husband. But now instead of being the wife, you were the publisher in that circle. How did that change your behavior in that circle? And was there an uncomfortable transition?

GRAHAM: I think it was very gradual because I was used to the people I was relating to. But my profile obviously grew with experience and with time in the job. And I supposed it rose considerably for a bizarre reason, which is that Truman Capote in 1966 gave the Black and White Ball in my honor. And so, suddenly, this was written about and it was a big event and it was covered. And it was really the beginning of my knowing those people who were at the ball. I didn't know them before that, and they certainly didn't know me.

GROSS: What was the difference between how you acted within this larger social circle when you were seeing yourself as like the wife of the publisher of the Post, compared to how you handled yourself when you became a publisher yourself?

GRAHAM: It's hard to really think back to that. I -- I just gradually grew used to it and I realized that I was going to be conspicuous because I had the job I had. At one point, I was at my friend Joe Alsop's for dinner and, I had been used to the women and the men parting company after Washington dinners, while the men talked about the issues and the women went and powdered their nose and discussed their households.

And at one point, I suddenly realized that I'd been working all day; that I'd been involved in an editorial lunch with somebody who was in the news; and that I'd been working. And that now I was being asked to go in the other room with the wives. And I said to Joe, who was a good friend: "I hope you won't mind if I slip out of here because the paper comes and I really can use the time better than going in that room with the wives."

And he said: "oh, darling, you can't do that." And I said: "sure I can. I mean, it's just -- I don't want to use my time like that, Joe." And so he was so upset that he made me stay and he broke up the segregation. And then, it broke up all over Washington.

So that was an instance where, I guess, suddenly I realized that I was in the working world and that I didn't have to do those things.

GROSS: When you took over the Post, there were few women in journalism and far fewer women in the kind of upper position that you held. You said that early on, you didn't realize that part of what you were experiencing was emblematic of the larger issues in the women's movement. What made you realize that your life really connected to the issues of the women's movement?

GRAHAM: Two things: one is simply experience in the workplace and being talked to by women and issues coming up, such as -- really little issues, but they were symbolic. I was -- there's a big newspaper dinner and no women had ever been invited, called the Gridiron in Washington. And I was invited as a guest.

And the women rose up in the paper and wrote me and said: "please don't go until there's a woman member." And at first I was startled and said, you know, I was rather thrilled to go and after all, it was a gesture toward opening up. And they said: "no, you know. Until as a member, don't please go, and we feel very strongly about this."

And so, I didn't. And of course, it made me aware of those issues. But the other thing that was as important, if not more so, was the rise of the women's movement, in particular I became a friend of Gloria Steinem, and she argued with me about women's positions and how I should understand them.

And at first, I said: "oh, Gloria, you know, that's not for me." And she said: "yes it is. If you understand what this is about, it will make your life better and it will make other people's lives better around you." And she was right.

So those two things -- experience and Gloria.

GROSS: OK, so when you realized that Steinem was right and you more personally and intellectually connected to the women's movement, how did that change you personally and change the way you managed the Post?

GRAHAM: I think it made you certainly more aware of -- of women's problems in the workplace and of the need to get more women in the workplace. It made me more aware of bias in the news, such as somebody being described as a 58-year-old gray-haired grandmother. And I realized that I had to do something and try to make things better in the company.

I don't -- I didn't always succeed because I didn't quite know how to go about it in some cases. I didn't know how to lean on people who were doing a wonderful job, but who were blatant male chauvinists -- and make them understand the issues. But little by little, we made progress and some of it was due to being sued.

GROSS: The Post was sued.

GRAHAM: Newsweek was sued. The stations were sued.

GROSS: Mm-hmm.

GRAHAM: And the Post.

GROSS: Katherine Graham, recorded last winter after the publication of her autobiography Personal History.

This week, she won a Pulitzer Prize for the book. We'll hear more of our interview in the second half of the show.

I'm Terry Gross and this is FRESH AIR.

This is FRESH AIR. I'm Terry Gross.

Back with more of our interview with Katherine Graham, recorded last year after the publication of her autobiography. This week, she won a Pulitzer Prize for the book.

Graham was the publisher of the Washington Post from 1963 to '93. Her father bought the paper when she was in high school. When he retired, her husband became the publisher. After her husband's suicide in 1963, she took over the paper, but she says she felt unprepared for the responsibility after having lived for so long in her husband's shadow.

On top of that, she had to assert her authority at a time when few women were in positions of authority. But it took a while for her to connect to the larger issues of the women's movement and to realize that women at the Post weren't getting a fair shake.

Did you ever confront a man about his chauvinism on the job?

GRAHAM: Yes, I wrote a note once that I found in the files in which somebody had -- a personnel director had circulated a memo and he had referred to the men as "Brown, Smith, and Jones" and it was -- the women were "Mary, Sue, and Margaret." And I said: "wait a minute here. Why are we referred to by our first name and the other guys are last names?"

Another instance in which the issue arose was that I recommended a woman to be "back of the book" editor at Newsweek. And the editors just said: "that's impossible. We can't do that." And I must say -- I mean, "we work long hours. We work weekends. We're here at night." And I stupidly accepted this.

And then finally we were sued by the women at Newsweek and the editor and Frederick Beebe (ph) called me up and I was on vacation -- and said: "the women are suing us and this is very serious." And I said: "whose side am I supposed to be on?" And Fritz Beebe -- my colleague whom I really loved and respected -- said: "this isn't funny." And I said: "I know it isn't funny and I'm serious."

And on the other hand, as a manager, it bothered me and I got offended by these suits. But they were right.

GROSS: The suits were right.

GRAHAM: The suits were right and we did make a lot of progress everywhere as a result, and also as a result of people understanding.

GROSS: One of the defining moments in your career in journalism and in the life of the Washington Post is when you and Ben Bradlee decided to publish the Pentagon Papers -- the secret history of the war in Vietnam. And Ben Bradlee was saying: "publish it and publish it quickly." But your lawyers were saying: "wait, don't publish it so quickly. In fact, maybe you shouldn't publish it at all." So either -- "either take your time or don't do it -- but don't rush into it."

How did you make up your mind, being in between your lawyers and Bradlee and knowing that this was going to be a really important decision?

GRAHAM: It was -- I had to do it very quickly, in about a minute, because I -- the editors and the head of the company Fritz Beebe were at Ben's house and they were writing -- trying to keep it secret. And this -- the lawyers were there and they were saying it was very dangerous and indeed we shouldn't publish, because the Times had been enjoined already from publishing by the government, who had taken them to court.

And, we were in the process of going public. We had announced our plans and not sold the stock. So, we were particularly liable to any kind of criminal prosecution from the government. So finally they called me up because the -- it got so late and the argument got so tense, and said: "you're going to have to decide this."

And I said: "well why do we have to do it right away? The Times took three months." And they said -- the editors all got on the phone and the business people were on the other phone saying: "wait a day." The editors were saying: "we mustn't wait a day. Everybody knows we have these papers and we have to maintain the momentum that was stopped when the Times was enjoined. And it's very important. People have their eyes on us and we have to publish."

And so, I listened to them and finally, after talking to both sides, I asked my colleague Fritz Beebe what he would do, and he was a lawyer, and he said: "I guess I would not." And that made it hard, but not impossible. He said it in such a way that I thought: "he's leaving it up to me and I can do this."

And so I said: "let's go. Let's publish." And I hung up because I was so freaked out by having had to make that decision so fast.

GROSS: Did you have to decide at that moment what your guiding principles were? Whether your guiding principles had more to do with journalism or with just protecting the profits of the company?

GRAHAM: You know, I made speeches at the time and I made them for rather another reason, which is that my image on Wall Street was that -- when we went public, which was later in 1971 -- I was this kind of nutty woman who was taking these risks with the company. And I started talking about excellence and profitability go hand in hand. And I really did it to show Wall Street that I cared about profitability, 'cause they thought I didn't.

But in fact, I think it's true and I -- I really believed it, that if you invested in the editorial product and built up the production and business side, that it would work. And to a large extent, it did and has.

GROSS: You built up a lot of animosity from the White House toward the Washington Post through publishing the Pentagon Papers and then breaking the Watergate story. And you say in the book: "bearing the full brunt of presidential wrath is always disturbing."

Now, you have told us about how insecure you were -- the kind of low self-esteem you had as a professional when you took over the Post. And here you are now, being criticized by the White House. Did you feel personally able to deal with that kind of criticism?

GRAHAM: It was pretty scary and you had to deal with it. Some people have referred to that as courageous, and I didn't view it as courageous. I viewed it as "we had no choice." I think courage is when you have a choice and you choose to be courageous. I thought we had no choice once we got in the Watergate reporting.

In the Pentagon Papers, that's true. We did have a choice for about a minute. In Watergate, you were -- it was like wading into a river. By the time you realized how serious it was, which was several months into the story, we were into it up to our waists and there was no way you could go back. You had to go forward. And so, I simply had to live with it.

I was very anxious. I lay about a foot above the bed worrying at night. But I also didn't think we had any choice except to proceed, and to back the editors and reporters in whom I believed.

GROSS: Were you worried that one day you'd find out that you were being misled? That you were set up? You were the victim of some kind of scam?

GRAHAM: Indeed I was. I used to go down and talk to Ben and Howard Simons (ph), the managing editor, all the time. And ask: "are we being fair? Are we being accurate? And, are we being set up or misled so that our heads can be chopped off?"

And they had good answers to these, and they were really reassuring. I don't think they were as assured themselves, inwardly, as they seemed to be to me. But they said that some of our sources were Republican and that because we had the story to ourselves, that Woodward and Bernstein had time to check and that they often withdrew a story by themselves, unless they were -- and they had two sources for everything.

And thirdly, that Woodward had a source -- particular source -- to whom he went when he was really bothered and puzzled. And that this source had never misled him. And of course, the source was later christened by the managing editor Howard Simons "Deep Throat."

I know -- I still don't know who Deep Throat was. I didn't know then and I don't know now.

GROSS: Are you glad you don't know so other people can't try to get it out of you?

LAUGHTER

GRAHAM: Well, I said to Woodward at one point -- we met over lunch...

GROSS: Mm-hmm.

GRAHAM: ... and I said -- I turned to him and said: "who is Deep Throat?" And he looked pale and flinched, and I said: "oh, it's all right. I don't want the responsibility. You don't have to tell me." He says that he -- he would have told me if I had asked for it, but I didn't ask for it. And I still don't.

GROSS: Someday maybe you will, though?

GRAHAM: No. Not now. Too late.

GROSS: Too late.

GRAHAM: Been there. Done that.

LAUGHTER

GROSS: You're turning 80 this year.

GRAHAM: Yes.

GROSS: And in your memoir, you write that turning 70 was actually very difficult.

GRAHAM: It's true. I think certain birthdays bother you more than others. Fifty didn't bother me much. Sixty did. Seventy did. Eighty doesn't.

GROSS: Why doesn't 80? Seventy did, but 80 doesn't.

GRAHAM: I think that at 70, I felt: "oh, gee -- I guess I'm an old woman." And I've come to terms with that. You know, when we're young, you never think you're going to be old and you saw -- in my day, you saw people with white hair and buns on their head -- and little old ladies. And I thought: "I'm never going to be like that." I mean, I didn't even think about it. I just thought you were young forever.

And so to realize that I'd turned 70, I really wanted not to broadcast it and I went on a trip with some friends out to the West Coast to avoid any observation of it. But my daughter and my children said: "well, we want to give a party." And I said: "oh, all right if it's a little party, and you know, I don't want a lot of people. I don't want people to know I'm 70." And they got the bit in their teeth, and they gave a small party for 600 people, which was why they covered.

LAUGHTER

So, this was not a secret from the world.

GROSS: You've just completed your memoirs, and I'd like to know what surprises you most about your life and who you became?

GRAHAM: Well looking back on it was really interesting and I liked it. I think this thing that surprised me the most was the role my father played in my growing up. He was very shy and reticent and not very articulate, so I didn't realize until I re-read his letters and mine to him how loving and supportive and important he was to my life. I think that's the biggest discovery I made. And I really, really was moved by this.

GROSS: Katherine Graham, I thank you very much for talking with us.

GRAHAM: Well, I thank you. I had a wonderful time and I appreciate your letting me be here. Thank you very much.

GROSS: Katherine Graham is the former publisher of the Washington Post. This week, she won a Pulitzer Prize for her autobiography Personal History. Our interview was recorded last year after the book was published.

Coming up: two books about women construction workers by a woman who's a master electrician.

This is FRESH AIR.

This is a rush transcript. This copy may not
be in its final form and may be updated.

Dateline: Terry Gross, Philadelphia
Guest: Katherine Graham
High: This week, former Washington Post publisher Katharine Graham won a Pulitzer Prize for her autobiography "Personal History." In this archive interview, Graham reflects on how she overcame personal doubts in order to run the paper she inherited. Graham's father owned the Post and later her husband, Phil Graham, took over. Graham became publisher, after her husband's suicide in 1963, though she knew little about the managerial or journalistic aspects of the position. But, learning on the job, she transformed the Post into one of the country's most respected newspapers.
Spec: Media; Pulitzer Prizes; Katherine Graham; Washington Post; Watergate
Please note, this is not the final feed of record
Copy: Content and programming copyright 1998 WHYY, Inc. All rights reserved. Transcribed by FDCH, Inc. under license from WHYY, Inc. Formatting copyright 1998 FDCH, Inc. All rights reserved. No quotes from the materials contained herein may be used in any media without attribution to WHYY, Inc. This transcript may not be reproduced in whole or in part without prior written permission.
End-Story: Personal History
Show: FRESH AIR
Date: APRIL 17, 1998
Time: 12:00
Tran: 041702np.217
Type: FEATURE
Head: Pioneering
Sect: News; Domestic
Time: 12:25

TERRY GROSS, HOST: In 1978, Susan Eisenberg was among the first six women who entered the apprenticeship training program of Boston's Local 103 of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers. She's now a master electrician, as well as a poet and writer.

In two new books, a volume of poetry called "Pioneering," and an oral history called "We'll Call You If We Need You," she gives readers a view into the embattled world of women construction workers.

Book critic Maureen Corrigan has a review.

MAUREEN CORRIGAN, FRESH AIR COMMENTATOR: Susan Eisenberg's new volume of poems about the dangers, hostilities, and occasional rewards she and other women have experienced working construction is called Pioneering. That sounds like a celebratory title until you read Eisenberg's introduction, and learn that federal affirmative action guidelines opened the way for women to enter the construction trades in 1978.

Since then, women electricians, carpenters, iron workers, painters and plumbers have been stuck in the pioneering phase, never rising much beyond 2 percent of the total construction workforce. As Eisenberg's biting poems attest, it's not been for want of trying. Here's part of one, entitled "Partner Number Five," in which she describes the tactile feel of construction work, as well as the misogyny hovering over the jobsite.

"A vault full of eight-foot fluorescents to hang
They stand in separate lifts
Movements synchronized
Hoist each fixture,
Drill and bolt overhead
How much easier it might be if he spoke to her
As she squeezes fingers through a tiny opening to grab wires
She teases about the convenience of small hands
'I can do anything in this business' he snarls
And again, silence"

The 30 tradeswomen who Eisenberg interviewed for her other book, an oral history called We'll Call You If We Need You sometimes sound like poets, too. Like apprentice Hart Crane's or Walt Whitman's, when they're describing the joy of making something lasting and awesome with their hands.

Construction worker Lorraine Bertoza (ph), who worked on a skyscraper for three years, tells Eisenberg: "when I worked at the top, I was doing parapet walls on the edge of the building. We were hanging off the side on guy lines and safety belts. It was our own world. When you get a pause, you just take in the magnitude of where you are. You can see forever, you know -- 45 storeys up. It's something most people don't get to do."

But as Eisenberg's interviewees also disclose, those moments of transcendence have been dearly paid for by years of muscle aches, pain in the neck harassment, and sometimes life-threatening sabotage. Eisenberg arranges her interviews thematically, so that together, they compose a frustrating coming-of-age narrative about women still struggling to secure their place in the construction trades.

In the early chapters of Eisenberg's book, this first generation of tradeswomen talks about being attracted to construction work for the same reasons as their male counterparts: the promise of good wages and work that wouldn't confine them to an office. Just as predictable are the pornographic pinups and dirty jokes that greeted them once they made it to the jobsite.

The strength of We'll Call You If We Need You, however, is the nuanced composite picture it assembles of tradeswomen's experiences. On her second day at the construction site, carpenter Kathy Walsh (ph) was pushed down a 40-foot embankment by a coworker, while all but one of the rest of the men watched.

Some other women lucked out and had supportive foremen, good partners, and unions that backed them up. We hear about women losing fingers and hands because no one taught them how to use their tools properly. We also hear about deliberate accidents designed to make their female victims look incompetent.

Like most work stories, these also contain grim humor. Bridge painter Deb Williams (ph) almost killed her partner by refusing to crawl over his body and hook him to a girder. She thought she was being sexually harassed. Meanwhile, he was being blown off the bridge.

Eisenberg just doesn't throw up her hands at the end of We'll Call You If We Need You and leave women construction workers' fates up to individual acts of benevolence. She makes a persuasive case for beefing up affirmative action guidelines and revising archaic union apprenticeship programs that were designed with 18-year-old men in mind.

Given the stories she's collected here, it sounds like a few sledgehammer blows to some well-chosen heads wouldn't hurt either.

GROSS: Maureen Corrigan teaches literature at Georgetown University. She reviewed two books by Susan Eisenberg: Pioneering: Poems from the Construction Site, and We'll Call You If We Need You: Experiences of Women Working Construction.

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Dateline: Maureen Corrigan; Terry Gross, Philadelphia
Guest:
High: Book Critic Maureen Corrigan reviews two new books by poet and construction worker Susan Eisenberg. Her poems attest to the misogyny still present in the construction industry. The books are "Pioneering: Poems from the Construction Site" and "We'll Call You If We Need You: Experiences of Women Working Construction."
Spec: Books; Authors; Women; Susan Eisenberg
Please note, this is not the final feed of record
Copy: Content and programming copyright 1998 WHYY, Inc. All rights reserved. Transcribed by FDCH, Inc. under license from WHYY, Inc. Formatting copyright 1998 FDCH, Inc. All rights reserved. No quotes from the materials contained herein may be used in any media without attribution to WHYY, Inc. This transcript may not be reproduced in whole or in part without prior written permission.
End-Story: Pioneering
Transcripts are created on a rush deadline, and accuracy and availability may vary. This text may not be in its final form and may be updated or revised in the future. Please be aware that the authoritative record of Fresh Air interviews and reviews are the audio recordings of each segment.