A facilitator for runaway slaves traveling north on the underground railroad in the early 19th century, Henrietta Duterte also made local and national history in the business of burying the dead.
Hammonton, New Jersey, is the Blueberry Capital of the Garden State. Once upon a time, sixteen-year-old Kellyanne Fitzpatrick Conway was crowned Blueberry Pageant Princess. And we all know Fats Domino found his thrill on Blueberry Hill. But were it not for Elizabeth Coleman White, none of that would have happened.
A practical and creative nineteenth-century boarding house owner, Mary Elizabeth Walton was used to solving mechanical problems. So it was only natural that, when the noise and smoke of the elevated railway next to her building became intolerable, she set out to reinvent the era’s train technology — and succeeded, even where Thomas Edison himself had failed.
An avid reader for as long as I can remember, I grew up absolutely devouring the works of Harriet Stratemeyer Adams. But I never knew her by that name. To me, she was Carolyn Keene, author of all those wonderful Nancy Drew mysteries whose bright yellow spines lined my bedroom bookshelf. In a book publishing world long dominated by males, Adams became a stunning business success by offering young girls a strong, adventure-seeking literary heroine who controlled her own fate.
For almost 100 years, this Wednesday’s Woman was the most recognized face in America. A savvy businesswoman, a shrewd marketer, and the self-declared Savior of Her Sex, she was Lydia Estes Pinkham who was to women’s health products what John Wanamaker was to department stores.
Long before Steppenwolf told us we were “Born to be Wild” and “choppers” and “ape hangers” became part of cycling lexicon — a handful of gutsy female riders slid onto the seats of Wagners, Indians and Harleys, and grabbed the handlebars to become pioneers in the world of motorcycling. They are this Wednesday’s Women.