Pre-election coverage has left me with headaches, a queasy stomach and unexpected jags of tears.
I know why: weeks of sexual harassment allegations, accusations, denial and excuses.
Hundreds, maybe thousands, of women have begun to tell their stories of sexual harassment. Some say the women should have come forward sooner; others say it is never easy. Decades ago, it was nigh unto impossible.
When I was a teenager, my dad was foreman of a big cattle ranch south of Ten Sleep, Wyoming. Every spring, we trailed cattle to pastures in the Big Horn Mountains. Every fall, we gathered and trailed them home. One fall, the owner showed up with two men from the University of Wyoming – the chairman of a department in the College of Agriculture and a fellow professor. They selected cows for a bovine-disease research project and came at every gathering to take blood samples. Affable men, they treated us with the same respect accorded the owner.
The spring I was a high school freshman, the chairman told me that if I came to the university, he would give me a job. I was pleased even though college seemed impossible. Three years later, I won a scholarship and contacted him, asking if the job offer still held. He gave me a position washing glassware for the courses the department offered in microbiology. It was a good job, and I worked evenings without supervision once I’d learned the protocols.
One night, he stopped by and asked how my studies were going. I was naively flattered – until he grabbed me in a bear hug. He was a big man and completely enveloped me. I stiffened and stammered into his shirt pocket that all was fine. He released me and left. Was that just his way of showing support? I had known him for four years; surely he had my best interests in mind.
Evening visits continued, but now the bear hugs were “rounded out” with buttocks’ squeezes. I didn’t know what to do. I was 18 years old, straight off the ranch and had never seen such behavior, much less expected it from a man of his position.
I had no one to confide in. Sexual harassment was not part of my vocabulary – or anyone else’s in 1959 – and I was mortified that he would think I was an easy mark. But I needed that job, as my scholarship covered only tuition.
As a sophomore, to avoid him, I began to go to work at 1 a.m. He figured that out and appeared far too often. I endured in humiliation and fear. Would he go further? I was lucky; he never did.
Finally, his luck ran out. Years later, a friend told me that he promised a recommendation letter to veterinary school for a woman student in exchange for sexual favors. She said “no” and turned him in, and he was forced to resign.
Sad to say, my friend, a male member of the department, remarked it was unfortunate because the fellow had been such a good chairman.
I graduated in 1963. Sexual harassment became illegal in 1964 as part of Title VII of the Civil Rights Act. In 1970, I entered graduate school and then went on to a post-doctoral position.
My field, immunology and infectious disease, was male-dominated. In self-protection, I dressed in loose clothing and wore neither makeup nor jewelry. Obscure country mouse I was – revealing only my mind, never my body.
I enjoyed success as a research scientist and a professor. Now 75, I was blindsided at how daily news of sexual harassment caused memories to surge up and twist my gut.
Although women now have recourse to legal action – barring the statutes of limitation – our stories still are not easy to tell.
We are embarrassed, ashamed and often wonder: Was it our fault? Would our friends and family and colleagues believe us? Do we make too much of incidents that some men enact naturally as a presupposed divine right?
No, I say! The blame falls not on us, and some will believe us. Moreover, we can charge the perpetrators with illegal conduct. All we need is courage, but oh, how deeply we have to dig for it.
Women, take heart. Tens of thousands of us know your story and stand with you. Men, will you stand with us? Sexual harassment has been illegal for 52 years – and immoral far, far longer.
Faye Schrater, a Durango resident, is a retired professor of immunology and infectious diseases. She serves on the ethics board at Mercy Regional Medical Center, is a Colorado Master Gardener and writer. Reach her at fschrater@icloud.com.
