This weekend’s Washington Post Magazine tells the story of an ill-conceived, and fortunately failed, monument to mothers:
ON A WARM SPRING DAY IN 1929, dozens of Washington dignitaries gathered in a forest near Chevy Chase to think about their mothers. It was, after all, Mother’s Day, just the 15th since the holiday had been made official, and thus an appropriate time to break ground for what everyone assembled hoped would be Washington’s newest, and biggest, monument.
A Girl Scout choir sang. A senator spoke. Five pastors gave their blessings. And at 3:30 p.m., as an American flag was raised atop a four-foot limestone pyramid, a quartet of Boy Scout buglers marched to the corners of the five-acre site and blew a fanfare. Then a thrice-married, globetrotting, poetry-penning 65-year-old socialite began to address the crowd.
“The world has memorialized fighters, thinkers, monarchs and prophets, sea kings and generals,” said Mrs. Clarence Crittenden Calhoun. “But as yet no monument to the mother genius has been raised in imperishable stone, beautified by art and sculpture, to proclaim the debt each mortal owes to the woman who risked her own life to give life.”
To put it more plainly, in a city full of monuments, mothers had been forgotten. But on that day — May 12, Calhoun’s birthday, as it happened — hope was in the air: The first concrete steps were being taken toward building a monument to mothers everywhere.
As you can tell from the drawing, what they came up with was, to but it nicely, a hideous monstrosity. The story of why it wasn’t built is worth a read, though.
