She’s Zooming In on Three ‘Women of Consequence’

Photographer Marylu Raushenbush lives in Coronado, hails from Madison, summers in Chatham, on Cape Cod. She is presently photographing America’s “Women of Consequence” for an exhibit to be mounted in September in Moscow. No coincidence that the majority of Raushenbush’s subjects are from California, Wisconsin and Massachusetts. And why not? “Most of the women I know are women of consequence,” she says, “women who in different times and circumstances could have crossed frontier America . . .”

Local women who have sat so far for Raushenbush include former politicians and current attorneys Yvonne Brathwaite Burke and Shirley Hufstedler, actresses Julie Harris and Beulah Quo (also an Asian-America community affairs activist), artist Linda Rose Jacobson, writer-producer Fay Kanin, educator Vilma Martinez. “They’re not all famous,” the photographer adds. “They are women who survive and make their presence felt, everyone from a barmaid to a state supreme court justice.”

In June and July, Raushenbush plans to return the favor, photographing Soviet women for showing in America. “Only three of my American women have been involved in government,” she says. “I expect 95% of the Russians will be,” though she’s hoping for sittings with women who represent the more working-class strata of Soviet society.

Behind the lens, Raushenbush’s aim is “to get that moment in time--place, position, expression--of the woman of consequence. And then a quote.” She especially prizes an aphorism from Burke, California’s first black congresswoman: “There’s nothing wrong with taking a token job if you don’t act like a token once you get there.”

Mark III Is Spared From That Big Roundhouse in the Sky

Postscript: On March 27, Short Takes publicized the plea of Victor Korman, a Manhattan Beach typesetter, to save Disneyland’s last Mark III monorail, from the demolition crew last Monday. This week, Korman’s answering machine, a model of controlled glee, reports: “This is the Incredibly Ad Hoc Committee to save the world’s last Mark III monorail. Thanks to your support, the Walt Disney company has agreed to preserve Old Red’s bubble-top front end for promotional use . . . Because you helped to spread the word, this vital piece of transportation history has earned its gentle retirement.”

Rathskeller Berkeley’s Plea: Bring Back the Plaque

Nobody ever doubted that Larry Blake was a good guy. Just in case, though, he had a plaque to prove it. Had. It’s gone now, swiped from the Rathskeller in Berkeley. The plaque might even be in Southern California by now. Whoever has it is asked to send it back. No questions asked. Even a reward, posted by Blake, of 100 lottery tickets.

It’s not that the plaque is valuable--to anybody, that is, except Blake. What’s on it is an adoption certificate, “drawn up by a lawyer,” Blake says, “with a lot of ‘whereases’ and ‘hereinafters,’ I forget just what.” A replica of an adoption paper certifying that Blake was legally adopted by UC Berkeley’s Class of 1954.

Back in 1949, Blake opened a restaurant. Soon after, the day of the Oregon football game, in fact, Blake opened the downstairs to the students, as a beer-and-burger hall. They loved it. They loved Blake. They adopted him. The Rathskellar made Sports Illustrated’s list of the Top Five Watering Holes. It was the plaque that counted most, though.

Blake is 72 now and retired to Santa Cruz. “I was an orphan,” he whispers (he’s recovering from throat cancer), “and above everything, I wanted recognition--by somebody. This, the adoption, was the first time it happened. That’s why it’s terribly important to me.”

The plaque had been swiped before--”maybe 15 times”--but this time it was bolted to the Rathskeller wall. “Must have taken ‘em a week to pry it off,” Blake says. “Probably a college prank, but it’s been a year now. I sure would like it back . . . .”

The Early Watcher Catches the Birdathon

You’ve got to trust them, these people to whom two in the bush is a far preferable alternative. They’ll be out in force on Saturday, armed with binoculars, scratch pads, curiosity and boundless zeal.

Bird watchers they’re called, or more familiarly, birders, and for every species they spot, the national Audubon Society will be that much richer. It’s the society’s annual Birdathon, pledges predicated on the number of species spotted by the pledgee. They’ll be alone, or with a companion, and their word, traditionally, is their bond.

“A top-flight birder willing to work hard and travel far can come up with close to 100 species, locally,” says Ellsworth (Ken) Kendig, president of the L.A. Audubon Society. “You could make it from the mountains to the lowlands to the coast, three different ecological areas (ergo three entirely different types of birds). Myself, I’m not going to do that much--say, 30 to 50 birds--because one, I’m lazy, and two, I promised my sponsors I wouldn’t cost them too much. But it’s a good cause. Anyone can play. Just call (213) 876-0202.”

There are, of course, the birds native to our basin--mockingbirds, hummingbirds, robins, crows, etc.--but the rush comes from spotting one off-course flexible flyer that has no business in California. “They set out from the tundra of the north,” says Kendig, “en route to the coast of Russia or China, and somehow--very rarely--their navigational systems get messed up: a wagtail, a stint. . . .”

Kendig prefers to do his birding while stalking another kind of birdie--on the golf course: “Call it mixing pleasure with pleasure.”