How It Started. . .

And how it's going. . .

Friday, October 31st, 2025

I wrote this (now slightly-edited) column for Power Line in 2015, about an incident that happened in San Francisco, way back in 1974. It is a nice companion piece to the recent 3WHH Podcast discussing Helen Andrews’ brave and brilliant article “The Great Feminization.” Forgive me for quoting MYSELF in an old column, but I think it is more than relevant. Plus, it is my favorite ever column and features the most beautiful baby ever born, with the possible exception of your child or grandchild. He’s a contender for sure!

And here is the 12 year old column about the half century-old incident:

HOW IT STARTED …

Last Friday I referred to the Psychotic Ninny Wing of the feminist movement. In the beginning they were a relatively small part of the legitimate push for equality and expanded opportunities for women. But the nutcases always existed.

In a Women’s Liberation meeting I attended in 1970, a certifiably insane woman waxed rhapsodic about how “when we hang all the men they will emit sperm and we can collect that and reproduce without men.” The logistics of that scenario alone were daunting and the image tough to erase. I thought, “Holy crap! I will sit here quietly and have much to report when I return to my home planet.”

I’m about to describe a different incident which happened in 1974. It was an early precursor to the hoaxes, disgusting “rape culture” slander and tedious anti-male bigotry on campus today. Since virtually every legal equality has already been won, and the saner feminists have retired from the field, victorious, the lunatic fringe has more influence in a smaller pond.

It is ever thus in every “social justice” movement. The more obvious it becomes that virtually all impediments to success have been removed, the more furious the professional “victims” become that nothing much has changed in their lives. And the more resentful of others whose life decisions and discipline have catapulted them to success.

Individual success is anathema to a victim class. It does not inspire; it refutes the linchpin of their victimhood: that the deck is permanently stacked against them all. Those who profit from their professional victim status cling to it like a Titanic survivor to a piece of driftwood.

On the particular day I will describe, my best woman friend and I wheeled our toddlers toward Castro Street and decided to stop in to a women’s coffeehouse for a cup of herbal tea. Though The Full Moon called itself A Coffeehouse for Women, it was only for the right kind. We quickly became aware that all the other women were what Robin Williams called “women in comfortable shoes”.

My friend and I were clearly breeders, our Strollers of Shame advertising our cavorting with the enemy. The hostility could be cut with a knife. We got our tea and sat down. Within minutes, a large unhappy woman with the mandatory plaid flannel shirt and crewcut approached us and asked about our babies.

“Are those boys?” she fairly spat. Both toddlers had longish curls and were – in my utterly unbiased opinion – extraordinarily good-looking. We admitted that they were boys. She then ordered us to leave because – and who could forget such a statement even 40 years later? – “some of the women are feeling rape vibes.”

I’m pretty sure there must have been a time in my life when I was more enraged, but I can’t think of when it might have been. My friend, of a less combative nature, immediately got up and fled, expecting I was behind her. I stayed put.

Cursed with a slavish devotion to Logic, I said, “If you had to ASK if these were boys, those vibes must have been pretty weak. I paid for this tea. If you want me gone, you’d best call the cops. I am going to finish my tea with my beautiful boy and if you touch one hair on his head, you will find yourself in court. After you come out of your coma.”

It was a ludicrous threat; the woman was twice my size and I had a baby with me, never an asset in a donnybrook. But, being a very small person, I was forced to learn at an early age that bullies are always caught off guard when you fight back. She looked into my eyes, and wisely chose to stomp back to her coven. Like Mean Girls everywhere, they resumed looking daggers at me. It’s not easy to drink Red Zinger when you’re shaking like a leaf. But I dragged it out as long as I could. And left with as much dignity as could be mustered by a person on the verge of stroking out.

When I was a couple of feet from the door, I yelled, “If you hate men so much, how come you are trying so hard to look like one?” Mind you, I was a card carrying left-wing Democrat at the time. But you don’t associate my 18-month-old baby boy with the worst crime after murder and expect me to just take it and slink away.

When this column ran the first time, a reader did a little research and discovered that The Full Moon Coffeehouse had gone belly up after just a couple of years. Perhaps their customer service policy needed work.

But anti-male bigotry lives on and thrives. This was my conclusion to the column in 2015, pre-Donald J. Trump: The Psychotic Ninnies and their pet eunuchs rule. It is long past time to fight back.

Trigger warning: Run! Or grab your Teddy Bear or Play-Doh. Here are the scary boy babies who invaded the Safe Space for Psychotic Ninnies:

For Extra Credit, those of you who’ve met Joe/Max, see if you can identify his baby boy, sometimes called his clone, or Paternity Suit, Exhibit A.

HOW IT’S GOING TODAY:

The Feminization of America is all but complete. Pre-Hegseth, male soldiers were forced to clomp around in high heels to “see how it felt.” Allegedly, there were 15,000 trans people in the Services. Get your head around that. Women predominate in medical schools, Law Schools and the Academy. Women are or have been mayors of every broken city in Blue America. Police chiefs, too.

If I never hear about another “first woman who…” again, it will be too soon. Far too many standards have been dumbed down or done away with entirely in order to ensure “equity”. It must end. IF you can pass the Special Forces exam in every particular, including strength, speed and endurance, then go ahead and be a female Special Forces soldier. IF you can carry a 300-lb length of chain the required distance to simulate carrying a large person out of a fire, then, more power to you as a firefighter. You don’t get to say, like the obscenely-overpaid hunka hunka burning shame in California who said, when questioned about her ability to haul a large man to safety, “How did your husband get himself in a fire”?

It’s as though there had been a teeter-totter of privilege and opportunity that SLIGHTLY favored males. (Although I was born in 1946 and in my entire life I had never been told there was a single thing I could not at least TRY to do as a female – either by my parents or the “Patriarchy”). The fable about girls being deliberately herded into the doll corner and actively forbidden to play with the blocks and trucks was an absurd lie. Nevertheless, the encouragement I got was clearly not the same for every female before the modern feminist movement did SOME valuable and important work evening things out.

But then, drunk on its own success and POWER, the movement became as fat and bloated as many of its current adherents and suddenly that teeter-totter banged down on the female side, sending the males into the air and off the playground altogether. And that has been – in my opinion – a much worse disaster than the fact that at first there were no female astronauts or NFL referees. I WISH there were no females on the U.S. Supreme Court. At least not three of the current four.

Let’s return to an entirely merit-based society where everyone has the RIGHT TO TRY, the right to prove he or she is QUALIFIED. Beyond that, let the chips fall where they may.