LMAO @ hero. You really need to learn what a hero is
Risking your life to help others qualifies someone as a hero. Sanger did that. Hence, she's a hero.
Full text of "Margaret Sanger; an autobiography."
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All the world over, in Penang and Skagway, in El Paso and Hel-
singfors, I have found women's psychology in the matter of child-
bearing essentially the same, no matter what the class, religion, or
economic status. Always to me any aroused group was a good group,
and therefore I accepted an invitation to talk to the women's branch
of the Ku Klux Klan at Silver Lake, New Jersey, one of the weirdest
experiences I had in lecturing.
My letter of instruction told me what train to take, to walk from
the station two blocks straight ahead, then two to the left. I would see
a sedan parked in front of a restaurant. If I wished I could have ten
minutes for a cup of coffee or bite to eat, because no supper would be
served later.
I obeyed orders implicitly, walked the blocks, saw the car, found
the restaurant, went in and ordered some cocoa, stayed my allotted ten
minutes, then approached the car hesitatingly and spoke to the driver.
I received no reply. She might have been totally deaf as far as I was
concerned. Mustering up my courage, I climbed in and settled back.
Without a turn of the head, a smile, or a word to let me know I was
right, she stepped on the self-starter. For fifteen minutes we wound
around the streets. It must have been towards six in the afternoon.
We took this lonely lane and that through the woods, and an hour
later pulled up in a vacant space near a body of water beside a large,
unpainted, barnish building.
My driver got out, talked with several other women, then said to me
severely, "Wait here. We will come for you." She disappeared. More
cars buzzed up the dusty road into the parking place. Occasionally men
dropped wives who walked hurriedly and silently within. This went
on mystically until night closed down and I was alone in the dark. A
few gleams came through chinks in the window curtains. Even though
it was May, I grew chillier and chillier.
After three hours I was summoned at last and entered a bright
corridor filled with wraps. As someone came out of the hall I saw
through the door dim figures parading with banners and illuminated
crosses. I waited another twenty minutes. It was warmer and I did
not mind so much. Eventually the lights were switched on, the audi-
ence seated itself, and I was escorted to the platform, was introduced,
and began to speak.
Never before had I looked into a sea of faces like these. I was sure
that if I uttered one word, such as abortion, outside the usual vocabu-
lary of these women they would go off into hysteria. And so my ad-
dress that night had to be in the most elementary terms, as though
I were trying to make children understand.
In the end, through simple illustrations I believed I had accom-
plished my purpose. A dozen invitations to speak to similar groups
were proffered. The conversation went on and on, and when we were
finally through it was too late to return to New York. Under a curfew
law everything in Silver Lake shut at nine o'clock. I could not even
send a telegram to let my family know whether I had been thrown in
the river or was being held incommunicado. It was nearly one before I
reached Trenton, and I spent the night in a hotel.
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