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by Heidi Olmack
I gasped in horror when I read on the Museum of Menstruation Web site that the museum's curator and founder, Harry Finley, was going to appear on the Howard Stern show. I knew Howard would frame Harry as a pervert. "I've never heard the program," Harry wrote unwittingly. But he
had hopes that the story of his museum would fall on sympathetic ears,
reaching the large number of females that comprise Stern's audience.
"I've been on dozens of radio programs," Harry told me last year. "The one
that really stopped me for months from doing that anymore was some program
in Fort Wayne, Indiana, when the host asked me whether I hired menstruating
prostitutes for sex. And I couldn't believe it. I felt myself go numb all
over. I just couldn't believe it."
Last Father's Day, after touring the historic and phallic sites of
Washington D.C., I welcomed the change of pace offered by Harry's tribute
to the feminine function.
flashback flashback flashback flashback flashback flashback
Harry ushers me into his Maryland home, leading me directly into his finished
basement where the museum is housed. His cat, Max C. Padd, is sunning
himself in front of the sliding glass door that opens onto a quaint
back yard.
Mannequin midriffs hang from the ceiling. Mounted to the wood-paneled
walls, pieces of foamcore hold displays of pads and pictures. The first
exhibit shows the physiology and facts about menstruation. A small
container filled with colored plaster illustrates the amount of blood that
a woman actually loses during her period. I'm surprised by the small amount
it's no more than a quarter cup. "Many women think there's a lot more
blood. Together with mucus and the lining of the uterus, it's actually more
than that," Harry notes.
Harry points out a menstrual apron, the most common form of protection before tampons and pads. |
Rows of familiar vending machine pad boxes, each with the same cheesy '70s
lady smelling a flower, cover the wall next to the sliding door. Tucked
inside the boxes are stories from women from all over the world about their
first periods. One woman from Japan wrote about a ceremony her family held for her. Another box contains a poem by an American teenager. The display
is part of an exhibit from Iowa, the effort of a woman who dedicated two
years to gathering such memories. Harry comments that female visitors find
it the most interesting exhibit because it's so personal.
Sitting on an overstuffed chair as the sun shines through the sliding door,
I enjoy reading the stories and I compliment Harry on the comfortable
atmosphere of his basement. Albeit odd, it seems appropriate that the
museum be in a homey environment instead of a stark building. Harry hopes to move into Washington D.C. proper. "I originally wanted to have it white and antiseptic," he says. "But now I'm thinking the whole museum should have chairs and warm woodwork."
Harry plans to transform The Museum of Menstruation into The Museum of
Women's Health. His basement museum would become a special section of the
new museum that will cover the historical development of the way women have
been treated by the medical community since the Greeks. Harry would also
like to see the new museum cover current issues with special exhibits on
abortion, the use of estrogen in menopause, and breast cancer. "I'm really
anxious to do it," he says. Before he can expand, he must first secure
funding. What he has accomplished thus far has all come out of his own
pocket.
And what has he gotten in return? Attention. And lots of it, as is
evidenced by a wall papered in press clips. Since he opened the museum in
1994, Harry has received tons of press from praise and joking to scrutiny and criticism. "Stick to jock itch products, buddy," wrote Sassy
Magazine. A Village Voice reporter snooped around his house when she took
"bathroom breaks," later speculating in her article about his personal
habits as a neat freak. Harry admits he meticulously cleaned his house
because a writer from a national publication was coming over! He handles
most jabs good-naturedly, getting a kick out of a Sylvia comic strip and
laughing about his interview with Beth Littleford for Comedy Central's
Daily Show.
Harry's humor and unassuming manner make it easy to talk about such a taboo
topic. As we move onto a display of alternative protection, we discuss
perceptions about periods. "Bodily fluids have a very bad reputation. It
goes down from tears and sweat," he comments, adding that "menstruation is
seen as an impediment to sex."
He explains that many washable pads are made by small companies run by
women. He shows me menstrual cups, the Keeper and Instead, noting that the
latter resembles a diaphragm and both are contemporary versions of the '70s
Tassaway. We discuss the pros and cons of alternative protections they
pose less of a threat to a woman's health, yet they are messy and hardly
convenient for this modern world. "What amazes me is that with all the
technology, there still is no perfect protection," he says.
Granted, our options are much better now than they were before the early
part of this century. Awkward belts hang on the mannequin midriffs and one
has an apron draped over its rear. That's what they used to wear before
pads and tampons! Harry also has several varieties of tampons Wix, Fibs,
and Fax made before the invention of the applicator. Basically, they
look much like today's o.b. tampon.
Harry stands behind a shirt made out of tampons, part of a Halloween costume donated to the museum. |
Where does he get all this stuff? People find him and donate it. A woman
who read an article in The Chicago Tribune contributed boxes of tampons
from the 1930s that she had found when cleaning out her parents' house
after they died. Her father had worked for Kotex as an advertising guy. A
researcher donated a supply of the obsolete Tassaway cups. Random people
donating randomly found items.
The remaining wall space is covered with what got Harry started on this
venture in the first place a collection of advertisements from around
the world dating back to the '30s. As an art director for a magazine in
Frankfurt, he browsed through European and American magazines seeking ideas
for page layouts. He started to notice trends in the ways different companies and countries approached the subject of menstruation. Soon he was caught up in
the history, collecting more than 3,000 ads. He has post-World War One
Kotex (short for "cotton texture") ads, as well as the bolder German,
Swedish, and Danish advertising. His display also illustrates a shift in
American attitudes as feminism gained momentum.
In a quest to donate the ad collection to a museum, Harry discovered no
such place existed. "So I decided that to liven up my life a little bit, I
would do it," he says. "I really had to think about it because I knew I was
going to take a lot of heat, and I HAVE taken a lot of heat for it."
Surprisingly, he didn't get the heat I expected during the Howard Stern
interview. Yeah, Howard grilled him, throwing in a few gross comments and
questioning whether Harry had a fetish. But Harry handled it well, laughing
along with the sidekicks. I was shocked that a big pig like Stern actually
asked intelligent questions and showed interest in the topic.
I see Harry as a sacrificial lamb. By generating discussion about
menstruation as he has, Harry is bringing it into the light and gradually
helping diminish its taboo nature. If the same museum was opened by a woman,
nobody would even give a shit about it. In the grand scheme of things, maybe
having a male as an authority on the subject will even give it a little more
legitimacy. Heck, my gynecologist is a guy and he knows more about the female
body than me and my friends. Why not Harry?
Visit www.mum.org for a virtual tour of the Museum of Menstruation. For a free tour of the real thing, call or e-mail Harry a few days ahead to set up a time (weekends only right now):
e-mail: hfinley@mum.org
tel: (301) 459-4450
fax: (301) 577-2913
Pinball punk, zine contributor (Cake, Hermenaut, Stupor), critic of comic books, and interviewer of society's underdogs and eccentrics, you'll find Heidi Olmack listed in the rock star category on any coolness chart. Her agent says that "Miss Olmack's greatest passion is preserving the vision of off-beat legends," hence her interviews with Miss Sarah Jacobson, Mister Tiny
Tim, Miss Cynthia Plaster Caster (Cake, Fall 1994) and Mister
Quinten Crisp. That also might explain her role as business manager of
travelling font salesman Mister Chank Diesel.
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