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I watched the Newport Jazz Festival performance of Joni Mitchell and cried with Wynonna Judd and Brandi Carlile ("Mitchell's return to stage dazzles Judd," July 28). Not only because of Joni and our lost youth and all the complications of all those songs, now sung an octave lower from an armchair but with no less authority. But the best part was Carlile, so clearly knocked over in the presence of a heroine. Her totally honest awe and wonder was a palpable tribute. Her admiration and her tears honored and acknowledged a legend.
We are in an age of disdain for what came before. There is an enormous gap in understanding among young women. God bless them. They think it has always been this way. But now that Roe has gone down they begin to see otherwise.
Young women trial lawyers appear with cleavage and stilettos and flaunt their sexuality while the old guard crabbily remember suits made out of men's fabric and foulard bow ties — Brooks Brothers for up-and-coming women litigators.
I remember being interviewed about dressing for court and specifically observing that the suit had to be very tailored, but I would play with color a little.
But the point is, Carlile looked at Mitchell with love and awe, like I treasure a photo of myself with Gloria Steinem. Like I hold up the models of Justice Kathleen Blatz and U.S. District Court Judge Ann Montgomery. Shirley Chisholm. Patricia Schroeder. Geraldine Ferraro. Barbara Jordan. Elizabeth Holtzman. Learn these names. Learn these lives.
We owe it to these women to hold them up. To give them awards and standing ovations. To make a place on our mantel or our refrigerator door. To put a worthy quote on a Post-it and let it be our guide.