The next morning, determined to make them take notice, I ransacked my bag for my smartest dress, adjusted my lipstick, and carefully set my hat at an angle. Nevertheless, I was a bit ill at ease. My anxiety was not allayed when Norman Himes, professor of sociology, said, “Now, Mrs. Sanger, we probably shan’t be able to hear you in this hall. The acoustics are very bad. They can hardly hear me and I have a big voice.” This was even less encouraging. I felt I was likely to be the last as well as the first woman at Colgate. However, I replied bravely, “I can speak up and we can have some wave if they can’t hear me. Anyhow, there probably won’t be many; why can’t they be moved up front?” “Yes, that’s what we’d better do.” We went in to find the chapel jammed. Some of the students were standing in the door, others against the walls. Professor Himes introduced me at the top of his lungs. “Louder! Louder!” The boys waved their hands. The more he tried to make himself heard, the more restless they became. When I stood, however, they had to listen if they were to hear me. There was no waving, no calling. They roared with laughter and clapped at everything I said. This seemed fine, but I suspected that I could not have really made so profound an impression as to deserve so much applause. Someone afterwards commented to Professor Himes, “We’ve never seen the boys so appreciative.” “Oh,” he remarked, “they thought if they could keep Mrs. Sanger talking long enough they wouldn’t have to go to their examinations.” From the time I started lecturing in 1916 I have appeared in many places—halls, churches, women’s clubs, homes, theaters. I have had many types of audiences—cotton workers, churchmen, liberals, Socialists, scientists, clubmen, and fashionable, philanthropically minded women. Once in Detroit Mrs. William McGraw, Sr. had organized a public meeting and luncheon at the Statler Hotel. When I arrived I encountered a situation which might well have embarrassed a less doughty hostess. She had invited a dozen of the most prominent women in the city to sit at the speaker’s table. Mrs. A. had asked, “Will Mrs. B. sit there also?” Mrs. B. had inquired, “Will Mrs. C. be next to me?” Each wanted social support. Mrs. McGraw had blandly refused to tell them; consequently not one had accepted. Although five hundred came, only two places were set at the great banquet table on the platform. Mrs. McGraw and I ate in solitary splendor with nothing but the floral decorations for company. All the world over, in Penang and Skagway, in El Paso and Helsingfors, I have found women’s psychology in the matter of childbearing 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.