“People are always asking me, ‘Who will you pass the torch to?’ The question makes me angry. There is no one torch—there are many torches—and I’m using my torch to light other torches.”

Ginette Bedard is eighty-six years old, and this year’s race will be her seventeenth New York City Marathon, the first of which she ran at age sixty-nine. At last year’s event, she completed the course in six hours and nineteen minutes, best for first among octogenarian women—of whom there were two. “It’s nice to be the oldest, because there’s no more competition,” she says.

They played essential behind-the-scenes roles as the American movie industry was taking off. What happened?

In “The Bedroom Project,” one of her latest series, photographer Sara Bennett trains her lens on the aftermath of incarceration, visiting former inmates—all of whom are women, most of whom have finished sentences for homicide convictions—and photographing them in their new residences. She pairs the images with handwritten reflections by her subjects.

At protests and vigils this week, the mood has been a combination of fury and astonishment at how distorted the definition of “normal” has become.

Transition House had to be true to its principles and then it had to leave them behind.

Starting in the late nineteenth century, women made up the majority of telephone-switchboard operators, but, when the new medium of commercial broadcast radio became popular, in the nineteen-twenties, women’s voices fell out of favor. When station directors were interviewed by Radio Broadcast magazine in 1924, they asserted that women sounded “shrill,” “nasal,” and “distorted” on the radio, and claimed that women’s higher voices created technical problems.

"I have the right to do the things I think I should do. My gender and my race should not be limitations."

"You see, dreams, even if they don’t come true, are important." Meet Barbara Hillary, the first African American woman on record to reach both the North Pole and the South Pole.

"I am just thrilled that it’s not only O.K.—it’s becoming less and less of a thing. When people come out, it doesn’t make headlines anymore. It’s a non-issue, which I’ve always said—that I hope one day it will be a non-issue. That’s exactly what I’ve been marching for for decades. I’m thrilled. I’m just so thrilled.”

Under the circumstances, perhaps the best way to celebrate the anniversary of the passage of the Nineteenth Amendment is to remember all those who cannot vote, not only those who can.

As preposterous as the idea of homosexual panic may sound today, for much of the twentieth century it was treated as something like common sense. The oldest plea of homosexual panic in America seems to have been made in Massachusetts in 1868. The word homosexual wouldn’t début in English for almost another two decades, but a fear of homosexuality was already being presented as a justification for killing a gay man.