EOTO #1

Women's National Press Club (1919-1971): A Legacy That Still Speaks To Me

In 1919, at a time when women were still fighting for the right to vote and broader professional recognition, a group of determined women journalists in Washington, D.C., founded the Women’s National Press Club (WNPC). Their decision was not simply organizational; it was an act of resistance. Women were excluded from membership in the male-dominated National Press Club (NPC), which had been founded in 1908 and served as a central hub for political networking and influential speakers. Rather than accept exclusion from professional spaces where presidents, diplomats, and policymakers gathered, these women created an institution of their own. Their actions reflected not only ambition, but a refusal to be defined by systemic limitations. Alice Paul, one of the main founders of WNPC and protester for women's suffrage, set the standard for women in the club. Together, their goal was to make President Woodrow Wilson treat women's rights as constitutional amendments by allowing them to speak in the news.

Photo: msmagazine.com (Gil Klein)

Alice Paul (activist and party leader) stands outside of the Lafayette Square headquarters holding a banner that uses President Wilson's words against him. Wilson's quote reads: "The time has come to conquer or submit. For us there is but one choice. We have made it."

The Women’s National Press Club was established to provide women journalists with professional support, networking opportunities, and access to prominent speakers. At a time when women in journalism were often confined to “society” pages or marginalized beats, the WNPC positioned itself at the center of political journalism in Washington, D.C. It ensured that women were present in the same rooms where national conversations were unfolding. This access was transformative. By hosting notable figures, including U.S. presidents and international leaders, the club elevated the professional legitimacy of women journalists and expanded their visibility within the field.

Although the Women’s National Press Association, founded in 1884, also supported women in journalism, its focus centered more heavily on literary advancement and press development. In contrast, the WNPC strategically emphasized direct access to power structures and professional influence in the nation’s capital. This distinction highlights how the Women’s National Press Club was not only about recognition but about positioning women within elite networks where decisions were made and narratives were shaped.

Photo: wpcf.org

Eleanor Roosevelt at her first
press conference as First Lady

The historical impact of the WNPC extended far beyond its founding years. By the time the National Press Club admitted women members in 1971, the work of the Women’s National Press Club had already demonstrated the necessity and capability of women in high-level journalism. In 1985, the two organizations merged, symbolizing a significant shift from institutional exclusion to formal inclusion. The club’s legacy continues through the Washington Press Club Foundation, which promotes journalism education and gender equality within the profession.

What makes this history stand out to me personally is not only the institutional progress it represents, but the mindset behind it. The women who founded the WNPC were told that they did not belong in powerful professional spaces. Instead of shrinking their ambitions, they expanded them. They built something strong enough that the very institution that excluded them eventually had to change. That story resonates with me deeply because I have experienced moments where my own goals were questioned. When I expressed my desire to become a dentist, I was told by my boss that it would be too difficult for me and that I should consider being a hygienist instead. The implication was clear: aim lower, choose what is easier, accept what seems more “realistic.”

Like the women of the Women’s National Press Club, I realized that other people’s perceptions of my limits do not determine my future. Their story reflects the power of striving for what you truly want, even when someone suggests it may be too hard. The WNPC represents women refusing to accept ceilings placed above them. It represents resilience, ambition, and the courage to create opportunity when it is denied. That legacy inspires me because it reinforces a truth I am learning in my own life: progress begins when you decide that “too hard” is not the same as “impossible.”

Me in 500 Words

Photo: Victoria Sinchi

Graduating from Kennedy Catholic Preparatory School 

with Julia Xenos and Professor Venturini

The Person Who Carries You

By Giulianna Reid

For as long as I can remember, my nickname in the household was "Miss Independent".

I wanted to braid my own hair, so I taught myself.

I wanted to feel pretty at school, so I watched countless make-up tutorials.

I wanted to help people, so at only 9 years I decided to work in health care.

That independence followed me into high school, where I believed strength meant doing everything alone and never asking for help. Then I met Julia, and the story I told myself about who I had to be began to loosen its grip. We were teenagers navigating lockers, exams, and big dreams, but she had a calm confidence that felt steady beside my constant motion. Julia listened in a way that made silence feel safe, and she asked questions that pushed me to think deeper about my choices.

Photo: Selfie

Julia Xenos 

I was used to charging forward alone, yet she walked with me, matching my pace, reminding me that companionship did not weaken my drive. Whenever I stumbled, Julia never rushed to fix things, but she stayed present, proving support could be quiet and powerful. Through late-night talks and shared bus rides home, she showed me that trusting someone else was not surrender, but strength.

I started to let her see my doubts, my fears, and the pressure I placed on myself to always succeed. In return, Julia shared her own vulnerabilities, creating a balance where growth happened because we lifted each other. She challenged me kindly, calling me out when I hid behind independence instead of asking for what I needed.

Over time, I learned that leaning on someone did not erase my capability; it expanded it. Julia pushed me to be the best version of myself by believing in me, especially when my belief wavered. She celebrated my wins, grounded me in losses, and reminded me that no one becomes whole in isolation.

Our friendship quietly rewrote my definition of independence into something softer, stronger, and more human. Today, I still value my self-reliance, but I carry the wisdom Julia gave me everywhere I go. I know now that asking for help is not failure, but an invitation to connection and growth.

Meeting her in high school changed the trajectory of my life, shaping how I love, work, and show up. Julia taught me that independence and interdependence can coexist, creating a life built on courage and community. I am better because she walked beside me, and I am braver because I no longer walk alone.

This is the quiet, lasting gift of friendship, and it continues to shape the person I am becoming. When I think back to that fiercely independent girl, I smile, grateful she met someone who taught her to reach out, breathe, and trust, knowing that leaning in did not dim her light, but helped it shine wider, warmer, and far beyond what she imagined.

Because Julia believed first, and stayed, patiently, until belief became shared. between us, always, steady, honest, and true.

Photo: Selfie

Julia Xenos and I