Chapter 1

      A bi gezunt, she sighed as she entered the crowded Placement Office. As long as you have your health, so the Yiddish saying goes, nothing else matters. Physical health, maybe. Mental health? That's something else entirely, she figured. Her softly intellectual face, with its sharply arched eyebrows, sculpted cheekbones and penetrating (though hooded in disappointment at the moment) hazel eyes showed a terrier-like alertness and temperament. Proud Semitic nose, firm lips (the lower one fuller, slightly petulant) with an ever-so-slight curl at the corners that said "attitude", she carried herself tall and straight. She knew the power of first impressions, knew that a head held high would convince others one was "special". Not that she felt special right now, although it didn't appear to her that anyone else felt special either, given the circumstances

     Those who weren't dozing looked as though they would have been anywhere but here, she noted. Only the female contingent among them looked remotely hopeful. And why not? None of them were in any danger of being drafted. War is such a shandeh, she thought. It would be so much better if presidents, prime ministers, kings and dictators were put in an arena and made to fight it  themselves, allevai. That wasn't going to happen, of course, but it was a nice thought. One certainly needed nice thoughts here, as the long wooden benches reminded her drearily of those found just outside the Principal's Office, and looked about as comfortable.

     She eyed one male (long shanks splayed out like a drunken frog) with some annoyance. One of those two spaces he was taking up, she figured, ought to be hers. So, without a word she shoved one of his knees against the other and, while wedging herself down firmly between him and another splayed-leg male, gave both of them a hooded look. They said nothing but gave each other martyred looks over her head, as if to say it was bad enough being humiliated like this in public without having to suffer from some damn female as well. She laid her purse across her knees while she pulled out a 3x5 card, upon which was neatly typed: 

 Name   Trude Gotbaum (nee Apfel)                  

      Address   Currently residing at parent's house while

                                         seeking suitable housing closer to campus. Husband

                                                  is starting fourth year of Medical Internship and we have

    only one car between us. 

 University Subdivision  College For Women

                                             Degree At Graduation   B.A. Social Studies w/emphasis on Political Science and Law 

 Overall Grade Average   3.95                        

                   Expected Date Of Graduation  June 11, 1966                  

                                      Future Plans  Full-time teaching in grades 7-12 until husband completes

                                                                      Residency, then starting a family and finally attending Grad School when children are school age. Strong desire to enter Law as an attorney in own practice. Expect to do well and go far

 About Myself   I have always been expected to do my share of chores around the home since early childhood. I have been expected to do well since Kindergarten, and determination and conscientiousness have resulted in excellent grades all through grammar school, junior high, high school and college. I won a place in West Philadelphia High School For Girls through my excellent grades and graduated two years early, at age sixteen, instead of eighteen. All through school, beginning at age ten, I helped out in our family store after school and on weekends. At sixteen I applied for my Social Security Card and went to work at Snellenberg's Dept. Store as a cashier. When I entered junior high I was given a monthly allowance of fifty dollars, from which I was expected to pay for my clothing, school, transportation, and personal expenses; I thus learned how to budget both money and time quite well from this. Because there were two of us children, my younger brother was chosen to receive our parent's financial support for his college education, which made me thoroughly independent. I have competed for, and won, several scholarships, including The National Merit Scholarship. I have worked full-time throughout the last six years in order to reach graduation and I will continue to work hard as a teacher. I believe passionately in education, especially the educating of students to be critical thinkers and well-informed citizens.

     So now what? Trude rolled her eyes. God only knew how many were ahead of her; when she'd arrived at eight a.m. she'd been told lines had been forming since seven. Every semi-somnolent body around her seemed to be yet another reminder of the futility of her quest. After all, draft calls had been rising almost daily and deferments were getting harder to come by. Well, she had to remind herself, not if you happened to be the son-in-law of the current President. Or the son of a Congressman. She sighed. Teaching hadn't been her first choice, but it seemed that women still found themselves forced to choose between that or nursing if they wanted a profession---a respectable one, at least. Worse, no jobs women took payed anywhere near what men received for the same work, and teaching, according to a recent government sponsored report, had become "over-feminized" and needed more males.
     Didn't take much to get those males interested in teaching, she observed. With Conscientious Objector status becoming next to impossible, due to a little insert in the questionnaire about the morality of WWII (as if anyone in good conscience could denounce "The Good War" after the Holocaust, she mused dourly), schools were starting to get picky when it came to women. And rumors were spreading that because of this National Teacher Shortage, men who went into teaching would be exempt from the Draft, no less. Trude glared down at her card, wondering why she even bothered to try. But, she had to admit, that was her all over. Stubborn, maybe, yet determined to make it even so.
     Her finger itched, and she removed her heavy wedding band to get to it. Mosquito bite, Trude figured. She'd heard something on the news about this being a bad summer for biting insects, but what summer wasn't? As she began to slip the band onto her finger again she stopped. Tilting the ring so she could see its underside, Trude read the engraved inscription there---"R.A.G. + T.A.G" ( the initials stood for Richard Allen Gotbaum and Trude Apfel Gotbaum), and smiled. Rag and Tag, huh? Then her eyes lit up as an idea flashed across her mind.