Title IX Opens Doors from Hoop Dreams to MDs!

Back in the 1960s, tall, smart and athletic, I slouched through school with 3 strikes against me, ridiculed for my passion to play “boy’s ball games.” Then in 1972 Title IX, a controversial bill, passed as a part of the Civil Rights Amendment and opened doors that had slammed closed in my face.

For the first time ever, laws mandated equal opportunity on America’s playing fields. Though early on we weren’t welcomed there, we kept fighting. As a first generation Title IXer, I, unknowingly, became a pioneer in women’s basketball. I received the first athletic scholarship to Illinois State. No one recruited back then, I was lucky to be at the right place at right time.

Illinois State University – 1978

“The majority of our staff opposed scholarships. It was a real struggle deciding if we were going to do it or not. In the end, we awarded Illinois State’s first basketball scholarship in 1978 to Pat McKinzie.”

– Jill Hutchinson,

Illinois State Coach1st President and Co-founder

Women’s Basketball Coaches Association

I played with an All Star cast of Illinois’ finest ball players who made me look good. The late Cyndi Ellis, late Charlotte Lewis, 1976 silver Olympic medalist, Vonnie Tomich, All Pro WBL, Cyndi Slayton and others like Annette Rutt (1967) who came before me paving the way including coach Jill Hutchinson.

On selection teams, try out camps, and in my brief stint in the short-lived, premier Women’s Pro League, WBL, I met other unsung heroes blazing trails in their home states. We had no idea we were making history; we just wanted a chance to dance on the hardwood.

Now 40 years later, I salute old rivals and teammates who helped pave the way for generations of young girls across the continent. These are but a few of the scholarship recipients (1975-79) that I was able to track down through the wonderful wacky worldwide web.

A teammate from the pros, Cathy Shoemaker, first scholarship recipient at University North Carolina and WBL Dallas Diamonds (1979-81) All Star, is now a physical therapist in South Carolina. She helped her team to advance to the AIAW regionals as a three-time AIAW All-State.

One of my college archrivals, who befriended me at Athletes in Action training camp in Colorado, was Betty Booker, the first athletic scholarship recipient at Memphis State University. She went onto become an award winning high school coach and later an assistant principal at Whitehaven High School in Tennessee.

Out west, one of the first scholarship recipients at the University Wyoming was another point guard, Cindy Bower, my teammate with the Washington D.C. Metros. Her young coach, Margie McDonald, also a groundbreaker, was a scholarship recipient at Wayland Baptist, Texas. Cindy went onto become a highly respected businesswoman, founder and CEO of Calibre Management Inc.

One of the biggest name player at that time period, Ann Meyers Drysdale was the first 4-year athletic scholarship at UCLA, 4-time All-American, the only woman to sign a contract with the NBA, Indiana Pacers, and first woman drafted in the first women’s professional league New Jersey Gems in1979. She became a successful sportscaster.

During the 1970s, my “full ride” felt like drawing the winning lottery ticket and helped my parents afford to put four children five years apart through college on teachers’ salaries. In turn, I gave back to the game, coaching high school players from around the globe at international schools in Europe, including one 6’2″ blue-eyed, dark-haired Franco American named Nathalie.

UWSP’s Nathalie Lechault – 2007

Years later, my daughter, returned to the States to combine academics and education. She played in a DIII Final Four at UW-Stevens Point under the tutelage of another pioneer, my former rival at UW-Lacrosse, Shirley Egner, the most decorated coach in the competitive Wisconsin Intercollegiate Athletic Conference.

Nathalie became the first MD in the family on either side of the Atlantic. Raise the roof for the young women of the 21^st century, who never doubted their right to rise to the top.

Tall, smart, athletic…today you look up to shake hands with Dr. Lechault.

In your face, world! Who’s laughing now?

Happy Father’s Day – From Papa Mac to President Obama Empowering Daughters

When I saw the espnW interview with President Obama coaching his 10-year-old daughter, Sasha’s basketball team, I cried; it reminded me so much of my dad and me. However, forty years ago, dads teaching daughters jump shots were anomolies. Most fathers discouraged daughters from playing ball games because society deemed it unladylike.

Like my dad and I, first the President cheered on Sasha from the sidelines, then he offered pointers to the team at the White House on Sundays and, finally, he coached the team from the bench, shouting aphorisms my father once pronounced, « Work the ball inside. Don’t take those crazy long shots. »

“Girls just take it for granted,” President Obama said, “and maybe that is a good thing that girls grow up knowing they have equal rights on the court.”

But it is hard to appreciate what you got.

Four decades ago, when my dad hollered,” Quit marching down court like a battle line. Spread the wings. Get ahead of the ball,” my team learned how to fly on the fastbreak.

Slowly, times changed. In 1977, five years after Title IX’s passage, my dad co-coached my younger sister, Karen’s team to a first ever high school state championship at my alma mater Illinois State University.

1st girls Illinois State Champions

My dad shaped values in the athletes he nurtured during his 33-year career at Sterling High School. His endearing relationship with his championship girls’ team earned him the affectionate title of Papa Mac. In his four years of coaching girls’ basketball, my dad’s teams racked up, 1 State championship, a 3^rd place and an Elite Eight appearance. Then he retired, but not before girls basketball put Sterling on the map. Championship teams brought honor to the town and high school, but what made Papa Mac proudest was seeing how his athletic girls grew up to offer contributions to society as principals, teachers, social workers and leading members of their communities.

When I was 10 years old, I dreaded my 11^th birthday because I thought I would have to exchange my high tops for heels, forfeit my dreams and stop shooting jump shots. Papa Mac helped open the door of athletic opportunity for me and my younger sisters.

“Play hard, shoot straight, aim high!” he encouraged.

Four decades later, our 44^th head of the nation echoed those words. President Obama deemed it important enough to take time out from running world affairs to coach his daughter’s team. That example speaks volumes about how far we have come.

“I am a huge believer that sports ends up being good for kids, and especially good for girls. It gives them confidence, it gives them a sense of what it means to compete. Studies show that girls who are involved in athletics often do better in school; they are more confident in terms of dealing with boys. And, so, for those of us who grew up just as Title IX was taking off, to see the development of women’s role models in sports, and for girls to know they excelled in something, there would be a spot for them in college where they weren’t second-class, I think has helped to make our society more equal in general,” the President said.

Coach Mac in action

“I think the challenge is making sure that, in terms of implementation, schools continue to take Title IX seriously … and I think understanding that this is good, not just for a particular college, not just for the NCAA, [but that] it is good for our society; it will create stronger, more confident women.”

Remarkably back in the controversial years when Title IX was in its early infancy, when girls and ball games were non compatible entities, Papa Mac’s adamant belief in women’s right to participate in sports empowered all of his daughters.

Happy Dad’s Day Papa Mac and, oh yeah, thanks for the jump shot, too!

Beatenberg: Alp’s Best – Eiger, Mönch, Jungfrau Mountains

With summer right around the corner, everyone drags maps out of drawers and laments the rising gas prices. America is a spacious land with spectacular sights found nowhere else in the world, but it takes so darn long to get there.

In my “petite” country, grand vistas awaits, literally, right around the next corner. After a mere two hour drive, we are in the German speaking, Bernese Oberland, with lush green valleys speckled with amber and gold flowers and imposing, stark, white mountain peeks.

Switzerland is well known for out of the way, picturesque mountain villages that look postcard perfect. Beatenberg, at 1,200-meter altitude, offering a ringside view of Bernese Alps, is one of these.

a view to remember

Lined with chalets and restored turn of the century hotels, the town clings to the steppe beneath the Niedhorn mountain and braves harsh winter winds; however, villagers are rewarded with an incredible spectacle – the Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau. Weather « beaten » and forlorn, Beaten berg (German for town) aptly reflects it name.

the Eiger North Wall in the evening clouds

It lurches on the cliff’s edge above Lake Thun. From our hotel window, we admire the matchbox cars winding around the mountainside and toy sailboats floating on the blue-green lake below. Red-roofed villages line the lake surrounded by evergreen forests, then steep chalky cliffs. At the uppermost level, the snow-covered peaks of the “three kings” reigned majestically.

Popular in 1900s during the Belle Époque, Beatenberg’s hotels once catered to aristocrats. Today, the village of just over a thousand inhabitants is no longer considered chic and trendy; however, it appeals to nature lovers, hikers, bikers and families wanting to get away from it all.

We strolled down the single road into and out of town. Sheep grazed in the meadows alongside a mountain stream. The local bus, a few cars and a half a dozen bikers whizzed past; otherwise, it was is so quiet, we could hear crickets chirp, sheep bleat and cow bells tingle, as if we had stepped into another time period.

quiet chalet in Beatenberg

In the morning, I flung open our window shutters but yesterday’s stunning view disappeared in puff of smoke like a figment of my imagination. Clouds rolled in overnight burying Lake Thun and hiding the Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau, cloaking the village in a fog so dense that even the wooden clock tower steeple of the church across the street became invisible.

Yet surprisingly, on the last leg of our drive home, glimpses of the Alps reappeared as the sun broke through the clouds over Lake Geneva. In our little country, the climate like the topography changes in the blink of an eye.

Just so you won’t think life here is perfect, gas costs just under $8 a gallon and simple dinner for two without drinks is over a hundred bucks. Ah yes, paradise comes with a price.

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College Graduate Finds Her Calling Working With the Elderly

The French love a celebration; yet, university students receive their degree through the mail. However in the U.S.A., graduation is a rights of passage, a moment in time to be marked by celebration. And it should be!

The graduate with proud parents & sis

We danced in the streets when my oldest niece walked last Saturday. Family scattered across the Midwest applauded her efforts. She not only received her B.S. of Science degree from University of Wisconsin- Stout, but she graduated with Cum Laude Honors. (G.P.A. of at least 3.5)

School was more difficult for Marie. Like for me, math was a struggle, but she is gifted in people skills. She lights up a room with her smile, can converse with a recluse and bring laughter to the lips of dour faced octogenarian. Marie has a knack of making older people feel appreciated. Not everyone is capable of working with senior citizens, as Marie instinctively knows, “The elderly love people that are fun, entertaining, creative; someone that can make them feel young and capable of doing things.”

“It all started when I was a child, going to work with my mom, who was a recreational therapist in care centers. I also always loved hanging out with my 3 grandparents. Two years ago, my roommate helped me get a job where she worked at Solomon Hill Residential Care and I fell in love with the 4 elderly residents. I knew this right away; this was my calling.”

Marie, a high-spirited, spunky gal, has her dad’s Carlson smile and charisma, and her mom’s McKinzie resiliency and sensitivity. That same perseverance that led her to throw tantrums as a toddler and run cross country as a teen, also made her determined to complete extra requirements in college and never give up when faced with obstacles.

“Every year had its own challenges. Freshman year was transitioning away from living at home. Sophomore year, Pops had a heart attack and surgery; it was impossible to concentrate on school. Junior year, I learned how to handle the death of two favorite residents, then attended summer school, working 2 jobs and living in a beat-up old house with terrible landlords. Senior year was the best year ever! Now the hardest part is leaving my roommates and best friends and the place I’ve called home the past 4 years. “

All along, Marie matured with every setback and gained a better understanding of herself.

“In college, I learned I am a good student. In high school, the classes were boring, teachers didn’t care so much and I didn’t like my subjects. At Stout, the professors CARED about me. And I LOVED going to class, having a say in discussions, and learning what I’m passionate about. The biggest thing I learned is that it takes a special person to care for elderly.”

Last Saturday, Marie beamed as she announced, “graduation is best day of my life!” After the ceremony, the celebration ended in typical Wisconsin fashion at Pickles, a local college bar, where family and friends of the housemates toasted over Wisconsin’s finest brew.

partying in The Pickles

Then 48 hours later, without missing a beat, the new grad faced the real world as she held her mom’s hand in the hospital while waiting for doctors to remove a grapefruit-sized tumor from her dad’s thyroid.

Next step, Marie will be saving up to go to graduate school for a master’s in Occupational Therapy. Like so many college coeds, she faces the uncertainty of a diminishing job market during economic hard times. But there will always be work for my niece. With society growing older, we need more Maries to lighten up our dark days of aging.

Happy Mother’s Day- A Tribute to My Greatest Teacher

In Paris, nearly three decades ago, I was filled with trepidation, anticipating the birth of my child. How could I possibly measure up to the task? Within the previous year, I lost my career due to a car accident and my baby in a miscarriage. With my confidence shaken, I struggled to rebuild my life one step at time. And to top it off, I would be raising my child abroad in “French” no less.

Would I be patient enough to let my independent two-year-old do everything herself when she embarrassed me by parading around the block with the hood of her spring jacket over her rump, and shouting, “Me do. Dress myself, Mommy.”

Will I be clever enough to turn a child’s disappointment at her dad’s not coming to dinner into delight by serving supper on a card table in the living room and pretending it is a restaurant?

Will I be creative enough to invent cool games for hot summer afternoons, like painting sidewalks with water, building tents over picnic tables, making lemonade ice cubes?

Will I be perceptive enough to know when my child screams at siblings that something went wrong at school?

Will I be kind enough to make Kool-Aid for the entire neighborhood, to pitch whiffle balls to the kids next door, to volunteer as a bank mom at the grade school?

Will I be tolerant enough to accept the trail of muddy feet from the backdoor to the refrigerator and to answer the phone ringing at all hours?

Will I find time to watch track meets, tennis matches, basketball games, band concerts, and drama performances, to share my child’s interest?

Will I be flexible enough to reheat meals, alter vacation plans, celebrate birthdays early or late, put career plans on hold?

Will I listen closely enough to understand tears as my adolescent struggles to find herself?

Will I be accommodating enough to run out to the store when my child brings unexpected guests home from college?

Will I trust my teenager when she comes home late and my young adult when he picks a mate?

Lenore & Pat

Will I have the faith to sleep when my grown child travels across the continents daring to experience adventures my generation never dreamed of trying?

Will I be wise enough to know that the soundest advice I can offer is by my example?

Will I be smart enough to teach by patience and understanding, not commanding and demanding?

Will I be strong enough to love as unconditionally as my mother loved me?

Will I be as deserving of the honor given on Mother’s Day as she?

Coffee on the Most Expensive Boulevard in Geneva

As usual I am definitely under dressed for the overpriced cafe/bar. It has been so long since I have ordered a drink alone that I am afraid I have forgotten how to speak French. I duck in the doorway and like a regular customer, call « Café noir s’il vous plait » to the barmaid, who is polishing glassware from the night before while the espresso machine hisses with steam.

traditional Swiss café

At 8 a.m., there are only a few other patrons, a woman in the booth reading the newspaper, and a sleek glamour girl, who carries her elegant 6-foot-5 inch frame, as if she is balancing a tray of champagne flutes on her head. Her glamorous smile under a long mane of dyed red hair illuminates sharp cheekbones on a sculpted ebony face. Her bejeweled hands, disproportionally large, look too big to belong to a woman; however, her high-pitched voice trills as she chatters with another customer at the bar. It is impossible to tell whether she is a model or a trans; either way, she adds to the decor.

I sink into the round booth in the corner and sit facing the interior, so I can eavesdrop, which makes my thimble-sized, $4 cup of coffee worth the price. I toss my jacket over the Victorian era velvet upholstered chair and absorb the atmosphere, imagining secrets from the previous evening, emitted from the dark corners. The locale is a mixture of black leather booths, dark wood tables and red chairs.

A steady stream of customers arrives. Businessmen clutching attaché cases in one hand and iPhones glued to the ear in the other. Wealthy women stir cream into coffee absentmindedly, whiling away the time until the chic boutiques on avenue du Rhone open.

Behind me, dozens of newspapers -Tribune de Genève, Le Temps, 20 Minutes – hot off the press from my husband’s printing company, line the wooden window ledges for the regulars. It is reassuring to see the clientele propped in front of open pages. It means patrons are welcome to linger indefinitely over coffee and more importantly, that some Swiss citizens continue to actually read hard-copy news, instead of online.

The barmaid sets a china cup of black coffee in front of me and I sip, savoring the flavor. For another $2, I splurge on a croissant and break my gluten free diet to imbibe. As I skim the newspaper, I tear apart the flaky layers and pop fluffy bits into my mouth, which melts into buttery bliss.

Tables of entrepreneurs, wheeling and dealing, begin to fill. A couple holds hands and a loner downs a beer at the end of the bar. No European café is ever complete without it’s four legged friend; not just any old mutt, but a pedigree with papers, wearing a cone, like a halo over its head.

« Keeps Princess from scratching her face after surgery, » I hear the owner tell the server.

Oh pulleez! Face lifts for poochie!

Only in Geneva!

On the most expensive place on the planet, even dogs are divine, living like royalty.