It's that time again to take a respite from Katrina and to tell you a little about my younger years. For me, it will be a time of reminiscing.

Higher education for women in my era was a rarity. Girls graduating from high school could expect to work as bank tellers or secretaries. Nuns prepared us well for these positions and I excelled in secretarial work as I could, not only type, I could write and decipher all the squiggly symbols of shorthand. This talent removed me from the "steno pool" very quickly. I was on call from every executive at Ingalls who preferred shorthand over a dictaphone. Was faster for very busy men.

When asked by anyone if I could do this or that, I always said "Yes I can." I trained other female employees in the use of what we called the "teletype". It turned out to be the very beginning of computer interactions.

I was fingerprinted for security purposes and my background thoroughly checked. I had in my hands secret plans I personally brought to the Navy Department. Looking back, I wouldn't have been able to divulge any info as in my youthfulness I really didn't know what I had. That's probably why they chose me. On my deliveries to the Navy I met Commander George S.... who later transferred to Ingalls as a civilian in the capacity of Sales Manager and I acquired yet another "boss".

Mr. S was instrumental in my being at a commissioning of a naval vessel. I can not tell you the name as I was more impressed by the ceremony and the young sailors that helped my girlfriend and I aboard the ship.

I went aboard one of the two luxury liners being built at Ingalls for the Moore-McCormack Lines. It was very luxurious but what stands out in my mind is claustrophobia as the corridors were so narrow that both my elbows grazed the walls.

On another occasion, the women at Ingalls were in a union and staged a strike for higher wages. I hadn't joined the union as I was happy with my wages. Again I had no idea what it all entailed. When they went on strike Mr. S and his wife drove me through the picket lines into the yard. They had a convertible so I wasn't hidden from view. I waved at my co-workers and they all waved back. What peaceful times existed then. I wasn't called a "scab" or ostracized thereafter. They patiently taught me what was involved. They got a raise and so did I. My naivety once again saved me.

In writing these excerpts from my past, I became aware that I played a minute part in the history of my hometown.