I knew Nan only briefly about a quarter century ago, but I am unlikely to forget her, if for no other reason, because of the anecdote I here recount.
        When I knew Nan the feminist movement was much newer than it is now, and the alertness to avoiding stereotypes had not yet soaked into society’s consciousness to the degree it has now.  Speak of a nurse or a teacher, and a feminine image formed in one’s head; speak of a doctor or principal, and the image was masculine.  Nan was a doctor.  She also was a feminist, ever quick to object when she noticed evidence of stereotyping, yet she told the following story on herself.
        At one time Nan was a flying doctor in Australia.  That is, she lived in one of the cities or towns of the more developed part of the country, and from time to time, when there was a medical emergency, she would fly to some distant small settlement or station in the vast lightly populated area.
        So late one evening she was told to get her gear together and hurry to the airfield, where she was to meet a pilot.  She had waited at the field until well past the expected time of arrival for the pilot, when she decided to strike up a conversation with another young woman, the only other person in the waiting area, who also had been waiting quite a long time.
        She began by explaining that she was a flying doctor and that she was concerned because she had been waiting so long for a pilot to fly her to her destination.  The other woman then said, “Well, I’m a pilot!”
Jethro’s  Jottings
October 24, 2011
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