How could someone hang around the planet for an entire century, working her butt off, and never find gainful employment?
Bonus question: how many typos can you find at the link? The article was clearly a surprise, like the one we ran at my junior high newspaper about our edior/teacher, Carol Jago (then McGonigle). Carol pretended not to know about it until it ran, which was sporting of her. As I recall, the effort was spearheaded by Cindy Rogoway, though I think Sandi Levin was also in on the plot.
They weren’t going to tell me until afterward, because I wasn’t in the “in crowd.” But someone had to proofread the damned thing.
Hat tip: Caltech Girl, who would like to know whether I eat Cheetos. I do not. I have obsessive-compulsive habits, but they do not include fluorescent orange dye.
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So she’s “Carol Jago” now? That sure is a blast from the past. I remember when she was a nice Italian girl from the Midwest named Carol Crosetto, and teaching 8th Grade English at Lincoln JHS.
Ms. Crosetto/McGonigle/Jago gave me one of my first glimpses of what we now call “moonbattery”. It was the day after the Symbionese Liberation Army were wiped out in Watts, and she was acting as if the LAPD had been publically torturing and drowning kittens. I remember that, even as a naive 13 YO who’d been raised by left-liberal Democrats, I was astonished that a seemingly intelligent adult didn’t see that as a self-proclaimed “army” who had been kidnapping and killing prominent people, the SLA were begging for a major armed confrontation with State forces, and then failed spectacularly when it happened.
Because of this jaw-dropping example of Leftist moral equivocation and apologia for psychotic terrorists, long ago Ms. Jago inadvertently set me on the path of Anti-Idiotarianism, and for that, I am grateful.
It wasn’t–and isn’t–an uncommon blind spot for otherwise intelligent people. Ms. Jago may have had the same effect on me, inasmuch as she drew me closer to the Loony Left, which led to my getting to know it all too> well: hence, the eventual break.
She was probably the best teacher I ever had, with the possible exception of my third-grade teacher, Judith Pacht. (Ms. later became a cookbook writer of some renown; she’s the widow of Judge Pacht, and as was do often the case in the 1970s, I had a double connection to her, through my mom’s partner, Professor Dick Siegal at UCLA: she was his ex-wife. Naturally, once I landed at Bon Appetit, it turned out we knew some of the same people in the foodie crowd.)
Carol was the best: she served, I think, as a role model for a lot of the girls, proving that one could be bright, competent, and beautiful. And she put up with my bullshit–and Jackie’s/Emily’s bullshit. None of that could have been easy.
I didn’t realize you’d known her pre-McGonigle. I always forget that you’re my brother’s age, aka old. (Carol, btw, was one of teachers who was most shocked to find out that I was related to Allyn Whittemore: she just couldn’t believe it when I alluded to “my brother Allyn.” I do not know whether that was because we appeared to have such different personalities, or because we looked like we were different races.)