In 1971, with three young children children in a two-bedroom apartment and a husband working on his dissertation after teaching all day, I applied for work at two suburban Philadelphia department stores for an evening sales position. The children would be asleep by then, and we needed the supplemental income.
In spite of apparently positive interviews at both John Wannamaker and Strawbridge & Clothier, I was not hired. I re-applied during Christmas season with my college diploma in hand and was still not hired. No explanations were given when I followed up with the obligatory thank-you notes and phone calls.
In “the olden days,” remember, job application forms included blanks for “marital status” and “number of children.” At Easter time, I applied again at both of the nearby stores, but this time I carried a signed note from my OB/GYN attesting to the fact that I had had a tubal ligation in 1969.
I was promptly offered positions at both places, starting in the holiday candy department. I wish I had been able to ever-so-politely (*!#!*) decline, but we needed the money, and “that’s just how it was in those days.” I eventually worked my way up at Strawbridge & Clothier to the position of “contingent” and was ultimately promoted to the position of night supervisor in the ladies’ department. Whoopitydoo.
Oh, yes — and “of course” I had been required to have my husband’s signature in 1969 on the medical request for a tubal ligation at the Thomas Jefferson University (teaching) hospital. IMHO, we haven’t come a very long way, baby, but at least we’ve made a few strides. Thank you, Elizabeth!