Growing up in Milwaukee during the 1940s and ‘50s wasn’t what I’d call adventurous—it was rather stayed, actually. But looking back, there were moments worth remembering. We lived in a modest two-story duplex, typical of the area. My father, a cattle dealer who’d escaped Nazi Germany with my mother in 1939, never believed in mortgages or loans. That was just the Wisconsin way—conservative, practical, never spending more than you had.

My parents carried with them the weight of their immigration story, having arrived on one of the last ships to leave Germany. They couldn’t bring anything out, had to start over completely. From them, I learned the essential values that would shape my life: work hard, keep pushing forward, maintain that survival spirit. They were immensely grateful to be American citizens and made sure I understood the privilege of our existence here—after all, they could have easily been killed in Germany.

Daily life had its simple pleasures. I remember going to Petroff’s custard stand with my friends, enjoying those special Wisconsin custards you couldn’t find anywhere else. I had this wonderful powder blue Pontiac convertible, and my friend Barry had a mint green one. One of my closest friends—someone I’ve known for 75 years now and still see in Marin County—lived next door. Her father had one of the first car phones in the 1950s, if you can imagine that.

Being the younger sister by almost ten years, I went everywhere with my parents—even to open-casket funerals and meetings with German friends in Lake Park. We even had this notorious dog, inherited from the spinster cousins who’d sponsored my family’s immigration. The Milwaukee Journal even ran a headline about it: “Woman gets $4,000 to take care of dog for life.” That dog was quite a character—terribly mean, but fiercely protective of me. He’d actually bite my mother if she tried to shake me awake.

Looking back now, Milwaukee was a good place to come from. Not exciting, perhaps, but solid. It gave me a foundation built on practical values, common sense and the understanding that we must make the most of every opportunity we’re given. Because of this solid foundation, my family was able to thrive.

The First Test: Starting Over

When life throws you curveballs, you either learn to catch them or get hit in the face. I’ve had to deal with financial insecurity twice in my life, and both times taught me lessons I’ll never forget. The first time hit me when I was a young mother in Highland Park, Illinois, newly separated from my first husband. There I was, with two small boys – Justin, eight, and Charlie, five – a house with a mortgage, and all the responsibilities that come with raising a family. My ex-husband was struggling with mental health issues and couldn’t support us, so everything fell on my shoulders.

Living in Highland Park with two growing boys meant I needed to keep the lights on, put food on the table, and somehow maintain a semblance of normal life for my children. The weight of it all was enormous. Every bill that came through the mail was a reminder of the precarious situation we were in. But giving up wasn’t an option – it never is when you’re a mother.

Trading Life: The Chicago Mercantile Exchange

My saving grace came through my brother-in-law, Phil. He offered me an opportunity to trade at the Chicago Mercantile Exchange, working with his arbitrage firm. It was a lifeline, but it came with its own set of challenges. Living 30 miles from the exchange meant I had to be there by 6:00 or 6:30 in the morning. Try juggling that with getting two young boys ready for school.

I had to be strategic about my trading. Unlike some of the more aggressive traders on the floor, I couldn’t afford to take big risks. Every trade I made had to be conservative because I wasn’t just trading for profit – I was trading to put food on the table and keep a roof over my children’s heads. That kind of responsibility changes how you approach everything.

The Polish Angels

Thank goodness for Christina and Ignatz, a Polish couple who became like surrogate grandparents to my boys. They were my live-in help, but they became so much more than that. Between them and my sister and brother-in-law who were always ready to help in emergencies, we cobbled together a support system that worked. But the stress never really went away. Being a single mother, working full-time, and trying to maintain some semblance of a social life – it was like trying to juggle while walking a tightrope.

California Dreams and New Challenges

The second wave of financial uncertainty hit during what should have been a happier time. I had remarried to Jim, a wonderful man who stepped up to be a father to my boys. We moved to California, which seemed like a dream until we faced the reality of the cost of living. Everything was two and a half times more expensive than Highland Park, and the mortgages were astronomical.

To complicate matters, Jim was dealing with his own financial struggles. He had to split at least 40-50% of his income with his ex-wife, who had made a habit of taking him to court. The kicker? He had to pay not only his legal fees but hers as well. It was like watching money flow out of a tap we couldn’t turn off.

The Law School Decision

This financial pressure became the catalyst for a major life change. I had always wanted to go to law school, and suddenly, it wasn’t just a dream – it was a necessity. So there I was, probably the oldest student in my class, learning how to use computers from my young son. Talk about humbling experiences! But age is just a number, and I’ve kept that mindset even now as I approach 80.

Lessons Learned

Looking back at these challenges, I’ve realized something profound: I can do anything I put my mind to. Each obstacle I overcame added another layer of confidence, another proof that I could adapt and learn. This journey from financial insecurity to stability wasn’t just about money – it was about discovering my own strength and capability.

A Mother’s Wisdom

To my sons, who never ask for my advice (but might read this someday), I want to share something important. Everyone goes through some sort of reevaluation in midlife, often accompanied by financial stress and instability. The key is to find what truly excites you, what makes you want to jump out of bed in the morning. Whether it’s solving puzzles, like my son’s love for escape rooms, or something entirely different – find what gives you purpose and accomplishment. That feeling is worth more than all the money in the world.

And remember one last thing: listen to your mother. She’s probably right more often than you think.

The Shadow of History

Growing up, I lived in two worlds. One was the bright, promising America of my birth, with its opportunities and freedoms. The other was the shadow world of my parents’ past, a history that shaped our family in ways I wouldn’t fully understand until much later.

My father’s story was a testament to human resilience. On November 9, 1938 - Kristallnacht - he was dragged from our family’s small town near Mainz to a prison in Frankfurt. I learned decades later, during a visit in 2010, how the townspeople still remembered that day. They told me how he was kicked and beaten, taken away with one shoe missing and a black eye. Our family owned the only car in town, which may have incited the Nazis, who not only attacked my father but also smashed our car. From Frankfurt, they sent him to Buchenwald concentration camp.

The Price of Survival

When I once asked my father what he did in Buchenwald, his answer was simple: he moved boulders from one side of the camp to the other. Six months of purposeless labor designed to break the spirit. The Nazis couldn’t break him, though. He fought for our family’s survival with everything he had, even giving 10,000 marks to someone who promised to help them escape - only to disappear with the money. But persistence paid off, and they managed to secure passage on the second-to-last ship from Germany to the United States. A photo of my father and his family on the ship is displayed in the Illinois Holocaust Museum, a testament to their narrow escape.

The Invisible Inheritance

The trauma of their escape shaped everything about our family life, though often in unspoken ways. My parents rarely discussed their experiences in Germany, but their influence permeated our daily existence. I developed what I now recognize as a survivalist outlook - always needing to feel secure, always keeping money stashed away. How could I not? My family had lived in their German town for hundreds of years before everything was stripped away in an instant.

The transmission of trauma wasn’t just emotional. I remember my mother’s visceral fear whenever a uniformed postal worker came to our door - in her mind, they were always the Nazis, coming back. Recent research suggests trauma can be passed down through our genes, and I sometimes wonder if that explains my heightened awareness of potential threats, my tendency to look for conspiracies or approaching danger. It’s like having an extra antenna, always scanning for signs of trouble.

Between Two Worlds

In Milwaukee, we found a community of German-speaking Jewish immigrants. They would gather in Lake Park on Sunday afternoons, speaking German and reminiscing about their lives before the Nazis. I was always there - they never hired a babysitter for me - listening to these adults who straddled two worlds. They maintained pride in German craftsmanship and culture while building new lives in America.

My parents were determined that I should embrace my American identity fully. While they spoke German to me, they never encouraged me to learn the language. They wanted me to focus on getting the best American education possible and building a career. Like most immigrants, they dreamed of their child having more opportunities than they had.

Uncovering the Past

It wasn’t until I was older that I began actively investigating our family history. The extended family tree has many broken branches - most of our more distant relatives were exterminated by the Nazis. Through genealogy websites and personal visits to Germany, I’ve pieced together what I can. In my parents’ hometowns, the Jewish cemeteries still stand, with family names etched in stone dating back to the 1800s. Stolpersteine, commemorative plaques, now mark where my mother’s family once lived in another small town in Germany.

A Legacy Continued

Now, as a grandmother, I watch my granddaughter Zoe embrace this heritage in ways my parents never could. She’s become fluent in German, spent time working at a Berlin startup, and shows deep interest in our family history. When we visited Germany together last summer, meeting with a Jewish historian in my mother’s hometown, I saw our family story through new eyes.

I’ve made it my mission to teach all four of my grandchildren about their heritage. They need to understand that survival requires both practical skills and emotional resilience. I want them to be financially conservative - always having resources set aside for escape, as terrible as that might sound. But more importantly, I want them to appreciate the opportunities they have in America, opportunities my parents could only dream of when they fled their homeland.

Our family story is one of continuity despite attempts at destruction. When we stand before those centuries-old gravestones in Germany, we’re reminded that we’re part of something larger than ourselves. Perhaps that’s why I feel such hope seeing Zoe take interest in our history. She’s becoming the light that will lead the way for her generation, helping her cousins understand where they come from and why it matters.

Through all of this, one truth remains constant: we’re all lucky to be alive. That awareness drives me to make the most of every opportunity, to honor the sacrifice of those who came before, and to ensure our family’s story of survival continues to inspire future generations.

Growing Up in Milwaukee

I grew up in Milwaukee and attended Washington High School, about eight blocks from my home on Sherman Boulevard. The 1950s were a time of simple pleasures and clear expectations. My high school years revolved around a close-knit group of six or seven girlfriends, and we spent countless hours at Petrovs, the local ice cream custard stand that served the best hot fudge sundaes, burgers, and fries you could imagine.

When we turned sixteen, getting our own cars transformed our social lives. I drove a powder blue Pontiac convertible, while my best friend Barry had a mint green Oldsmobile convertible. We’d cruise around just like in the movies, hanging out at Petrovs where boys and girls would gather. It was the quintessential 1950s American teenage experience.

Academic Excellence and Early Aspirations

Academically, I distinguished myself as one of the top students in my class. This was before grade inflation, so my A’s were hard-earned under a numerical grading system. While many of my high-achieving classmates automatically headed to the University of Wisconsin-Madison, I set my sights higher and gained admission to Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois – a more challenging private institution.

Our high school curriculum was structured and traditional. We stood for the Pledge of Allegiance almost daily and sang the Star-Spangled Banner. Notably, we studied civics, a subject that seems to have disappeared from many schools today. This early exposure to government and civic responsibility sparked my interest in law, and I harbored dreams of possibly becoming a judge – an aspiration that would later manifest in my career as a lawyer and arbitrator.

A Unique Summer Experience

During high school, I secured an extraordinary opportunity as a student intern at the Department of State. This position required a congressional recommendation, which I obtained through our respected congressman, Henry Royce. I was assigned to the Ethiopia desk and even held a top-secret clearance – though I promptly forgot everything I learned, as was required. This experience, however brief, reinforced my interest in government and international affairs.

College Years at Northwestern

At Northwestern, I majored in political science, a natural progression from my early interest in government and law. Professor Vick Rosenblum became a particularly influential figure in my academic journey. Not only was he an outstanding political science professor and law professor, but he also became a personal mentor. He would invite me to dinner at his home, where he lived with his unusually large family of nine or ten children. His support proved instrumental when I became one of only three women accepted into Northwestern Law School at that time, though I ultimately chose to pursue law school later in life.

Navigating the Turbulent Sixties

The 1960s brought significant social upheaval – the era of Flower Children and Hippies, protests and political unrest. I remember attending the Democratic convention in Chicago during LBJ’s campaign, where the atmosphere was charged with dissension and riots erupted outside. The Vietnam War cast a long shadow over campus life, and our political science classes even included war games, reflecting the military mindset of the era.

My mother worried constantly that I might be drawn into the counterculture or be exposed to harm. But I maintained my distance, positioning myself more as an observer than a participant. While I witnessed the cultural transformation – the parties where people smoked pot, the hippies gathering in San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury, and the countless protests – I remained somewhat detached from it all.

Looking back, I can’t definitively say how these experiences shaped my worldview or career. What I do know is that I witnessed an era of remarkable change while staying true to my own path. The politicians of my youth, many of them lawyers, demonstrated a common-sense approach to public service that seems rare today. They were middle-of-the-road figures who approached their responsibilities with purpose and pragmatism – qualities that would later influence my own professional ethos.

My journey from those Milwaukee high school days to my eventual legal career wasn’t a straight line, but each experience – from the civics classes to the State Department internship to my studies at Northwestern – contributed to shaping my understanding of law, justice, and public service. Through it all, I maintained my role as an thoughtful observer, always learning, always moving forward, but careful to chart my own course through changing times.

Early Stirrings of Justice

I’ve always had this deep-seated sense of justice and fairness. It’s been there for as long as I can remember - this hope that justice would prevail, even though I learned early on that sometimes it doesn’t. This fundamental belief in fairness has been my north star, guiding me through various phases of my life and eventually leading me to my true calling in the legal profession.

A Delayed Dream

Life has its own timeline, and my path to law wasn’t the traditional straight line many take. After moving to California and remarrying, I found myself at a crossroads. My previous work in Chicago wasn’t an option anymore, and I saw this as an opportunity - finally - to pursue what I had always wanted to do. I was fortunate to have a connection with someone from Chicago who had become professor emeritus at Hastings Law School (now UC Law San Francisco). This connection helped pave the way for my legal education.

Law School Reality

The experience of law school wasn’t exactly what I’d imagined. Being in a big city law school meant huge class sizes - my class had around 500 or 600 students divided into different sections. I had envisioned law school as being primarily about analysis and discussion, but found myself navigating multiple choice tests and other unexpected challenges. While it taught me valuable skills like reading case law, understanding issues, and applying facts, the practical aspects of being a lawyer weren’t really addressed.

Despite these surprises, I was absolutely thrilled to be there. My family still talks about how I was beaming when I received my law degree. It was a profound achievement, one that marked a significant milestone in my life.

Facing Reality

After graduation, I encountered an unexpected obstacle. Despite my summer experiences working in securities arbitration and clerking for an appellate court judge, I faced direct age discrimination when trying to enter traditional law practice. “You’re too old,” they told me. I was in my late forties, and firms were looking for younger graduates.

Finding My True Calling

But sometimes, what seems like a setback can lead you exactly where you need to be. Instead of following the traditional path, I decided to focus on what truly motivated me - resolving disputes. I got trained as a mediator and arbitrator, and that’s what I’ve been doing ever since.

The moment I started doing mediation, I experienced this overwhelming sense of rightness. I remember thinking, “This is it - this is so wonderful, you don’t even have to pay me!” There’s something incredibly fulfilling about finding work that perfectly aligns with your skills and values. I found genuine joy in helping people resolve their conflicts, whether as an arbitrator (more like a judge) or as a mediator (more of a facilitator).

Growth and Learning

This field demands constant growth and learning. We’re always developing new skills through professional organizations, classes, and presentations. You learn from doing the work, from watching others, from sharing experiences. Every case brings new insights into human nature and different personalities. Over time, you develop better ways to communicate and handle various situations.

The Satisfaction of Complex Problem-Solving

What I love about this work is how it challenges me to think deeply and solve complex problems. Law can be complicated, and there aren’t always easy answers. But the analytical skills I’ve developed - looking at the big picture while considering all the facts and navigating the twists and turns of the law - bring me immense satisfaction.

Continuing the Journey

Even now, in what some might call my “older years” (though I prefer not to use that term), I find tremendous enjoyment in what I do. This career has given me more than just professional fulfillment - it’s given me pride and confidence in myself. It’s shown me that I can figure anything out, no matter how complex. That’s why I don’t want to give it up. I’m still learning, still growing, still helping people find resolution to their disputes.

Looking back, I’m deeply grateful that I took this path, even if it came later in life. It proves that it’s never too late to pursue your dreams, to find your calling, to make a difference in the world. Every day, I get to work towards what I’ve always believed in - justice and fairness - and there’s no greater satisfaction than that.

The Campus Years

When I arrived at Northwestern in 1963, I couldn’t have known I was stepping into one of the most transformative periods in American history. The campus itself, situated in Evanston just outside Chicago, was still operating under an antiquated quota system that limited admission for Jewish and Catholic students. It was, after all, originally a Methodist institution, far from the diverse university it would later become.

My freshman year in Allison Hall started ordinarily enough, but everything changed on November 22nd. I’ll never forget the horror and disbelief that swept through our dorm when we learned President Kennedy had been assassinated. It was unprecedented in our lifetime, in our parents’ lifetimes even. The shock of it rippled through campus, leaving us all grappling with a new reality.

Greek Life and Social Dynamics

By sophomore year, we faced the ritual of sorority rushing. The Greek system at Northwestern was a clear reflection of the era’s social segregation. Jewish students typically pledged Jewish sororities and fraternities, while other houses might accept one or two Jewish members at most. I joined SDT, and it became my home away from home, complete with a watchful house mother and strict curfews. We even experienced those peculiar traditions of the time, like panty raids – something that seems absurd looking back now.

What’s particularly interesting is that the Jewish houses consistently maintained the highest grade point averages on campus. It was as if we were unconsciously proving ourselves in the face of quotas and limitations.

Academic Life and Future Paths

I gravitated toward Political Science, driven by my constant interest in news, political dynamics, and governmental systems. While some courses seemed pointless – like playing war games – others deeply enriched my understanding of constitutional law and societal frameworks. Professor Victor Rosenblum stands out in my memory. He taught both Political Science and Law, and his influence extended beyond the classroom. He would invite students to dinner with his family of ten children. Remarkably, decades later, I’m now friends with one of his daughters through a book club – life has a way of coming full circle.

The Awakening

Looking back at my sorority sisters, their trajectories tell the story of our generation. Among them were future executives at Paramount Pictures and NBC, and a distinguished New York Times culture correspondent. But none started at the top. They all began as receptionists or in other subordinate roles, fighting against the assumption that we’d simply marry and leave the workforce. Men were prized in the workplace because they were expected to support families. We had to prove ourselves repeatedly, working twice as hard for half the recognition.

The real awakening to these inequities came in the early seventies. At Northwestern, we knew we were bright and competitive – often bringing in the best grades. The question naturally arose: Why did we women have to always take the subordinate role? But we were pushing against centuries of established systems. Change wouldn’t happen overnight.

Beyond Campus

The late sixties brought more than just gender awareness. The Vietnam War cast its shadow over campus life, with male students desperately holding onto their student deferments. Protests began to emerge, and though women didn’t face the draft, we were part of the broader questioning of authority and traditional structures.

My interest in government never wavered. I attended the Democratic Convention when President Lyndon Johnson was nominated and spent a summer interning at the U.S. State Department. These experiences, combined with living through an era of such dramatic social change, crystallized my views on equality. While I don’t believe in guaranteed equality of outcomes, I became and remain a fervent advocate for equality of opportunity. Anyone with the talent and determination should have the chance to succeed, regardless of gender, religion, or background.

Looking back at my Northwestern years, they were more than just an education – they were an awakening to the world as it was and as it could be. We were part of a generation that began questioning the status quo, pushing boundaries, and ultimately helping to reshape American society. The changes we fought for didn’t happen immediately, but they did happen, one small victory at a time.

Early Beginnings

I met Steve Graham during my final year at Northwestern, at a Jewish Federation Young People’s Division event in Chicago. He was already established in his career, having graduated from both Harvard undergraduate and Harvard Law School. The age difference between us was significant - he was about eight years older than me. At the time, he was working for his father’s business, the National Soda Straw Company.

Our courtship moved quickly, as was common in those days. We married on September 17, 1967, just months after my graduation from Northwestern. I was barely 22 years old, which wasn’t unusual for that era. People married younger then, following different social expectations than today.

Early Marriage and Career

We settled into our first home at 260 Chestnut Street in Chicago’s Gold Coast neighborhood, in an area called Streeterville. It was a beautiful high-rise apartment, and we quickly became integrated into Chicago’s political and social scene. Steve became active in the Democratic Party as a precinct captain during Mayor Daley’s era. Through his connections, I met George Dunne, who was second in command as the president of the Cook County commissioners. This led to my position as director of public relations for Cook County.

Despite my academic achievements, I had arrived at marriage with limited self-confidence. Steve had a way of building that confidence, always maintaining an optimistic outlook. He would consistently encourage new ideas with enthusiasm, saying “you can do it.” Initially, I had been accepted as one of only three women at Northwestern Law School, but I didn’t pursue it. Steve’s discomfort with the idea played a role in that decision.

Family Life and Changes

Our first son, Justin, arrived in 1971 while we were still living in our Streeterville apartment. I worked until I was very pregnant - I remember struggling to board buses for work, sometimes needing assistance because I was so far along. By 1972 or 1973, I had purchased a house in Highland Park, and Charlie was born in 1974 at Evanston Hospital.

Managing two children was demanding, especially as I maintained my career in public relations after leaving my position with Cook County. Steve was an intensive father who deeply loved his sons, though he wasn’t always as practical or helpful as other parents. During this time, I was juggling motherhood with my professional life, working for a public relations agency.

Challenges and Transitions

Steve’s entrepreneurial spirit led him to start his own business - a printed lunch bag company called Lunchmates. He was determined to forge his own path rather than continue working for his father. However, his approach wasn’t always practical, and he became increasingly consumed by grandiose ideas.

The challenges in our marriage grew more pronounced as the children got older. Steve seemed to become emotionally lost, and his mental health issues, while not immediately apparent in our early years, became increasingly difficult to manage. The situation ultimately led to our separation in 1979 and divorce in 1980.

Finding Strength

During this challenging transition period, I maintained my focus on providing stability for our children. I was fortunate to have good live-in help as the boys were entering school age, which allowed me to pursue new professional opportunities. The transition to working at the Chicago Mercantile Exchange, while daunting, provided a sense of relief - it was an opportunity to channel my energy into something productive.

Looking back, I recognize that it was my inherent character and resilience that carried me through these challenges. The ability to adapt and move forward, despite the difficulties, was crucial in rebuilding my life and providing for my children. This period, though difficult, demonstrated my capacity to face adversity and emerge stronger.

Growing up in Milwaukee in the 1950s was different than what kids experience today. Milwaukee was a conservative, family-oriented place then. I lived in a duplex on the west side of the city, and several of my closest friends lived within the same block. We’d spend our time together, going to various activities and lessons around the city.

One memory that really stands out happened when I was about ten years old. My best friend Barry and I had gone to some kind of lesson on Milwaukee’s east side, near Lake Michigan. We lived on the west side, and when it came time to go home, something happened with the bus – maybe it didn’t show up, I’m not sure. What I do remember is that we made the somewhat questionable decision to walk home. Now, this wasn’t just a few blocks – we’re talking about ten miles across the city.

You have to understand, this was a completely different era. There were no cell phones, no GPS, no way for our parents to track where we were. We weren’t particularly athletic kids either – this was before the time when children were involved in organized sports the way they are now. We just started walking, and it took us hours to get home. Both sets of parents were absolutely beside themselves with worry by the time we finally made it back. Looking back, I’m surprised we didn’t get punished, but I think they were just so relieved to see us safe and sound that they let it go. That whole adventure really shows the kind of independence we had as kids back then, even if we didn’t always use it wisely.

As teenagers, our world revolved around different kinds of adventures. Our favorite hangout was Petrofs, this amazing custard stand where we’d all meet up for hot fudge sundaes, french fries, hamburgers, and hot dogs. By then, we were sixteen and driving – I had this powder blue Pontiac convertible, and Barry had a mint green one. It was just like something out of the movies, all of us gathering there in our cars, enjoying those incredible sundaes.

The social rules were different then too. Everything was more structured, more conservative. When I’d go out on dates, my father would always wait up for me to return and meet me and my date at the door when we got home. It seems old-fashioned now, but that’s just how things were done.

One of the most significant memories from my youth wasn’t in Milwaukee at all, but rather during a trip to Europe with my parents in 1959. My parents were both born in Germany, and this was their first time returning since they’d escaped in 1939. While we were there, something extraordinary happened – we saw Elvis Presley, who was stationed there with the army at the time. I remember all these girls screaming and yelling, myself included, while my parents looked on completely perplexed. They couldn’t understand how one person could inspire such excitement and admiration.

That trip wasn’t just about Elvis, though. It was really about my parents reconnecting with their homeland and letting people know they had survived and were doing well. Our family’s connection to Germany goes back generations, and I’ve maintained that link throughout my life. I’ve returned several times over the years, taking my own children and even my granddaughter to visit the towns where my parents were born. Some of our families’ gravestones from the 1800s are still there, silent testimonies to our deep roots in that country.

What makes these visits even more meaningful now is that my granddaughter speaks fluent German. It creates this beautiful bridge between past and present, allowing us to communicate and understand so much more about our family’s history. When I think about that first trip with my parents and now taking my granddaughter to the same places, it feels like we’ve come full circle, keeping our family’s story alive across generations.

Those early years in Milwaukee, and the threads that connect them to my family’s German heritage, shaped who I became. From that adventurous walk across the city with Barry to the moments standing with my granddaughter at our ancestors’ gravestones, each experience has been part of a larger story about independence, family, and maintaining connections across time and distance.

I always knew I wanted to be a lawyer. Even as a young girl growing up, I had this deep-seated desire to see justice done. Law and government fascinated me, which is why I chose to major in political science at Northwestern. But life has a way of taking unexpected turns, and my path to law would be longer than I initially planned.

When I was younger, I was actually accepted to Northwestern Law School - one of only three women in the incoming class. But I didn’t go then. Instead, I found myself on a different path, working as a trader on the exchange floor, where I first got a taste of dispute resolution, though I didn’t realize then how significant that experience would become.

It wasn’t until nearly two decades later that I finally decided to pursue my dream. By then, my son Charlie was in high school, and the legal world had transformed dramatically. I enrolled at UC Hastings - now known as UC Law San Francisco - and found myself in a class that was half women. What a change from those earlier days at Northwestern! It felt like a victory just being part of that transformation.

Going back to school after twenty years wasn’t easy. The academic landscape had shifted entirely - everything was computerized, and I had to learn an entirely new way of studying. Charlie, my computer-savvy son, became my unexpected technical advisor. Here I was, a mother getting computer lessons from her high school-aged son! He was an early adopter of technology and, though busy with his own studies on his way to becoming a computer scientist and entrepreneur, he always found time to help me navigate this new digital world.

The challenges were numerous. Hastings had an enormous class - about 550 people - and the testing format was predominantly multiple choice, something I hadn’t dealt with in decades. It wasn’t just about legal reasoning and essay writing anymore; there was an enormous amount of memorization involved. After being in the professional world for so long, returning to being a student required a complete mental shift.

Balancing family life with law school demanded creative solutions. My husband was a busy surgeon, and our family schedule became an intricate juggling act. I remember many quick meals grabbed between classes at this old San Francisco sandwich place across from Sutter Hospital on Van Ness - the name escapes me now, but those hurried dinners with my husband Jim became our new normal.

What I found most valuable at Hastings were the professor emeritus instructors - these seasoned legal minds who brought decades of real-world experience to the classroom. While many younger professors focused on theoretical frameworks, these older gentlemen, products of esteemed backgrounds and institutions, showed us how legal principles applied to actual situations. They provided a comprehensive perspective that bridged the gap between academic law and practical application.

After graduation, I faced another challenge: age discrimination. The big law firms weren’t interested in an older graduate - they wanted young minds they could mold. But what seemed like a setback turned into an opportunity. My background as a trader had given me valuable experience in dispute resolution, and this field was just beginning to emerge as a distinct legal specialty when I graduated.

I decided to establish my own practice focusing on mediation and arbitration. It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. There have been moments - particularly during successful mediations - when I’ve felt an overwhelming sense of joy, knowing I was exactly where I was meant to be. Over time, I’ve grown to love arbitration even more than mediation, though both give me immense satisfaction. There’s something deeply fulfilling about examining principles, analyzing data, considering the human elements, and applying the law to resolve disputes.

Looking back, I realize that every step of my journey - even the decades-long delay in pursuing my law degree - contributed to making me a better lawyer. My life experience, business background, and maturity gave me a unique perspective that I couldn’t have had as a young law graduate. Sometimes, the longest path turns out to be exactly the right one.

The trading floor at the Chicago Mercantile Exchange was my sanctuary of focus, a place where the chaos of motherhood had to fall away the moment I stepped into that arena. I’d arrive downtown by 6:30 in the morning, taking the Chicago Northwestern train from Highland Park, leaving my two boys in the capable hands of Christina and Ignatz, a wonderful live-in couple who became like family to us.

Christina was practically a living grandmother to the boys, making sure they got their breakfast, and Ignatz would drive them to school while I immersed myself in the lightning-fast pace of the financial markets. You couldn’t afford distractions on the trading floor – the markets moved too quickly, demanded too much immediate attention. It was a bifurcated life: trader by morning, mother by afternoon.

I was fortunate to have my sister Ellen, who lived nearby, on call for emergencies. The support system wasn’t perfect – my parents were supportive but lived far away in Wisconsin and were too elderly for much hands-on help. My ex-husband Steve would take the kids every other weekend, but honestly, his involvement often brought more turmoil and anxiety than help.

By 2:30 PM, I’d usually make it home, transitioning from the high-intensity trading environment to the domestic sphere. I was exhausted, but there were after-school activities to manage, dinner to figure out, grocery shopping to do. While other mothers in our suburban setting were home for their children’s lunch, my situation was different. Looking back, I think it was good training for Justin and Charlie – they learned to be self-sufficient and independent at an early age.

What made this period even more interesting was my parallel career in television. I hosted “The Market Basket with Ruth Graham,” a live television show that aired right after the markets closed, usually around 1:05 PM. I managed the whole operation, cold-calling potential guests – heads of publicly held companies, senators, congressmen, economists – anyone who would appear on the show and could offer insight into the markets and economy.

I felt I was earning an MBA degree while doing the show. Every interview was a learning opportunity, every guest a potential connection. It wasn’t highly paid work, but it gave me something invaluable: confidence, access, and a deeper understanding of the financial world. This was the late seventies, early eighties, when women were just starting to become more prominent on television. While my TV career never really took off – I probably wasn’t that great – it was transformative for me personally.

The show gave me a bit of celebrity status on the trading floor, though “celebrity” might be too strong a word. It was more like recognition, respect perhaps. It pushed me to develop my analytical skills and put myself forward in ways I might not have otherwise.

Looking back now, I realize every working mother’s situation is different, but some truths are universal. You need to work to support your family, and you do what you have to do. Yes, it’s stressful, and yes, you can balance it, but it’s important to remember it isn’t forever. The kids grow up, they take on more responsibility, and the pressure gradually eases.

The key is having a good support system – you simply can’t be in two places at once. When you’re at work, you need to feel secure that your kids are taken care of, and when you’re home, you need to be present for your children without letting work consume every minute.

It’s all doable, though it might not feel that way in the moment. It’s a phase of life, and when it’s over, you feel a sense of accomplishment, especially when you see your sons become successful members of society. Even when they face their own challenges, you know they’ll figure it out – just like you did.

I remember those days as a time of constant motion, of early morning trains and late afternoon scrambles, of market volatility and domestic stability. It wasn’t perfect, but we made it work. And perhaps that’s the most important lesson I learned: you don’t need perfect, you just need possible.

I’ve always found it fascinating how different my two sons are, yet how they share this remarkable ability to tackle life like it’s one big puzzle waiting to be solved. Charlie and Justin are both in their early fifties now - though it sounds old when I say it, it really isn’t anymore. People are living longer, and I see this as just the halfway point in their journeys.

They’ve both inherited or developed this analytical mindset that shows up in everything they do. You can see it in how they spend their free time - they love puzzle hunts and escape rooms. They’re always evaluating evidence, looking for the path to the right solution. It’s not just a hobby; it’s how they approach life’s challenges, whether in their careers or personal lives.

Charlie, my younger son at 50 years old, is an entrepreneur through and through. He’s always known he doesn’t want to work for anyone else. He is driven to create new businesses, new challenges, and new products. Sometimes these ventures succeed, sometimes they don’t, but that’s the nature of the entrepreneurial path. When Charlie gets an idea, he’s a remarkable executor. He has this ability to transform concepts into reality that never ceases to amaze me. Just recently, he created a program using artificial intelligence in barely a week - that kind of quick execution is typical of his approach.

Justin, at 53, took a different route. His journey has been more about finding the right fit within his chosen field of medical informatics. He’s worked in various positions and companies, always knowing he wanted to work in informatics but sometimes uncertain about the exact where and how. I haven’t been as privy to his professional world since it’s in medicine, but I can see he’s a true problem solver. He’s always looking to make things work, searching for solutions. His approach to creating projects with artificial intelligence shows his analytical skills in finding the right path.

What makes me proudest is how they’ve both excelled in their personal lives, particularly as parents. They’ve put in tremendous time and effort with their families. Charlie’s children are still younger, but Justin’s kids, Zoe and Ezra, are growing into adults with a strong sense of responsibility, independence, and purpose. Ezra, being more of a late bloomer, has especially benefited from the focused attention of both parents. They recognized the challenge there and worked on it consistently, and now I can see how successful that approach has been.

Right now, they’re both facing career obstacles, which is actually what led to the creation of TellMel. They reached this point in mid-career, mid-life, where despite accomplishing a lot, they felt they hadn’t achieved all they wanted to. But I see this as an opportunity. They both have accumulated such valuable experiences and skills in the first stages of their lives, and now they have this whole second half to apply everything they’ve learned to something meaningful, purposeful, and successful.

I maintain a certain distance - they don’t confide in me about everything, and that’s natural. But I observe, and I can see how they’re evolving, how they’re taking their problem-solving abilities and applying them to new challenges. It’s still unfolding, their stories still being written. I’m watching with pride as they continue to determine what they want to do and figure out how to accomplish it, each in their own unique way.

It’s funny how life’s different chapters end up connecting in unexpected ways. My time hosting “The Market Basket with Ruth Graham” wasn’t just a job - it was my real-world MBA, though I didn’t realize it at the time. This was a live, half-hour show that ran after the markets closed, complete with stock ticker tape scrolling across the bottom of the screen. I wore multiple hats as both host and producer, which meant I had to be resourceful and bold.

I’d scan the papers for interesting people to interview, then just pick up the phone and call them cold. Most of the time, they said yes. My guest list ran the gamut from University of Chicago economics professors to corporate titans like Donald Rumsfeld, who was heading up G.D. Searle at the time, before he engaged in high government positions. Senators and congressmen would come through Chicago to learn about the commodity futures markets, and I’d get them on the show. Local business leaders would stop by to share their insights about market trends and business expectations.

Live television teaches you lessons you can’t learn anywhere else. I never worked from a script - just a few topic notes on a 3x5 card. You had to stay alert, really listen to the answers, and craft your next question based on what you just heard. This approach made the conversations more authentic and often led to insights you’d never get from prepared questions.

Of course, live TV also means dealing with the unexpected. I’ll never forget when a former US Secretary of Agriculture actually walked off the set during a live broadcast because he didn’t like my questions. That was the only time someone ever walked off, but it taught me about handling crisis situations with composure. You just acknowledge what happened and move forward - there’s no other choice when you’re live.

Then there was the time I learned about the power of words. I made the mistake of using the term “mafia” during a broadcast in Chicago. After the show, I got a call from someone claiming to be from the Italian American League, telling me never to use that word again. Message received - I never did.

The show gave me a front-row seat to observe how successful people operate. I watched how they analyzed situations, gathered information, and made decisions. Some guests were fascinating studies in human nature - charming when the cameras rolled, then reverting to gruff personalities during commercial breaks.

Looking back, I can see how this experience shaped my later career in law and mediation. The skills I developed interviewing high-level executives and politicians - staying composed under pressure, reading people, thinking on my feet - became invaluable tools. But most importantly, I learned the art of listening. Real listening, not just waiting for your turn to talk.

Working with government officials was particularly enlightening. Senators and congressmen were always smooth performers - they loved being on TV and answering questions. I studied how they effectively communicated their messages while maintaining likability. It was a masterclass in public communication.

The parallel between live television and real-life dispute resolution is striking. In both cases, there’s no editing, no do-overs. You have to keep moving forward, handling whatever comes your way with professionalism and grace. Whether you’re dealing with a difficult interview subject or mediating a complex legal dispute, the principles remain the same: listen actively, stay focused, and keep the conversation moving in a productive direction.

Those years behind the desk at “The Market Basket with Ruth Graham” weren’t just about reporting on business and finance. They were about understanding human nature, building confidence, and developing the kind of judgment that can only come from experience. Every interview, every challenging moment, every unexpected turn contributed to who I would become in my later legal career. Sometimes the best education doesn’t come from a classroom - it comes from jumping in and learning as you go.

The story of my family is really the story of survival. When I think about my extended family, I can’t help but see the thread that connects us all - we were the ones who made it out of Germany before the Holocaust, before the small towns where our families had lived for hundreds of years were emptied of their Jewish populations.

Mother’s sister, my aunt Irma, was part of our daily life in Milwaukee. We lived in a duplex - they took the second floor, we had the first. Aunt Irma and her husband, my uncle August Schwartz, had come over from Germany with my parents, bringing their only son, Arnold, with them. But life isn’t always kind, even after escape. Their son died of leukemia when he was just a teenager.

My mother’s brothers had their own stories. Jacob lived in Chicago with his wife and her girlfriend, but we rarely saw them. Charlie, her other brother, whom she adored, was in business with Aunt Irma and Uncle August. He never married, though he had a long-term relationship with a non-Jewish woman - something that caused quite a stir in those days. The relationship with Irma and August was strained, and then he died suddenly. Family dynamics can be complicated, especially when you’re rebuilding life in a new country.

On my father’s side, his sister Flora was a force of nature. After my grandmother died, when my father was just thirteen or fourteen years old, Flora stepped into that maternal role - perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. She was short, buxom, and always ready to tell everyone, especially my mother, what to do. My mother wasn’t particularly fond of that arrangement.

When my parents first arrived in America, they landed in New York like most immigrants, but they chose to settle in Milwaukee instead. That’s where my mother’s two old spinster aunts, Sophie and Sidoni, lived. They had sponsored our family’s immigration, having come to America themselves in the 1890s. I still have some of their jewelry and antiques - tangible connections to our past.

Sophie and Sidoni were ancient even in my earliest memories. When they passed, they left behind their black cocker spaniel, Corky, and enough money to care for him - four thousand dollars, which was such a significant sum it made the front page of the Milwaukee Journal. That dog turned out to be quite a character. He bit everyone except me, and became so protective that my mother couldn’t even shake me awake in the morning without risking an attack. We lived in terror of that dog until he died of natural causes.

My grandfather, my father’s father, would split his time between our home and Flora’s in New York. He passed away when I was very young, around 1950 or ’51, but I remember him as a lovely gentleman with a warm smile and gentle disposition. Those annual trips to New York to visit relatives were special occasions. One time, my father took me to see “The King and I” on Broadway - that must have been in the early ’50s.

But underlying all these family stories and memories is that unspoken message that shaped everything: we were the lucky ones. We escaped. We made it to America where there was opportunity, and we seized it with both hands. My parents, like all the adults in our family, worked tirelessly to ensure their children would have the best education and the best opportunities possible. My sister and I, born ten years apart, were the beneficiaries of that determination to not just survive, but to thrive.

When I look at the jewelry and antiques I inherited from Sophie and Sidoni, I don’t just see beautiful objects. I see the physical manifestation of our family’s journey, our survival, and the bridge between the world we left behind and the one we built here in America. These aren’t just family stories - they’re testament to resilience, to adaptation, and to the power of hope in the face of history’s darkest moments.

Looking back, my path to becoming an arbitrator seems almost inevitable, though I certainly didn’t plan it that way. The seeds were planted during my time as a trader on the Chicago Mercantile Exchange, where I first discovered my knack for resolving disputes. At the end of each trading day, when all trades had to be marked to market, conflicts would inevitably arise. Money has a way of making people dig in their heels, but I found myself naturally stepping into the role of unofficial mediator.

There’s something about the trading floor that teaches you about human nature. When two traders are at odds over prices or positions, you learn quickly that fairness and common sense are your best tools. I would often find myself facilitating these discussions, helping folks come to agreement on prices. It wasn’t formal mediation - we didn’t have lawyers involved - but it was real-world dispute resolution in its purest form.

After my trading experience, I learned about arbitration by becoming an independent arbitrator with the National Association of Security Dealers. This role marked my first formal step into the world of dispute resolution. As an arbitrator, I was essentially acting as a judge, hearing evidence and making rulings on financial disputes. This experience solidified my understanding of what I wanted to do with my life.

When I finally made the decision to attend law school - later in life than most - I already knew which path I wanted to pursue. The world of alternative dispute resolution combined everything I valued: business expediency, common sense, fairness, and the crucial elements of independence and impartiality. It was a natural extension of the work I had been doing informally for years.

What draws me most to arbitration, even more than mediation, is the opportunity to make rational decisions based on evidence and data. There’s something deeply satisfying about diving into the facts of a case, understanding the root causes of disputes, and applying logical analysis to reach a conclusion. Unlike civil court judges, arbitrators typically make final decisions without the possibility of appeal. This finality adds weight to our responsibility but also allows us to bring true closure to conflicts.

Each case that comes before me is unique, presenting its own set of challenges and complexities. I’ve never encountered two disputes that were exactly alike, primarily because they involve different people with different perspectives and circumstances. It’s like solving a new puzzle each time, and I find that intellectually stimulating. The human element ensures that the work never becomes routine or mundane.

Over the years, I’ve found that my background in trading, combined with my legal education and arbitration experience, has given me a unique perspective on conflict resolution. It’s a responsibility I take seriously and a challenge I continue to embrace with each new case that comes before me.

Shopping isn’t just about spending money – it’s about strategy, skill, and scoring the best deal possible. I learned this early on from my mother, who was a master at finding ways to keep us well-dressed without breaking the bank. We had this little conspiracy going – we’d go shopping together and never tell my father, who was a real penny pincher. My mother had her own little cache of money tucked away, and we’d use it to make sure we always looked presentable, even if it was beyond what my father thought we should spend on clothes.

This early education in bargain hunting shaped my entire approach to shopping. Just like trading on the Chicago Mercantile Exchange, where I learned to buy at the best price and sell at the best price, shopping became about finding the ultimate value. I’m not necessarily looking for the cheapest option – I’m looking for quality at the right price. There’s an art to it, really. When I find designer clothes at 80 or 90 percent off, that’s what I call scoring big.

The skill doesn’t stop at clothing. I apply the same principles to grocery shopping. I know exactly which stores have the best deals – Trader Joe’s for certain items, watching for sales at different stores when steaks drop to $6.99 a pound. It’s about knowing where to look and when to strike.

My sister and I turned bargain hunting into a shared adventure. When one of us would find an exceptional deal, we’d share it with the other. We ended up with many matching items in our closets because when you find something truly worth it, why not double down? My sister and I share a fundamental belief that being well-dressed isn’t just about looking good—it’s about presenting yourself with confidence and making the best possible impression. This philosophy has guided our bargain hunting throughout our lives.

Now, one of my greatest joys is shopping for my granddaughter. Never having had a daughter of my own, it’s exciting to shop for a young woman. She’s away at school and needs party clothes, but doesn’t have easy access to stores or the budget for what she needs. We’ve adapted to modern times – we shop online together through texting, looking at different options and trying to figure out sizes, especially since some stores have closed. It’s become our special connection. I get her something nice, and in return, she shares a bit more about her life with me. It’s a subtle quid pro quo that keeps us close.

I’ve tried to pass this value-conscious mindset on to my children. Both my sons, Charlie and Justin, seem to have picked up on it. They take pride in getting something valuable for a fair or lower price. It’s not just about saving money – it’s about developing the confidence and skill to understand true value, to know you won’t be taken advantage of, and to make smart decisions with your resources.

This approach to shopping isn’t just about the thrill of the deal – it’s about being savvy and intelligent in how you spend your money. Whether it’s clothes, groceries, construction work, or buying a car, the principle remains the same: never sacrifice quality, but always seek the best value. It’s a skill that requires confidence, knowledge, and patience. When you find that perfect combination of quality and price, that’s when you know you’ve truly scored.

The satisfaction of finding a good deal goes beyond the monetary savings. It’s about proving to yourself that you’re shrewd, capable, and won’t be fooled by flashy price tags or marketing gimmicks. It’s about understanding the true worth of things and having the patience to wait for the right opportunity. This is the legacy I hope I’ve passed down to my children and grandchildren – not just how to shop, but how to be smart, savvy consumers in all aspects of life.