U.S. Air Force Basic Training


 Miss Illinois USA Pageant


 Saudia Arabia July 1992


Former Chicago Police Superintendent
Terry Hillard


Former U.S. Surgeon General
Richard H. Carmona


NASCAR Driving

GI Jane Training In The Air Force
A drill instructor approached, “hang up the phone, your time is up!”

“I have to go Mom, they are hollering at me to hang up.” I surrendered the phone to the next crying victim in my squad. I was a mess, sobbing uncontrollably as the angry drill instructor ordered me to move into another line. I desperately wanted my mommy. Trembling and on the verge of hyperventilating, I marched into the next formation and stood alone among hordes of strangers where I experienced my first encounter with inner courage. It was then I decided that I was doing this thing until the bitter end. I could not return home a quitter. All we needed to do to survive the six weeks was to be compliant, subservient, offer no excuses, take responsibility for every act, and do exactly as ordered.

Dictator Dad’s Welfare Home 
Dad was quite the disciplinarian, which meant weekly Saturday beatings for all seven of us. The neighbors often heard our screams penetrating the closed basement window of Dad’s House of Justice.  There was always a struggle after each strike, as we would squirm and yelp in pain, making involuntary attempts to block the next impeding blow with our hands. This would make him angrier; if we moved we knew to expect an additional strikewhat was most perplexing was that, every week, no matter what, in Dad’s eyes, we all managed to do something that required a beating.

Competing In The Miss Illinois USA Pageant
A whole new world was opening up for this dark blonde, 110 lb., 5’5, brown-eyed, eighteen-year-old girl. The one striking physical quality that I was often recognized for was my prominently high cheekbones. I received these from Dad’s gene pool. His parents were a mixture of Swedish, English and Native American Indian (Cherokee).

Mid-fall, Mom and Dad dropped me off at the venue to prepare for the three-day pageant event. I was awestruck as I was shuttled between various registration points with the other 204 contestants from across Illinois. Many of the women exuded refinement and wealth, as indicated by their Louis Vuitton luggage and “to-die-for” business ensembles. This made me question my acceptance into the pageant. 

Beauty, poise and personality were the only requirements for the competition. I thought I possessed all of them, but suddenly I was feeling less than adequate. Who was I, anyway? I was eighteen, living at home, attending a community college while working as a waitress. Was this the making of a Miss Illinois winner?

First Marriage Fails
Over the years, Tony had threatened to kill himself if I ever left him and swore he’d never let me go. I was fearful of his temper. But while he became destructive during his drunken episodes, he’d never harmed me physically. Sadly I looked at that as a plus. After some eight or so months of my intentional frigidity, I was hoping to push Tony to file for a divorce

The second I heard Tony enter the shower I raced from the bedroom and left for work. I knew it ironic that part of my job entailed sending help to victims of domestic batteries, and here I was, ‘a victim’ who decided to keep my battery a secret as I continued helping strangers that very evening. Unfortunately despite my show of power against Tony, I still feared his threats. I couldn’t bring myself to share this atrocity with my family. Or move in with my mom, even if it was only temporary. My image of independence was too important; asking for help was out of the question. So instead, I threatened Tony with a divorce if he didn’t join me for relationship counseling. Sound pathetically familiar?…

My new goal was to get hired as a Chicago Police officer so that I could finance my own home and leave Tony forever.

Patrol Officer’s Delicate Touch
Through trial and error, I learned how to quell many volatile police calls with the use of minimum force. For example, when handling drunk drivers, domestic altercations, warrant arrests or even bar fights, I built rapport with the offenders and the victims by treating everyone with respect, even after I determined who would be going to jail. I found that most of the offenders I dealt with were men and being a petite blonde woman certainly gave me an advantage over my male counterparts. If I had a quarter for every time a male criminal or victim said, “Officer, aren’t you going to pat me down?” I would have retired after two years.

Promoted To SWAT
I expected some slack from the men, but still felt hurt and betrayed. I’d been helping them train, socialized at lunch with them and even took off into the woods to relieve myself, trying to fit in. I was OK as their role player, but that was it. All they knew was an all-male team and that’s exactly how they wanted to keep it. I knew the team leaders were looking for a levelheaded team player who had proven him or herself effective through proactive police activity and dedication to the department. It was the team members that wanted to keep it a boys’ club. As much as I wanted to believe the guys would perceive me as an equal, the reality was that it wasn’t going to happen. If I was selected, it would be like starting all over again. Yet another time for me to prove myself in a man’s world.

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