My mother always had wonderful stories. There were stories about growing up in Virginia and later moving to Washington D.C., living for a time at the local YWCA, where young African American women could find safe, reputable housing in the days of segregation.
There were the stories about her first jobs working in administrative and clerical positions at different federal agencies, where she wore a hat and gloves to work each day and eventually met and married my dad.
The above excerpt was originally published in New York Daily News.
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