As a working-class kid from Yonkers, I’ve grappled with harsh economic realities: No private tutors or fancy country club memberships for this girl. No one wired me into a high paying job with a hedge fund or a think tank. But my limited sense of entitlement made it possible for me to slum unseen in some mighty high places. Working-class girls don’t always rise to the top by taking a conventional career path. You’re probably thinking, like a lot of women, that I hit the glass ceiling. Now that is funny. I could not climb high enough to see the top—no mirage to a shard of shining blue sky. No glass stared me in the face. Seeing the glass ceiling from the ground floor is not possible, no matter how hard a girl works.
Pushing myself, bootstrapping, and living by my own wits made me succeed. I wasn’t too afraid of failure. After a lifetime of picking myself up from the ground, falling only means it takes less time to get up. Starting my own business became one of the best decisions I ever made. I launched my P.R. firm, Xanthus Communications, in Athens during the Euro-American Women’s Council in 2003. I was recruited on a diplomatic mission to meet the President of Greece, Apostolos Kaklamanis.
These were the apocalyptic days after 9/11 when America was still reeling in shock, getting used to new security measures—long lines at airports and government buildings. Can’t say for sure how I found myself in Greece hobnobbing among Republican women like Roger Stone’s ex-wife, Ann E.W.Stone; Jean Richard Jones, who ran Alpha Services—supplying government contractors to war zones; and Laura Savini, who swore her allegiance to Rudy Giuliani and married the crooning songwriter Jimmy Webb. These were Republican women, alien to me, too rich for my blood, and scary. (More about that in future NOTES.)
NOTES FROM THE WORKING-CLASS:
Getting Snowed
by Patricia Vaccarino