In the mid-1960s a nearly eighty-year-old woman sat at her desk fingers clanking away on her
well-worn typewriter. The ding of the machine indicated she madeit to the end of the line.
Checking the freshly stamped ink on the white page the woman fixed a few grammatical errors.
She silently read her opening line: As the native-born child of Immigrant parents growing up
in St. Louis I probably never thought of the term International nor how I would be concerned
with it for the next sixty years of my life. Most women of Cecilia Razovsky's age would be
living their golden years somewhere warm like Florida or surrounded by children and
grandchildren baking cookies and knitting sweaters.
