April 1976
Angela stared up at the towering skyscraper that held the offices of the Wallace and McQuaid advertising agency. She felt a surge of excitement for the accounts that awaited her attention and the copy writers who required her direction. Her title of Creative Director was not quite a year old, but already, she knew it could lead to bigger and better positions, and maybe one day, all the way to the top.

But her heart also tugged painfully for what she had left at home. Her infant son, barely three months old, was being cared for by his Grandma Mona. And while Angela knew the hands that fed him, changed him, and rocked him were capable, she couldn't suppress the aching knowledge that they weren't her hands.

But it was the 70s. Women all around her were climbing the corporate ladder in record numbers and chipping away steadily at that interminable glass ceiling that a decade earlier had been made of concrete. And Angela wanted — no, needed — to be part of it.

She stopped by her office, but barely had time to hang up her coat and absorb her environment before Alan Cunningham, Creative Vice President and Angela's immediate superior, stuck his head in.

"Hey there, Angela. Welcome back."

"Thanks Alan, it's good to be here."

"How's the little one?"

Angela was a bit surprised at the inquiry. Alan was a nice enough guy, but didn't often engage in personal conversation. "He's wonderful. Growing every day, it seems."

"Uh, Angela, before you get comfortable, do you think I could have a word with you in my office — just to bring you up-to-date?"

"Sure, no problem. I imagine I'm a little out of the loop." Angela dropped her things and followed her boss's steps to his office down the hall.

"Come on in, have a seat. What accounts were you handling when you left in June?"

"I left in July, but I was just finishing up the Kellogg redesign, and I was overseeing three teams working with various national campaigns. In fact, I'm pretty excited to see what Josh, Ken, and Linda came up with for Proctor and Gamble."

"Yeah, about the P&G ad, we had a bit of a personnel shift, and Josh took the reins on that one. He did a beautiful job, and wrapped it up a week ahead of schedule."

Angela's eyes widened in surprise. She'd been handling Proctor and Gamble since she was named Creative Director. It was one of their biggest accounts. But she didn't want to appear petty or territorial, so she replied, "Really? Well good for him. He's a hard worker."

"Yes, yes he is."

Angela's eyes narrowed, and a ball was beginning to form in the pit of her stomach. Alan was being evasive; he was not meeting her eyes, and was obviously hedging about something.

"Alan, what's going on? There's something you're not telling me."

"Listen Angela, you just got back from maternity leave, you have a newborn at home, and are still considered a newlywed by most standards ..."

"Yeah, what's your point?"

His tone was suddenly very patronizing, and Angela was wary of where he was heading with his observations on her life.

"Well, you know what being creative director requires. You put in sixty, sixty-five hours a week, always on call ... that's no kind of schedule for a woman like you."

"What are you saying Alan, that I'm fired for having a baby?" A part of her was getting really frightened, but another part focused on the absurdity of his comments and the belief that he couldn't really mean what it sounded like he was saying.

"No, of course not. You're far too valuable, we're not stupid." Angela breathed a sigh of relief, which was quickly dispelled with his next statement. "But come on, you have to recognize there are certain limitations to what you're going to be able to do now. Maybe being Creative Director is a bit much."

"Alan, tell me you're joking. That's just plain, old sexism." She was oscillating between fear of what had happened while she was off and disbelief that it was as bad as she suspected.

"Well, Josh did a heck of a job covering for you, and you've seen how it works. Women around here drop like flies once the babies start coming. This way, you can still have a job, something to bring in some extra spending money, but you can also be home to take care of your family. Let Josh deal with the meetings, the memos, the late-night calls, the business trips. You don't need all that."

With every word of Alan's speech, Angela's rage grew. How dare he presume to make decisions about what was best for her family. Somehow, she kept her composure and spoke in an even, measured tone. "Has it escaped your notice, Alan, that Josh has been here two years less that I have, and he has a wife and three children at home. How, in your warped sense of priorities does that make him more qualified or more able to put in the time required of a creative director?"

"Angela, I know you're upset, but you know how it is. Josh has a family to support, and he has a wife to take care of things at home. You have Michael's career to take care of the bills, and besides, we thought when we promoted you that you were committed to your career, but after you got pregnant, well, let's face it, it was only a matter of time."

Angela just sat there shaking her head in indignant disbelief. His words, to her mind, were right out of the dark ages, and he didn't even see it. He thought he was doing her a favor! The arrogance, the gall. It was insulting beyond anything she had ever encountered. And worse, she had thought Wallace and McQuaid was above such discrimination.

"Now Angela, you still have a job here. I've already pulled the Kitty Kuddles account for you."

The anger turned into incredulous laughter that began small and rippled out until she was nearly consumed with it. "Kitty Kuddles?" she managed to get out between laughs. "You want me to work on a cat food account? I have a Harvard MBA. I've pitched accounts to international companies, flown to Paris, Tokyo, and London to woo clients, and have a trophy case of awards I've won for this company in the past four years. And you want me to work on a product that wouldn't pay my salary with its annual sales? That's rich, Alan, even for you."

Alan was dumbstruck. He stared at her, seemingly half afraid of what she was going to do. When she stood up, he visibly flinched. "Angela, calm down. You're acting hysterical."

"Hysterical? Yes, that's exactly right, Alan. I'm a woman, and this is how women act when boorish, egotistical, sexist male pigs take their jobs away from them."

She turned and strode toward the door, and despite his shock, he couldn't stop himself from sputtering, "W-where are you going?"

"Anywhere but here. I quit!"