Today, I am a professional abstract artist—something that was never part of my original plan. Yet somewhere in my early sixties, that creative voice emerged and changed the course of my life. Looking back, I can see clearly that my Nightingale education had prepared me to seize an unexpected moment and soar.

Nightingale in the 1950s and 60s was a special place, filled with extraordinarily bright, well-educated women who believed deeply in the importance of educating girls to be strong, active thinkers. In many ways, they were ahead of their time. The physical school was smaller and my graduating class included only 22 young women, but the mission was unmistakably the same as it is today: to nurture young women who could think critically, embrace change, adapt, evaluate, and lead.

The English department—Miss Cundy, Miss Vicary, Miss Wiseman, and Mrs. Norris, among others—was rigorous and demanding. They taught us to write with clarity, focus, and creativity. I still laugh when I remember confusing “concubine” with “carbuncle” in my Chaucer essay. Miss Vicary certainly did; she reportedly laughed so loudly in the teachers’ lounge that everyone heard.

French and Latin were taught with equal seriousness by Madame Bouteneff, Madame Stevenson, and Miss Von Herrmann. I struggled with Latin, but I worked diligently to survive my three required years. Miss Von Herrmann called me her little “centurion,” and whenever I faced academic challenges, I thought of her—and tried harder.

Studying history with Mrs. Davis, who was a force of nature, was fascinating. She was dynamic, opinionated, at times intimidating, and she ignited my lifelong love of American history and ultimately my desire to teach. She had strong views and a clear goal of shaping us into liberal democrats. She also made us swear that we would not leave college early to get married. I took that advice seriously and was glad I did—I married two weeks after graduation.

Joan McMenamin taught us two lessons that have stayed with me throughout my life: how to read The New York Times and how to shake hands with strength and conviction.

And throughout my twelve years at Nightingale, I studied art with Mrs. Winkelhorn. I loved creating art and continued in college, eventually minoring in studio art. I didn’t realize then how important that passion would become—how it would lie dormant for decades before leading me down an entirely new path after I “retired.”

Because our class sizes were small, each girl wore many hats—head of the Athletic Association, captain of teams, member of drama and glee clubs. In hindsight, we practically invented multitasking. Leadership wasn’t optional; it was expected.

By sixth grade, I knew I wanted to be a history teacher. After college, in a world reshaped by the Vietnam War, I set out to “educate the hearts and minds” of students. Like Nightingale had taught us, we believed we could be anything.

I taught for 36 years, covering nearly every subject and grade level, though much of my career was spent teaching girls at Nightingale. I became the school’s technology coordinator, helping usher in computers—an unimaginable leap from the chalkboards of my early days. Although I hadn’t planned to work with younger students, I found my passion there. I wanted them to become confident, curious, capable young women—girls who didn’t begin a sentence with, “This may not be right, but…” a phrase we labeled the “female apology.”

After 36 years, I felt it was time for a new chapter. I turned toward two passions: giving back and creating art.

Rooted in Nightingale’s emphasis on service, I became an advocate for survivors of sexual assault and domestic violence. That meant late-night calls to hospitals to stand with survivors, ensuring they knew their rights and received compassionate care. Some mornings, I visited police stations to help officers learn ways to better support survivors—something rarely covered in formal training.

Around this time, I joined The Transition Network—now Women Connecting—a national community for professional women over fifty, dedicated to reimagining the second half of life. During a discussion about passion, I suddenly remembered my college art minor—something I had truly forgotten. Encouraged, I began taking classes at the 92nd Street Y. Six years later, I moved to the Art Students League, where I still study today. Fifteen years after picking up a paintbrush again, I am now a professional artist, selling my work and exhibiting in shows.

So why join the alumnae board at this stage of my life? The answer is simple: I was asked—and I said yes. Perhaps my long view of Nightingale’s history and intentions will add something meaningful to the celebration of 100 years of extraordinary work.

All told—as a student, teacher, parent, and alumna—I have been part of Nightingale for what feels like 150 years. And when I connect the dots, everything in my life leads back to this school. It was here that I learned to believe in myself, to take responsibility, to adapt, to lead, and to keep growing—no matter where life takes me.

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