[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 154 (2008), Part 18]
[Senate]
[Pages 24329-24331]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




     VERMONT'S 12TH ANNUAL WOMEN'S ECONOMIC OPPORTUNITY CONFERENCE

  Mr. LEAHY. Mr. President, today I would like to share with my friends 
in the Senate a great story of personal triumph and success as told by 
Vermont Supreme Court Associate Justice Marilyn Skoglund, the keynote 
speaker for Vermont's 12th Annual Women's Economic Opportunity 
Conference.
  Marilyn forged her own remarkable path to success. She received her 
bachelor's degree in fine arts from Southern Illinois University, and 
after moving to Vermont, passed the bar exam on her first try all while 
raising her 7-year-old daughter. Marilyn continued to rise through the 
ranks of the Vermont Office of the Attorney General where she served as 
both chief of the civil law division and chief of the public protection 
division before her appointment in 1994 to the district court, and 
subsequently the Vermont Supreme Court in 1997. In addition to her 
accomplishments, Marcelle and I admired Marilyn's candidness as she 
walked us through her journey. She offered more than 300 Vermont women 
a very honest and inspirational perspective on the realities of 
balancing both a career and a family.
  Marcelle and I have hosted the Vermont Women's Economic Opportunity 
Conference for 12 years, and we look forward to attending each year 
because we consider it one of the most important events in which we 
take part. Though our economy may be facing difficult challenges, this 
year's conference, and Marilyn's story, showed that adversity can be 
overcome and met with great success--especially by motivated and 
talented women of all ages.
  Vermont's economic future depends on the countless talented women who 
drive it. According to the Vermont Center for Women's Business Studies, 
women-owned firms generate an impressive $1.5 billion annually and 
currently employ more than 35,000 Vermonters. In 2006, approximately 39 
percent of all Vermont businesses were owned, or partially owned, by 
women. Even though the number of Vermont women-owned businesses is on 
the rise, we must continue working to encourage greater growth.
  Mr. President, I ask unanimous consent that Justice Skoglund's 
speech, written for Vermont's 12th annual Women's Economic Opportunity 
Conference, detailing her journey to success, be printed in the Record.
  There being no objection, the material was ordered to be printed in 
the Record, as follows:

      Senator Leahy's 12th Women's Economic Opportunity Conference

       I begin with a disclaimer. In Senator Leahy's letter, 
     asking me to be the keynote speaker, he wrote as follows: 
     ``We invite you to share your compelling personal experiences 
     of how you molded your successful career path to the Vermont 
     Supreme Court, all the while raising two daughters as a 
     single mother.''
       I was of course so excited to learn that Senator Leahy knew 
     my name. And, that he thought I had done a good job of 
     balancing a career and a family. But, after skipping around 
     the kitchen a bit, I settled down. Sen. Leahy did not really 
     know what those compelling personal experiences were. Perhaps 
     he was lured into inviting me because a staff member had 
     heard rumors that my ``successful career path'' was pretty 
     funny. Someday I will be old enough to know better than to 
     discuss my past in public just because I was so flattered 
     someone of Sen. Leahy's stature asked, but, here I am. Ready 
     to reveal. I accept Sen. Leahy's invitation to share my 
     compelling, maybe, but more accurately, my ridiculous, 
     oddball, clueless, experiences of how I managed to crawl my 
     way into the best job on the planet, all the while dragging 
     two innocent, courageous daughters along in my wake. The 
     journey through the thicket of experiences was not always 
     pleasant, and mistakes were made. Truth is; I may have 
     nothing to offer to this audience. This is an economic 
     conference. I am not an economist. I am not a psychologist. 
     So, if you all just want to go get coffee and skip the gory 
     details, I will understand.
       To begin, how does one grade ``success'' in balancing work 
     and family? I am a justice on the Vermont Supreme Court. I 
     have a good reputation as a jurist. I was a very good lawyer. 
     I have no arrest record. So far so good. I raised one 
     daughter, let's call her Martha, who is an ObGyn doctor 
     delivering babies in New Hampshire. She seems very content 
     and satisfied with her life. She just got married to a 
     wonderful man on August 30th. Most important indicia of 
     success: She loves me. I raised another daughter; I will call 
     her Ruby, who is working on a Ph.D. in clinical psychology. 
     She is currently very annoyed at how hard life is, but feels 
     good about her work. She loves me. This sounds great! By the 
     way, I have changed their names to protect their privacy. 
     They each bear their father's last names, as do I, so 
     hopefully, I have shielded them from any further 
     embarrassment from their mother, at least for today.
       Because, while they may be well adjusted women, the truth 
     is, they adjusted to what their mother put them through. And, 
     if ``successfully balancing'' includes a solid marriage, I am 
     not your girl. Two creative, interesting, unique men, neither 
     ever bored me. I love them to this day, I danced with each at 
     Martha's wedding, but it did not work out.
       In addition to my inadequacies standing up here before you, 
     I would also point out that everyone in this audience is 
     clearly way ahead of where I was when I wandered into 
     adulthood. Obviously, you are all women with a high degree of 
     confidence in yourselves and your ideas, ambitions, and 
     goals. You are at an economic conference, for heaven's sake. 
     You have given some thought to your life. At the beginning of 
     my meandering road to the Supreme Court, I had little concept 
     of who I was and had not considered who I wanted to be.
       To begin, my parents were the Swedish equivalent of Ozzie 
     and Harriet. I was raised in a nice middle class home in a 
     nice midwestern suburb. There literally was a white picket 
     fence around the yard. And, a little dog. My mother wore a 
     dress every day of her life, so she did her house work 
     looking like Donna Reed. By the time I came along, my father 
     was working in a steel plant and Mom had stopped being a hair 
     dresser to raise two kids. There were no drugs in my school. 
     My father's biggest complaint about me was that my bangs were 
     too long. It was an idyllic childhood. Just like on T.V. So I 
     assumed everyone pretty much lived like I did. Father made 
     enough so I could go to college. Back in those olden days, 
     in-state tuition at SIU was $97 a semester. And, I had part 
     time jobs to help pay my expenses. After four years, I got 
     married, continued going to school and working part time, 
     because it was cheap and it was fun. Finally, after seven 
     years in college, I decided to graduate, mainly because I was 
     pregnant and did not know how long it would be until I could 
     get back to going to classes. That should give you some idea 
     of how totally clueless I was about the changes a child 
     brings to a life.
       The baby was great, but then things quickly stopped being 
     cheap and fun. There is something about the arrival of a 
     child, and one parent not working, that causes money 
     problems. My husband was working, but not getting paid much. 
     I was not working (day care didn't exist in southern 
     Illinois). And, there came a time when I had to apply for 
     food stamps. Three months of food stamps. We were two middle 
     class kids and we thought this was shameful, so of course, we 
     never told our folks and we couldn't ask them for money for 
     the same reason. But, of course, we weren't middle class kids 
     anymore--we were young parents with very little money, 
     renting a grimy little house with giant slugs in the 
     basement.
       I'll cut this gruesome chapter short. In 1973 we moved to 
     Vermont, my husband got laid off and then, after eleven years 
     of marriage, he left. The reasons are not important. By now 
     my daughter was in first grade. and I was working a part-time 
     job for very little money. Those seven years in college? I 
     walked out with a degree in fine arts--sculpture. See, I 
     didn't go to college with an actual career in mind. I 
     expected to become my mom, making lunches, and ironing in my 
     pearls. My father always said, if a woman has to work outside 
     the home, it should be in one of the helping professions: 
     teaching or nursing. Things were not working out. What would 
     Donna Reed do? I pondered.
       I decided to be a lawyer. Now, I do admit to having a 
     selective memory about some things. I do not remember my 
     first husband asking me to marry him and I have no 
     recollection of why I thought I could become a lawyer. Law 
     school wasn't an option--there was no money for tuition and 
     besides, I had to work.
       I got a job working as a paralegal, law clerk at the 
     attorney general's office and participating in that marvelous 
     Vermont jewel, the four year reading clerkship. This path to 
     the bar required me to apprentice myself for four years to a 
     lawyer, and if I passed the bar exam, I was a real lawyer. I 
     began work in the AG's office at a salary of $7,000 a year, 
     which quickly went up to $12,000. Here's an interesting fact: 
     I had to borrow a dress for the job interview at the attorney 
     general's office. Now, at the time I knew I didn't have any 
     money, but I never thought I was poor. I was doing all right.
       But if you ask my daughter, Martha, you'd get a different 
     picture. While I was working all day every day in Montpelier, 
     she was

[[Page 24330]]

     walking half a mile home from the school bus stop to the 
     adorable tiny three-room, un-insulated cottage in the country 
     with the only source of heat being a wood burning furnace in 
     the cellar. Walking home to a cold, empty house. But, the 
     good news was that I rented this cottage from Walter Smith. I 
     am pleased to have this opportunity to pay tribute to my very 
     own personal version of welfare: Walter Smith. Walter was a 
     beloved dairy farmer in Plainfield, about 68 years old when I 
     met him, who was my landlord for eleven years and my friend 
     for twenty. He died several years back. I loved him.
       So, at the age of eight, Martha was expected to stoke the 
     furnace when she got home. Sometimes, Walter would come over 
     to help her. But most times he could not. And, you know, I 
     did not agonize over this. Donna Reed and June Cleaver would 
     be horrified, but I had to work. It was that simple. Walter, 
     who by then had become my surrogate father, had the hired 
     hands bring over truck loads of free split wood--an early 
     version of ``fuel assistance.'' I could dip raw milk from the 
     bulk tank for free. My very own WIC program. He'd give me 
     meat when he butchered a cow whose milking days were over. 
     Very, very chewy, but free. Free eggs if I fought the hens 
     for them, and maple syrup. He would give me bushels of 
     tomatoes and I would put them up and give him half. If my 
     cupboard was really bare, Martha and I could always wander 
     over to the farm house where Walter had cases and cases of 
     chicken noodle soup, which he ate every day with mayonnaise 
     sandwiches. He was my food shelf. Once, when Martha was about 
     ten, I sent her to school with a coconut and a hammer for 
     snack as I hadn't had time to grocery shop. Walter had given 
     me the coconut as a joke, asking me what kind of turkey I 
     thought had laid the brown hairy thing? The teacher sent a 
     note home thanking me for providing an interesting project 
     for the class. I thought that was nice.
       See, I was not poor. I had Walter. And, there was a certain 
     satisfaction about supporting myself and my child.
       But, I was also in love. Madly and passionately in love 
     with the law. The law is amazing. It is the infrastructure of 
     society. Sensible, mostly. Logical, usually. Enduring. It 
     adapts to changing mores and technologies, but only slightly 
     faster than the movement of the earth's tectonic plates. How 
     did the founding father's accept the constitution to deal 
     with the development of cyber-space and artificial 
     insemination? Heavy stuff. I love it. I had decided to go 
     into law thinking I liked writing, words, and arguing. I 
     hadn't expected to discover that it felt like ginger ale 
     poured over my brain. This is how I can describe the joy, 
     excitement, and the thrill of learning and understanding the 
     basis of the rules that manage our civilized life.
       If you have a passion, if you find your passion, you are a 
     very lucky person. And, I had found my passion while Martha 
     was stoking the furnace.
       But, here is an amazing fact: children have their own 
     memories, and their own perceptions about life. When she was 
     in high school, unbeknownst to me, Martha applied for a 
     Horatio Alger Scholarship, given to kids who have endured 
     hardship and managed to be successful students in spite of 
     it. And, she got one. When she told me about this wonderful 
     thing, I was so proud and delighted. Eventually it dawned on 
     me to ask in perfect ignorance: ``What was your hardship?''
       ``You,'' she answered. She had written about those days 
     when she came home to an empty cold house and had to face the 
     cellar and the furnace alone and cold. I have never read her 
     winning essay. I am not that strong.
       So, eventually, I connected again with an interesting, 
     creative, blah, blah, blah man and Ruby came along. At this 
     time I am a lawyer in the civil law division of the AG 
     office. Yes, I had passed the bar. Ruby started day care at 
     six months of age. And, having found what I was supposed to 
     be doing with my life, I wanted to keep working. Oh the 
     guilt. Her father was on the road most of the time, and 2\1/
     2\ years after Ruby was born, that road did not pass by our 
     house any more.
       One day, the call came from the day care that Ruby was sick 
     and I needed to pick her up. Naturally, I was scheduled to 
     prosecute a physician before the Board of Medical Practice 
     that day. I had prepared the case for months. Witnesses had 
     answered subpoenas to appear. No other attorney in the office 
     knew the case. What I knew was that just outside the hearing 
     room in the Secretary of State's office was a couch. So, I 
     went and got Ruby, swung by the house for a blanket and 
     pillow and a juice box, and put her to bed in the hall of the 
     Secretary of State's office.
       I know that bundling up a sick little girl in a hallway 
     will not win me any parenting awards. But, helpful, 
     understanding people working at the office kept an eye on 
     Ruby while she slept. Ruby, too, adjusted to me.
       But, being a mom with a profession that really requires 
     adherence to a schedule also had benefits. My first oral 
     argument before the Vermont Supreme Court was scheduled. I 
     was a nervous wreck. ``Got to get plenty of sleep the night 
     before so I'm sharp.''
       Instead Martha got the flu and we spent most of the night 
     with me holding her hair while she drove the porcelain bus. 
     As soon as Walter was done milking, I trundled Martha over to 
     his house, told him I would be back in two hours, and went to 
     Montpelier to the hearing. Being worried about Martha put the 
     argument into a manageable perspective--I just did the job 
     then ran home to be a mom.
       Eventually, after 17 years at the Attorney General's 
     office, I applied to be a trial judge. I made it past the 
     Judicial Nominating board and my name was sent to Governor 
     Dean for consideration. Then, I got worried. Martha was 21 by 
     then, but Ruby was only 8 and I knew I'd be away from home 
     for long hours every day. I was scared so I withdrew my name 
     from consideration. When I told my daughters what I had done, 
     the outcry was loud. Ruby was really insulted and said she'd 
     be fine. Martha said she would help out. They convinced me it 
     could work. I called back the Governor's office and said I 
     had changed my mind. When I had my interview with the 
     Governor, I explained how my concerns for my children had 
     caused me to chicken out. He understood and appointed me as a 
     judge.
       And, it was hard. On me, and on Ruby. I got home late and 
     left early. I was at least an hour away if she got sick or 
     hurt. There was one year when I was family court judge in 
     Washington county--where we live. Ruby was in sixth grade 
     when a big eighth grade boy approached and asked, ``Is your 
     mom a judge?''
       She admitted I was.
       ``She sent me to juvenile hall,'' he said.
       ``I'm sorry,'' said little Ruby nervously.
       ``Oh, that's all right, I screwed up.'' He reassured her. 
     ``She's the one with black nail polish, right?''
       Finding herself in the familiar territory of mortification 
     by her mother's behavior, Ruby admitted, ``Yeah, that's 
     her.''
       I used to wear something odd on juvenile day to relax the 
     kids, and this boy noticed. Of course Ruby was pretty much 
     always embarrassed by me. Now I am on the Supreme Court, but 
     what did Ruby say when she heard about the appointment at the 
     age of twelve?
       ``Oh no, now you'll be home all the time!''
       What did I learn that I can offer to you? I tried to think 
     of an inspirational saying or two, but could not. I do get a 
     lot of catalogs. One particularly annoying one is chock full 
     of heart warming sayings like, ``Life isn't about waiting for 
     the storm to pass. It's about learning to dance in the 
     rain.'' Oh please. Storms are scary, rain is cold and wet, 
     and one can get muddy. Let's get real. Life is hard, get over 
     it.
       Number 1: Take help that is offered. Would I have survived 
     without Walter Smith's care and kindness? I do not know. And 
     I am glad I did not have to find out.
       Number 2: If you do not have a snack, send a coconut. In 
     other words, be flexible. When it came time to study for the 
     bar examination, I was on my own. I made little 3x5 filing 
     cards on all the subjects and set them around the house so 
     that whatever I was doing, I could incorporate a little 
     study. Some areas of law are governed by certain factors that 
     you just have to remember. Over the kitchen sink I placed the 
     filing card that listed the elements of a secured 
     transaction. Next to the toilet I posted the card that laid 
     out the parts of a bulk sale. I read them over and over and 
     over. And, poor Martha endured one pizza after another 
     because I did not cook much while I studied.
       Number 3: Pity parties are a waste of time, and a breeding 
     ground for excuses. In other words, if your circumstances are 
     not the most conducive to success, try anyway.
       Would I have liked to go to law school? Of course. Could I? 
     No. So what! Here's my favorite true example of making due 
     with what you have available. I watch the Canadian television 
     coverage of the summer Olympic games because it is so much 
     better than that of the U.S. coverage. They celebrate 
     individual athletes' ``personal bests'' rather than the medal 
     counts. And, they covered really weird events that I had 
     never heard of, like dory racing. I thought it was very cool. 
     They did a background piece on Jerad Connaghten, an athlete 
     training for the 200 meters in track and field. He was from 
     somewhere in Canada that had no running track. So he and his 
     coach improvised. To train for strength they did sand starts 
     taking off in deep sand on the sea shore. They set up their 
     own practice course. At the end of a dirt road was a little 
     cottage and that cottage marked 200 meters. The little 
     mulberry tree was 50 meters out and the larger mulberry tree 
     was the 150 meters mark. Competing against the world's best, 
     Jerad made it through the preliminary heats to the finals of 
     the 200 meter event. I was so impressed. Work with what 
     you've got. Excuses weigh you down.
       Number 4: Do not insult your children by thinking life is 
     too hard for them. In other words, children are resilient. 
     What might appear to have been my heartless expectation of 
     little Martha's abilities to care for herself at a very young 
     age may have been influenced by my maternal grandmother, 
     Olga. All four of my grandparents were born in Sweden. Olga 
     was the daughter of a farm family the Dahlbergs--with too 
     many children to feed. First the Dahlbergs sent their oldest 
     daughter Margaret over to live with relatives in Chicago, the 
     Larsons. Margaret died within months of her arrival of 
     diphtheria. Then the Dahlbergs put there next daughter, my 
     grandma Olga, on the boat all alone at the age of 12 and sent 
     her to live with the Dahlbergs. Throughout my life,

[[Page 24331]]

     whenever I thought life was too hard and I was scared, I 
     thought of my grandma traveling alone across the ocean to the 
     family where her older sister had died. How did she do that? 
     What were her nightmares? My grandmother was sweet, and kind, 
     and patient, and loving. Her early years did no apparent 
     damage. I know I could have done better by Martha. I wish I 
     could have done better by Martha. I did the best I could and 
     that is my only consolation.
       Number 5: Play dough is far more important than doing the 
     dishes. Get your priorities straight. I was blessed with a 
     job I loved, and then had the added joy of coming home, 
     forgetting about the law, and playing with my daughters. Next 
     confession: My housekeeping would not win any awards either. 
     Sometimes the food in the refrigerator grew little sweaters. 
     What housecleaning I did happened when the children were in 
     bed. And, they had clean clothes and decent food and, most 
     importantly, they knew their mom loved playing with them. 
     Legos, play dough, Barbies, puzzles. Whatever activity that 
     allowed the analytical part of my mind to go into sleep cycle 
     was welcomed by me. So, don't get so busy making a living 
     that you forget to make colorful messes and memories.
       Number 6: Never, ever coast. After a few years at the 
     Attorney General's office, the AG asked me to become chief of 
     the civil division. I was one of two women in the division 
     and all the men had more years of experience than I as 
     lawyers. Here's a John Wayne quote: ``Courage is being scared 
     to death but saddling up anyway.'' Well, I moseyed on into 
     the AG's office and said, ``Yes, I would be pleased to be 
     chief of the division. But, I would like a bigger badge.''
       To maintain respect and to get the members of the division 
     to be their best, I had to set an example. I worked as hard 
     or harder than anyone else. I gave them no reason to complain 
     about the AG's choice. So if you're running your own business 
     or supervising employees, it is more important to the bottom 
     line the quality of work to set a positive example than to 
     offer token prizes to the employee of the month who actually 
     manages to get to work on time five days in a row. I expected 
     the attorneys to be terrific and so they were.
       To conclude, what do I know? My children have forgiven me 
     for most of my blunders, they are fiercely independent, and 
     can think on their own. I'm proud of my work and even more 
     proud of my daughters. And, I am grateful for the chances I 
     have been given and the courage to take them. My main message 
     to you is: Work hard. Then work harder. And then, work harder 
     still.
       But, I will leave you with another of those pithy homey 
     sayings from the annoying catalog, and one that makes no 
     sense to me at all.
       ``May the light always find you on a dreary day. When you 
     need to be home may you find a way. May you always have 
     courage to take a chance and never find frogs in your 
     underpants.''

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