I remember the first day I laid eyes on this place. Stanley and I were driving around in my old powder-blue VW bug. What a clunker that car was. Having recently been married, we were in search of the perfect home to start our new life together. I guess you could say that I was somewhat of a wild child in those days. But not Stanley, no. Stanley was the most levelheaded person I have ever known. I met him in his senior year at UCLA. He came from a very conservative family. Money was never an issue for them. They were not overly wealthy. They just worked hard, saved their money, and invested wisely. They never used credit cards. They would save for whatever it was they needed. Before making a purchase, they would compare prices, read reviews, and check consumer reports. Then, and only then, would they buy. That is how they did everything, from cars to refrigerators, right down to socks.

      Stanley was the younger of two children. His sister, Audrey, was five years older than him. Once again, his parents had planned carefully, allowing each child the time needed to be given the required attention they felt was appropriate for their formative years. So once Stan’s sister had been accepted into the desired parochial school at the age of four, they began planning their second child.

      Stanley was born on June 10, 1965, exactly one year and ten days after Audrey’s fifth birthday. His mother had even planned her pregnancy to avoid the discomfort of the summer heat. He was adored by his mother and big sister, valued and respected by his father. They were all very close. Even his extended family was a big part of his life.

      I always admired them…

      The feelings were not reciprocated. I was the crazy girl who took their son away. My life was absolutely the opposite of Stanley’s.

      I was the only child of an unwed, single mother.

      My mother was on the eve of her twentieth birthday when I came into the world.

      She was from an average middle-class family in the Midwest. She was smart and beautiful. Her parents never saw the need for her to attend college. She was expected to finish high school, get married, and have a family. But she had plans of her own. She worked hard in school and was awarded academic scholarships. She had applied secretly to several schools around the country and had been accepted as well. But rather than being pleased by the news, her parents forbade her to go. And after a heated argument, she chose to take the money she had saved and buy a bus ticket from Missouri to California. Berkley would be the school of her choice. So she stuffed everything she owned into a suitcase and waited until dark. Then climbed out her bedroom window and hitched a ride to the bus station.

      I never realized growing up how brave she was for having done that. I admire her for that now…

      She arrived in San Francisco, California in July 1969. Just eighteen years old. She caught several rides until she made it to the campus at Berkeley. She walked into the admissions office and began her new life.

      Things were hard for her. Scholarships covered her tuition and dorm room. She worked in the cafeteria on campus to help cover other expenses. She was alone—no friends, no family. She didn’t have time to engage in social life with the other students, which earned her the reputation of being stuck up. Being from a very religious family, she had never worn makeup. Her wardrobe consisted of skirts and blouses. She had never really had a haircut, to speak of, so her hair was well past her hips. But she was a natural beauty inside and out, with sandy blonde hair and pale hazel-green eyes. She really was beautiful. She turned down dates regularly, so most of the