“My first husband, Wendling Hastings (’45B), went to his Princeton Seminary commencement on a blistering summer day. At the time, he was serving a Presbyterian church in Ridgeview, New Jersey, and his family members were all present: his mother, daughter, son, and I. Seeing the women dripping perspiration in their long, bouffant summer dresses, serving punch in the blazing sun, he spoke to Mrs. Mackay about it. ‘Mrs. Mackay,’ he said, ‘it seems cruel to have these women suffer in this weather. Couldn’t we move the serving table into the shade? There are enough men here to do it.’ She looked at him with a deadpan expression, but with a twinkle in her eyes when she answered, ‘But Mr. Hastings, it’s just never been done that way.’

I wonder if it has ever changed!”