May. 14, 2020


While working in New York City, I crossed “paths” with someone I admired greatly. In my thirties (I call those my brown hair days), I was often told I resembled a former first lady. I didn’t particularly notice a similarity until one spring afternoon in 1981.

 As a spokesperson for a public relations firm on Madison Avenue, I was exposed to one of New York City’s most preferred neighborhoods. That particular day, crossing the street during my lunch break, a black limousine pulled directly in front of me, blocking my ascent to the curb. I had no choice but wait.

Car doors opened and an entourage of black-suited men jumped out to encircle the smartly-dressed woman exiting the back seat.

Glancing in my direction, the woman looked startled. She stood there, boldly staring at my face and—for a second—seemed about to speak. For what felt like minutes, she looked at me—I looked at her and—at almost the same time, we smiled. Flanked on all sides by the men in black, she turned to walk up the brick steps leading to one of the city’s most impressive Brown Stones. I watched as one of the men, obviously secret service, opened the home’s massive front doors.

Before stepping inside, the famous woman looked back to stare at me—one more time. Smiling at each other, again, I knew exactly what she was thinking; I was thinking the same thing: “Yes, we do share a resemblance.”

Before turning to go inside, Jackie Bouvier Kennedy Onassis smiled, waved—and blew me a big kiss.

Simply, Sally