On a balmy evening in late October Dawn Clark Netsch opens her gubernatorial headquarters on the sixth floor of a near north-side office building and brings the revolution to Chicago.
Oh, it won’t be a huge hike–no more than one or two percent. The fine details haven’t been worked out. And, as she quickly points out, it would be joined, like one Siamese twin to another, to a property-tax cut.
In law school she carried herself with the same rigid formality she does now; each word was loudly and distinctly enunciated. “I wasn’t exactly a shrinking violet in law school. My classmates thought I had a phony accent. People sometimes think I’m British. I could never understand that. I think I sound quite midwestern. Perhaps it’s that I speak distinctly. I do not drop my endings.”
“It was a predominantly male firm, but I never felt any discrimination. Maybe it was there and I was too dumb to know it. I remember once hearing someone say about me, ‘She’s all right. She thinks like a man.’ That didn’t particularly bother me. I was more amused than angered. I was never a feminist in the conventional sense. I was never consciously blazing a path. This is what I wanted to do, and I did it. The thing that makes me angry is the notion that women who wanted to work at home or had to work at home are lesser human beings. I feel that if I wanted to go to law school that should be my choice, just as staying at home and having a family should be my choice.”
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In 1963, at age 37, she married him, and they became prominent fixtures on the social scene, attending theater, art, and opera openings. “We were both professionals with busy careers,” says Walter. “I recognized from the start that Dawn’s career was every bit as important as mine. Of course, when a woman runs for office many suspect that her husband is the candidate–it’s stupid sexism. I can’t tell Dawn what to do. She knows much more about politics and government than I do. But I do sound off–not that she listens to me. Once she was making an appearance and after her talk she asked for questions. I started asking them. She said, ‘Why do you have to ask these questions in public? Why not wait until we get home?’”
