Oc rOBE~ 25, ~966 WAS AN OBDINABY FALL DAY. IT WAS CLF_,AB AND A

bit warmer than seasonable for the South Shore of Long Island.

I was putting the finishing touches on a new school jumper for my

slx-year-old daughter, Ginny, and I really had no inkling whatever

that this particular day would become etched deeply in my

memory.

In fact, the only unusual feature of the moment was that the

house was quiet. Seven of my eight children were in school. The

youngest, seven-week-old Boberta, was sound asleep. The children

were due home shortly and I was savoring the last few minutes of

silence, thinking about the family--considering each one-wonder-

ing what the future held.

Dan and I had been married twelve years. We were both in our

early thirties and the first seven of our eight children were born

about a year apart. The three oldest were boys, the others all girls.