Robert, "Just call me Bob", was a grizzly bear of a man. Six feet five. 240 pounds. Boisterous personality. Coarse language. White shirt poking out of his trousers. Scuffed shoes. Scary smart. Not your typical community college president.

Sheila, "Call me MS. Johansen," was half his weight. Five feet one. Serious. Never uttered even the word, "damn" in her entire life. Clothes covered by a well-worn lab coat. Scuffed shoes. Scary smart. Not your typical community college chemistry teacher.

When Sheila applied for the teaching position, the all-male hiring committee asked the inevitable question. "I see you have a baby. In the event he should become ill, which would come first? Your child or your job?"

"Not to be pertinent, but I hope you're asking the male applicants for this job the same question."

"That information is confidential, I'm afraid."

"Well, then. Of course my child would come first. You would think me a poor mother if I answered otherwise."

The president made the final decision on all new hires. When Sheila came into his office, he shook her hand vigorously. "Mrs. Johansen, I believe?"

"MS. Johansen," she corrected him. "Or Ms. Sheila, if you prefer first name basis."

"Oh, for God's sake. I hope you're not one of those damned women's libbers."

"I've been working to get the Equal Rights Amendment ratified, and if that makes me a women's libber, then I guess I'm guilty."

He laughed spontaneously, sat behind his oversized mahogany desk. "Just call me Bob. Please. Have a seat."

When Sheila started teaching in the fall, her sitter brought the baby to campus twice a day. Though she knew it was unprecedented, she taped a "Do Not Disturb" sign to her office door, locked it, made herself comfortable behind her desk with the baby in her arms and a crib blanket over her bosom. Alternately she cooed to the child, answered phone calls from students, kissed her baby's downy head, and read her lecture notes.

Three months into her first semester at Central Valley Junior College and just as she was passing her child back to the babysitter, President Bob came ambling noisily down the Chemistry Building hallway, patting backs, shaking hands, telling jokes. When he reached her office, he stopped abruptly. "Do not disturb? What kind of message is that to be giving your students?"

"For forty-five minutes I need privacy to nurse my baby and there's no other place on campus that's appropriate, Mr. President."

"The baby? It's here every day?"

"'It' is."

"I don't remember our discussing this in the interview."

"I don't remember you asking."

"Of course not. It wouldn't have occurred to me."

"Don't fault yourself. The men you usually interview, as I understand it, don't nurse their babies."

Bob threw back his head, guffawed. "You got me there, Ms. Sheila." He smiled at her baby boy, winked at Sheila, waved his hand. "Bye, bye. Looks like we'll be seeing you again."

Sheila moved aside as Bob entered her office. She remained standing because, except for a folding chair too small for the president's bulk, there was no place for him to sit.

Unfazed, Bob continued. "I've been hearing good things about you." He looked over his shoulder, smiled conspiratorially, and continued in a whisper. "But, confidentially, I hear the boys down here in Chemistry are having a hard time concentrating. They're not used to having a good-looking woman deliver their lectures."

Sheila looked up, met his gaze. "They'll adjust at exam time."

He raised his hands in front of his face. "OK. OK. Peace now. I, believe me, have no doubt they'll adjust." He stepped back, removed a brochure from his pocket. "Here. Take a look at The Seventies Initiative. I think you'll be pleased."

She scanned the brochure. "A training program for nurses?"

"And I've come with a proposition for you."

Bob didn't miss Sheila's frown, though barely discernible. "Forgive my poor choice of words, but I bring good news. Central Valley will be in the forefront of training, and I'm here to enlist your support. Nobody knows better than you how few women are taking chemistry classes. But with this new program, we'll have a lot of women studying science."

"What wonderful news."

The dilemma didn't fully present itself until Sheila's second year when her Chem 2A classes enrolled nearly all women. During lab, these would-be nurses were required to analyze urine samples. They lined up at the Science Area's onestall toilet and waited, and waited, using up valuable class time.

"There aren't any lines at the men's toilet," a student complained. "I hear they've got ten stalls."

"Plus six urinals," chimed in another.

"And I understand there's at least three guys to a urinal. Figure it out. Twenty-eight guys all using the toilet at the same time."

After weeks of deflecting complaints, adjusting lesson plans to accommodate use of the toilet, and of trying to figure out a solution to the dilemma, she marched up to President Bob's office, laid out the problem.

"Understand this, Ms. Sheila. I've just spent hours with the Budget Committee figuring out how to fund the new gym. I'm sorry, but I can't get excited about your toilets."

"'My' toilets?"

"Yes." He stood, made an attempt to tuck in his shirt. "Does your ERA take into consideration the fact that women take longer to use the toilet than men?"

"Of course we're aware that women don't stand in a line like men, who face a wall and, probably to music, empty their bladders together."

"Ms. Sheila. Your complicated anatomy is unfortunate for your sex."

"Mr. Bob. The simple facts are that two thirds of science students, because of your nurses' training program, are women. These students take not only chemistry, but biology, anatomy and physiology. There is one stall for all the women in the area. The male students, who, by your own admission, do not need as much time in the toilet, have ten stalls and six urinals. You never see them waiting in line."

"You can't expect me to undo what's already been done. There are a fixed number of toilets."

"At least visit my lab to see for yourself the hardship placed upon the women. And, I might add, their teacher."

Bob arrived in the chemistry area at 2:15 p.m. the next day to find 29 female students lined up. At 2:45, the last person walked into the lab, urine sample in hand. He waited in the doorway to Sheila's lab, caught her eye, waved.

"Mr. President," she called. "Come in. Students. Let me introduce you to Mr. Bob. He's the one who can help us solve our toilet dilemma. Say 'hello' to Mr. Bob."

The students looked up from their beakers, said "Hello," in unison.

"Mr. Bob. Please walk around the lab, check out our procedures."

Bob hesitated just a moment before approaching the first student. "I must admit, I've never analyzed my own urine." Though I've been in a few pissing contests, he thought, like right now.

"And students," Sheila continued, "Thank Mr. Bob in advance for making our toilet problem a priority, for recognizing the injustice, and for helping us make our classes much more effective."

Sheila waited one month before she returned to the president's office.

"I've been wondering when you'd show up," he began.

"You've had time by now to consult with your budget committee."

"I have, and you're not going to be pleased with our conclusion. We've looked everywhere and there is simply no money to remodel your bathrooms."

"Does this mean doing something about the inconveniences suffered by your women students is not a priority?"

"I'd like to remind you that you're new here. You'll have to wait in line, live with the decision for now. Maybe next year."

Sheila took the president's comments to a science department meeting that afternoon. The other teachers, all male, were of course aware of the problem. "Can't the girls take their urine samples across campus to another bathroom?"

"Come on. Male students would have a fit if they had to do that."

"They'd just find a tree."

"Sad to say, Sheila, but if there's no money, there's no money."

"Also sad you can't do anything without administrative support." Sheila was agitated when she left campus, thinking, This is not only ridiculous, it isn't fair. I have to do something.

On the way home, she bought a large bouquet of flowers. After dinner, she asked her husband to make two signs for her in his wood shop.

Sheila arrived on campus the next day with nails, the signs, and a hammer. She delivered her 2A lecture. During break, she called the three local TV stations, told them to be on Central Valley's campus at 2:00 to witness a campus revolt. She also called her women friends in PE, Home Economics, and Business to alert them.

The television vans were in the parking lot at 1:30. Sheila, after a short meeting with the reporters, went to her lab class. She immediately dismissed the students to collect their urine samples.

As the first student opened the door to the toilet, she paused, cameras rolling, and turned to those lining up. "Where's President Bob when we need him?"

When all of her students were in place outside the toilet, their line running far down the corridor, Sheila approached them, followed by reporters.

"Just look at this," she began. "Yes. Go ahead. Capture it on camera. These students, our future nurses, wait sometimes thirty minutes to get urine samples for analysis. The problem?" She gestured toward the toilet. "It's obvious! There's only one stall in there."

Someone had alerted President Bob who was watching it all live in the lounge room.

Sheila walked the short distance to the men's toilet. "Now take notice," she said to the cameras. "There's not a single guy waiting to use this restroom. So how do we solve the problem? Class! Pay attention." Sheila opened the door to the men's toilet and in a loud voice, said, "Hello. Anybody in here?" Getting no answer, she quickly pried off the "Men" sign. Amid shouts and cheers from her students, she nailed her large, neatly made "NEW Women's Restroom" sign onto the door, turned to the cameras and with a big smile, declared, "Problem solved."

The student nurses were ecstatic. They excitedly rushed into the toilet, checked out the facility.

"Look at all these stalls. This is like the Hilton."

"What'll we do with the urinals?"

"Wait 'til the Budget Committee sees this. It didn't cost anything." Ms. Sheila, followed by students carrying flowers and beakers, entered the restroom. She made a big show of filling the beakers with water, arranging flowers in them. With TV cameras recording her every move, she smiled triumphantly as she placed flowers in the urinals. Sheila returned to the women's restroom, said, "One more thing!" as she hammered on her "NEW Men's Restroom" sign.

"Our Ms. Sheila's a genius!"

"Gutsy, too."

The reporters gathered around. "I understand you're the first woman to be hired here at Central Valley to teach Chemistry. Can you tell our viewers what's going on?"

"I'm sure your television audience can relate to our problem as there is hardly a theatre, community center or even a church in the entire country that has adequately addressed what I'll call 'the toilet dilemma'".

A large crowd was gathering. Somebody was playing a guitar. Classes were disrupted. Teachers gave up on insisting that order be restored and joined the students outside.

"And," Ms. Sheila continued, "this dilemma for our many women students was too difficult a problem to be solved by our otherwise highly competent president and his budget committee. Women and their special needs apparently have the last priority when funds are allocated, even though Central Valley is one of the foremost trainers of nurses in the entire state."

Amid cheers and whistles, Ms. Sheila gave a little bow. When she saw President Bob working his way to the front of the crowd, she pointed him out to the television crew.

"Mr. President," a reporter called. "May we have a word?"

Disheveled and out of breath, Bob joined Sheila near the new women's toilet, leaned forward and whispered, "You're playing damned dirty here." Then he turned to the television cameras, pasted on a smile. "I hate to miss a party," he began. "Especially a party thrown by the first woman ever to be hired here to teach Chemistry."

He looked around, at the 'NEW Women's Restroom' sign, at the large crowd of students and faculty, at Sheila standing nearby, hammer still in hand. Unsmiling, he pointed to the sign. "I see we have some changes here."

Sheila's students scanned her face, looked for a clue as to how to respond.

She brushed a forefinger across her lips.

President Bob looked out over the crowd. "Let me make it clear to everyone that I have not been unaware of your problem, and have done everything possible to come up with a suitable solution."

He paused momentarily, making sure he had everyone's attention before proceeding.

"To get right to the point," he said, "through hard fought negotiations, I finally was able to convince the budget committee that the dire need here in the Science area should be our Number One priority. And I'm happy to tell you that we have allocated the funds needed to remodel your restrooms."

The crowd burst into applause.

"Hang on. Hang on. I have one more thing to add." President Bob looked pointedly at Sheila. "Even though this change was unauthorized, I'll have to admit it was creative." He smiled broadly, clapped Ms. Sheila on the back, faced the crowd again. "Until the new restrooms are built, we'll continue with your teacher's innovative solution."

He could say nothing else, for the students were not to be subdued any longer. Specimen cups in hand, the women raised their arms and encircled Ms. Sheila and President Bob, chanting, "Hip, hip, hip-hip hooray! We! Got! toi-lets to-day!"

Bob leaned close to Sheila, said over the noise, "I hope you're happy. You won this one."

"I'm euphoric," she said, shaking his hand,, giving the students quick hugs.

"This is your party," he said. "I'm getting back to work."

She grabbed his elbow as he turned to leave. "Just one more thing, Mr. President."

"Here it comes. Surprise me, Ms. Sheila. What's your next off-the-wall proposition?"

"We need a child care center on campus."

"Do you have any idea what that would cost? You never quit, do you?"

"But we'd be the first in northern California. I was just thinking that under your leadership . . . "

"Stop." President Bob put up his hand. "You should know buttering me up's a waste of time." He put a hand on her shoulder, pointed to the TV crews. "You must learn to celebrate one victory at a time. Now, smile for the cameras."