06/13/02 in the Hook

Cracking the glass ceiling

Women with clout

BY LISA PROVENCE

You've come a long way, baby-- at least since Virginia Slims built an ad campaign around the notion that having their own brand of cigarettes gave women a step toward equality with men.

True, only six Fortune 500 companies have women CEOs. And women's earning power still is not even 75 percent of men's, according to 1999 U.S. Department of Labor figures.

But despite those grim statistics, a number of Charlottesville women have grabbed the reins of economic power and are running their own companies-- with the expectation that their butts won't get pinched and the stares at their breasts won't be too overt.

In the more than 30 years since the feminist movement came of age in the '60s, career options for women have soared beyond the traditional ones of teacher, nurse, or secretary. Women in this town build houses, pave roads, and sit on the judicial bench.

Perhaps the most surprising revelation from nearly a dozen high-powered females who are reaping the benefits of the pioneering efforts of their bra-burning forebears is that most do not consider themselves feminists. And most say their sex has not been a disadvantage in their work. Only one mentions the difficulties of raising children while working a demanding job.

Not one says she ever thought about being a teacher, nurse, or secretary-- not that there's anything wrong with that.

Greer Wilson, 59

President, Greer and Company

Ask Greer Wilson if she's ever been discriminated against. "Oh God, yeah, everyday," she responds. "It's either gender or race."

Of course, Wilson is in the business of diversity training, dealing with issues relating to oppression-- racism, sexism, and homophobia-- at schools, colleges, and corporations. And she admits that working with those issues every day can cause her to overreact. "Was that person rude or racist?" she often wonders.

For example, when someone says, "You always dress so nicely," Wilson says she can't help but think, "Why would I dress poorly if I'm a consultant?"

Wilson is convinced that being black and female has affected her business. "If I were a male with my gifts, I'd never have to look for work."

Those gifts became apparent when she was studying piano at the primarily white Indiana University in Bloomington. "I understood I had a gift to help people communicate across cultures," she recalls. "I realized I had an ability to talk about race and gender."

Like other small business owners, she's felt the sting of not getting a loan, and she still has to drum up business and maintain cash flow.

Catching up with Wilson isn't easy. She recently spent two weeks at William Jewell College in Kansas. She did staff development at Chicago State. And she was at Berklee College of Music in Boston, where she did get to incorporate her music background with diversity.

She'd advise a young woman starting out in business to develop a niche market, have a good support system, and to develop a plan of action. Most importantly, "Don't allow 'isms' to keep you from where you want to be," she says. And don't forget to have fun at what you're doing.

Blair Williamson, 36

Vice President, S.L. Williamson

How does a woman end up running a paving company? "It's a family business. I think that's the only way someone gets into paving," says Blair Williamson, the third generation to work in the business her grandfather started in 1949.

Williamson studied to be an architect but realized she wasn't cut out to sit behind a desk all day. At age 26, she joined the family business because she wanted to be "exactly like" her father, Stirling Williamson.

If anything, in the world of heavy equipment being a woman has been an asset for Williamson. "Employees are more likely to confide in me," she says. "Customers are surprised that Blair's not a guy. They assume a woman is more likely to listen to them rather than tell them what to do."

A typical day for Williamson starts at 6am. She's following the dictate of her father who told her, "I don't care what time you come to work as long as it's dark when you come and dark when you leave."

For Williamson, the best parts of her job are meeting people and seeing tangible results at the end of the day.

And her taste for architecture has not been left on the pavement. "Now I see more beautiful architecture out driving around all day than I did sitting behind a desk," she says.

Joan Schatzman, 50

Owner, Joan Schatzman Painting

When Joan Schatzman sold Muldowney's Pub in 1985 (it's now Club 216), she needed a job and couldn't afford a traditional female job. She knew how to build and became a carpenter­ and then realized she was smarter than many of the men she was working with.

In 1990, she started her own construction and painting business, and now has progressed to fine interior painting. Schatzman thinks her gender has been an advantage because people feel safer hiring a woman to come into their house.

"I've had people hire me on the spot saying, 'We're going on vacation, here's the keys,' and they don't know me," she says.

Schatzman does weary of the incredulousness she runs into as a woman carpenter and painter. Her response? "Try to get over it, guys."

And she wonders if the banks are hesitant to lend money because she's a woman or because she's self employed.

One of the few women The Hook spoke to who has experienced sexual harassment, Schatzman says her solution to that particular situation was to move to a better, higher-paying job.

She urges young women to get past the intimidation of traditional male jobs, such as carpentry, and go for it. "It pays a lot more than traditional women's jobs," she says. Yet the concepts aren't that different: "Carpentry is a lot like being a seamstress. You cut out the pattern and put it together."

Cheri Lewis, 40

President and founder, The Closing Company

Attorney Cheri Lewis had an idea: you shouldn't have to hire an expensive lawyer to do real estate closings. She didn't think attorneys were doing such a good job anyway.

Eight years ago, when she started The Closing Company, Lewis was not warmly welcomed by local attorneys. She attributes her "somewhat hostile" reception more to the fact that she was taking business from them than that she was a woman.

Once a local attorney asked her to reach in his pocket for candy and wanted a kiss on the cheek, an experience she calls "degrading" and "inappropriate," although today she laughs about it. Now that her business includes offices in Charlottesville, Staunton, Greene County, and Fluvanna, no one's asking Lewis to reach in his pocket for candy.

Lewis doesn't consider herself a feminist. "The era I grew up in taught me I had the same opportunities as men," she explains. Her advice to a young woman starting out: "Go with your gut instinct, and don't listen to anyone if you think you're right."

The hardest part of her job is attracting and retaining personnel to give clients outstanding service. And while Lewis occasionally misses practicing law, she finds satisfaction in handling real estate settlements.

"You're involved in such an important aspect of people's lives," she says.

Ann Taylor, 43

COO, Gold Violin

One of the things Ann Taylor likes best about her job is working with her little sister, Connie, who came up with the idea of selling useful, high-quality items designed for older people.

Two years ago, the sisters, both graduates of the Darden Graduate School of Business Administration, launched the specialty retail company that sells most of its products online or through a catalog. A former executive vice president at Monticello, Taylor had experience in catalog retailing that turned out to be just the thing for Gold Violin.

Taylor credits several mentors for their support along the way. Her 12 years working with Monticello head Dan Jordan taught her about management. Roger Horchow of the upscale Horchow catalog is another adviser. And designer Pauline Trigere, who died earlier this year at 93, was "an amazing role model in every respect," says Taylor.

Like many other entrepreneurs, Taylor finds "the highs very high, the lows very low." The current economy is particularly challenging to a retailer trying to launch a new concept and brand.

What would she advise a young woman with entrepreneurial tendencies? "To raise funds, you need to be able to ask people for money," she says. "Networking, mentors, and angel investors are very helpful."

Above all, "Be passionate about what you're doing, because if you aren't, it's time to make a change."

Kandi Kessler Comer, 39

Director of golf, Glenmore

A typical day for golf pro Kandi Comer could include teaching lessons, meeting with the golf course supervisor, running tournaments, or anything else having to do with golf-- except playing the game. "I don't play a whole lot now," admits Comer, a situation she attributes to a bad back.

After attending college on a full scholarship, Comer played on the PGA tour for a couple of years. She describes professional golf as "definitely a male-dominated sport"-- but she doesn't see that as a disadvantage. "Everyone is given the same opportunities," she says. "It comes down to hard work."

Women in the PGA play a different set of tees that are about a 10 percent shorter distance than the men's. "I think that's a very equitable way to do it," says Comer, who was also comfortable playing the men's tees.

As far as encountering discrimination or harassment, Comer says that hasn't happened at all. "Guys respect me pretty well."

Of course, most amateur golfers would kill to have a PGA rating, which Comer has to keep up through continuing education. And that's not just perfecting her swing. "I can maintain a golf cart," she cracks.

The hardest part about being a golf pro is the long hours during the season. "It's a sun up to sun down kind of job," she says.

On a recent vacation to Alaska, there's one thing Comer did not do. "I generally don't think about golf when I'm on vacation," she says.

Amy Griffith, 40

Owner/manager, Van on the Go

When Amy Griffith was working part time at a hotel, people were always asking if there was a shuttle to get to the airport. After seeing poor grad students get hit for $50 cab fares, starting a shuttle service seemed like a no-brainer.

Not everyone was thrilled with the idea. Griffith got harassing phone calls that she suspects were from cab companies. She couldn't get conventional financing for a high-risk business with no track record and high insurance needs. So she went with Plan B: she took out a second mortgage on her home and ran her credit card up to the hilt.

Now, after three years of running Van on the Go and the constant juggling of logistics, Griffith doesn't think there's anything her company, which she runs with a partner, can't handle. "We haven't left anybody at Dulles in a long time," she says with satisfaction.

Exhaustion is a topic that comes up frequently, thanks to workdays that often run to 18 or 20 hours, seven days a week.

The company is still in the red, and Griffith says September 11 nearly put them out of business. But she has never had doubts about her idea or whether she could do it.

Griffith credits community support for keeping them in business. "We see ourselves as a vital part of the community," she says. "You can count on us."

And while Griffith never envisioned herself as an entrepreneur, she's got this new idea....

Suzanne Jessup Staton, 49

Executive vice president, Pepsi-Cola Bottling Co. of Central Virginia

Suzanne Staton got into the family business of bottling soft drinks through her father. Same with the family real estate development company that built the shopping center at Forest Lakes and a portion of Seminole Square.

The diving equipment shop she got into on her own. Staton became co-owner of Dive Connections because she wasn't satisfied with the customer service she was getting elsewhere.

A typical day for Staton is a "world of meetings." She's the bottling company's community face, and that takes up a lot of time serving on committees and boards for organizations such as the Paramount Theater, the Miller School, the Downtown Property Owners Council, and the YMCA. She also serves as chairman of the Virginia Soft Drink Association.

The soft drink industry is "basically a male-dominated industry," she says. Being a woman was an advantage in the early '80s when she was a brand manager at Dr. Pepper and she could get into businesses other salesmen couldn't.

At national industry meetings, however, people tend to talk to her brother first, and she's "kind of ignored." Staton takes it in stride.

"I don't take things personally," she says. "It doesn't bother me."

Staton would advise young women to take insensitive comments with a grain of salt, and she extols perseverance. "Be persistent," she says. "Bring up an idea, and be happy it's yours even if someone else is claiming it. Someone else may say it more succinctly."

One of her favorite parts of her job is inspecting the company's three other plants in Warrenton, Weyer's Cave, and Virginia Beach. Together with the Charlottesville plant, they turned out 7.5 million cases of soft drinks last year.

The biggest challenge? Keeping up in a competitive industry and keeping Pepsi products on shelves in stores. And then there's the challenge of finding time to go diving.

Genevieve Murphy, 68

Priest, Buck Mountain Episcopal Church

Becoming a woman of the cloth was not Genevieve Murphy's first career choice. In fact, she tried to ignore her calling, thinking, "Surely God, you've got the wrong Murphy." So she raised sheep at her farm in Keswick, little knowing she'd be shepherding another flock at an age when most people are retiring.

Having been a nurse midwife in her native England, Murphy came to the United States for research. She met her husband-to-be here, and raised a family. Then, when her husband retired from UVA, he said, "It's your turn to do what you want." She obtained her Ph.D. in psychology before deciding to take the path to ordination.

Murphy describes being the priest for a 257-member congregation as a "detail job"-- "like Ben Hur in a chariot holding the reins to all those horses."

Murphy displays some pretty fancy vestments in her closet but warns that one shouldn't join the clergy "if you just want to wear the clothes."

"There's a certain dignity attached to this collar," she says, and she doesn't take kindly to those who address her as "girl," "honey," or "sweetie pie."

The hardest part of the job, says Murphy, "is to prevent myself from thinking I can be all things to all people all the time." She strives for humility, recognizing that she isn't "a big cheese."

"I love the services and celebrating holy communion," she says. "I love writing sermons. I love the people."

Clearly, she savors her job. "It's very rewarding in many ways-- even when I'm cross."

Debbie Wyatt, 52

Criminal/civil/constitutional lawyer

Debbie Wyatt remembers being fascinated reading the 1970 book Tales of Hoffman, about the Chicago Seven trial. Her fascination carried over. Now as an activist lawyer, she gets involved in environmental fights, and she likes the way civil rights and criminal law focus on the Constitution.

With one exception, Wyatt has never felt her gender to be an obstacle in her practice of law, particularly in front of juries. But she has felt it a handicap with certain judges. At law school, one Virginia Supreme Court justice told Wyatt that while he thought she was qualified for a law clerk position, he needed a man because it involved carrying a lot of books and driving.

Today, Wyatt sees a very strong good-ole-boy network alive and kicking in Virginia. "When you play golf with the commonwealth's attorney, can you take the gloves off in court?" she asks.

Wyatt started her own practice in 1993, and the week she spoke with The Hook was busier than usual. She spent one day taking depositions for a suit against Farmington Country Club. She was in Orange County until 10pm at a hearing for a mining company's permit. She spent one day preparing for a 4pm hearing that wasn't heard until 7, and she didn't get out until 9. And she was scrambling to get ready for a trial the following week.

"This kind of schedule I don't like," she says. "It's interesting only if I have enough time to focus."

Juggling her family and work has been the hardest part of the job for Wyatt. "I have two boys growing up," she says. "I have some resentment that I'm not around. There are times I'm conflicted."

But the perks? "Making a difference in a small way."

Agnes Cross-White, 53

Editor/publisher, The Tribune

Agnes Cross-White calls herself "an equal opportunity attacker." Her favorite part about running The Tribune, Charlottesville's only black-owned newspaper, is writing the editorial and attacking sacred cows, such as the NAACP. "I know people will get upset," she says with a smile.

Cross-White inherited the paper from her father-in-law in 1991, and she admits that at the time she knew nothing about running a newspaper. "My grandmother always said,

'Can you read? Then you can do it.'" And that's been Cross-White's guiding wisdom ever since.

"I've never faced obstacles as a woman," she says. "If I faced any obstacles, it's because of my race." She advocates using everything you can in business, and for women, "sex is always an advantage."

Cross-White is full of advice for the small business owner: don't wear rose-colored glasses, don't expect everyone to be nice, don't expect to get rich, and get rid of anything that hurts the bottom line.

"Most small businesses fail because they've got so much overhead," she says. She runs The Tribune out of her home, a condo in the Lewis and Clark that overlooks Charlottesville. What she saves in rent by avoiding a separate office she invests in computer hardware and software.

The hardest part of publishing any newspaper is getting advertisers, and that's no different for Cross-White.

"I don't back down on anything, and I know I rub people the wrong way," she says. "But I don't let advertisers dictate editorial policy."

Actually, no one would accuse Cross-White of letting anyone dictate anything to her.

(WEB BONUS WOMAN:)

Caroline Nunley, 44

Developer/property manager/attorney

After 18 years of practicing law, Caroline Nunley stepped into a second career and found the perfect antidote to paperwork: "I absolutely love construction," she marvels. "I had no idea how complicated it is."

It was her father, Dick Nunley, owner of Better Living, who got Nunley on the path to real estate development with the construction of the three office buildings at the Old Ivy Offices complex. And the love of construction is something the whole family shares. "It's hard not to talk about business," she says. "Sometimes we have to say, 'Stop!'"

Nunley also manages the family's rental properties, and she's found that the thing about property management is that people usually don't call when they're happy. "They call because something needs to be fixed," says Nunley. "The toilet is not flushing."

A typical day for Nunley depends on whether she's in construction or property management mode. If the former, there'll be a trip to the site where she'll make sure everything is working smoothly. If trash on the site needs to be picked up, she'll do that, too.

When she's wearing her property management hat, Nunley goes to the office to do bookkeeping, talk to prospective tenants-- and get those toilets flushing.

Nunley hasn't given up law entirely. It still comes in handy when it's time to negotiate a lease. And she sees construction as a natural extension of law. "It's a different kind of problem solving."

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