Gerry Zaccaro, longtime resident of Saltaire and a former member of the Saltaire Yacht Club's Board of Governors, passed away on March 26 following a long and valiant battle against a terrible illness that sapped her body but not her spirit. She was 75.

So might the notice of the death of one of our Fire Island friends and neighbors traditionally have begun. But there was little traditional about the life Geraldine Anne Ferraro molded for herself. Each person is unique; but in the scheme of things, most of us lead ordinary lives, leaving little mark of our sojourn on this Earth. But Gerry Zaccaro—or Geraldine Ferraro, as she came to be known to the world—was anything but ordinary. She was, in every true sense of the word, an extraordinary woman who did indeed leave an indelible mark on our history.

Using the word "woman" rather than "person" is a very deliberate choice because the path that opened for Gerry was the challenging one of the trailblazer. She began her career in an era when women were still usually afforded few meaningful opportunities to advance to the top of their professions, if indeed the pursuit of professional success was even an available option. But long before the feminist movement bestirred itself into actually becoming the feminist movement, Gerry was already refusing to accept limits on what work she could pursue and how far she could rise. That essential strength of character and determination to choose her own way would enable her to overcome obstacles which were in their way more destructive of the human spirit than, say, the institutionalized racism that still plagued this nation half a century ago, when Gerry began her career. Attacking and repealing discriminatory laws was difficult and even bloody, but offered a clear enemy to fight. Overcoming the subtler, attitudinal prejudice that afflicted most women in our society—what would, a few years later, be termed sexism—was harder, since it involved taking on, not an obvious target posed by legalized racism, but the more pernicious sexual discrimination long in place and largely followed without change or question for generations.

From Queens to Capitol Hill

Yet Gerry was never intimidated: the fighter in her, her innate refusal to quit would serve her well throughout her life. After graduating from Marymount College she attended Fordham Law, graduating in 1960, a time when the ability of women to rise to the top of the legal profession was still extremely limited. But Gerry went ahead and courageously established her own law practice, eventually shifting her career focus to work as an assistant district attorney in the Queens District Attorney's office. This proved a turning point in Gerry's life, as it brought her into contact with the political power brokers of the borough and initiated in her an understanding of the Byzantine and treacherous practices and pitfalls of the politician's calling. In 1978, she took the plunge, jumping into the Democratic primary for an open Queens Congressional seat. It was here that Gerry's most praiseworthy traits—her toughness, humanity, brilliance, empathy, drive—combined with her natural affection for people and a lawyer's talent for debate and public speaking to give her a remarkable victory: an absolute majority in a three-way race for her party's nomination, followed by a come-from-behind win over a better-known (if undistinguished) state assemblyman that November.

Fate, as much as talent and energy, fashions careers, and Gerry's move to the House of Representatives came at a propitious moment. Her background and career clearly pegged her as a prototype of the successful feminist, overcoming the odds to achieve her goals. Yet Gerry's immersion in the trenches of New York City political warfare and her inner strength won her the admiration of the old boys' network in Washington, the key that allowed her to rise quickly in those corridors of supreme power. The "boys" may have thought they were co-opting her; but in truth it was Gerry, shrewd in the best sense of the word, who understood that to accomplish things one had to get along, accommodating without compromising. In scarcely a year, this freshman Congresswoman had become among the most prominent of the 435 members of the House, admired and trusted for her intellect, energy and judgment.

Gerry was no fool

Then came 1984, about which so much has been written. Gerry's nomination for the vice presidency of the United States was criticized in some circles as little more than a political stunt, a headline-grabbing ploy by a presidential nominee eager to energize his base in a hopelessly uphill race. Gerry was no fool: she knew the odds against success were long, if not non-existent. But she loved the challenge, and the chance to make history. Losing was not a disgrace; it was the character of the campaign one waged, the dialogue one could open, the barriers one could break down, that really mattered. And there was, too, ambition, and so much the better. Some decry the display of ambition, or the attraction to power, as though these were evil. They are not: they are among the essential ingredients to making things work, to effecting real progress, whether in government, business, the arts, law, anything. Gerry intuitively understood this and unashamedly took advantage of the opportunities afforded her, using the tools she possessed to attain her goals—and all credit to her. Politics, as one of her contemporaries famously said, ain't beanbag.

Gerry's post-1984 life was no less active than her brief but productive stint in elective office had been. She wrote; became a commentator and host on CNN, a member of the Council on Foreign Relations, a fellow at the John F. Kennedy Institute of Government at Harvard, a delegate to the United Nations Committee on Human Rights and president of the International Institute for Women's Political Leadership. Awards and honors came her way. She was forever being asked for interviews and comment on the issues and events of the day. She earned the friendship and admiration of former opponents, like George H.W. Bush, and newcomers such as Sarah Palin, ideologically and intellectually the polar opposite of Gerry. Return to elective office eluded her: Gerry twice lost Democratic primaries for the U.S. Senate in the 90s; like many trailblazers, events overtook even her own exceptional career. It can be strongly argued that her decision to accept the vice presidential nomination ended what would likely have been greater political success in higher office: the Senate after all, perhaps, or another historic step, as the first female Speaker of the House, the trajectory her Congressional career seemed to be taking when Walter Mondale called. Certainly the opportunity to achieve further legislative goals was lost by undertaking the '84 race, though this wasn't clear at the time. But progress is measured not merely through legislation, nor attainment of this or that office. Sometimes, Gerry saw, it is no less important to show that attempting the difficult, that nothing is beyond the reach of a talented and determined individual, that loss is not the same as failure, also matter, and change lives. The chance to write one's name in history is a perfectly understandable human impulse, but the realization that this involves more than mere ego—that this, too, can have positive consequences for so many others—was something Gerry understood from the first, and may have made the burdens and frustrations of an unsuccessful campaign the more bearable, and ultimately the more rewarding. And she remained nothing less than an icon to millions who drew inspiration from her life story.

That story was peculiarly American: born to poor immigrant parents on Aug. 26, 1935, losing her father at age eight, working to put herself through school, putting her talents and zeal to use to attain goals even she must never have imagined possible, so many years ago. And while Geraldine Ferraro is the person most of the world knows, it was as Gerry Zaccaro, wife, mother and grandmother, that her friends best knew her. First and foremost, it was these roles that meant the most to her family, and were certainly the most important part in her life. Gerry was a remarkable, brilliant and, let us not forget, courageous woman. But she was equally a ferociously devoted wife and parent, for whom no amount of fame or success could compete with her love of and devotion to her family. It is in this, too, that Gerry distinguished herself, and could set herself as a role model for other women: pursuing one's dreams was not exclusive of being a wife and mother; career was important, but so was family; never sacrifice the one for the other; know where life's real priorities lay. Gerry's devotion to her husband John, her children, John, Jr., Laura and Donna, and their spouses and children, was unbounded, and made her all the more admirable—for what she achieved, and what she most prized.