I began my new job at the Rip Van Winkle Motel with high hopes, anxious to do well and learn. When I first was hired, Mr. and Mrs. L. were very pleased at how quickly I learned the job and how well I was doing. Unfortunately, things changed.
It was very subtle in the beginning. When I was alone with Mr. L. in the office, he would brush a little too close to me or his hand would "accidentally" rub over by breasts or buttocks. Other times he would approach me and tickle me right under my breasts. I was only 18 and didn't know how to handle this situation. One time Mrs. L. walked in as Mr. L. was tickling me. He had walked up from behind me and reached around to tickle me under my breasts from behind. Mrs. L. thought I was to blame and yelled at me.
I became more and more uncomfortable with this situation, and tried less and less to do a good job. It didn't take long for me to begin to hate my new job.
The term "sexual harassment" was unheard of in 1960. In those days women tolerated the situation or quit their job. Those were the only options. There was no one to go to, no way to report the situation and if a girl or woman tried to report the situation legally, they were usually not believed. Most women only worked to find a husband, anyway. Work for women at that time was a transition time between school and marriage, and once married, few women worked again until the children were grown.
For awhile I tried to accept the situation and just stay away from Mr. L. as much as possible. When I was alone with Mr. L., I would try to place myself in a position difficult for him to grab at me. My great new job wasn't so great anymore.