My Not-So-Secret Love

An Unexpected Meeting

I first met Margaret Bradshaw after she made a generous gift to the American College in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania, where I served as chairman of the board. Since she lived just blocks from New York Life’s Park Avenue offices, I agreed to deliver our thanks in person—despite the heat of an August day in 2006 and my fatigue from a sleepless night and a tough morning.

Her housekeeper led me into a warm apartment where Margaret, then 101, sat reading the Wall Street Journal. Surrounded by books and newspapers, she smiled broadly, stood to greet me, and extended her hand. “What a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sievert.”

A Trailblazer’s Story

Though retired from her trailblazing role as the first female insurance agent for Boston’s John Hancock Mutual Life Insurance Company, she had done her homework on both New York Life and me. “Mr. Sievert,” she began, referencing our company’s sales growth and strategies. She even congratulated me on my career.

We spoke about the insurance industry, current politics, and American history. I was embarrassed more than once by her probing questions on topics I hadn’t kept up with. But the most captivating part was her own story.

At 21, she signed her first agent contract in 1926, becoming the fourth woman licensed in the U.S. She recalled a company manual that opened with a charge for agents to shave daily. Laughing, she told me, “I shared my misgivings with the president of John Hancock—who promptly made some gender-based revisions.”

I joked, “That language shouldn’t have surprised you. It was only a few years after women’s suffrage.”

“I never really got into that movement,” she replied. “Those broads were too radical for me!” (Though I later learned she did support women’s rights and suffrage.)

Breaking Barriers

She recounted how she became the first female president of her local agents’ association in Providence, Rhode Island. When a dinner was scheduled at an exclusive men’s club, she gained support from local male leaders and became the first woman served in their facility and to preside over a meeting there.

Time slipped by. I had meant to stay ten minutes; I stayed over an hour. Before I left, she gave me a framed photo of her in her twenties. She was beautiful then—but even more so now. Her energy, passion, and purpose radiated.

“I like real men, Mr. Sievert,” she said at one point. “And I can tell—you’re a real man.”

“Please call me Fred,” I said.

A Love Defined by Admiration

So began our love affair—not romantic, but deeply affectionate and filled with mutual admiration. In every call or visit, Margaret told me she loved me. I returned the sentiment. She supported my retirement and divinity school aspirations, asked about my wife Sue’s culinary studies, and loved to discuss the news.

She was also a generous philanthropist. Through her church, she funded schools in India and supported domestic and global causes. Inspired, Sue and I began looking for ways to give more as a family.

God used Margaret to awaken a fresh appreciation for life in me and to show what could still be accomplished at any age. Two years after our meeting, Sue and I were vacationing in Ireland when I received a message at our hotel:

“Fred,
Would you mind doing me a favor and picking up a gift in Avoca’s Shop at 13 Suffolk Street in Dublin? They’re expecting you. Thank you, dearest.
Love, Margaret”

She was 102 and still full of surprises.

Always Looking to the Future

On her 105th birthday, Sue and I spoke with her again. Still sharp, she told us she loved us—and voiced concerns about government spending and the national debt. “Margaret,” I thought, “is always looking to the future.”

She passed away in August 2011 at 106. I had spoken with her just before a trip to Africa. “I just love you and Sue so much,” she said. Thank God I had a chance to return the sentiment before she was gone.

At her funeral, I learned she anonymously gave to people in need, identified through her daily newspaper reading. Her love for others often remained hidden.

But mine for her never could. Margaret Bradshaw was my not-so-secret love.