Even as a little girl, I recognized the star of “I Love Lucy” for her brains, not her looks. The way she dodged Ricky's sexist rules and lectures never failed to impress and amuse me. I couldn't have understood male-female social dynamics as a young child, but I knew cat-and-mouse when I saw it played well. Lucy reminded me that even if I one day grew up to be a housewife, I could still think for myself and make my own choices. It didn't matter if it was 1956 or 2056.
On August 6, 2012, Lucille Ball would have been 101 years old. Instead, she died on April 25, 1989 at the age of 77. The fatal culprit was a dissecting aortic aneurysm—a heart problem. Now her ashes lie in Lake View Cemetery in Jamestown, New York.
As the summer heats up literally and politically, one has to wonder, What would Lucy do?
Give us a sign, Ms. Ball.