Historian with a Double Major:The Church and Feminism Asunción Lavrin (bio) Click for larger view View full resolution Photograph by Andrew Lavrin [End Page 460] I became a historian of the Church by serendipity. But then, I have learned that many of my colleagues who also cultivate this field have confessed that they had a similar experience. It is a good club to belong to. As for the feminism side of my career, it was a well-thought choice, but it came much after I began navigating the waters of church history. The serendipity part came as a recently married twenty-three-year-old graduate student walked into the office of a historian at the University of California in Berkeley. He was Robert C. Padden, who had published a justifiably popular and well-researched book on the conquest of Mexico, the Hummingbird and the Hawk. He was not a historian of religion or the Church. Yet, he was sympathetic and friendly to this rather disoriented young woman who was seeking a good topic for research for her doctorate degree. He pointed to a title on women in convents in Mexico, the first in the field, by historian Josefina Muriel, and suggested that there was more to do on both women and convents, should that topic be of my interest. For some reason still unclear to me, I was. And that is how it all began. A bit of background history is necessary at this point. I arrived in the U.S. from my native Cuba with a solid college education that covered three years of Latin and three years of Greek—most of which are now gone—history of art, history of world literatures, philosophy and, yes, western history. I loved them all, but inside me I knew I preferred history. Exactly what period or what area? I was unsure, but there was plenty of time ahead. I won a scholarship to study at a place named Radcliffe College, about which I knew nothing, but was glad to travel to, and begin my next adventure [End Page 461] in life. I arrived with hardly any experience of spoken English, although I could read it very well. After three weeks in a foreign students' summer initiation camp—what a joy to meet other young people from so many different countries—I had all the preparation I was going to get to tackle that place, Radcliffe, and its relative, Harvard University. Needless to say, everything was foreign and marvelous, but it was hard work: writing in English, remembering a bibliography in that language, getting to know how professors taught and what they expected from students, navigating a new school environment with rules that pointed to getting a degree, exploring libraries, making friends. It was puzzling, but I was young and my professors were kind. Much later, I learned how "big" those professors were and appreciated the degree of their understanding of foreign students. Among such puzzling experiences, I met a young man from England who was attending business school at Harvard. Two years later he proposed and I accepted. It was that simple. By then he had transferred to the University of California at Berkeley, abandoned business school, and entered a program in Biochemistry and Immunology. He would get his doctorate in that field while I worked on my own. And that is how I found myself in Berkeley, California, looking for a topic for a dissertation. Harvard was easier then than now: two years of graduate courses, an oral examination in three fields, and if one passed, one was a doctoral candidate. So, I became one. I had some excellent professors while at Harvard, but I cannot say that they were "mentors." They were kind, but our time together was short and passed fast, and none of them was available for a degree in Latin American history, one of the weak points in the program. My dissertation was read by a professor in the Spanish Department. I graduated in 1963, the first class of women historians in the history of Harvard University. Despite all obvious handicaps, I had become a full-fledged historian—or so I thought, at any...