The Grande Dame of Sex Education.

She died on October 24, 1998, and, sadly, I never got to thank her adequately. For she changed my life--so many years ago--by liberating me from a repressed, puritanical view of sex and then introducing me to the wonders of what she recognized as our most precious gift: our human sexuality and the capacity to experience it fully.

I met Mary Calderone in 1976 when, as an associate publisher of a consumer magazine, I went to interview her at her Long Island, New York, home. I knew she was the daughter of renowned photographer Edward Steichen--who is credited with transforming photography into an art form--and the niece of poet Carl Sandburg. But this feisty, dynamic, aristocratic woman with such eminent forebears was already growing famous herself, having in 1964 cofounded, with five colleagues, the Sex Information and Education Council of the United States (SIECUS), of which she was president.

The primary goal of SIECUS had been described by David R. Mace, another of its cofounders, as "a national organization, entirely professional, scholarly, and non-partisan, which could unite serious and responsible men and women in liberating human sexuality from the unhealthy atmosphere of suspicion, guilt, and fear that surround it." Mace had also said that, when it was discovered "such an organization was sorely needed, it became equally clear that Mary Calderone was the obvious person to lead it."

So as the nation's leading advocate of childhood sex education, Mary Calderone, M.D., became infamous, or famous, depending on who you were listening to. The John Birch Society called her an "aging sexual libertine." The American Humanist Association named her Humanist of the Year in 1974.

After her parents divorced when she was ten, she lived and grew up in France with her father. There, surrounded by struggling young artists in an atmosphere of freedom, she learned to speak French and to develop numerous interests. "How fortunate I was," she would later say, "to grow up with intellectual stimulation always around me. When I was small ... men like [Constantin] Brancusi, the sculptor, were always dropping by to talk. One of my greatest pleasures was sharing these conversations and feeling a part of them." Indeed, she even exercised an influence. Her childhood critique of Brancusi's L'Oiseau d'Or--she said the horizontal position of the bird's head would make its singing impossible--led the artist, from that time on, to give his bird sculptures more uplifted heads.

She became interested in the stage when she was young, which helped her to develop poise, presence, and a strong, impressive speaking style. However, she gave up the stage three years later, having decided she was not quite outstanding enough to continue. Working with her father, she also produced several photography books but eventually abandoned that, too. Calderone rarely stayed with anything she couldn't do with the very highest degree of perfection.

Her first marriage to actor W. Lon Martin was brief. She had two daughters with him, but tragically one daughter died at age eight of pneumonia. Her marriage ended in divorce in 1933.

She soon moved on to the next stage of her life, deciding at age thirty to become a physician. She earned her M.D. from the University of Rochester Medical School and her master's from Columbia University. Then, while working in public health, she met Dr. Frank Calderone, a New York City district health officer. The two married in 1941 and had two more daughters. Her husband eventually became chief administrative officer of the World Health Organization and director of health services with the United Nations Secretariat.

In 1953, Mary Calderone became medical director of the Planned Parenthood Federation of America, a post she held for eleven years. It was her work there that made her aware of how ignorant so many people were about questions regarding sex, masturbation, frigidity, and contraception. This inspired her determination to help people of all ages understand and appreciate how and why sex is such an integral part of life.

I went to that first interview with Calderone in 1976 unaware that I was one of those who sorely needed enlightenment. For I marched in ready to blame her for helping to change the entire course of our sexual mores. I even accused her of causing much of the increase in venereal disease, childhood pregnancies, abortions, and sexual promiscuity. Little did I know then that she was hardly a stranger to such charges.

She had long been a favorite target of religious extremists, fringe groups, and other conservative elements in the country. The Ku Klux Klan had burned crosses on her lawn. And in 1969, right-wing organizations had spent an estimated $40 million on a virulent campaign against her. So on this particular day, during the interview, Calderone sat quietly and endured my foolish lamentations, understanding full well the ignorance that she knew wasn't mine alone.

I had come with all of my parental anxieties. It was the 1970s--the time of drugs, youthful rebellion, and the Vietnam tragedy--a stressful period for mothers of young children. I had begun to worry about my daughter, who was just beginning to date. The new mores made me fear that young people would soon be exposed to a whole host of new possibilities and choices. They would certainly be less inhibited by the guilt, anxieties, and values that my generation had grown up with--all the very ones Calderone saw as so destructive.

And yet I had come for another reason---one I had not fully realized or suspected. I was just beginning to face my own personal conflicts regarding my thirty-four-year marriage. I was much like the hordes of newly awakened women: suddenly feeling a new sense of uncertainty, conflict, and unfulfillment. It was the era of women's liberation and the sexual revolution, and those two upheavals were churning and fermenting at the same time.

That first talk with Calderone truly exhilarated me. She understood my mission and my needs, and I went home with a stack of material that she hoped would re-educate me. And so it began: my personal enlightenment and a new view of the changing mores. As I left her, I knew for sure I would someday soon be renewing my contact with this fascinating, forward-thinking, courageous, and adventurous woman.

It was a year later, when I began to plan and organize a conference in collaboration with C. W. Post College on Long Island, that I decided to invite Calderone as the featured speaker. The conference had been inspired by an article in a Jewish newspaper that blamed hedonism as the cause of family breakdowns. Though I was at that time shedding a good deal of my old sexual hang-ups, I still continued to be anxious about the extremes to which society seemed. to be moving and agreed that those extremes were contributing to mounting divorces and thoughtless, excessive behavior.

Consequently, it seemed appropriate to call our conference "Hedonism in America," and we invited a number of diverse experts from various professions. In addition to Calderone, there were psychiatrists, sociologists, psychologists, and theologians. It was the head of the college's sociology department who composed the promotional question: "Does hedonism mark the liberation of our society from outmoded taboos? Or does hedonism reflect our moral and cultural bankruptcy?"

After Calderone spoke at the conference, a guest in the audience asked her why a lady of seventy-one, who was a Quaker, would be engaged in such unusual work. I'll never forget how she stood up and approached the microphone, looked directly out at the audience, and firmly announced in a loud, clear voice: "My mother made me wear gloves till I was eight" (an old-fashioned method for preventing masturbation).

On August 1, 1978, I wrote to Calderone, telling her how sad I was about separating from my husband and how it had traumatized me enormously. On August 14, she wrote back, saying: "Your first paragraph is word for word my story. After twenty-seven years, and at seventy-four years of age, so I can understand only too well. The thing is, don't give up. You have too many years ahead of you." Now, twenty years later, I thank Mary Calderone for teaching me so much that helped me move forward to a full and satisfying life. Now I, at seventy-six, fully realize what she meant when she insisted that sex never has to end.

Mary Calderone died at the same age as her beloved father--ninety-four. They were two extraordinary, creative, artistic, and exciting individuals who made profound and dramatic contributions that should continue to inspire us all.

Harriet Epstein is a freelance writer and lecturer who has worked for many magazines in the New York area.