It was the winter of 1992.1 had to hire a new full-time pharmacist. I had already decided on the person I wanted. The store manager called me up to the office to discuss my choice. He indicated a thick folder. It was a paint-by-numbers company-policy thing that I was supposed to complete. It asked a bunch of ridiculous questions, such as: Would this applicant be tempted to steal expensive drugs for his/her mother who did not have the resources to treat her cancer? Yes or No.

I fanned the air above my head. "You're not supposed to be smoking in the store." I was actually resentful. I had quit smoking cigarettes two years before and I still dreamed about them.

"It's my office." He gave me a look. "My private space." Take that, Plagakis, you smarty-pants pharmacist punk. "I can smoke in my office."

He stabbed the folder with his forefinger. The folder was yellow with purple letters: Entrant Pharmacist Evaluation Plan.

I held out my arms, palms up. "I have already made my choice," I said.

"What's wrong with the guy from Ana cortes?"

"Nothing. She's just better all around. She's young. She comes from the aristocratic wing of the U.S. Navy. Her husband is a naval aviator." Naval Air Station Whidbey Island was literally right down the street. Twenty-five percent of our business was with Navy families.

"So what?" He was ready to fight.

I chose not to. "She's smart, John. Her presentation is impeccable. She looks like a professional."

Eventually, the store manager dropped his resistance. Cheryl's status went from temporary help to full-time staff pharmacist with a stroke of my pen.

She turned out to be more than competent, and she drove the manager batty. He criticized her for wearing a skirt and blouse every day. When she demanded the title of Doctor on her nametag, I expected him to foam at the mouth. He tried to mock her for wearing high heels even on 12-hour days, but finally slunk back to his corner when nobody laughed. I never told Cheryl this, so I will now: You are my pharmacy champion, Cheryl.

Cheering the champs

I love women. No one has inspired me more consistently than women athletes. I love their intensity and passion. Abby Wambach doesn't play with that kind of fervor for the money, because there isn't big money for female soccer players. …