Yesterday was the anniversary of my first day on the job with The Pittsburgh Press.

Yes, April Fool's Day -- 50 years and one day ago.

I fooled everybody, including myself. I never looked back. If you knew of my uncertainty in the move, you would understand my surprise.

This isn't where I was headed. I was going to be an actress. Broadway was waiting for me. Greasepaint, not printer's ink.

The newspaper has been gone 15 years, but I'm still here, in the same building, on the same floor, in spite of three long strikes, but now part-time with the Post-Gazette. That's the amazement.

Walking into the building feels the same -- except we had an elevator operator when I started -- and it cost $1.25 to park all day in the public lot next door.

I watched the Gateway buildings and the Hilton Hotel and Towers go up from these windows -- and the Jenkins Arcade go down, Joseph Horne Co. fade into history.

I entered this building when all the men wore white shirts and ties and we used Royal typewriters which needed ribbons and candlestick telephones.

With each change I thought "this is it." I can't learn another new thing. But here I am, working on the third or fourth computer system since dumping the Royals.

I've been here longer than my employer. The Post-Gazette was once in a building several blocks away before sharing this space with The Press.

Newsroom floors here were raised (and still clack with footsteps) many years ago to accommodate the trillion wires underneath for the new computer age. Gone are wire machines, the switchboard operator, the ladies' lounge with a couch for a nap, table and chairs, a kitchen sink and individual lockers. It's now just a functional ladies' room.

We dress differently. Do we ever.

I wore a hat and gloves for my job interview, not out of the ordinary for most women. Pants (slacks) were for weekends, not the newspaper office, not until the '70s when I dared to wear the latest fashion, a pantsuit, and was greeted by an editor with "Hi, guy."

The rest is history.

The newsroom walls are a different color. You could see everyone and communicate with a hearty yell. Copy!

We had "copy boys" to carry our copy to an editor. For some it began a journalism career.

It's not nearly as loud in the newsroom or the composing room as it once was. Newsprint now has color. And five years before the past 50, I was in another newsroom in Uniontown.

In a small town we didn't have food and fashion pages, just local goings-on. A single wedding could be the major story of the day. A garden club gathering could run a close second in importance.

When I came to Pittsburgh it was similar, but of course compared to a small town like Uniontown, this was the big time. I made a whopping $100 a week.

It was a different time and it all gradually changed as we went from Society Page to Women's Page to Life Style, to Magazine and beyond. Weddings and "fluff" disappeared.

As a woman it has been interesting to see women in previously male-dominated spots as editors for television, books, science, theater and movies, business and travel, and also sitting in executive offices.

Women were never considered for "hard news" assignments, nor to fill executive positions. The Press had no black reporters when I arrived. I am remembering my interview for a position with The Press in 1956. I was, I think, 26.

I didn't take the job.

Six months later, in 1957, a second interview. And here I am in 2007.

Many good friends with whom I worked side by side have passed away. My memories of them are vivid, admiring and lasting.

The past 50 years have been golden. The people I've met, of course, are the silver lining.

They are the bonus in my paycheck. That's why today I consider myself very, very rich.