Sandi and Bobbi Cote-Whitacre

Sandi and Bobbi Cote-Whitacre
By Lori Duff
Copyright by The Monitor staff
May 6, 2007


When Bobbi Whitacre fell in love, she kept it to herself. It was 1967 when Bobbi met Sandi Cote in Alabama, where they both were serving in the Women's Army Corps.

"I knew the minute I met her and fell in love with her that she was my soul mate," Sandi Cote-Whitacre said. "You find that your weaknesses are her strengths. Everything comes into balance." They stayed up late at the coffee shop just off the Army base, talking about religion and politics and

the Vietnam War. Within the year, they committed to each other in a private ceremony.

But this was the Army, in Alabama, in the 1960s. "We weren't public about it," Bobbi Cote-Whitacre said.

When Bobbi told her parents, they sent her to a psychiatrist. Although Bobbi and Sandi spent every Christmas with Bobbi's family, "they didn't want to hear what we were doing," Sandi said. Their relationship "was not discussed" by Bobbi's family, Sandi said.

Their military careers drew to a close soon after they met. Bobbi was ordered to a base in Illinois; they didn't want to live apart, and chose not to re-enlist. Thus began a series of moves: to Ohio, where Bobbi's family lived, and where Bobbi underwent a hysterectomy, at age 22, to cure her cancer. Then to Virginia, where Bobbi worked for the state and Sandi got a degree in criminology. Sandi tried for a police job, but the first question she faced was about her sexuality. She didn't get the job, and they later moved to Washington, D.C. When it came to publicizing their relationship, Sandi and Bobbi took disparate paths. Bobbi, who took a civilian job with the military, kept her desk clear of family pictures. Sandi, meanwhile, described her home life in job interviews, forcing potential employers to confront her sexuality. "I didn't play the game," Sandi said. "My theory was, if you can't handle it in an interview, you won't handle it any better if I work for you."

In 1990, when they moved to Vermont, Bobbi stopped hiding. "I just decided that's enough of that crap," she said. The move also prompted their involvement in extending rights to same-sex couples. They joined the Vermont Freedom to Marry Task Force and began speaking to church and civic groups.

Sandi and Bobbi wanted marriage, not civil unions. They grew up believing that marriage was a rite of passage into adulthood, the natural step after falling in love. "Everybody understands the word marriage," Sandi said. But in 2000, with Vermonters deeply divided over the issue, Bobbi and Sandi viewed civil unions as a compromise.

Soon after Vermont's law took effect in July 2000, Bobbi and Sandi established their civil union and combined their last names.

Aside from the legal rights, the day laid plain a more personal transformation. After years of criticizing their relationship, Bobbi's mother wanted to walk Bobbi and Sandi down the aisle. She was ill, and had moved into Bobbi and Sandi's modest home in Essex Junction. When her mother required constant care, Bobbi quit her job with the state. Her mother recently moved to a nursing home.

In 2004, one day after Massachusetts became the only state to allow same-sex marriage, Bobbi and Sandi drove south. They eventually became plaintiffs in a court case, after then-Gov. Mitt Romney blocked out-of-state same-sex couples from marrying in Massachusetts. Although the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court ruled in Romney's favor, Sandi said she's been notified that their marriage license will be registered since they married so soon after the law took effect.

They now have three anniversaries. And after years of being described as "longtime companions" or "housemates" or "partners," they can say that they're married. "She made an honest women out of me," Bobbi said.

After winning some legal rights, however, cancer returned to the couple's life. In March, Sandi was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a lumpectomy. Now, she faces months of chemotherapy and radiation. Sandi has scaled back to half days at her job at the Department of Homeland Security.

But illness doesn't keep Sandi from finishing Bobbi's sentences, or from laughing in her throaty guffaw, which bears the sign of her years of smoking. In the evenings, they sit side by side in plush recliners, gifts from Bobbi's mother when they had their civil union. They quilt or work on jigsaw puzzles.

"You find the person that you love, you find your soul mate, you get married and you spend the rest of your life together," Sandi said. "That's what we did, without any of the state, federal or neighborhood support that would be there. When you figure a gay couple has none of the supports, none of the benefits and they stay together, it is quite remarkable."