Personal Life
On February 14, 1948, Mr.Rockefeller married Mrs. Barbara "Bobo" Sears. She was the former wife of Boston Brahmin figure Richard Sears, Jr. The wedding took place in Florida, and at the reception, a choir sang Negro spirituals. On September 17, 1948, the couple welcomed the birth of their son, Winthrop Paul Rockefeller.
The couple separated in 1950 and divorced in 1954. She was later engaged to Charles W. Mapes, Jr., but never married him.
On June 11, 1956, Mr. Rockefeller wed the Seattle-born socialite Mrs. Jeanette Edris Barrager Bartley McDonnell (1918-1997); Rockefeller was her fourth husband. She left her first husband, Nate Barragar, less than three months after they were married. Edris had previously been married to a professional American football player, a lawyer, and a stockbroker. By her, WR acquired two stepchildren, Bruce Bartley and Ann Bartley, later Ann McNeil of San Francisco. The couple had no children together and divorced shortly after he left the governorship in 1971.
As the state's First Lady, Jeanette Rockefeller took a special interest in mental health issues.
Read more about this topic: Winthrop Rockefeller
Famous quotes containing the words personal life, personal and/or life:
“Wherever the State touches the personal life of the infant, the child, the youth, or the aged, helpless, defective in mind, body or moral nature, there the State enters “woman’s peculiar sphere,” her sphere of motherly succor and training, her sphere of sympathetic and self-sacrificing ministration to individual lives.”
—Anna Garlin Spencer (1851–1931)
“In the twentieth century one of the most personal relationships to have developed is that of the person and the state.... It’s become a fact of life that governments have become very intimate with people, most always to their detriment.”
—E.L. (Edgar Lawrence)
“The train was crammed, the heat stifling. We feel out of sorts, but do not quite know if we are hungry or drowsy. But when we have fed and slept, life will regain its looks, and the American instruments will make music in the merry cafe described by our friend Lange. And then, sometime later, we die.”
—Vladimir Nabokov (1899–1977)