Not many remain in the ranks of living Minnesota teachers who worked without union protection.

Not many can explain in personal terms what's at stake in Wisconsin and other states where teachers' collective bargaining rights are under political attack.

I heard from one who can -- Esther Babiracki of Minneapolis. (Thanks to her daughter-in-law for detecting a news peg in Babiracki's reminiscences.)

Babiracki is 90, but you'd never guess it from her strong voice, ready laugh and recall of detail.

Things like the moment in 1942 when the superintendent of the Two Harbors school district was about to hand her a contract to teach in the two-room Beaver Bay schoolhouse, only to pull it back and ask her if she drank or smoked.

"If you do, you're not signing this contract," he told her.

Susan Hogan — Star Tribune, Star Tribune
Lori Sturdevant

She did neither, she responded. But the question bothered her.

So did other rules that went with the job: She had to remain single. Marriage was a firing offense. She could not wear slacks to work, not even in the dead of winter.

She was paid $90 a month and was told she had to spend $45 a month to share a bed with another teacher in the attic of a widow's home that functioned as a teachers' boarding house.

Babiracki -- she was Miss Norha then -- was assigned to teach 17 students ranging from fifth through eighth grades. The eldest, a 16-year-old boy, was developmentally disabled.

He caused a discipline problem, for which she was blamed. Soon after the year began, she received a letter from the superintendent informing her that if she could not keep order in her classroom, she would be fired.

In response, Babiracki said, she became very strict.

Soon she was visited by the chairman of the school board, a large, intimidating fellow whose daughter was in her class. He told her she was scaring his daughter, and she had to ease up -- or he would fire her.

She looked for a less stressful situation the next year, and thought she found it in Cromwell, near Cloquet. The new job paid $130 per month, and the ban on marriage was lifted.

But in Cromwell, Babiracki had 40 students in one room. She was required to join the Lutheran ladies' aid society and attend their dinners.

She was also compelled to join a canasta club organized by school board members, even though she grew up in a household that forbade card games.

Marriage to Air Force officer Stephen Babiracki ended that phase of her career. After the war, they settled in Minneapolis and had two children.

She noted that in Minneapolis, teachers were represented by the Federation of Teachers. She went back to college to update her credentials, and was hired to teach at Windom, then Page, then Hale elementary schools in the city.

She eagerly joined the union, she said: "Belonging to that union was such an uplifting experience compared with what I had as a beginning teacher. The union was protection. It made you feel like you were worthwhile. ... I was no longer told you can't do this and that in your personal life. I didn't have to deal with threats that if I did this or didn't do that, I'd be fired."

Babiracki has been riveted by news from Wisconsin, as teachers have called in sick to protest Republican efforts to curtail their union's bargaining rights.

"It's OK for teachers to contribute more to their pensions and insurance. Everybody should be sacrificing now," Babiracki said. "But I absolutely would fight to the last I-don't-know-what to protect the right to bargain. If those rights are taken away, teachers would be back to the dark ages."

To be sure, the dark time Esther experienced as a young teacher was dimmed not only by the absence of union protection, but also by sexism.

Society's attitudes about women and work in the intervening 70 years have changed for the better and, one fervently hopes, for good.

But if lawmakers around the country discover this year that stripping teachers' unions of their power is politically acceptable, there's no telling how unappealingly dim the teaching profession will become.

Lori Sturdevant is a Star Tribune editorial writer and columnist. Follow her on Twitter @sturdevant.