The mother of women's rights was, improbably, a fairy-godmother in my life. As odd as that must sound to people who knew her, I think Betty Friedan liked being thought of in those terms.

I met her first in Cambridge, Mass., 25 years ago, as a college freshman home on break.

I was working that summer at an all-night coffee shop. I unlocked the key to my parent's apartment sometime after midnight one night, and heard a...