Margaret Wright was born on December 13, 1933, in East St. Louis, Illinois, to George and Hester Wright, and grew up in a midcentury Midwest city defined by industry, working people, and the rhythms of a large Catholic community. She worked in the psychology department at Washington University in St. Louis — a detail that speaks to a sharp, analytically curious mind — and it was there, at the university, that she met Fred Kovar on a double date. Fred would later recall with characteristic humor: "She was the other guy's date." They married and Fred's career as a research scientist took him west, first to Livermore, California, and then in 1966 to Walnut Creek, where Peg fell immediately and permanently in love with the city. "She liked the dynamism of the town, the beauty of the surrounding hills and the people in the city," Fred said after her death.
The Walnut Creek that greeted the Kovars in 1966 was a city in the midst of explosive, and not always thoughtful, transformation. The population had quadrupled from 9,000 in 1960 to nearly 40,000 by the time Peg arrived, making Walnut Creek one of the fastest-growing communities in California. Developers were eyeing every undeveloped hillside; the city council was broadly pro-growth and pro-business; and the beautiful ridgelines and open grasslands that had drawn residents like the Kovars to the area were at serious risk of disappearing under the treads of bulldozers. Peg's response to this threat was not unusual for her generation of educated, civic-minded women: she joined the League of Women Voters, learning the mechanics of democratic participation from the ground up — research, debate, voter education, candidate forums, and the patient, unglamorous work of keeping local government accountable.
The League was, for many women of the 1960s, the gateway institution between the private world of home and the public world of politics. Peg arrived with four young children, a husband who worked demanding research hours, and no particular expectation that she would one day hold the gavel of the city she loved. What she had, instead, was a formidable intelligence, a talent for connecting with people across lines of opinion and interest, and a deep, personal attachment to the hills around Walnut Creek. When those hills came under threat in November 1970, everything she had learned in the League — and everything she felt about the city — converged into action.
The Night the Bulldozers Were Approved: November 16, 1970
On the evening of November 16, 1970, the Walnut Creek City Council approved developer Lou Scott's plan to build 600 cluster homes on 200 acres of Shell Ridge hillside, despite three protest petitions bearing thousands of signatures. Residents booed as the deciding vote was cast. Within the week, the scope of the protest broadened dramatically: door-to-door campaigns, a formal referendum movement, and a new coalition of homeowners, environmentalists, and civic organizations. Peg Kovar was among those who refused to accept the outcome. The grassroots uprising she helped lead over the following three years would produce the $6.75 million open space bond of 1974, 1,800 permanently preserved acres, and — as a direct by-product — a seat for Peg on the Walnut Creek City Council as its first woman member. The night the bulldozers were approved turned out to be the first chapter of Peg Kovar's political life.
The open space fight also introduced Peg to Gwen Regalia, a fellow young mother and Democratic Club activist who had been watching the same struggle with the same alarm. Their partnership — Gwen as the political strategist, Peg as the civic champion — would produce one of the most consequential campaigns in Walnut Creek history. When Gwen concluded that Peg should run for city council, Peg agreed, on one condition: Gwen had to manage the campaign. "She was the one who talked me into running," Peg recalled years later. What followed was a grassroots effort unlike anything the city had seen: more than 70 neighborhood coffee meetings, a rented downtown campaign headquarters, and two young mothers with 4-year-old children in tow going door to door while the male political establishment looked on with astonishment. "Let me tell you," Gwen recalled, "the men, and some of the women, in this town thought a woman running for council was outrageous."