New York City in 1941

New York in 1941

In reference to my article “I Chickened Out In Nurses Training”, I failed to include some aspects of those ten months in New York City, and why I abandoned nurses training. In my article I blamed my failure entirely on the difficulties in human relations I encountered when I was very young and naïve for my 18 years of life, but I believe the main reason I quit, beside having lost all faith in myself, and also being feverish with bronchitis for at least two weeks, was plain homesickness for the country and the farm.

In those days, 1941, New York City had trees only in parks, and although it was blessed with beautiful Central Park at its heart, and the long and lovely Riverside Park overlooking the Hudson River on the west side, I would look down long streets of tall, dirty buildings, and see no sign of a tree, or a blade of grass, or a flower. I found this dreadfully depressing.

I was so lonesome for the company of animals, I found a veterinarian, a Japanese veterinarian in fact, and who let me borrow an Irish setter to take for walks in Riverside Park. He must have recognized my dismal heart with sympathy to let a strange young woman make off with his dog. The dog was too healthy to be a patient. The vet was an inscrutable Asian to me, but not I to him.

In a past article about my first summer job after I graduated from high school, I mentioned Frankie the garbage boy, who came to my defense against my employer’s large and lascivious fourteen-year-old son. Frankie lived in Queens, and although I was extremely busy at nurses training, he and I spent a few Sunday afternoons together exploring New York. We went to the Statue of Liberty and climbed up into the arm that carries the torch. I think that has been prohibited now for a long time. We visited the Museums of Art and Natural History, the Planetarium, and I believe we visited the New York Times, or somewhere that had a huge world globe prominently displayed. We went to the Zoo in Central Park, and hiked all over the many paths there. We took the ferry to Staten Island, home of a girl friend I met the following year when I joined the Waves. We walked down Broadway past Times Square and Wall Street, and over to the Hudson River to look at the ocean liners docked there. I lost track of Frankie during the war and don’t even know if he survived it.

When I had some time to spare on a weekend, I couldn’t go home as most of the other girls did, because my father gave me only $5 a month for spending money. That didn’t go far even in those days. So I walked. Sometimes I rode the subway down to Grand Central Station with other girls, and then walked back through Central Park. I even did it once at night without being mugged or worse. This was before the attack on Pearl Harbor, but Broadway was already a sea of men in uniforms from all over the world. I even had a drink with a couple of them once without being molested. You could drink at 18 in New York.  I have always felt I have a guardian angel close to me because of the dangerous situations I have let myself in for, and come through unscathed.

As part of our education, we student nurses were taken on a tour of the slums of the city. I remember seeing the Bowery. 'Bowrie' was what the Dutch called a farm when New York City was still New Amsterdam and owned by the Dutch in 1641 when my ancestors had a 'plantation'' in Queens. Plantation was the English word for farm. But in 1941 the Bowery was a skid row of bars and flop houses with derelict men giving us cat calls. We visited a building of about seven stories that was built completely enclosed except for a narrow passageway, by an bigger and older building. Both buildings were scheduled to be demolished, but the inner building still had at least one man living in it, and for a price I think, he allowed us in to see his apartment. It consisted mainly of a kitchen, with a bathtub full of coal in it, and lines strung across the kitchen where he was drying his long underwear. The only window in the apartment was half covered up by a sink, and it looked out on an air shaft. He had a very small bedroom and a closet with a toilet in it. The only heat came from a small iron stove fueled by the coal in the bath tub. I think this area of the East Side became the home of apartments for the better classes after the war. The West Side was still a nice place to live in 1941, but it was fading.

At St. Luke’s Hospital they featured evening vespers that were piped all over the hospital at 5 p.m., and I was one of the singers who did this. It was a lovely peaceful interlude for me. It also caused me to be in a group of student nurses who sang in a presentation of The Messiah at a famous church, Grace Church I think. I remember sitting in the choir section boxed in by rather high sides, and I fell asleep during all those Hallelujahs.

I had a lovely room in the building where all the student nurses lived. We ate our meals there on the second floor. I remember the scent of asters and apples in my room, and have ever after connected that aroma with New York City. And the food in our cafeteria was wonderful! I can still remember the Jello salad with cherries and walnuts I found so delicious. We had only 30 minutes for lunch, and the time started as we worked in the wards. I never rode the elevator, but I ran down three or four flights of stairs, through the tunnel under the street, up two more flights and managed to eat two helpings of everything before arriving at class when the time was up.

I think my best memory is of a December night not long before I quit nursing, and went home in disgrace. It was snowing hard, and I was almost as depressed as I have ever been in my life. I had walked quite far from 116^th St. where I lived in the nurse’s dormitory building. I remember standing in front of Grant’s Tomb looking over at Riverside Cathedral watching the snowflakes drift down through the light of the street lamps. It’s been so long ago, and my memory is failing, so forgive me if I have those locations wrong. It could have been the beautiful new cathedral just a block or two from St. Luke’s Hospital that was still under construction at the time. I think it was completed enough to hold services. Oh! Now I remember the name, St. John the Devine. How could I forget it! I would have seen snow falling there the same evening, but in my mind it was near Grant’s Tomb and Riverside Cathedral.

So my memories of New York City in 1941 are not all bad. The strange thing is that I was there on December 7, and must have been shocked along with everyone else when the Japs attacked Pearl Harbor, but I was so overwhelmed with my personal problems I hardly remember it. I was very interested in the war and concerned for England. I went as often as I could to theaters that just showed news. I’m not sure if I had a radio. I think I did have one and didn’t listen to it much, but I remember hearing Winston Churchill’s famous speech about fighting in the streets etc. I just tuned in and heard his voice without knowing who was speaking, and he spoke with such power I felt as if my hair stood on end. I also heard Roosevelt’s speech about the day that would live in infamy. But the actual news of the attack I believe I heard from another student nurse. Everyone else seems to know exactly where they were and what they were doing, but I don’t. I remember the details of a lot of other unimportant incidents in my life, but I can only guess about where I was when I heard the news about attack on Pearl Harbor. I wish I could remember for sure. .