Yacha Mache -1

July 15, 1965

This was the first day of the rest of my life. I was going from Podunk, North Dakota, to New York City, and boy was that scarey.

I had received my degree in Foods and Nutrition, and the various work options available were to research in a food producing industry, like Betty Crocker, or to teach Home Economics in High School. The third option was the one I chose – to become a dietitian, which meant I would specialise in working in a hospital, and offering advice on the medical benefits of eating the proper foods for the various diseases. My aunt was a dietitian, so I knew a bit about it, although neither she nor I found the whole idea very exciting. She worked at St. Joseph's Hospital in St. Paul, Minnesota, and was unembarrassed to tell the story of when she was left to make the rice for the 500 or so
patients, and not knowing the capacity of rice to increase in volume, she cooked enough to feed 5000.

Before you can become a dietitian in the US, you have to have a one year internship at one of the 20 or so hospitals across the country who offer the service. We who completed the course were allowed, six months before graduation, to apply to two. I had various criterion on which to make my choice. First of all, it should be as far away from North Dakota as possible, and secondly it should pay the most money. Most of the hospitals offered paltry amounts of money – room and board and a stipend which would just about cover your pantyhose and tampax for the year. But several offered what seemed like a huge amount - $6000 tax free. I applied to two of the five that were so very generous – all of them related in some way to the military. The first was a hospital in Chicago, and the second, the USPHS Hospital on Staten Island, New York, one of the five boroughs that make up the city. My parents were disappointed, as they had hoped I would opt for Minneapolis, the closest option, 500 miles away from home.. But they were not all that displeased with Chicago – a mere extra 500. But New York called me with its bright lights and theaters galore, and all the excitement that one could possible want. And as I was offered both, I didn't think twice before I accepted New York. Mom said, “You can't go.” But although I knew she was worried about me, a shy skinny naïve kid in such a wicked city, I didn't consider her feelings at all. “I'm twenty-one and I'm going.”

My parents came to see me off at the airport – 51 years ago today. I had never flown before – and had certainly never been more than a few hundred miles away from home without a parent beside me.

“I'll call you when I get there,” I promised.

“Be careful,” was the last choked request.

The first flight was in a 50 seater propellered  plane – to Minneapolis. It was great fun, and flew low enough that I could identify each little town as we flew over it. But then when we arrived, I had to rush to another area of the huge airport, in order to catch my next flight – which would be in a huge jet – 35,000 miles above the earth. I don't remember being nervous or sick or worried in any way for either flight. I was high on adrenaline - what would possibly go wrong. I am thinking the combined flights would have taken about five hours – and I know I arrived at JFK about 4 p.m.

There were all sorts of options for getting to Staten Island – about 17 miles away from the airport which is on the border of Brooklyn and Queens, but none of them seemed easy to me, so I took the least difficult option, and grabbed a cab. That ride seemed to take forever, and I was sure he was going the wrong way deliberately to put up the price. I doubt if he had ever driven to Staten Island before,which required crossing the huge beautiful Verazanno Narrows Bridge, finished only a year before, replacing the Gold Gate as the largest suspension bridge  in the world. (The Humber Bridge has now replaced it, but it still remains the largest in the States.) I remember the taxi driver pointing out Coney Island as we drove by, and I only vaguely knew it as an amusement park of huge proportions and dubious reputation.

Finally we arrived at the Hospital, after the cabbie had had to stop several times for directions. “That will be 38 dollars,” he said. I was astounded, having never had a cab fare of more than a dollar or two in the past. I was pretty sure he had cheated me, but I wasn't going to argue. Luckily I had enough to pay him with a small tip, and took my suitcases, and walked into a huge hospital complex. (I have just googled that trip and he did take the quickest route.)

The hospital was huge, and I was scared stiff as I lugged my overstuffed suitcase up the steps.

“Are you one of the new interns?” asked a pretty buxom young girl in what looked like a nurses' uniform – crisp white dress with a stiffly starched peaked hat. “Yes,” I managed, and told her my name.

“You're to go to the Nurses' Home – that building over there,“  she pointed to another large brick building a bit to the north of the campus. “We're all on the north wing of the second floor.” She added, “I'm Dorcas, and I've only got a few months here with you, thank God. There are four more in your group arriving today, and the others don't come until September, when our bunch leave. A couple have come already.”

So I retraced my steps out of the building, across to the Nurses' Home, and walked up to the second floor, and managed to find the north wing without too much trouble. I saw a young woman and asked her where to find the dietitians rooms. She answered me with such a strong southern accent that i couldn't understand a word she said. So I just carried on walking.  When I got there, I found a row of single rooms, each containing a bed, built in closet, dresser, sink, and chest of drawers. There were two rooms that we had in common – a living area and a cooking area, each a converted bedroom. The group shared a room that contained several toilets and several shower or bath cubicles.

“Hi,” said a very large jovial girl called out to me. “You must be Jean. I'm Jeannette from Platte Center, Nebraska.” We shook hands. “Your room is the next to last on the right,” she said. “Put your stuff down, and get into something more comfortable, and we can go over  to the staff dining hall for supper.”

“Are you the only one here yet?” Jeanette and I had corresponded and considered briefly meeting someplace en route in order to arrive at the big city together, but it turned out we didn't really have any potential stopping places in common.

Before I had unpacked further, a beautiful blond girl came down the hall, and with a somewhat southern accent (but luckily I could understand her) asked if she had found the right place. She introduced herself as Carolyn from Indianapolis. We had just found her room, next door to the kitchen. Jeanette's room was more or less across from Carolyn's – and next to the group's living area.

Only two more of us to come,” said Jeanette, and before long, the new arrival plodding in, dropping half her belongings as she came down the hallway. “Hi you guys,” she said cheerfully, with a lovely midwestern accent (to my way of thinking). “I'm Ruth  from Eau Clair, Wisconsin.” Her room was across from mine, but one back.

“Hey there,” said another voice, and our last intern arrived, Kathy Meany , who was from New Jersey so the only one who hadn't to catch a flight here. Kathy's room was next to mine.

So our group together, we made our way over to the main building again, where we were shown
to the employees dining area. We took our places in the line, collecting a tray, and then choosing from the three of four options on offer for starter, main course and dessert, before finding our way to a free table.

We shared our travel arrangements stories with each other and a bit about ourselves, and were greatly enjoying the meal, when Dorcas, whom I'd met briefly before came over. “Do you guys want to go to a party tonight? One of the doctors is having it at his apartment, and they say you are very welcome. There are always far more guys than girls at these parties, as we have intern dentists, pharmacists and doctors, all male, and only the odd physiotherapist of med tecky to swell the ranks of the girls so you might get lucky on your first night here.”

We had had a letter waiting for each of us from Lois, our group teacher and coordinator, who said that she would meet us all in the dietetic office in the hospital the next morning at 9 a.m. And we would be given our uniforms, and told which of the three main branches we would start our work on.

I just remembered before we rushed off to the party, that I hadn't called my parents, so going to the pay phone attached to our wing, I put in the requisite number of quarters and told them I had arrived safe and sound, and that all was well, and that I had already made lots of nice friends. I didn't mention the party. They were not any better than I at long telephone conversations, so we soon said goodbye and I agreed I would call again on Sunday.

Most of the male interns lived in premises away from the hospital, but fairly near by, as all of us would have call duties that involved us in being at the hospital during the night time hours. It was a hot summer night, and our short walk to our host's house had us chattering away like schoolgirls. We were all nervous and excited, although Jeanette, Kathy and Carolyn were engaged.

Dr. Martin was tall and good looking, very adept at making one feel at home. We were ushered in, and told to mix and given beer to drink. There was loud music playing and the room was chock a block with blokes. The other group of interns, the ones who only had three months left were there, but with the 11 of us we must have had 20 or more men to choose from, so I wasn't for once a wallflower.

I remember having a very heated argument with one doctor about the literary merits of Lolita. I was very much a prude in those days, and felt it was far too sexy to be a classic. But I think history has proven him right.

I started dancing with someone called Dennis, an obstetrics intern, and he became very friendly very quickly. “You have a wonderful pelvic structure,” he said, feeling it through my clothing. “You will have no trouble having babies.”

I couldn't believe my luck. He was lovely, and sweet, and sharp and good looking, and he seemed to like me too.

On the way home Dorcas burst my bubble. “He's married and his wife's pregnant.” What a let down. But still it had been a most exciting start to our adventure, and I was pretty sure that somewhere within that bevy of men there was someone still single who might also admire my pelvic structure.