1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/PUPPIES BY THE DOZEN

Jan and I developed a strategy to deal with the wild, scratching puppies.  We walked simultaneously to the pen, watching them rolling, jumping on one another's back with their paws, nipping each other goodnaturedly, swinging their heads like swords to aggravate one another., all the while yipping in their high, squealy voices.  One of us would walk toward the back of the pen, outside the fence, while the other slipped toward the large heavy gate that opened from the front into their play area.  The "distractor" would squat down, stick her fingers through the tiny mesh squares, and call kindly to them. 

"Puppy, puppy, come here," she called.

They fell for it day after day.  They stopped mid jump, mid yelp, mid roll, mid head swing--looked around for a second to see where the sound came from, then like hound puppies always reacted, bounded all together and all at once toward her like she was their long lost best friend.  They would entertain themselves trying to lick, nip, rub, or touch that one finger, or if she could manage, a few fingers.  A few jumped on the fence with both paws, trying to get closer to her, barking, seemingly trying to talk to her, get her attention, share their heartfelt love.

All the while, I was easing through the big gate, hoping its hinges didn't squeak too loudly, calling them back.  I balanced  the large metal pan of dogfood mixed with warm water.  As soon as the pan cleared the gate, I put it down quickly on the hard packed dirt and bolted back through the opening before the gate shut behind me.  If I was lucky, I got out without hanging a piece of clothing on the sharp metal fencing or nicking a leg or arm on a wire sticking out, escaping  milliseconds before the whole herd of puppies saw me and bounded for the food pan, leaving Jan standing alone like a wallflower abandoned at a school dance.

We'd saved their lives in a way.  Not once, but twice.  Their neurotic mother had them under our long house.  Naturallly, she gave birth under the living room when the closest entrance to the crawlspace was under our bedroom window, ten yards away.  Daddy was short and rotund, active, but not able to squeeze into tight places.  He was also claustrophobic. Thus, he drafted us.  We reneged, refused, retreated.  He begged, beseeched, and finally bribed.

We could hear the little squeals, high pitched and frantic.

"All right, girls," he said, a slight smile forming on his full face.  "I'll give you fifty cents for every puppy you bring out."

Jan and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes.  Risking snakes, skunks, worms, moist dirt that smelled like musty clothes, and the occasional wasp seemed like it was worth more than the three dollars apiece  those puppies might generate.  Daddy was guessing by the noise under there that there might be about twelve of them.

We knew we had to get them out though.  Jik was a bad mother.  Twice previously, she had litters, then they mysteriously disappeared.  Daddy said she killed them though her mild manner made us doubt him.  He knew animals though.  And we believed him, though we didn't want to think about it or hold a grudge against Jik.

"Okay, I need somebody to crawl under there," he said, his face getting a little red, his voice more insistent.

"Let's both go," Jan suggested.  It wouldn't be quite as creepy if someone else was experiencing the terror simultaneously.  "A dollar a puppy," she said, acting like a businesswoman in important negotiations.

"Dollar per puppy," Daddy said.

"Okay," I said suddenly, like I'd been stuck with a cattle prod, (we called them hotshots).  "Let's go."

And with that, we both lay down flat on the green bermuda grass, her first, me second and shimmied through the dark opening.  The dirt smelled like it'd been there since time began and made me gag a little.  My eyes strained to adjust to the dark space.

"What was that?" Jan asked in a startled voice.

"Nothing.  Just me gagging at the smell."

"Oh...it's hard crawling under these pipes," she said, grunting as she pulled herself along, leaving an indention in the dark sandy soil like a huge snail. 

"How far do you think we have to go?" I asked her, aiming the flashlight Daddy had rolled under the house to us.

"Hey, shine that a little higher so I can see," she said, glancing back at me.  A little dirt clump clung to her blonde pony tail.  I wanted to make a joke about it being a rat pill, but I was petrified of rats so even thinking  it made me shudder.

"I see 'em now," she said.  "Oh man, there are a lot of them.  They look like a big, writhing, black and white snake."

"Don't talk about snakes," I scolded her.  "It makes me want to get out of here fast!  I hate this!"

She strained forward, me crawling behind her, my nose almost touching the soles of her tennis shoes.

"Awww, here little fella," she said, a soft tone entering her voice now.  "Come 'ere.  Let me have your brother too."

She handed something warm and furry to me.  It squeaked, its eyes tightly closed.  I didn't want to be under here, but I felt compassion for the little thing.  It couldn't help it that it had  pscyho dog for a mother. 
I tucked it in the crook of my right elbow and started dragging myself forward with my left arm, pushing with the tips of my toes for added momentum.  It seemed to take forever, but then I saw the light of the outside opening.

"Here," I said, holding the tiny puppy out into the light.  Hands reached down to take them.  Someone had arrived to help my dad.  Probably Mother.  I thought I saw my cousin Phil, too. With that, I moved my body in a circle, my toes slowly making an arc like the metal compasses we used at school, and started back for another puppy.  Jan was right behind me.  We repeated this process six times.  On the last trip, we emerged to the bright sunlight, squinting and covering our eyes with filthy hands.  Our clothes looked like those in the pictures of the poor white kids in the Dust Bowl, filthy and board straight. 

"Twelve dollars, please," Jan said, holding out her hand to Daddy.

He thought a minute.  "Ok," he said, "I'm going to knock these puppies in the head.  I'll sell 'em back for a dollar apiece."  He looked toward Phil and grinned.

That ruse only lasted a minute before my mother gave him a stern look.  We had already started hopping up and down, begging for their lives. This was, to my mind, the second time we saved them.

My dad was grinning as he got out his wallet and paid each of us $6.  Mother was heading for the kitchen to fix supper, and she didn't seem to see the humor in it at all.  I guessed that tonight he wouldn't repeat that little joke--not in her hearing anyway. 

1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/CANDYSTRIPING

Long on compassion and short on common sense, I figured I'd be the most dedicated Candystriper to ever push her way through the heavy glass doors at Navarro Memorial Hospital .  Several of my friends and I decided to volunteer there  the summer we turned 15, in 1965.  Unbelievably we had our drivers' licenses and could now drive ourselves directly to the hospital parking lot, hop out, and hurry inside to assist the masses of sick patients we imagined were waiting anxiously for us behind closed, fireproof doors.

A half day orientation, provided by various members of the hospital staff and coordinated by our own aging beauty queen,  Elaine Mayfield, the "volunteer on a pedestal,"  taught us most of the very basic hospital rules we were to observe as Candystripers, and which, after lunch, we promptly forgot.   We adored Elaine , her kindness surpassed only by her beauty and self assurance. Wrapped in her layered silk designer clothes of multicolored fabric, fluttering her extra long eyelashes, swooping her diamond laden hands about for emphasis, and speaking in her perky, but sexy, gravelly voice, she walked through the darkish green corridors of the hospital--a swan, with a gaggle of awkward geese trailing her. 

"Now girls," she said, making a large sweeping motion with her hand, "here is the nurse's station.  You are not to go back there.  All those records are confidential, and that is offlimits to Candystripers, though we know that all of you are very trustworthy and would never violate confidentiality.  Down here is the breakroom.  If you want to eat something, you must come in here.  And all along this hall," she said touching her long, perfectly manicured red index finger nail to her perfectly lipsticked red lips, indicating 'shhhh', "are the patients' rooms.  And we must be very quiet in the hall because everyone here is sick, and they don't need noise--they need silence," she whispered.

I felt my heart rate quicken.  Who was behind those doors, and what could we do to help them?  I almost ached to open a door, introduce myself, and "fix" something for someone. 

Elaine smiled at us benignly.  She let us call her Elaine, which made us feel very grownup and cool.  After all, she was married to a doctor, and she used to live in Dallas where her father was a famous pastor, and she a beauty queen, sweetness and kindness amplifying her enviable persona, an unattainable standard by our estimation. 

"Now girls, just remember.  You are representing me.  I coordinate the Candystripers, so mind your manners.  And do whatever the nurses tell you.  They are the bosses while you are here.  Thank you for volunteering, and I hope you have a wonderful time doing this.  You will be helping others."

With that, she waved a tiny goodbye, smiling broadly, the red nails of her right hand moving like tiny red hinges, up and down, rhythmically,  beside her Geisha girl face, powdered to perfection and boasting large eyes that slanted up just the right amount at the corners.  The five of us stood silently, barely moving,  after she turned away, watching her click down the hall in her gray stiletto heels, her beautiful frosted hair, swept up in a sophisticated twist in back.

Nurse Ruby appeared at that minute out of one of the patient rooms, her starched white uniform and crisp hat telling us she was an RN.  All the nurses wore hats, but the LPN hat was different, so you could tell which people had a year of training and which had two.  The RNs were always in charge. 

"Could two of you girls come here?" she asked.  Nilene and I quickly stepped forward.  "Come in here," she ordered, but nicely.  She turned and sent the other girls to the waiting room and asked that they straighten it up a bit and said she'd be right with them. 

"I have the patient, Mrs. Saunders, in a chair.  She needs her linens changed.  Can you girls handle that?"

Nilene and I exchanged nervous glances.  Well, I made my bed at home and she did too.  Why not?

"Sure," we said, looking toward Mrs. Saunders, who appeared to be in pain and obviously needing to get back in her bed as soon as possible. 

Pointing to a stack of fresh linens on the chair next to Mrs. Saunders, Nurse Ruby turned on her heel and left, easily pulling open the heavy wooden door with its silver handle, ostensibly leaving to deal with the other three Candystripers.

Mrs. Saunders gave us a weak smile.  "I've just had surgery," she said almost apologetically.

We each got on one side of the hospital bed and started pulling the sheets off and then the pillowcases.  I couldn't look at Nilene or I would laugh, so I didn't-look at her or laugh.  We looked around for somewhere to put the dirty linens, but seeing nowhere to put them, we stuffed all of them in a pillowcase and put the whole lot out in the hall, neatly, right beside the door.

I knew we needed to put the head of the bed down as it was tilted at a 45 degree angle, but I'm no good with anything mechanical.  My dad used to quote a comic he liked, saying, "Leroy, get away from that wheelbarrow.  You know you don't know nothing about machinery."  I can't say I thought the joke was too funny since I often had trouble managing even the simplest mechanical tasks. 

I motioned to Nilene to go to the foot of the bed.  After raising the end of the bed slightly, then using a different crank and raising the head of the bed more, she finally figured out which crank to turn and in which direction.  The bed lay before us, pristine and flat. 

We took a thick, clean white sheet and raised it between us letting it fall gently to the bed.  Then we tucked in all the corners.  I'd even been shown by my Aunt JoAnn, who had nurse's training and wanted me to become a nurse, how to fix the corners so they fit tight.  Nilene let me do all four corners while she retrieved the second sheet. 

Mrs. Saunders was groaning a little, leaning forward just a bit in the chair and holding her stomach, and it was making both of us nervous.  I could tell, because Nilene was not smiling at all and she kept glancing at Mrs. Saunders and furrowing her brow each time she did.  I just wouldn't make eye contact with either of them.  I kept saying I was sorry it was taking so long, but Mrs. Saunders didn't respond.  I hoped she wasn't getting mad at us.  The air conditioner unit under the large window droned on like it had become bored and disinterested.

Finally, we had both sheets on and needed only to stuff the pillows in the cases.  There were two, one for each of us.  We had been told not to put them under our chins because of germs transferred from us to the cases, but of course in our haste and nervousness we forgot. 

We heard Nurse Ruby before we saw her.  "What is this, what is this?  Out here in the hall?  So much for universal precautions.  No, no, that will never do."

She practically roared into the room, dirty laundry pillowcase in hand, and caught both of us with pillowcases firmly tucked beneath our chins, trying to stuff the pillows in.  She grabbed both, placed them unceremoniously in the dirty linen case and told us to take it to the laundry chute while she got Mrs. Saunders, who was now bent completely in half, moaning loudly, in bed.  "Then bring me two new pillowcases and I will  show you how to do it properly," she huffed.

I knew it would make a bad day worse, but I just couldn't stop myself.  Sometimes I was like that.  Curious.  Also, entertaining friends sometimes got the better of my usual solid judgment.  I just wanted to look down that laundry chute, and up it too.  It would make Nilene laugh.

We were on the second floor, the surgery floor, and Nilene opened the silver door to the chute and dumped our linens in.  We heard a tiny sound, barely audible, as the bundle landed in the hospital's distant catacombs.  I wanted to go see where it landed, but that would wait for later.

Right now, I just wanted to look up and down the chute, see if I could see anything.  Nilene urged me to do it.  I moved beside the chute, and bent at the waist at a 90 degree angle to the opening.  Nilene was posted by the door watching for any nurse, but most of all Nurse Ruby.  Just as I prepared to stick my head in the chute,  looking toward 3rd floor where they delivered babies, a large load of dirty linens flew by on its way down.  As I jerked my head out of the silver metal chute, I heard the laundry land with a "whumpf", a much louder and more distinct sound than had been made by our paltry bundle of sheets.

I turned to Nilene, my eyes huge.  "I never thought about how often it's used or how big the loads are, did you? 

I could tell by the stunned look on her face she hadn't.  She nodded mutely.

"That could've broken my neck!" I exclaimed.

Quietly closing the door until the handle clicked, I started looking around for the clean pillowcases we needed to deliver.  Just then, Nurse Ruby appeared at the door.  "Why haven't you girls brought the cases?" she asked. 

"We can't find any," Nilene said.  I was still looking because I didn't want her to be any madder at us.

"Oh, well, it looks like there aren't any.  Okay.  I need you girls to go down to the laundry in the basement of the hospital and ask for some.  Do you know where it is?"  We shook our heads.  We didn't.  She told us how to get there.

"And on your way, return this proctoscope to the medical supply office."

I took the approximately one foot square cellophane sealed package in my hand.  Inside was something that looked like a small garden hose with a pointed end.  "What is this anyway," I asked. 

She grinned.  "Something they use to look for problems in the intestines," she said.  "You probably don't want to know any more than that."

I didn't.  And Nilene was strangely quiet.  She usually jabbered nonstop, making jokes and causing me to laugh at inappropriate times.  Just now, she stood silent as a guard at Buckingham Palace.
We took the elevator down, and when the door to the basement opened, it was like another world.  Quiet, a little dark, the air seemed heavy and there was an odor, like in Mr. Bittner's storm cellar in Purdon when it had been closed up all winter. 

About ten yards from the elevator, Nilene jerked her thumb toward a sign on the door.  "Morgue," I read aloud even though Nilene was immediately shushing me like I shouldn't say it.  "What?  You think someone is going to hear us?" I asked. 

We walked a little further, our steps becoming more tentative. There was the big brown industrial size door with the words Medical Supply on it.  We knocked softly, and a man in his forties opened the door.  "Hey, good to see you," he said like he knew us.  "Whatcha got for me?  Nurse Ruby said you girls were bringin' me somethin'."  I held the package out toward him, straight in front of me.  "Oh," he said, inspecting it.  "A proctoscope.  Wonder why they didn't use it?  Someone's lucky day!"  And he laughed a big, hearty, laugh eyeing us the whole time like he was expecting us to join in.  We didn't.  We stood rigidly, each of twisting the toe of one tennis shoe like a hand drill boring into the tile floor, waiting for him to finish.

"A proctoscope." he said one more time.  "Well thanks girls.  Have a good day today.  And come see me again."

"Okay," we said, not meaning it, and ducking out sheepishly.

We still hadn't seen the laundry after we re-entered the corridor.
Finally, we turned a corner and we could see the laundry through glass paneled doors.  Workers stood in what looked like an underground cavern before enormous black carts filled with white sheets, towels, pillowcases, and blankets, and patterned hospital gowns with Navarro Memorial Hospital stamped on every item.  Two fullsome ladies with skin like brown velvet held a sheet between them, then walked toward one another, folding it as they moved.  Another lady sat at a small sewing machine over in a corner repairing items, we surmised.  As we approached the doors, the two "folding ladies" smiled broadly and motioned for us to come in .  The thick steamy air hit us as soon as the door cracked a little, like all the air was trying to get out of there and go someplace cooler.  My hair felt damp, and I could feel my arms getting moist.  Nilene's curly hair had already started to form little blonde ringlets around her forehead.

"Can we help you girls?" one of the ladies asked.

"We're looking to buy some pillowcases," Nilene said, making a joke. 

"Well, how much do you want to pay?" they laughed good humoredly.  Finally, someone who knew how to joke with us.

"We might just trade out some work down here for them," Nilene went on.  I had the sick feeling they might take us up on the offer, so I kicked her ankle slightly with my foot, but not where the ladies could see.

"I think we have some free ones," V. Smith said.  I noted her name tag.  "How many do you need?"

"Two, I think," I said.

"Two?  That isn't enough to even get started."  And she laughed a big deep laugh from somewhere in her good heart.  And the other six workers started laughing too, but in a nice way.  "Here's eight. And if you need any more, come on back down here.  We'll still be here."  The others all smiled and nodded at her as though she spoke for all of them.

'I sure hope getting this many pillowcases redeems us with Nurse Ruby," I said.  "I wonder if there are some different jobs for Candystripers that we'd be better at than bedmaking?"

There were, and once I discovered the Goody Cart, that became my regular  job.  On Saturdays, one or two of us would take the Goody Cart to each room, except those posted "Keep Out."  The cart had magazines, candy, drinks and gum.  Lots of the patients bought magazines and other snacks.  I could make change, and I was exceptionally honest, so there was never any enticement to keep a quarter or eat candy I didn't pay for. 

My only problem was that I had a sweet tooth, and we were not allowed to eat while doing our jobs, so the whole two hours or so that we were delivering, I was salivating and thinking about what candy I wanted and how good it would taste.  The best were the chewy pralines.  You couldn't really find them to buy anywhere else, so I looked forward to Saturday, usually rewarding myself at the end of the shift with a praline, or two.

We were allowed to get ice from the machine in the kitchen for the patients' drinks, so one of us often ran back and forth getting ice while the other sold our wares.

I was still entertaining the notion of becoming a nurse, figuring they'd correct my poor bedmaking skills, but on a particular day I saw Nurse Ruby, who was in charge of the whole floor which might as well have been the world,  exiting a room with an emesis basin, which we laughingly called the earp bowl. 

I figured if I became a nurse, I'd try to be in charge, and then I wouldn't have to do some of the nastier chores that made me gag and cough.  However, on this day I saw her carrying the emesis basin, and it was full of a vile brown liquid.

"What was that?" I asked later, almost coughing in front of her, thinking of it.

"Tobacco juice", she said, a euphemism for a sickening slimy tobacco and spit combination.  "Just part of the job," she said cheerfully.

 But I never asked her another question about being a nurse, because I made up my mind if someone as competent as she had to do such disgusting chores, I didn't think I'd last in that field. 

School started in the fall, and we soon forgot our red and white striped pinafores, white starched shirts, and fake white nurses' hats.  We hadn't really quite  measured up to Florence Nightingale's standards, but we had fed people's need for candy and information through the summer, and as teenagers we could have done a lot worse with our time.  And at summer's end, Elaine invited us to her elegant apartment for lunch to celebrate what we'd done.  Everything we did with her seemed special and unforgettable.

"Gonna volunteer next summer?" Nilene asked me as we climbed the stairs to Elaine's apartment.

"I'm not sure.  You?" I asked her.

"Nah.  I think I helped enough people this summer," she said, laughing.  "I think we've helped enough sick people for one summer."