Bellevue Class of '59

People who know anything about nurses or nursing history recognize the Bellevue School of Nursing cap, or "organdy cupcake" as it's affectionately known.


I was presented with one nearly 52 years ago, during the capping ceremony that marked our classes' first year of training. How young we were. Most of us only a year out of high school. But how we matured in that year and over the next two. We took on serious responsibilites at an early age, not just for ourselves---away from home and on our own for the first time---but for the patients for whom we would learn to care.


Care, that was the byword then. And the people who came to Bellevue back then needed care in the worst way. They were mostly poor ---today they would be called "medically underserved"--- which usually meant they had not received much in the way of medical attention before they arrived at Bellevue. And what a place that was---the old Bellevue as everyone called it because its new replacement was talked about for years before it materialized.


A teaching hospital, renowned for it's many "firsts', Nobel prize-winners , leaders in medicine---and of course its psychiatric pavillion--- Bellevue is the nation's oldest public hospital. And for someone like me from the mid-west who had never experienced an institution of such giant size reputation and physical structure, Bellevue was also the scariest. With it's large medical and surgical wards and dim corridors, it seemed bathed in a gray cast really downright spooky. That is until you got to know your way around its many buildings. Though some parts of the hospital always appeared brighter to me than others---the pediatric wards, for instance and the OR.


Just as we learned the meaning of care as nursing students, our training at Bellevue also taught us to improvise. Being a city hospital, we were always running short of something, washclothes, pajamas, sheets--you name it.


If getting "capped" was the highlight of our academic experience at Bellevue, and a measure of our progress toward the goal of becoming RN's, then the low points, at least for me, were the times when I lost a patient--suddenly and unexpectedly, when the efforts of interns and residents and experienced nurses was not enough.


It was just such an experience one night working per diem in Bellevue's ER that became a turning point in my nursing career. A night that I witnessed the loss of life of a 20-something sister and brother, injured in a car accident, dying within minutes of each other. I realized I didn't have the right stuff for the kind of nurse I thought I should be.


Years later, I would realizewhat great preparation my nurses' training had been for my new work as a newscaster.


On May 16, I'll be joining about 90 former classmates to celebrate the 50th anniversary of our graduation, the class of '59. We'll be cruising on the Hudson, all the way west from our old stomping grounds at 440 East 26th Street. You can bet we'll have a lot to talk about.

Lipstick on the Queen

Was this a faux pas or simply the friendly gesture of one young woman toward a much older one?

I'm talking about America's First Lady, Michelle Obama, putting an arm around the back of Britain's Queen Elizabeth . It happened when eager photographers snapped the two women together at a reception after the Obama's visit with the British monarch and her husband. The couple's Buckingham Castle stop was on President Obama's G20 economic summit itinerary.

To hear CNN and other news media tell it tonight, Michelle Obama committed a newsworthy no-no by laying an arm and hand on the queenly back. It's considered out of line for a mere mortal to touch the occupant of the British throne, no matter how well-meaning the gesture. Never mind that the 6-foot Mrs. Obama could have been feeling a bit of compassion for the tiny Highness. Think about it. The Queen's been stuck in the same job for almost 60 years, has to wear white gloves most of the time and constantly carry a pocketbook (what could she possibly have in it?) even while meeting people in her own castle! Worse than all that, the Queen looks to have become the incredile shrinking woman. Although, next to the Obama's, both of the royals look...well, Lilliputian.
Which just goes to show that nature runs its course no matter what titles we humans bestow on one another. Queen, King, first lady, or president---we all grow old and shrink over time. Underneath all the titles, the pomp and circumstance, we are all only human, subject to human frailty.

In 1965, Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip paid a visit to Trinidad, a former colony. It just so happened that I was there, too, on my honeymoon in Port-of-Spain. Because my then-husband's aunt held a high post in the Trinidadian equivalent of the US Veteran's Administration, he and I got to stand among the veterans to be reviewed by the royals in a local park.

As the designated hour arrived, several dozen neatly uniformed schoolchildren standing just outside the park and holding miniature flags of both countries began waving them. In the waiting crowd a wave of sound built to a roar that continued to swell as the royal entourage approached in their gleaming black Rolls Royces, pulled up and came to a stop. Out stepped, what I could only guess were the Queen's ladies-in-waiting and her consort's aides, and the monarchs themselve. Inside the park, the Queen, trailed by Prince Phillip passed slowly down the line of elderly WW11 veterans. The old gents bowed as the royals passed. But I, ever the curious reporter, decided at the last minute to continue unbowed in order to get a close up look at a real queen. What I remember most about her, was the downy fuzz of hair on her forearms, her pale complexion, her immaculate white gloves, a pocketbook hanging from one royal wrist, and her smile, especially her smile. I will always remember her smile because there on one of her front teeth was a very noticeable smear of bright red lipstick!

That dab of wandered off lipstick showed me that all of us, even queens with ladies-in-waiting, will have our off days.