Massachusetts General Hospital School of Nursing - Yearbook (Boston, MA)

Page 11 text:

We incorporated “The Hill,” with its own private Square, Louis- biu’g by name, its pur- ple window panes, its own Bulfinch buildings, all suffused with the faint aura of blue-blood. And the other side of the Hill: tiny cobble- stone streets, artist’s garrets, window boxes, lacy snowpatterns on wrought-iron balconies and, wonder of wonder, trees. Our own street offered its wares shamelessly. Antique shops without number, coffee houses, clothiers, boutiques, jewelers (who could pass Dana or Simon and Son without a peek in the window at the very latest.) Then there were the un- classifiables: the U.S. Post Of- fice, the Thrift Shop, The Sev- ens, and number 42, a strang- ler’s delight. And our old haunts: Riverside, Epstein’s, The Spiral Bookstore, The Pizza Shop, and Mr. Och’s place, which speaks for itself. For the adventurous there was sailing on the Charles and ice skating in the Common. And just beyond the Common was the adventure of Washington Street and Filene’s basement on a Saturday morning.

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! Boston is a city of history. Our forefathers greeted us at every corner, from Fanuiel Hall to the Lexington Green, from the Revere House to the Longfellow House. As newcomers we fol- lowed the tourists over the Freedom Trail, visited the State House, and explored Mrs. Jack’s palace. But as we came to know our town better, we took greater delight in the less conspicuous landmarks of Boston’s heritage: in a small bronze placque on the front of a build- ing we passed as we rushed somewhere; in a timeworn gravestone bearing the name of the first Lieutenant Governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony; in the ivy-covered walls on the other side of the Charles; in the gold and gilt of Symphony Hall; in a small amphitheatre with bicycle seats in the last row. For all of her Yankee breeding, our town made friends easily. She offered us her “left bank,” along the Charles River, where we so often went with troubles and came away with lifted spirits. A summer evening found us at the Public Garden wan- dering through the Arts Festival, or down by the Charles enjoying the latest from Mr. Fiedler and The Pops. ; i u ' I 6

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7 8 Fate, destiny, chance — whatever one ehooses to call it, the very forces which brought us together three years ago will scatter us.