Presbyterian Hospital School of Nursing - Crisp N Curls Yearbook (Charlotte, NC)

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favoutes (eerie lod Most Dependable Niler ? E aAUCcOML orothy Most Intellectual rances (Bolen Neatest bret SEB Mo st Popular

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Bere Haney Most Versatile Wary Sindh W ittiest ee Ae eee Most Attractive

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JUNE SENIOR CLASS PROPHECY 1950 It was the summer of 1960, and I was vacationing in New York. After having spent a rather hectic morning sightseeing and running here and there, I decided to see a Broadway play, that afternoon. Later, as I was leaving the theatre, I caught sight of an attractive, well-dressed woman. Gosh, you could have knocked me flat when I recognized Janet Hall. Janet, who had finally landed a doctor, was living out on Long Island having quite a busy time keeping up with all the social functions. At this time, I was “putting on the dog” staying at the Waldorf. As I entered the lobby, I rushed head-long into a cute blonde. All the time she was muttering oaths about how clumsy people were and with a haughty shrug, she stamped out the door. A bell of memory rang in my mind, and without thinking, I rushed after her. I kept thinking, “It can’t be—yet,” and before I knew it, I was face to face with Shirley Wafford. It seemed Shirley was doing quite well nursing rich patients. We gossiped all the way to her apartment. Oh, you now what women will talk about! She was still breaking dozens of men’s hearts and unable to settle for any certain one. Later in the summer, being completely exhausted from the fast, topsy-turvy ways of New York life, I decided to fly to Charlotte for a rest. On a plane, I was very surprised to find myself seated beside Esther Varnadore. Esther was having quite a time, rushing from one disaster to another. She had been with the Red Cross in Europe and was returning home. While in Charlotte, I visited Presbyterian Hospital and reviewed happy memories. As I was hurrying up the walk to the hospital, I was amazed to look up and see a dark-haired girl waving frantically at me and practically hanging from a Third Floor window. Oh, no, that couldn’t be Mary Smith! Rushing up to the room, I found her doing private duty, diligently knitting away, while her patient gasped for breath in an oxygen tent. After chatting with Mary and everyone I knew in the hospital, I dashed over to see the new Nurses’ Home. In the basement, where the classrooms were, I peeked in the doors of the Nursing Arts lab and, oh, it was Inez Haney! Why Inez was always so quiet and sweet, and this woman was screaming to the high heavens and threatening to send the entire preclinical class home. But, surprisingly enough, it was Inez, and I started to speak just as a book whizzed by my head. Whereas, I beat a hasty retreat. I had an invitation from Ann Morehouse to spend a couple of weeks with her, and I was anticipating it greatly. Ann was married (at this time) and dwelled in an adorable rose covered cottage on the outskirts of town. I enjoyed my visit immensely, but Ann’s two red-headed, freckled-face boys were anything but quiet, and almost drove me insane. One afternoon, while trying to cross the Square, during the late afternoon rush, I suddenly found myself almost under the wheels of a beat-up Ford. Jumping up, as best I could, I rushed like mad to bawl the driver out. I almost passed out when I saw a tall, lanky, Public Health nurse getting out of the car and found it to be Dorothy Baucom. She was rushing to get home to a certain—goodness, how I do carry on! Although suffering only from a few bruises and abrasions, I was taken.out to Presbyterian Hospital again. When I saw Beatrice Austin, quiet, brisk, and efhicient, waiting to admit me, I thought my chance for survival was very slim. After chatting a while with her, she told me Estelle Hartsell, now married, was up on the Sixth Floor having her fifth baby. Dashing up to see her and the baby, I wasn’t surprised when I got there, to see that this one, like all the other four, had red hair too. On the bus, returning home, I was startled when the bus came to a sudden stop between Marshville and Wingate. Peering out the window, to see what on earth had happened, I saw sitting on top of a tractor, tearing away in a muddy ditch, none other than Sarah Lee. It seemed she and Warren had stacked away quite a lot of money farming. Well, I left Sarah and her tractor, feeling rather smug. Everyone in my class had done so well, and I was terribly proud to have been one of so fine a group. Now, I’ve told you all about my class. In all seriousness, I’d better tell you that I’m just an office nurse, pounding away at a typewriter day after day here in Rocky Mount, and a dis- appointment to everyone. Still, ten to one, it isn’t so bad, is it? Frances Baker, Class Prophet Page Eighteen