New York

NEW YORK

A

worlds. fter graduating from a top college we were prepared for nothing. Our range of vision and our concern with issues of the day were sorely limited. It was the 50’s and we were in our own microscopic

We, women schooled in ancient civilization, history of literature, and other esoteric subjects, ended up in secretarial school. Sure, some of our classmates went directly to law or medical school, one became a famous archeologist who found the missing finger of the Victory of Samothrace, Gloria Steinem became synonymous with the Women’s Movement, and one went into films as Tarzan’s Jane. But the majority began careers as secretaries.

In my case, I passed a speedwriting test on the subject of the Frank Sinatra Show and got hired into a secretarial pool at CBS-TV production. I worked on “The Verdict is Yours”, “The Gary Moore Show”, “20th Century” and for an independent talent agent whose every other word was F---. I met midgets, giants, call girls, fire victims, amputees, and deformed animals. The TV field was not a natural arena for me. I felt out of place but gradually learned the ropes, and became executive assistant to two producers on an educational show called, I think, Optimum.

When first moving to New York, I lived in an apartment with my brother whom my mother had sent to protect me – with good cause since I had selected a slum neighborhood. I remember cracking raw eggs down a chute which landed in the apartment below – which inspired the tenant to run up and scream at us, while my brother yelled back “I told her to stop!” Shortly thereafter, I moved into an apartment with a kleptomaniac. When a gold pin and some other items disappeared, later to be found in her possession, my boyfriend at the time stormed in and terrified her with prosecutorial accusations. I had my bags packed within the hour, and out I went.

So, I ended up at the Barbizon Hotel for Women, a safe residence which did not allow men above the lobby. The rooms were tiny, but we had housekeeping, no meals to cook, and other girls to befriend. We were all working and joined up for dinner. My favorite restaurant was The Cave, across the street, with killer frog legs. We had our own phones, no TV, a teeny closet and clean sheets weekly. I was happy. I had no responsibility, save a job ‒ and a string of young men with whom I toured New York, especially its bars and restaurants. Saturdays were a ritual: weekly hair appointment preceded a lunch consisting of a chicken salad sandwich and vanilla milkshake at a coffee house counter.

It would be negligent to avoid mentioning the first man over whom I fell head over heels. A businessman, he was nine years my senior, both brilliant and pompous, lived both in New York and Toronto, and had me in a tight hold! For two years, we experienced puppy love, travelled to Northern Canada and Toronto, frequented the best city restaurants, and saw each other religiously every other weekend when he was in New York. I thought of little else. In the end, we broke up after repeatedly tight-roping the prospect of marriage. I was heart-broken for 24 hours, then surprisingly relieved – at which time my father offered to accompany me on an around the world trip. He had turned age fifty, wanted to grab his chance to see the world, and my mother refused to accompany him on such a major trip. What the hell, I grabbed the opportunity, quit my job and went to Loehmann’s to buy clothes for the upcoming two-to-three month journey.