Prejudices and Racism -6- Good Cop - Bad Cop

He was a mild, unassuming kind of guy, not the type you would think would be successful in this kind of work.  When he was a student at Archbishop Molloy High School, one of the Marist Brothers infuriated my mother by saying, “he’ll never amount to anything” because he seemed so timid and “never spoke up”.   My mother was furious and this teacher was so terribly wrong.   

My brother, Charlie, had wanted to be a cop for as long as I can remember.   As a little boy, he stood at attention and marched up and down the street with a rifle laid over his shoulder.  Maybe he wanted to show that teacher and the rest of the world that he could do it, that he could make something of himself.   Maybe that’s why he applied and was accepted to New York City’s Finest.

He joined the NYPD and easily rose to the rank of Captain.  He would have gone higher but the more advanced positions were all political in nature and that just didn’t appeal to him.   Charlie was a tremendously good cop.  He was honest, hard-working, intelligent and kind.  He was slow to anger, calm and reflective. As a cop, his temperament was an asset rather than a liability.  When you carry a gun, it’s best not to be a hothead.   Charlie was well-loved and brought people together.  He had a great sense of humor and was well-respected and well-loved by all who worked with him.

I’m certain, there was no better cop than Charlie.   

I grew up feeling that cops were marvelous people. Both of my grandfathers were police officers with the NYPD and it seemed that there were always police officers, firemen and correctional officers surrounding me, both in my family, and in my circle of friends.  Even as a nurse, it always seemed there was a special connection between the nurses and “the officers of the law”.

But, and here is the important “but”.   Not every cop is noble.  Never every cop is blameless.  Police Officers are human beings like the rest of us.   They carry prejudices, too, and some are hotheaded and downright nasty.   I venture to say, some people join the police force because they want to laud it over others or be in a position of power.   I personally overheard cops talking after a beer or two.  They laughed and joked along these lines, “we held the Ni_ _ _ _ down on the ground with our foot and taunted him, calling him, Ni_ _ _ _, Ni_ _ _ _, what’s the matter, can’t you get up?   Boy wasn’t that hilarious, “one of them said.    Honestly, it made me sick to my stomach and I had to leave the room.

Another cop I knew, who wasn’t really a bad guy, had way too much to drink one day and shot his gun off through the ceiling of the tavern.    I felt he was really a good cop at heart although his behavior that day was extremely horrifying.   He was thrown off the force.

So, what I am trying to say here is this:  police officers should not be above the law, simply because they are police officers.    We have to respect all human beings and judge them not because of the role they are in or the uniform they wear, but because they conduct themselves in a manner that deserves our respect.    I grew up respecting Catholic Priests because they were priests.  I learned over the years that not every priest deserves my respect.  Not every cop deserves my respect either.   I cannot respect someone simply because they hold a position that typically deserves admiration.  

Addendum added on 12-13-16 

I have decided to write a follow-up to “Good Cop-Bad Cop” because I received some rather intense feedback that this blog entry was felt to be an attack on the police.  Let me state clearly and for the record that it was not my intention to attack the police force.   I thought I made it perfectly clear that I have always had very positive feelings towards the police and other officers of the law. 

I am sorry if people were offended that I did not mention their names or state them as other examples of “good cops”.   I was simply using Captain Charles A. Fries, Jr. as one instance of a genuinely wonderful police officer.   He was my older brother and my “hero”.   Since I knew and loved him the best, I picked him as my positive example.   And, I will say again for the record, that as far as I am concerned, there was no better cop that Charlie.    

I have also learned over my lifetime that not every cop is a “good cop” or, at least in certain instances, their behavior is less than stellar.  As a matter of fact, at one point in his career my brother, Charlie, was in the very difficult position (Internal Affairs) of having to investigate and determine culpability of other police officers. 

 So, once again let me re-state that what I am trying to say is this:  police officers should not be above the law, simply because they are police officers.    We have to respect all human beings and judge them not because of the role they are in or the uniform they wear, but because they conduct themselves in a manner that deserves our respect.

This follow-up entry is dedicated to all the great cops I know.  You know who you are and I invite you  to add your names in the comment section.  I don’t want to offend anyone by missing someone, so I will leave this up to each and every one of you.

  
Addendum added 6-29-2020
I hesitate to re-post this Blog entry because I was in many ways "crucified" for expressing these feelings. One cousin, hasn't spoken to me since this was Blog entry was posted the first time.  Perhaps the post should be entitled Good Behavior - Bad Behavior rather than Good Cop-Bad Cop since I don't label anyone "bad" - there is good in everyone.  I once heard a neighbor tell a small child she was babysitting, "you're a bad little girl" and I cringed.  My point in writing this Blog entry in the first place was to say that inappropriate behavior should not be ignored and allowed to go unchecked simply because someone wears a uniform or a clerical collar.   That is still my point today.

Prejudices and Racism-5-Miss Connie Thomas, RN

Over the years I have missed having a relationship with Connie Thomas, RN.

We lost touch with each other shortly after my wedding in 1971.  I received a few letters from her when she joined the US Army and then she went missing from my life. 

She never knew my first reaction upon meeting her at the American Red Cross on Amsterdam Avenue in NYC and for that I am grateful.  This is not an admission that I am in any way proud of.  But I feel that it might be a confession that needs to be shared.

At the urging of Susan Smith and Mary Jane Sassone, two classmates from the 1965 graduating class of St. Vincent’s Hospital and Medical Center, I applied for a position on the American Red Cross Blood Mobile.   Back in early 1967, this was a really fun job, (although far from intellectually stimulating) for three 22 year old women.    We got to travel to West Point, police precincts, fire houses, business establishments, jails, etc.  Believe me, there were a lot of single men, flat out on tables, ready to give their blood to playful, young nurses.  It was better than Match.com and E-harmony, for coming up with dates.  But, alas, I am regressing and possibly trying to avoid the main point of my story.

Back at that time in nursing, vena punctures were not part of a nurse’s training – at least not at St. Vincent’s Hospital and we were noted for being top notch and cutting edge.    I remember being “scared to death” when contemplating that this was one of the main responsibilities of being a nurse on a Blood Mobile. Being the blatantly honest individual that I usually am (some may refer to this quality as having a big, Brooklyn mouth), I told the person interviewing me that I had absolutely no experience taking blood and I was frightened to death by the prospects of doing vena punctures.   I remember being somewhat astonished by my Interviewer, when surprisingly this disclosure seemed to work in my favor.

I recall her telling me that they actually preferred to hire people who had absolutely no experience in vena punctures so they could train them properly in their techniques.    I believe their approach was correct.  As a matter of fact I took my husband, Bob’s, required pre-marital blood sample and he was delighted with my technique. To this very day, I pride myself on doing a brilliant, top-rate vena puncture.  I must also give credit where credit is due - right before sticking the needle into someone’s arm, I have always asked the Holy Spirit to guide my hand and keep me from hurting the person in front of me.

Once again, I am digressing.   So here is the point of my story:   After all the preliminary paperwork for a new hire is filled out and all the verbal instructions are given, the day comes when the nursing supervisor walks me over to this black woman and introduces her as the person who is going to train me in vena puncture technique.  She is going to be the person working with me until she considers me skilled enough to go off on my own.   She smiles sweetly at me and offers her hand.  Of course, I take her hand and smile back.   After all, I am not prejudiced.

 But- and here is the horrifying realization that is difficult for me to admit - all the while this tape is playing in my mind:  “How can this black nurse teach me anything! Why couldn’t they have assigned me someone who is more competent; someone different (meaning white) I’m thinking, “She can’t possibly know more than me.  At the first mistake she makes, I’ll ask for someone else.”

I don’t think I was ever more wrong about anything in my life as much as I was wrong about dear, Connie Thomas.

She was a marvelous woman, absolutely brilliant, absolutely beautiful inside and out.  We became the very best of friends.  One time when we shared a room together at the Thayer Hotel in West Point, the American Red Cross Truck Crew teasingly said, “You girls can’t share a room together – you’re white and she is black.  This isn’t done.”   It was 1967.  But by this time, having had the privilege and the honor to get to know Connie, I didn’t see that she was black and I was white, rather I only saw the reality of our tight knit friendship.  I invited her to a party one weekend and I remember her asking me if there would be any black fellows there.  I hadn’t even thought about it since our “color” no longer had any meaning for me.  She went to that party and one of the smart aleck, white guys at the party showed an interest and escorted her home only to “come on to her” rather aggressively.  Connie had the impression he thought she would be an easy mark because she was black and I’m sorry to say, from the description of the events that occurred that night, I think she was right.

Prejudice was alive and well in 1967.  I’m embarrassed to say, it was alive in me.  But I thank God that I met Connie and I lament that I have lost her.  She was a very wonderful friend to me.  If anyone knows her whereabouts or how I could find her again, please share this information with me.  She lived in Queens, NY (I believe in Jamaica) with her family in the late 60’s.  I remember being at her home during a party. I was accepted like one of the family.  Connie Thomas is not an easy name to find through the internet or on Facebook.

Below is the crystal pitcher that Connie sent us for our wedding even though she was in the service and unable to attend.  It has always been one of my prized possessions, specifically because it was a gift form Connie.  It is all I have left of her besides my fondest memories.

Prejudices and Racism - 4 - Forgive Us Our Tresspasses

I guess it is not surprising that I had some tendencies to be prejudiced.   I went to Public School 76 through 4^th grade and then to St. Michael the Archangel’s school until the 8^th grade.  Both schools were in the East New York section of Brooklyn.  For my 4 years of high school I attended Our Lady of Wisdom Academy in Ozone Park, Queens, NY and then graduated from St. Vincent’s Hospital School of Nursing in New York City.  In all those many years of schooling, there was not one single black person in any of my classes.  Not a one!!!  Let me remind you, I was not living south of the Mason-Dixon Line rather; I was living in Brooklyn and attending schools in 3 of the 5 boroughs of metropolitan New York City-the largest city in the world.   I was a little white girl, living in a lily white world.   I was never exposed to people of color except for what I saw on the television and that was not always a positive exposure.   I heard people say that “Black Bastard” when Martin Luther King appeared on the TV screen.   I saw people in power and people in governing positions treating people of color as if they were subhuman or at least not as important as us white people.    I doubt whether my experience was unique. I don’t think I was the only one to observe and encounter such things. 

I have been told by co-workers and other people who have known me during my life, that I am a "reverse" Racist, in other words I do "too much" for our African-American families and clients.  I guess they may be correct, but I believe I am justified.  I am attempting, in some small way, to make up for the horrendous injustices that the people of color in our country have had to endure.  Having been born 75 years ago, I have lived through and witnessed some of these terrible injustices and I have been guilty of the sins of racism, and prejudice myself.  So, please,let me, and let all of us mighty white Americans attempt to make up in some small way for the hundreds of years of injustices inflicted on our fellow Americans because their skin color was different than ours. 

Regarding the photograph at the top of this Blog entry:

I was 12 years old on Sep 6th, 1957 when this brave young girl, Elizabeth Eckford ignores the hostile screams and stares of fellow students on her first day of school. She was one of the nine negro students whose integration into Little Rock’s Central High School in Arkansas was ordered by a Federal Court following legal action by NAACP. — Image by © Bettmann/CORBIS

Prejudices and Racism - An Uncomfortable Discussion - 3

As a member of the Roman Catholic Church, I was told quite clearly in my younger years that I belonged to the only true church .  Outside of my church, it was very tricky - actually high near impossible - to get into heaven. It was considered heretical and you would certainly run the risk of eternal damnation in hell should you leave and seek spiritual fulfillment elsewhere.  I kid you not! 
I was told that I shouldn't date anyone of another religion for fear that we might fall in love and then I would run the risk of wanting to marry outside of my church.  In the event such a catastrophe occurred, the non-Catholic partner had to just about swear on their life that he or she would allow the resulting children to be brought up in the Catholic Religion. 
 My husband's mother actually had the nerve to fall in love with a guy who belonged to the Dutch Reformed Church and they weren't even allowed to get married in the church - the rectory was as close as they got to the altar!
When my husband, Bob, was a little boy, my father-in-law, Bob, Sr., (so I heard as he died before I had the pleasure of meeting him) came to the basement of St. Francis of Assisi School in Astoria, Queens, NY, where a Cub Scout's meeting was being held.  Bob, Sr. was there with a contingency of Boy Scouts from the nearby Dutch Reformed Church.  He came that day specifically to welcome his son who was aging out of the Cub Scouts into his Boy Scouts' group.  The priest at St. Francis of Assisi Church, Father Joe Schuck, met Bob, Sr and the handful of Boy Scouts accompanying him at the foot of the stairs.  The priest told Bob's father that he was not welcome and  that he could not be accepting his son into the Boy Scouts since it was held at the Protestant Church.  Bob's father responded maturely to this negative reception and left the church basement without causing a scene. Sadly, my husband, Bob Jr., never became a Boy Scout.   Interestingly, Fr. Joe Schuck, was eventually defrocked for child sexual abuse.
I too, had a similar, albeit a little less dramatic experience, when I wanted to become a Brownie.  I remember the feeling of disappointment even though I don't remember a lot of the details.  I went to a nearby Protestant Church basement to join the Brownie group in my community, but for some reason I was rejected.  Can you imagine carrying the psychological stigma of being rejected by the Brownies? !   Possibly, they had a big enough troop already and were only accepting the girls from that church? I honestly don't remember but I remember feeling rejected.
My current concept of God although not clearly defined ( truthfully, who really understands the concept of God? ) does not allow me to accept such a prejudiced Deity.

Prejudices and Racism - An Uncomfortable Discussion

I can only imagine that my next blog entry might be seen as inappropriate or unnecessary by some people but the current situation in our country and even in our entire world has motivated me to tackle it. 

What is racism? Is it real or a figment of my imagination? Is it a thing of the past, ancient history, so to speak or is it so deeply engrained as to be influencing us to the current day.

I find it hard to believe that anyone else who came of age in the 1960’s didn’t experience similar experiences to my own. I also believe that a good deal of these 

experiences were probably profound and disturbing enough to have left an indelible mark in our psyche. 

I’d like to share some of my real life stories in the hopes that others might relate to some of them. Hopefully when we look into ourselves we can get a better understanding of the meaning and influences of racism. When we understand things more clearly, possibly we can change the things that we don’t think are the best for us, or for others in our communities and in our world. 

Initially, in my earliest years, my exposure to people of other religious denominations and other races was severely limited. Luckily, I attended Public School 76 through 4 th Grade and had the privilege of being friends with a few Jewish girls. My second grade teacher was a wonderful Jewish woman ( I only learned later on that some of my friends and my teacher were Jewish because at such a young age I had not yet been taught these distinctions). One of my strongest memories of this “ Jewish” teacher is the fact that in the midst of a terrible thunder storm when the sky became ominous looking and frighteningly dark, she comforted me and let me sit up on her lap for a few minutes. She made me feel safe again and I never forgot that feeling. One of the biggest mistakes of my life was when my parents transferred me to the Catholic School. If I could, I would go back to the past and reverse that decision; I would do everything in my power to stay in the public school where I was blissfully happy and self-confident. Instead, in September 1954 I started at St. Michael the Archangel Elementary School on Jerome St in Brooklyn, NY in the 5th grade. One day shortly after starting Catholic School I remember the nun told us to put all our valuables out of sight or take them home because the Public School students were coming into the classroom that afternoon for released time religious instructions. It didn’t take much smarts to realize that she considered the Public School kids heathens and thieves. I had just transferred from Public School so it didn’t do much for my self-image.

While a student at St. Michael the Archangel Elementary School I swallowed all the religious dogma that was fed to me, hook, line and sinker! I learned a whole lot about the fires of hell and eternal damnation and I certainly didn’t want to end up there so I tried to followed every single letter of the law to the point of obsession. 

Popp’s - Parting

This last Blog entry regarding my memories of Popp’s and Woodhaven is the most difficult for me to write. I think it is because I am dreading having to say a final goodbye to a part of my life that was magical and relatively carefree. ( I guess teenage heartaches and unrequited love can seem monumental at the time you are going through it )but in general they were wonderful years. Truthfully I said “Goodbye” to Woodhaven a very long time ago but when it was actually happening it was so subtle and not too noticeable. All of a sudden I turned around and it was over.  Now as I recall events, places and most importantly people, I have been looking very deliberately at these things and for that reason it is almost like saying goodbye for the very first time.  I am feeling sad and nostalgic and hesitant to leave. 

 

Every holiday season, my family would watch a favorite, old classic movie entitled,  “ The March of the Wooden Soldiers”.  It featured the comedy team of Laurel and Hardy, but I always found it a bit sad.  There is one song in the movie that really defined the sadness which I am trying to explain.  The name of the song is “Toyland” and the line that always got to me is this:  “Once you pass its borders You can never return again”. 

In thinking back, this is what I remember about my departure from my Popp’s Ice Cream Parlor Days.  In my senior year at Our Lady of Wisdom Academy, my community service activity for the Legion of Mary was going to St. John’s Hospital on Queens Blvd. once a week to distribute dinner trays to the patients.  After we were attacked on our way down the subway steps after feeding the babies at St. Mary’s Hospital in the bowels of Brooklyn, it was decided that it would be safer to head to a hospital in Queens.  I missed feeding the babies but that wasn’t an option at St. John’s Hospital, so handing out dinner trays was all that we were allowed to do.  On one such occasion, a young male patient in bed # 1 of a 4-bedded room, egged on by the three older men in the room, flirted quite dramatically with me.  When I came back to the room later to retrieve the trays after dinner, Jerry, (the Bed  # 1 Patient) was able to convince me that it made sense to give him my phone number.  Shortly after he was discharged from the hospital, Jerry called me for a date and we went bowling together with another couple.  We had a lovely time and Jerry was a complete gentleman. I did not know, however, until after the date that Jerry was a full 5 years older than me!  I was not yet 17 years old and I was in a very real sense, “in way over my head”.   My rigid Catholic School training concerning sexuality came in handy in this relationship.  To put it mildly, Jerry was a man of the world, and had been around the block a few times.  He had a classy car, owned a Harley Davidson Motorcycle, belonged to a storefront men’s club in Williamsburg. Having dropped out of High School, he worked as an auto mechanic and had a few dollars in his pockets.   Jerry began to pick me up in his car after my weekly stints at St. John’s Hospital, and he would treat me to dinner at the diner before taking me home.   On one of these occasions, Elvis came on over the car radio and began to sing, “I can’t help falling in love with you.”  Jerry looked at me in his rear view mirror and sent me the loud and clear message that these words were meant for me.   

My trips to Popp’s became less frequent, as Jerry monopolized most of my time. 

However, Jerry did appear in Woodhaven on a few occasions and some of you may have even gotten to ride on the back of his motorcycle. 

On one other occasion, Jerry took me to a Drive-In Movie. I believe this date was motivated by the fact that Tom Marski wanted to double date with us so he could get in the back seat with Muriel.  Tom had “the hots” for Muriel and what better place to take her than to a drive in movie. I don’t remember much about Muriel other than she seemed like a sexy looking siren to me.  I also remember Tom and possibly others saying that she had “ bedroom eyes “.   When Jerry “ put the moves on me” in the hospital he said I had a “shiny nose”!  What a far cry from “bedroom eyes”.   I don’t think anyone in my whole life said I had “bedroom eyes”.  The next time Bob has a martini or two I’ll have to ask him to tell me that. LOL 

So in spite of the fact that I was taught that going to a drive in movie with a date was a near occasion of sin and should be avoided at all costs, I consented to this date.  I think Tom had a good time but I remember it as a tense and difficult experience.  By the way, did I ever mention the fact that I received the medal for Religion when I graduated St. Michael’s Elementary School?  I took everything I learned in religion to heart and it has taken me a lifetime to overcome the trauma. 

In September 1962, I started St. Vincent’s Hospital School of Nursing in the heart of Greenwich Village, NY, NY and the first couple of nights as I tried to fall asleep in the nurses’ residence at 158 West 12th Street, I actually cried.  I knew I had crossed a certain border and could never return again. 

Toyland, toy land

Li-ittle girl and boy land

While you dwell within it

You are ever happy there

Childhood's joy land

Mi-istic merry toy land

Once you pass its borders

You can ne'er return again

When you've grown up my dears

And are as old as I

You'll laugh and ponder on the years

That roll so swiftly by my dears

That roll so swi-iftly by-why

Childhood's joy land

Mi-istic merry toy land

Once you pass its borders

You can ne'er return again

Popp's - Woodhaven Photos

Popp's - the Pandemics and Honorable Mentions

First of all, I want to say thank you for allowing me to share my memories of Woodhaven with you.  It was a fun experience and helped me to have something pleasant to do during this time of the Coronavirus shut down.  I realize that I can’t possibly remember all the things about Popp’s and Woodhaven that, you, the people who actually lived in the neighborhood, remember.  Nonetheless, for the sake of closure and completeness, I would like to briefly mention some of the people and places, however foggy, which were a part of the Woodhaven experience for me.  If you are so inclined, I’d love to hear what you remember from those faraway days of our youth. 

• I remember that there was a “rival” Ice Cream Parlor on the other side of Jamaica Avenue and up a few blocks towards Woodhaven Blvd.  And never the two shall meet! 
• I can still see the inside of that amazing place known as Lewis of Woodhaven. There was all kinds of “stuff”, up and down the crowded aisles, all over the place.  You could find almost anything in that store and for me it was always an adventure, whether you really needed something or just wanted to browse.
• Then there was Jason’s Toy store where my cousin, Tom, worked as a teenager. It was also through that store that he met a wonderful young woman by the name of Maureen Scanlon.  One of Tom’s coworkers was a teacher from Long Island who was moonlighting at Jason’s.  It just so happened that one of his students from Hicksville was a perfect match for Tom, a blind date was arranged, and the rest, as they say, is history. Maureen Scanlon Marski was one of the nicest people that ever walked this earth.  Everyone who knew her loved her.   
• Jackie Sweeney worked at Candy Store on Jamaica Avenue and Forest Parkway. It was a classy candy store but it wasn’t like Ralph Popp’s Place, where everybody knew your name. 
• Weekends in the nicer weather meant football at the edge of Forest Park. It was an informal thing, no fancy uniforms or anything like that but the guys liked to strut their stuff for the young ladies who came to watch.  
• I remember LuAnn (I believe she was with Jackie Sweeney for awhile?)
• I remember a girl named Kathy and I think she was connected with my “real Woodhaven boyfriend” for a bit. 
• I remember a very, very tall thin guy and I always remember feeling a bit sorry for him. Not because there was anything wrong with him, but simply because it is a tough thing for a teenager to be so off the average bell curve in physical appearance. 
• I remember a diner on one of the corners. I believe it might have been called the Empire Diner, but I’m not certain. I didn’t go there much until my Woodhaven experience was nearing its end (which I will speak about in my next and last Popp’s Posting). I grew up in a family where dinner out in a restaurant was a rarity.  My father didn’t believe in such extravaganza, so for me, lunch or dinner out, even if it was only in a simple diner, was a very big deal. 
• When I was looking for old photos of Woodhaven on the web, I came across a place I was not familiar with, a really historic bar called Neir’s.  Did you know there were some interesting events that took place in both Neir’s and the Shamrock Bar?  So interesting in fact, that they actually offer tours? Look it up, it is intriguing. 
• Speaking of interesting stories, did you ever hear how the friendship between Kenny McKenna and Jack Cassidy ended?   Sadly, it is not a story for Prime Time.  That’s all I’ll say. 
• Whatever happened to Mike Roach and a guy named Mickey? 
• I remember a little candy /Mom and Pop Grocery Store on the corner not too far from where Bob Smith lived.
• Of course, I remember St. Thomas the Apostle Church and especially the Christmas Eve Midnight Mass.
• The last thing I’ll mention tonight was a fruit and vegetable store that opened onto the sidewalk along Jamaica Ave or did I dream that up? Possibly Jimmy McKenna worked there?