"Remembering Gerry" - St. Patrick's Day Parade
It's St. Patrick's Day, March 17th 2006 and I'm on the Amtrak train waiting for the train to pull out of Albany-Rensellaer station. Wow, here we go, right on schedule at 8:10AM. I'm headed for New York City to march in the parade with the Alumnae of St. Vincent's Hospital School of Nursing. What glorious memories the parade holds for Gerry Crowley and me.
I wasn't going to march today as Gerry was buried on Long Island on Monday. When this year's parade was discussed, I initially planned to invite myself to sleep overnight at Gerry's home in Lake Ronkonkoma so Gerry and I could visit and then travel into the parade together on the L.I.R.R.
Instead, her spirit travels with me today on the Amtrak. Although it is not the same, it will have to do - what other choice do I have?
The last time I marched in the NYC St. Patrick's Day Parade was in 1999 when it was announced that St. Vincent's Hospital School of Nursing would be closing its' doors forever. It was thought that the nurses of SVH might never march again. As you can see, they were wrong! Gerry and I agreed that we could not let what might be our final opportunity to march pass us by so we planned to meet up at Penn Station.
Penn Station was a maze of green that day - green clothes, green hats, green carnations, green hair and even mugs of green beer. The air was filled with electricity. Penn Station was teaming in a frenzy of excitement and movement and total chaos. Realistically, I quickly realized our meeting plan was way too vague. How stupid can you be, Mary Beth!, I thought. I had no cell phone. How will I ever find Gerry in this madhouse?? At that very moment I turned around and there was my friend, Gerry, in the midst of the wild and stormy sea. Actually, come to think of it, Gerry was always this peaceful presence for me. She gave this special gift to me many times throughout the years. She was the Peace and I was the Frenzy.
We walked together excitedly to meet up with our Alma Mater, and as we reached the final cross street, one of NYC's finest blocked our path. "You can't cross here", he said. "But our marching group is lining up right across the street", I responded. My pleading request for sympathy fell on deaf ears. I stepped it up a notch,"Come on, cut us some slack, we're so near to them. There, right there, I pointed, if you turn around, you can see them." "We're St. Vincent's nurses", I added.
In my head, I'm thinking, maybe this cop is familiar with our renowned, stellar reputation.
Nothing, Nada. We appeared to be up against the proverbial brick wall. By my side this entire discourse, I could feel Gerry squirming at my tactics. My ways were not her ways, and my Big Mouth, I'm sure, was beginning to make her more than a bit uncomfortable.
At the next opportunity - a brief slowdown in the traffic - I suggest, Let's make a run for it.
My dear Friend, shall we put it mildly, was a bit dismayed by my newest idea. I whispered in her ear, "Gerry, look! Every once in awhile, a brave soul or two makes it across safely." Gerry's horror grew. I am sure that by this point she was envisioning us being taken away to the nearest jail cell in a paddy wagon. Finally, I thought that somehow I had convinced her to make a run for it when the cop's attention was diverted. For a moment the police officer turned his head to attend to another matter and I run like a bat out of hell. When I safely reach the other side of the street, and I am feeling like I've won the Indianapolis 500, I turn to tell Gerry, "see, I told you we could do it".
But - in this massive sea of faces - there is not one face that belongs to M. Geraldine Crowley Fahey.
Oh my God, I think, I've done it again. For the second time in less than an hour, my dear friend is missing in action. I walk around and around in circles on this corner and, after what seems like an eternity, I finally spot that lovely, calm, peaceful Irish face. "Gerry, what happened? Where did you go? I thought you were right there behind me". In her soft, gentle way, Gerry explained that she simply walked down to another street corner where she crossed quietly, unobserved, and then walked back up to meet me. She was right, of course. Why cross in front of the cops who had just told us emphatically and unequivocally, "NO", when a few steps to the right we could simply cross under the guise of uninformed strangers.
When we arrived at our designated lineup site on the side street, we were actually early and there wasn't much of a crowd. We weren't as young as we were that exciting day in March 1963 when we donned the uniforms of our upper classmates and marched so proudly for the very first time as nurses of St. Vincent's Hospital School of Nursing.
The wait in the side street lineup seemed eternal. Our legs started to ache and our bladders started to fill. We found a nearby coffee shop, sat at a small table and shared a snack. This bestowed upon us the much needed toilet privileges and a little rest and nourishment. We jumped up periodically to peak out to make sure our Alumnae group hadn't left without us. Eventually, we decided it was time to get going, and we left the crowded comfort of our little coffee shop to find our niche among the alumni. We draped ourselves with the SVH banners that we bought from the Alumnae Association.
Finally, the word spread excitedly through our group - "we're on the move!".
We stood tall and the pride in our hearts and in our veins tingled throughout our bodies. We marched onto 5th Avenue and made a sharp turn around the corner. Suddenly, miraculously, 35 years slipped away. For the next few hours - as we marched together in the sun - we waved and smiled to the cheering crowds and laughed at the antics of the children and the green-haired youth. For one fleeting moment in time, we were once again 18 year old girls just beginning a glorious adventure.
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