CAVIAR AND BAKED BEANS

We lived two doors apart on the ninth floor of the Nurses Residence at Barnes Hospital; the third girl in a class of 80 lived off-campus. It was only natural that Glady and I dissected "Bessie" together in Anatomy, split the cost of one Morris' textbook, ate meals together most days in the hospital cafeteria along with our classmates, and pooled resources for a shopping trip to Sears on the Kingshighway bus to get an ironing board. St. Louis was already mainstreamed in the War Effort and Kingshighway buses were crowded with munitions plant workers, one of whose silk stockings lost out to the ironing board. I learned early how Glady's charm could extricate you from awkward situations.

Another consequence of the War was the shortage of hospital personnel. Medical students were asked to volunteer as Nurses' Aides in the evenings; Gladys and I split one such position, alternately working 3 and 2 evenings a week on the wards. This reinforced our habits of studying independently. We were known as the Bevy of Barnes Bedpan Beauties and learned how to service some 20 beds on the old pavillion ward 2400 from a stretcher laden with shiny stainless steel receptacles. These had to be retrieved and cleaned in a large "copper hopper". Infectious cases were isolated on a 'porch' or in near-by private rooms. No wonder that undiagnosed scabies on one occasion got to the students and housestaff; we were spared, and prided ourselves on our contribution to the War.

My most profound impression of the first year concerned the Bottom Line. I had come to medical school knowing that it was a priesthood; a friend and student at Tulane Med School had warned the pre-meds at U. of Arkansas (my Alma Mater) that you had to study 20 hours a day, and , if you got sleepy you could put your head on the floor and your feet in a chair to keep your brains active. I had taken this advice 'to heart', if not literally. Then, there was Gladys. She was always singing and smiling and going out with the guys in the class and dating the guy from 'the Hill' that she was 'pinned to', and going home weekends on the Illinois Central trolley to see her Mother, and getting tickets to one thing or another from her Aunt in St. Louis, and, generally, having a ball. At the end of the freshman year they gave out the class ranks. I was 10th and she was 12th (or vice versa) in the class of 80.

Talk about cause for reflection. I took up serious learning from then on; instead of cokes at Charlie's, I began to drink beer and even joined in the ribald singing. She said Scotch was great; I found out it was, and, what the heck, maybe I could afford a pack of cigarettes every month. Class parties became real fun; Glady would sing, read 'belt out' , muni-opera tunes, and make an evening away from school the equivalent of the summer vacation that we couldn't have because of the War. Everyone loved Gladys and at least four guys proposed. Halfway through the second year, one of her neighbors in Alton came on home leave from Marine boot camp; there was no time for tears when, after marrying Bob Levis in October, she decided to leave school at the end of the second academic year in December, 1943.

We kept in touch sporadically until after the War when I began to visit the Levis's while en route through St. Louis usually at Xmas time. She told me of her efforts to stop the baby-selling racket in that area, of her appointment by Governor Stevenson to a White House Commission on Children, of her national YWCA work, and we kept up on each other's interests and children. The sudden death of her son, suffering from a 'cold', at age four was a catastrophe; she wore weeds for two years and gave up her operatic singing lessons- "I had nothing to sing about".

Only after her 20 summers at the Cross Ranch in North Dakota, did we begin in 1982 to travel together. We drove two station wagons and 8 friends around 4000 miles of French country roads enjoying foie gras, cassoulets and local wines; we shared a pup tent and campfare on Muley Point and the San Juan River in Utah; on the Orient Express from Beijing to Moscow and then by air to St. Petersburg, we enjoyed terrines of caviar and vodka toasts; our final fling to Antarctica was more visually spectacular than a culinary stretch. Otherwise, she went with husband, sisters, friends, or on tours visiting every continent and innumerable countries and joining the locals in whatever- I have a photo of Gladys singing with the Old Believers outside Ulan Ude, Siberia; she was enamored of China, the Chinese and their culture. Gradually, I heard stories of ranch life and child rearing; of people's needs in Alton and her efforts on their behalf; of trips to other remote lands and the incredible beauty of the world; her fascination with the goodness of people everywhere, their special ways of living and working the soil; and tales of whales (they lifted her Zodiak raft) and safaris.

She became a part of everyone and every situation. Her discerning gaze could sense the need of a person, and her love automatically responded, whether it was a battered wife, a needy student, a grieving friend, an aging professor, a distressed daughter, or a sick grandchild; her brilliant mind assessed the possibility of remedying a situation and her tireless energies implemented the solution. No effort was too much; after moving to Chevy Chase, she returned to Alton for a week during which she attended some 20 luncheons, meetings and social events, even hosted a dinner party for 50 or more people as President of the Great Rivers Land Preservation Association all the time running a fever and hatching a life-threatening septicemia. Just as she would do big chores in the early morning to enjoy the rest of the day, or bake 10 pies and feed the 30 ranch-hands because she had fired the cook for using a whole summer's butter in a week, or set the thermostat for 60o to save energy because if you're going to be uncomfortable what's a little bit more discomfort, so, she would ignore the tribulations of ill health to support the causes and encourage the people that she so dearly loved.

Assigned to hospice care and too weak to leave home, she learned about e-mail and became Granny in Cyber Space. Her correspondence flourished, her philanthropies grew, almost matching the parade of friends and relatives who flocked to her beautifully appointed apartment in Chevy Chase. She delighted in having everyone stay for lunch or dinner, and at the end, unable to partake with the rest, had her wheelchair pushed to the table for her last bites- of caviar and baked beans.