Henry, Ruth, and I arrived at the high-school auditorium that evening to find it already packed with people from the town, colored in the balcony, white in the floor seats. Ruth sat on the other side of Henry from me, her hands rigidly clasped over her handbag on her lap. She’d been horrified when Henry told her about the plans for the hospital.
“That’s a terrible idea!” she’d said as we talked about it over dinner. “Why can’t they do it in some other town? Why Hickory?”
“Why not Hickory?” Henry had argued. “It’s central to the all the polio cases that have turned up.”
“So now Hickory will be known as the town full of polio germs.” Ruth had pouted. “I can think of a hundred more suitable locations for a hospital, and none of them are in Hickory!”
I looked around the packed auditorium and wondered how many other people in the audience shared her worries about bringing polio patients to Hickory.
Henry, though, seemed unconcerned. He pointed toward the stage, where three men were sitting, waiting for everyone to take their seats. “The man on the left is Whims,” Henry said. “The fella next to him is Hahn and the third is Crabtree.”
“Three shortsighted men,” Ruth muttered.
We watched as Dr. Whims stood up and walked to the podium. He thanked everyone for coming and laid out the problem—the ever-increasing number of polio cases in the area surrounding Hickory.
“We need a solution and we need it now,” he said. “Dr. Hahn and Dr. Crabtree and I talked about using one of the buildings that already exist in town, but we crossed each of them off our list for one reason or another. So our focus is now on the Fresh Air Camp. I contacted the director there this afternoon and within forty-five minutes the camp’s children were evacuated and driven home by volunteers.” He smiled. “And that’s the word of the day: volunteers. It’s going to take all of us to pull together to make this hospital a reality, which is why we’re meeting with y’all here tonight. I’m in charge of upgrading the existing building at the camp and coming up with the new construction we’ll need. On very short notice, local architects Mr. and Mrs. Q. E. Herman, whom I’m sure many of you know, are at this moment drawing up plans for the new buildings and lumber has already arrived. Tomorrow the fire department will install hydrants. Governor Broughton is sending prisoners from the state prison to dig trenches for sewer lines.” There was an audible buzz from the audience before he added, “Under supervision, of course.” He checked his notes. “The telephone company is donating and installing a switchboard, and the National Guard arrives tomorrow to begin clearing trees for the new buildings.”
I was stunned. All this had been set in motion in half a day?
“Now, how can y’all help?” Dr. Whims asked. “We need all of you—every single one of you—to think of ways you can contribute. Dr. Hahn”—he motioned toward one of the men seated on the stage—“is in charge of getting the supplies for the hospital. In the community, we’ll need some of you ladies to make gowns, caps, and masks for the doctors and nurses—we must remember this is an extremely contagious and serious disease. We need donations: washing machines, wringers, hot plates, blankets, linens, beds, mattresses, and sundry other items. Keep an eye on the Hickory Daily Record and listen to WHKY to find out what items we’re looking for. We also need people to go door to door to collect those items, and until we get the kitchen up and running we’ll need you housewives to cook meals in your homes for the patients. We need volunteers to help with the phones and to greet people in the hospital’s reception area. And of course we’ll need nurses and doctors and physical therapists. Dr. Crabtree”—he turned to nod at the third man on stage—“is responsible for securing the medical staff, and most of them will be recruited by the Red Cross or the National Polio Foundation and will be coming from other parts of the country. I understand some of them are boarding trains even as we speak.”
I thought of Vincent and the work he’d done with polio patients in Chicago. If he didn’t now have a paying job at the Harriet Lane Hospital in Baltimore, he would probably still be volunteering somewhere. Maybe even here. My heart shivered. I forced the thought from my mind and replaced it with another: I wanted to be a nurse in this new hospital. I couldn’t simply sit at home while the need was so great. I sat up straighter. I was going to volunteer.
“Hotel Hickory can put up the nurses from outside the area,” Whims continued, “but please consider opening your homes to the other medical staff. The physicians and physical therapists and epidemiologists. We can do this. We can help our children. And speaking of the children”—he paused momentarily—“we won’t have the space to separate colored from white right away, so until we do, the facility will be integrated.” He held up his hands as if to stop any complaints before they began. “That can’t be helped,” he said. “We need to remember that polio knows no socioeconomic or racial lines. It affects all of our community and it will take all of us to fight it.”
* * *
I sat in the backseat of the car on our way home and for the first few minutes of the drive, the three of us were quiet. The meeting had given us a lot to take in.
Henry finally broke the silence. “After I drop you two off at the house,” he said, “I’m going back to the camp to help out.”
“At night?” Ruth queried. “What can you do at night?”
“They’re setting up floodlights,” he said. “We’ll be able to continue working even at night.”
“You were there all day,” Ruth said. “I think you need to get a good night’s sleep.”
“I wasn’t there all day,” Henry argued. “I was at the factory half the time. And we need to get this done, Mama. I can sleep once it’s up and running.”
I felt proud of him, and it was time for me to speak up myself.
“They need nurses,” I said. “I’m going to volunteer.”
Ruth scoffed. “No, you most certainly are not going to volunteer.”
“But I should,” I said. “I have the skills. It feels wrong for me not to—”
“You may not work there,” Ruth said firmly. “Did you hear what that man said? Extremely contagious? Colored children right next to white children? You’d get covered with polio germs and bring them home. If you absolutely must do something for that hospital, collect donations,” she said. “Did you know that Violet is collecting records and record players to send overseas for our servicemen? You can do something like that if you want to do something charitable.”
“Violet doesn’t have the skills I have,” I said before I could stop myself, and my words were greeted with a silence so heavy I felt it pressing down on my shoulders. What was going on with me today? I seemed unable to bite my tongue.
“Mama.” Henry finally spoke up, and by his tone I knew he was going to shift the topic, if only a bit. “How about offering our spare bedrooms to a couple of the doctors who’ll be coming?”
“I don’t want strangers in the house,” she said.
“I think we’re all going to need to make some sacrifices,” he said. “It won’t be forever.”
Ruth was quiet. “I’ll donate money,” she said finally. “I’ll write a check for a thousand dollars, all right? That’s the best I can do.”
Henry turned his head to glance back at me. “Mama’s right, Tess,” he said. “I don’t want you working in the hospital either. You can be one of those people who collects donations. They’re desperate for any help they can get.”
* * *
In bed that night I lay awake thinking about my life as it was right now. My secretive, money-hiding husband stayed out many more nights than it would take for him to work on the factory’s books. I had to face Lucy’s place setting at the table every night. I was hated by my mother-in-law and disliked by many people in town. I was unable to do the work I loved and I still longed for a man I couldn’t have.
I prickled at the memory of the car ride home. My nursing skills disparaged. Ruth and Henry telling me what I could and could not do. And then I remembered my last visit with Reverend Sam, how I’d felt listened to and comforted in his presence. I needed to see him again, I thought. Sooner rather than later.