New York - June, 1966

When Judy, who was a year older than me,  had finished College and started getting paid, she offered to fund my last year of College, to save Mom and Dad’s very meager bank account. Then when I finished college, I decided that part of my paying Judy back would be to buy her a ticket to visit me in New York, as I was there for a year doing a dietetic internship.

She came with one of her Minnesota friends, but she was very nervous about the idea, and nearly backed out. I had arranged for her to stay in a guest room in the United States Public Health Service Hospital nurses’ home - where I also had room, but in another wing. I wasn’t able to meet them at the airport, as I was working full time that week - our only vacation time having been taken with going home for New Years (couldn’t get Christmas off) and Easter.

On the weekend, we decided to have a trip around  Manhattan, and what a full day we had that first Saturday in June.

We took the Staten Island ferry to Manhattan, passing all the exciting landmarks like Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, the best nickel ride in the world as it was billed. Nowdays, I think it costs 50 cents, but it still is a wonderful trip, giving us the same sort of view of Manhattan’s skyline as those who come in on ocean liners.

We then took the subway as far as the Village. Always an exciting place, we walked the streets, perhaps not buying anything, but not being able to resist having our pictures drawn in charcoal by a young, skinny, bearded sidewalk artist. Judy was wearing her beige trench coat - sort of a uniform for her. I had on a sleeveless flowered top - mostly remembered because I still look at my picture frequently. He did the pictures very quickly - only a few minutes for each. I thought mine was very flattering, as he had made my lips much fuller than they are. We had them framed for our parents, but both took ours with us when the house was sold after Mom died.

We went to the United Nations building - and although I have a picture of me standing there in front, I don’t think we went inside. I think we did a bus tour around the most exciting spots (or maybe a boat trip) but then later in the afternoon, we went to the Museum of Modern Art to call in on our cousin, John Szarkowski, the director of the photography section at the time.

John saw us in his office for a few minutes and managed a bit of small talk - but he was busy. He said he would have invited us around for a meal that night, but Jill wasn’t feeling well. And in fact, he said, they had been going to go out to the New York Philharmonic Proms for a concert that evening, and since Jill was sick, they couldn’t go - but how would we like the tickets? We took them eagerly - very thrilled with the offer of such an exciting experience.
 
The concert hall was nearly empty when we arrived, but we showed our tickets and were ushered into a table in the centre of the floor - a very good place to view the concert. We had no idea what the tickets had cost. I felt a little underdressed - as we both looked pretty scruffy - and most of those coming into the concert hall looked fairly smart. But, nobody knew us, so how could it matter?

Before long, a couple joined us. The man said, “I’m sorry to have to ask you, but I wonder if you are in the right seats. Could I see your tickets please?”

So we showed him our tickets, and he had to agree they were the right ones.

“Can I ask you where you got the tickets?”

“Our cousin gave them to us as his wife was sick and they couldn’t go.”

“And could I ask who your cousin is?”

“John Szarkowski.”

“Ah,” said the man. “It is all clear now. I gave those tickets to John and his wife because I wanted them to view the pictures I have in the entry. But, now that I understand, I hope you will enjoy the concert. And please tell your cousin that I asked after him.”

During the interval we had a quick glance at the photographs, mostly of ballerinas doing their thing, but weren’t all that impressed. We wondered if John would have been either.

I cannot remember anything about the music -except that it was popular and light and we enjoyed it.

Afterwards, we had to get to an underground station to catch the train back to the ferry terminal. I wasn’t overly worried. I had done the trip at night before, on my own, and hadn’t had any problems. The train was nearly empty, and we got to the ferry terminal right on time.

The ferry had two decks, and there were lots of people travelling back on this June night - at perhaps 10.30 p.m. maybe a bit later. The trip takes just 30 minutes. We got on the boat, and then Judy said, “That man is looking at us oddly. I think I saw him on the underground train too.”

“Let’s go upstairs,” I said, so we went up to the top deck. He followed us. We sat down. He sat down near us.

We were both truly spooked by this time. “Let’s go and stand by that policeman.” I suggested, so we did. But we didn’t say anything to him. The man, who was probably in his mid 40’s, with a stocky build and wearing working clothes, and carrying a brown paper sack, hadn’t really threatened us in any way. He just made us nervous.

I knew that when we docked, we had to catch a bus back to the hospital. The bus station was full of alleys and I was confident that we should quickly get on our bus - and get away from this man, who not deterred by our nearness to the policeman, and had continued to follow us.

As soon as the boat docked, with our “friend” close behind us, we ran as fast as we could to the right alleyway. He was running behind us, but we were younger and faster. When we got there, I thought our bus was loading, and went to get on it - but it wasn’t the right number, so we quickly sat down on a bench and tried to look inconspicuous. The man, still running, caught the bus just as it was taking off.

What a relief! Whether he had intended to catch that bus, or whether he was really following us and assumed we had got on it, we shall never know.

We caught the right bus within a few minutes and got safely back to the hospital. But Judy couldn’t wind down. It had been such a scary time. So we got some cans of beer and went onto the roof of the nurses’ home where you get a wonderful view of Manhattan’s lights, and thought about how lucky we were, and what might have been.

“He might have had a gun in that bag.”

“He might have had his sandwiches.”