about it enough,” was Judy’s reply.
“Well I guess that leaves me.” I said. “I want to be a journalist. Maybe I’ll be lucky and get a job at The Washington Post or The Times Herald or The Evening Star. Maybe I’ll write an advice column, and all of you can send me your problems, which I’ll try to solve as best I can.” We all laughed again and then I got serious. “My one dream is to someday write a bestselling novel.”
Then our discussion turned to more important things—what everyone’s plans for the weekend were, what movies were playing, and what plans, if any, were on tap when school let out in a few short weeks.
That summer Judy and I landed our first real jobs outside of babysitting. We both went to work for the government. Billy’s mom alerted us when recruitment for the temporary jobs was scheduled, and we ended up working for two different divisions of the Navy Department’s Bureau of Aeronautics located in the numerous temporary buildings on Constitution Avenue. It was fun, and it felt good earning money of our own. We had a deal with our parents. We put half of what we earned in the bank, and the other half we spent on clothes and cosmetics.
From time to time, we treated ourselves to a show at Lowe’s Capital Theatre downtown on F Street. For less than $1.00, we saw a movie, short subjects, Pathe News, cartoons, and a live stage show backed up by the Sam Jack Kaufman orchestra. Once, when Bill Lawrence from the Arthur Godfrey Show was the headliner, we sat in the third row. He was so good looking, and as he sang, we swooned and screamed and thought we had surely died and gone to heaven!
On July 27, 1953, a cease-fire was signed with North Korea and our involvement in the Korean War was soon to be over. Repatriation of the prisoners of war began in September. At the time of the ceasefire, 8,000 Americans were missing in action, the great majority assumed to have been murdered by North Korean soldiers after surrendering or when found wounded. Many that did return home would ultimately suffer from postwar psychological problems for the rest of their lives.
September 1953 began our senior year at Eastern. We had not heard from Su Ling and An Lei since their hasty departure over two years before. Judy and I often thought about them and spoke about them, but we never heard a word.
The first half of our senior year passed quickly. But as 1954 dawned, and we began our final senior semester, the dam suddenly broke.
In January, my father called a family meeting. We had never had a family meeting before. My brother was still away in the service, so it was just my mother, my father, and me. I can still remember that he seemed nervous as he began speaking, and it started to freak me out making me think that something was definitely wrong.
“Sara, what we have to tell you is not a decision that we considered and made lightly. We have pondered our options for many months. We didn’t leave you out of our thought process because we didn’t want your input or want you involved, but because we felt this being your senior year, we didn’t want any distractions to deter you from your studies or plans for college.
“I have been offered a Grant by the National Institutes of Health to study childhood diseases and work with a team of doctors and researchers to develop inoculations to prevent them. Their first and foremost priority is a polio vaccine. It is quite an honor, and an area I have been interested in for quite some time.
“After much discussion, consideration, and your mother’s urging, I have decided to accept the Grant. My work begins in September. I’m in the process of selling my practice, and I’m quite pleased that several people I have been speaking with have shown a genuine interest in it. There is still the need for a pediatrician in the neighborhood, and I would prefer not to simply close the office.
“Since you will be attending George Washington University in the fall,
“Well I guess that leaves me.” I said. “I want to be a journalist. Maybe I’ll be lucky and get a job at The Washington Post or The Times Herald or The Evening Star. Maybe I’ll write an advice column, and all of you can send me your problems, which I’ll try to solve as best I can.” We all laughed again and then I got serious. “My one dream is to someday write a bestselling novel.”
Then our discussion turned to more important things—what everyone’s plans for the weekend were, what movies were playing, and what plans, if any, were on tap when school let out in a few short weeks.
That summer Judy and I landed our first real jobs outside of babysitting. We both went to work for the government. Billy’s mom alerted us when recruitment for the temporary jobs was scheduled, and we ended up working for two different divisions of the Navy Department’s Bureau of Aeronautics located in the numerous temporary buildings on Constitution Avenue. It was fun, and it felt good earning money of our own. We had a deal with our parents. We put half of what we earned in the bank, and the other half we spent on clothes and cosmetics.
From time to time, we treated ourselves to a show at Lowe’s Capital Theatre downtown on F Street. For less than $1.00, we saw a movie, short subjects, Pathe News, cartoons, and a live stage show backed up by the Sam Jack Kaufman orchestra. Once, when Bill Lawrence from the Arthur Godfrey Show was the headliner, we sat in the third row. He was so good looking, and as he sang, we swooned and screamed and thought we had surely died and gone to heaven!
On July 27, 1953, a cease-fire was signed with North Korea and our involvement in the Korean War was soon to be over. Repatriation of the prisoners of war began in September. At the time of the ceasefire, 8,000 Americans were missing in action, the great majority assumed to have been murdered by North Korean soldiers after surrendering or when found wounded. Many that did return home would ultimately suffer from postwar psychological problems for the rest of their lives.
September 1953 began our senior year at Eastern. We had not heard from Su Ling and An Lei since their hasty departure over two years before. Judy and I often thought about them and spoke about them, but we never heard a word.
The first half of our senior year passed quickly. But as 1954 dawned, and we began our final senior semester, the dam suddenly broke.
In January, my father called a family meeting. We had never had a family meeting before. My brother was still away in the service, so it was just my mother, my father, and me. I can still remember that he seemed nervous as he began speaking, and it started to freak me out making me think that something was definitely wrong.
“Sara, what we have to tell you is not a decision that we considered and made lightly. We have pondered our options for many months. We didn’t leave you out of our thought process because we didn’t want your input or want you involved, but because we felt this being your senior year, we didn’t want any distractions to deter you from your studies or plans for college.
“I have been offered a Grant by the National Institutes of Health to study childhood diseases and work with a team of doctors and researchers to develop inoculations to prevent them. Their first and foremost priority is a polio vaccine. It is quite an honor, and an area I have been interested in for quite some time.
“After much discussion, consideration, and your mother’s urging, I have decided to accept the Grant. My work begins in September. I’m in the process of selling my practice, and I’m quite pleased that several people I have been speaking with have shown a genuine interest in it. There is still the need for a pediatrician in the neighborhood, and I would prefer not to simply close the office.
“Since you will be attending George Washington University in the fall,
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