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Authors: Jacqueline Wein
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becoming models or actresses, Louise Sidway imagined herself a warden at a maximum security prison. Her innovative procedures and trusting rules would revolutionize the national penal system. She would be loved by the inmates, adored by the staff, revered by the whole country.
When she arrived in New York, full of her own importance and with her master’s degree in sociology, she had to take the civil service exam like everyone else. It was just her luck—that year the penitentiaries were full, not only of prisoners but of employees. And she felt overqualified to enroll in the Correctional Services Training Academy. So she accepted the next best thing offered to someone with her credentials. She planned to work only temporarily as a case worker for the Department of Family Assistance and Disability and Children and Family Services, which was how the Welfare Department had glamorized its name. But as she became more involved, Louise realized she’d probably never leave.
In the beginning, she wouldn’t admit that she enjoyed the power—the power of deciding who would get what. Who was entitled. The power of having people squirm before her, trying to please her so she’d sign the right papers. When she got into it with her therapist, she finally understood that it was more her need for power than her desire to reorganize the nation’s correctional facilities that had made her go in for criminology.
Louise came back quickly from her ego trip. With the steady stream of pathetic people she interviewed, her feeling of authority eventually wore off. She got no pleasure from being in command of poverty-stricken women trying to feed hungry babies or from controlling ambitious, willing men whose lack of education or language kept them unemployed. The thrill was gone. Instead, she got through her heavy caseload each day, trying not to care, trying not to get involved. She learned how to process the people like file numbers. She was good at objectivity, which was why she soon was promoted to a supervisor.
Every once in a while, somebody got to her. A lot of cases were referred to her. On the occasions when she immediately had an affinity for someone, it screwed up all her remoteness. Or she’d have an instant rapport with a person about whom she’d think, There but for the grace of God go I . Which is what happened with Yolanda Santiago. And Louise pulled in a few favors to get Yolanda in the back-to-work program of the Human Resources Administration without going to the end of the waiting list.
As Louise walked around Yolanda’s living room, lost in her own reflection, she absently patted the plastic cross hanging over the couch and thought, So much for my dreams of running a prison. What had happened to Yolanda Santiago’s dreams? Louise couldn’t make them come true, but she could at least help Yolanda to dream.
Chapter 21
Fibber McGee was too old to jump up, but he whined and pawed Eileen’s knee until she picked him up and sat him in her lap. Even though she held him tightly, his whole body vibrated. The pounding of his heart, loud and fast, pulsated through his bones, the echo thudding against Eileen’s palm.
She leaned closer to him, squeezing, and whispered behind his ear, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to let him hurt you. It’s okay, darling.” She swayed slightly on the pew-like seat, chanting “Sh-sh-sh” like “Ah-ah-baby.” She wasn’t at all self-conscious of her conversation because no embarrassment would prevent her from soothing her love. Besides, she wasn’t the only one. There was a whole cult sitting here, acknowledging one another’s presence with nods, commiserating with smiles at the next one trying to calm her animal. It could have been a London park, with nannies sitting on benches, rocking their carriage handles up and down. Instead of a veterinarian’s waiting room.
“Look over there, Mr. McGee. There, there, calm down. Can you believe that woman talking into a carrier, to a
When she arrived in New York, full of her own importance and with her master’s degree in sociology, she had to take the civil service exam like everyone else. It was just her luck—that year the penitentiaries were full, not only of prisoners but of employees. And she felt overqualified to enroll in the Correctional Services Training Academy. So she accepted the next best thing offered to someone with her credentials. She planned to work only temporarily as a case worker for the Department of Family Assistance and Disability and Children and Family Services, which was how the Welfare Department had glamorized its name. But as she became more involved, Louise realized she’d probably never leave.
In the beginning, she wouldn’t admit that she enjoyed the power—the power of deciding who would get what. Who was entitled. The power of having people squirm before her, trying to please her so she’d sign the right papers. When she got into it with her therapist, she finally understood that it was more her need for power than her desire to reorganize the nation’s correctional facilities that had made her go in for criminology.
Louise came back quickly from her ego trip. With the steady stream of pathetic people she interviewed, her feeling of authority eventually wore off. She got no pleasure from being in command of poverty-stricken women trying to feed hungry babies or from controlling ambitious, willing men whose lack of education or language kept them unemployed. The thrill was gone. Instead, she got through her heavy caseload each day, trying not to care, trying not to get involved. She learned how to process the people like file numbers. She was good at objectivity, which was why she soon was promoted to a supervisor.
Every once in a while, somebody got to her. A lot of cases were referred to her. On the occasions when she immediately had an affinity for someone, it screwed up all her remoteness. Or she’d have an instant rapport with a person about whom she’d think, There but for the grace of God go I . Which is what happened with Yolanda Santiago. And Louise pulled in a few favors to get Yolanda in the back-to-work program of the Human Resources Administration without going to the end of the waiting list.
As Louise walked around Yolanda’s living room, lost in her own reflection, she absently patted the plastic cross hanging over the couch and thought, So much for my dreams of running a prison. What had happened to Yolanda Santiago’s dreams? Louise couldn’t make them come true, but she could at least help Yolanda to dream.
Chapter 21
Fibber McGee was too old to jump up, but he whined and pawed Eileen’s knee until she picked him up and sat him in her lap. Even though she held him tightly, his whole body vibrated. The pounding of his heart, loud and fast, pulsated through his bones, the echo thudding against Eileen’s palm.
She leaned closer to him, squeezing, and whispered behind his ear, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to let him hurt you. It’s okay, darling.” She swayed slightly on the pew-like seat, chanting “Sh-sh-sh” like “Ah-ah-baby.” She wasn’t at all self-conscious of her conversation because no embarrassment would prevent her from soothing her love. Besides, she wasn’t the only one. There was a whole cult sitting here, acknowledging one another’s presence with nods, commiserating with smiles at the next one trying to calm her animal. It could have been a London park, with nannies sitting on benches, rocking their carriage handles up and down. Instead of a veterinarian’s waiting room.
“Look over there, Mr. McGee. There, there, calm down. Can you believe that woman talking into a carrier, to a
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