The Johnstown Girls

Chapter 10. Tuesday, May 2-Friday, May 5, 1989

225 T H E J O H N S T O W N G I R L S Tuesday, May 2– Friday, May 5, 1989 ■ “Who was your visitor?” Patricia Hays asks. She’s folding up the walker to put beside Anna’s bed. “You did really well today!” Yes, Hays is the one who is so curious about where Anna lived. “A woman I knew for a long time. She was the child of one of my son’s friends. I knew her when she was a little girl.” “Glad to see you had a visitor. Your son comes around?” “He was killed in the war.” “Which war?” These young people! “It was World War Two.” “Oh. That’s a long time ago.” “Yes. I didn’t have him for long, but I can see him still. He was a very wonderful young man.” “And you lived in the Hill with him?” Anna puts the poor girl out of her misery. “Yes, we did. My first husband died in World War One—that was 1918. Then I raised my son for a while. Then I met my second husband and he was—” she still has to revise mentally, from Negro to black to African American. “He was African American.” “So then you moved to the Hill?” “That’s right. There were people who didn’t much like the idea of us 226 K AT H L E E N G E O R G E in other parts of the city. We made them nervous. I had a good home in the Hill. I was happy there.” “Cool. And you must have made good friends because you had a visitor .” “I did have good friends there. My son’s good friend had a mother who was my good friend. The woman who came to see me was her grandchild.” “And does that mean your friend is gone now?” “A long time ago. Everybody is.” “Hmmm. That would be real hard. Do you want yesterday’s newspaper ? You never even opened it.” “Put it aside. Not much in the mood for it.” “What would you like to do?” “Nap. I guess it’s the big preparation. You know.” “Oh, heck, don’t talk like that.” Anna is settled in bed, so the girl leaves. Even here, even now, she is sure her life would get some censure from certain of the residents. Yes, things are much better for African Americans today, but they are not yet okay. And mixed marriages—some people still don’t like them. Miscegenation . What a word. Naps are usually easy for Anna—fifteen minutes, an hour sometimes, and she wakes refreshed. But this time she doesn’t go under. Perhaps there’s too much sun sneaking under the blind, too much noise in the hallway. Once more she wishes for a disaster—the nursing home washed away or bombed and her needed to tend to the wounded. Finally, she’d be at work again, making decisions! Then they would see what she’s worth. Then they would know that her body might tire more easily, but that she is a miracle in an emergency, knowing just how to care for people, how to provide comfort. Raising herself up, she puts on her bedside lamp, and takes up yesterday ’s newspaper. On the front page is a story of a black boy killed in gang crossfire. In the Hill. Oh, it wasn’t like this early on. Except for the riots in the ’60s and ’70s, there were plenty of calm times, good times. She even had a social life then, friends, jazz clubs, the most wonderful music ever, right there. Will was so hurt by these things in the news. 227 T H E J O H N S T O W N G I R L S “Stupid, crazy boys. How will we ever turn things around,” he would say. “Do everything right and still . . .” But he didn’t live long enough to see the gangs, the worst of it. Will Hoffman gave her her third name and the best part of her life. Anna Burkhardt had become Anna Raymond, then Anna Hoffman. The third part was definitely the best. Well, there was a fourth part, supposedly not so nice, at the beginning, but she doesn’t know who she was then, Anna something or other. She turns the pages, takes up...