Started to Babysit

I started babysitting when I was twelve for my cousins, and I was making a whole fifty cents an hour. But I did it enough, so it did add up. I was always very careful with my money. My brother and sisters came to me when they needed money. They never seemed to have any, so they came to me. I had a book in which I kept a log of when they borrowed from me to ensure I got it back. I was the youngest; that might be why I had money, and they didn’t.

When I turned thirteen, I was babysitting for more than just family. Word got around, and I had to keep a book for when and where I was going. I was making one dollar an hour, except for those family members; they were paying me seventy-five cents an hour. The family jobs were slowing down, and I had more and more people calling me. I did this for many years. One job that sticks in my mind: when I was fifteen, I started watching a child in Mashomack, which was the gun club on Shelter Island. It was a private club. I didn’t really like being in the manor house because I had heard many stories of it being haunted. However, being up in the rooms with the child, I knew that there were always people there, either in the kitchen or just sitting around enjoying the club. It was a little hard at first because, when I took the child down to the beach, it was the same beach where my dad was found. Looking back, it must have been fate that brought me to this job in this location.

One day I received a call. They said they had a family that was staying in the “slave quarters,” as they called it, in Mashomack Preserve-yes, this is the same place my dad was found. I didn’t know much about that building, but it was a job, so I took it. They were a really nice couple, but I had never looked after a baby that was only two weeks old. They knew this and told me she would be sleeping and the mom would come back to feed her. They also had a two-year-old, which wasn’t a problem. I told my mom I was nervous about caring for such a young baby, so she told me if I needed her, she would come.

I think I checked on the baby one hundred times, if not two hundred, and she did sleep the entire time between her mom coming back to feed her. I had a lot of fun with the little boy. We played many games together. One thing I do remember: when I would go look at his sister, he would say, “She’s okay.” I guess he had heard that from his parents, so he was repeating them. I babysat for them every weekend that summer. This job didn’t feel like work; it was a pleasure spending time with them. By the end of the summer, I finally got to hold the baby and feed her. They paid me a lot more as the summer went on, so I had to turn some people down because they had me booked with them, and that was okay with me.

The next summer, there was another family that I got to know, and they asked me if I would like to help them with their three-year-old when they went to Cape Cod. They told me they would be coming to the island for the weekend, and then they would go back to New York City for the night. Then, in the morning, I would drive with the mother and the son to Cape Cod while the father would fly their plane there. I told them I would have to ask my mom, but I was sure it would be okay, so they told me I could let them know the next weekend when they came out. Again they booked me for every weekend that summer and some in the fall.

When I got home, I asked my mom about going to Cape Cod, and she was fine with it. This was going to be my first and only time to Cape Cod. In recent years, I have driven by, but never have I gone back. Another thing I had never done was sleep in the city, so I knew this was going to be a good experience. They were going to spend a week there, and I was their live-in babysitter. When the first week in August came, I was with them on the island Saturday night, and then Sunday morning, we went to their apartment. I don’t remember exactly what floor their apartment was on, but it was up high; I do remember that. You could hardly hear the horns on the cars. I wasn’t sure about being so high up, but I found it to be a lot quieter than on the street. We didn’t leave until later that afternoon, so she showed me where the stroller was in case I wanted to take him for a walk.

I said, “No, that’s okay, we can stay in here.” She said he likes to take walks to Central Park, and that was right around the block. She gave me a key to the apartment and told me to have a good day at the park. Then she gave me some money and told me to buy lunch for the two of us. She said that we were going to leave around five o’clock. When she got home from work, we gathered the last few items, loaded the car, and we were on our way to Cape Cod. Her husband went to check on the plane and said he would meet us there. The next day, we went to the small airport where he had landed his plane, and he was offering rides to anyone interested. He asked me, but as I was holding the baby, I declined, adding that I really didn’t like planes.

After the plane rides were done, we went back to the house we were renting for the week, which was on the water, so we all headed down to the beach for the afternoon. It was a wonderful time. I had never been to Cape Cod, and the family treated me as one of their own. On Monday morning, we dropped off the dad at the airport and then began our journey back to the city. I stayed with them again that night. After breakfast, we went downtown to window shop for a while. Then the mom said it was time for me to head for the train station. She told me she was going to hail a cab. When I got into the cab, she said, “I’m going to tell you to call me as soon as you get to the station.” But then she added, “You don’t have to-just go to where the phones are and make it look like you’re making a call.” This would give the impression to the cab driver that I was really calling her, just to make him think twice about any potential misconduct. In the ’70s, this was a common precaution, but it’s not something I’d do today.

After I approached the phones, I followed the signs to the Long Island tracks, found the train I needed, bought a ticket, and was on my way to Greenport. The train stopped right at the ferry, so I called my mom, and she was waiting for me when I arrived. I watched their son for a few years and always enjoyed hearing from them. Eventually, they mentioned that they might not come out as frequently, but if they did, they would call me. They eventually stopped visiting, but that was fine as I had many other families that I helped out with their children.

We had two fire departments on the island: the Heights and the Center, but that’s a story in itself. This photo was taken at the Bicentennial 1976 parade, featuring my pop in one of the antique trucks. This ended up being his last parade. Pop was ninety-one and wasn’t living alone anymore. My sister moved back to the island from Pennsylvania. She had a daughter who was two years old. When the family found out she was moving back, they asked her if she would like to move into the farmhouse. She thought this would be great. This way, she had a place to live, and Pop had someone in the house with him. Given that he loved children, having a two-year-old in the house was a joy.

Two years passed, and Pop began to grow weaker. He needed more and more help getting from his chair to his bedroom. So at bedtime, I made sure I was there to help put him to bed. Just after his 92nd birthday, he had grown very weak. The doctor came to check on him and told us it wouldn’t be long, possibly not even a week. Though Pop was still alert, he expressed a wish to stay in his home; he didn’t want to be in a hospital. We assured the doctor we could take care of him and that he could stay home, where he wanted to be.

The doctor agreed, stipulating that as long as Pop was comfortable and not in pain, we could care for him at home. He said he’d visit daily to check on him. Pop did well under our care. By the end of the week, Pop drifted to sleep and never woke up. When we checked on him, we knew he had passed. I stayed by his bed until the doctor arrived. We expected him early; he usually came around 7:00 a.m. before opening his office. Upon entering the kitchen, my sister informed him that Pop had passed away in his sleep that night.

Afterward, the doctor went to Pop’s bedroom, examined him, and then proceeded to the kitchen to make necessary phone calls. My mom entered with my brother, joining me in the bedroom. My sister had called her while waiting for the doctor. Then my Uncle Bill, Aunt Mildred, Uncle Wes, and Aunt Babe all arrived as they lived within walking distance of the farmhouse. My Aunt Helen and Uncle Lou, who resided by the school in the town center, came next. All of Pop’s children and his particularly cherished grandchildren were by his side.

The doctor gave us some time to be with him. Afterward, he said, “The ambulance will be coming to take him to the hospital where they will officially declare him deceased.” He then walked up to my sister and me, gave us a big hug, and said, “You both did really well. Your pop was able to stay in his home, and you made that possible. Your pop loved you three like you were his own children. You filled a space in his heart that was broken when he lost his son; you were very special to him. He spoke about you every time I saw him. He was so proud of the way you grew up.” As he finished telling us this, the ambulance pulled up to the farmhouse. The doctor then asked, “Could you go into the living room so the attendants can prepare your grandfather?” My sister asked if we could have a moment alone with Pop. “No problem,” he replied, “I’ll tell them you need a few minutes.”

After he left, my sister took our hands, said a special goodbye to Pop, and led us toward the living room. However, I asked for a minute alone. She acquiesced but urged me to be quick. At the time, I was either seventeen or eighteen. She informed the ambulance crew that I was still with Pop. My mom comforted my siblings until I reappeared. Recalling this, I’m filled with emotion. My pop was special to me, and writing this brings back those painful memories. I didn’t linger in the room; I whispered my love, told him to greet my grandma and dad, kissed him goodbye, and knew it was our final farewell. Exiting the room, my mom embraced me, offering her warmth and support.

The attendants arrived with a stretcher but waited patiently for us. One of them approached me and assured they’d handle Pop gently. He then kindly asked if I’d like to accompany them. My mom left the decision to me. Responding positively, he guided me toward the stretcher and Pop’s room. Another attendant, a lady, asked if she could stay beside me during the process, to which I agreed. As they readied Pop, the same man asked if I was okay. I nodded, noticing that my tears had momentarily ceased, grateful for that final opportunity to be near him.

They lifted him and placed him gently on the stretcher and then put the straps around him. Then the lady standing with me said, “Okay, let’s lead the way out.” She took my hand, and we walked in front of the stretcher to the ambulance. We stood off to the side as they lifted him in. I said bye again as they were closing the doors. The lady stayed with me as the ambulance was pulling away. After they had turned off the lane and we couldn’t see them anymore, she turned toward me and gave me a big hug and told me I did really well in there. She then told me that had never happened before, as far as. she knew, and she was so glad I was in there with them. Before she left my side, she told me that I was a strong person and that it showed “how close the two of you were.” I asked her if she would thank the man who invited me in, and I would always treasure this memory. She told me he knew, but she would tell him. I then turned to her and said, “Thank you for standing with me.” She told me that she was glad to be there for me.

Then she walked over to her car, waved goodbye, and drove off down the lane. After she left, I looked up at the house and everyone was still inside. Then I decided to go home; I wanted to be alone, not in the house with all my aunts and uncles. My mom said she saw me walking down the lane and she knew I needed to be alone. It wasn’t long when my brother came home. He was a lot like my dad in many ways, people told me. He was very quiet and a little shy around people. I was also very shy as a young child. My brother and I liked to be alone when there was something going on, when there were many people coming over to be with the family.

Pop was well known around the island from when he delivered milk and eggs and then working down in the heights mowing the lawns. So when the day came for the wake, I knew a lot of people would be there for him, as well as all of my family. The funeral home was off the island in Southold, and I told my mom that I didn’t want to go. She asked me if I was sure, and I told her yes, that I had said bye to Pop already, and I didn’t want to see him in a casket. I then told her that I was going to work down at the Pridwin Hotel where I worked, and I would look across the water from the hotel. I worked in the laundry room, and when I got down to the hotel my boss, Mr. Petry, was going into the kitchen. He told me he was sorry to hear about my grandfather, and then he asked me why I was there at the hotel. I told him that I couldn’t go to the wake, and I decided to come to work instead.

He said that would be fine, and he told me he was going for the evening service. So I started up the hill to the laundry room. I liked the laundry because I was my own boss, and I could work extra time if it was needed. I worked until five o’clock and went home for a little while and had something to eat. Then I went back to the hotel at seven; the evening service was at seven. When I entered the laundry room, I started up the machines and then walked over to the window that faced the water. I talked to Pop for awhile and told him I knew he was in a good place and that I would see him again someday. I felt something around me, and I knew it was Pop coming to say good-bye. As I was growing up, I found that I did have a sixth sense, and I have had many experiences when people were in trouble and needed help. I never fine-tuned this because I was, and still am, a little afraid of the extra senses. I did look into it, and there were many cautions to look out for, and I didn’t want to go into the wrong realm.

The next day was the funeral for Pop; I did go to the service. The church was full, just like it was with my dad. I don’t remember the funeral service, but I know I was there. After the service, we had everyone come to the farmhouse for a reception. I do remember all the people who came from the funeral; I had never seen so much food as on this day at Pop’s house. Everyone came in with food in their arms, and they walked around and talked to the family about their memories of Pop. One recurring memory was of him driving down the road with the handles of the mower sticking out from the front of his car.

My Aunt Babe was standing by me when someone was talking about Pop’s car, and she jumped into the conversation. She looked at me and started to say that Pop had promised his car to her. “So please leave the car here, and I will take care of changing it over to myself.” She then added, “I see Pop has been letting you use his car, but now it is mine.”

My sister, who was also standing there, commented, “Okay, here we go with the first family fight.”

Aunt Babe looked at her and asked, “What do you mean by that?”

My sister replied, “You’ll see.”

That’s when I intervened, “I’m sorry, Aunt Babe, the car isn’t yours. It’s mine. Pop sold it to me last December after my sixteenth birthday in November.”

Aunt Babe exclaimed, “No way!”

I firmly responded, “Yes, I’m sorry. He turned the registration over to me, and that’s the way it is. You can’t do anything about it.”

Her face turned red, and my sister couldn’t resist remarking again, “First family fight.”

If looks could kill, both of us would’ve been dead. Mom, noticing the escalating tension, walked over and declared to Aunt Babe, “The car is Debbie’s, and that’s the end of it,” or so we thought.

Everyone within earshot knew what was happening, and they knew I would stand my ground. I couldn’t believe Aunt Babe was so mad. Pop had the right to sell the car if he wanted to, and that should have been the end of it. But not for Aunt Babe.