What follows is lifted (plagiary!) from what Carol Cooke wrote intending it for one of a series of essays on former classmates.  Charlotte Wilson’s was printed, but mine never made it.  By the way, Carol is still a cheerleader for THS, but no longer wears the uniform.  Unfortunately, she’s chronically ill, and unable to attend the reunion she worked so hard to get going.

I continued my education after THS by attending Staten Island Community College.  I received an AAS in Business Administration and thought I would go out and knock the corporate world on its rear by being the best private secretary ever.  Wrong.  (I developed a hatred of the corporate world, but made quite a bit of money.)

After a five-year marriage to Ned Finley (class of ‘57), I left my job with financial consultants, and continued my education at Richmond College.  (Notice my continuing loyalty to Staten Island.)  With financial aid and some help from my former employers, I was able to attend full-time.  The experience was life-changing.  I discover I was a feminist and took up a hippie lifestyle complete with lots of cheap (but good) food and lots of cheap (not so good) wine to entertain me. I made many friends, and somehow earned a BA in Psychology and MS in Counseling, both with honors.  (Not bad for a former Teachers’ Pest.)   These educational achievements enabled me to become the Director of the Camelot Counseling Center, where I discovered I was going to be poor but fulfilled as a worker in the world of not-for-profit.

In l978, I left Camelot and Staten Island and moved to Manhattan.  (33^rd Street between 1^st and 2^nd Aves.)  This was directly across the street from NYU Medical Center where I took a job as the Department Secretary (big deal in their world) for the Communications Department.  I was about to be vested when (in 1983) I was devastated with a rare disabling illness - Guillain-Barre Syndrome.  One day I was fine, the next paralyzed from head to toe and on a respirator.  I remained on the respirator for three months and was in “grave” condition at the onset.  I held insanity at bay by reciting (to myself, of course - couldn’t speak) Abou Ben Adhem which Margo and I had learned in the 8^th grade by giving it a “beat.”

After the respirator was removed, I entered NYU’s Rehab Center for another 8 months.  I was told there that I’d never walk again.  After a few days of incessant crying, I got mad.  I took on rehab with a vengeance, and now walk with the aid of one crutch.

I had been fiercely independent, but when I was discharged from NYU, I was still totally dependent.  (Couldn’t walk, turn over in bed, get up, etc.)  NYU wanted to place me in a nursing home, but remember my best bud Margo?  I had introduced her to my cousin with high hopes, and, lo and behold, they’ve now been married 35 years!  Margo and Tom took me to live with them in Lincroft, NJ.  After spending several months with them (and a nurse and more physical therapy), I went to live with my father in Cape Coral, Fla. for about 8 months.  Another best bud you may remember, Mickey Foster, had seen to it that my apartment and financial matters were maintained (not a small feat in Manhattan), and I returned, finally, in l985.

Despite severe residual nerve and muscle damage, I became a counselor at the Center for the Independence of the Disabled in New York, and ultimately became the Director of Advocacy.

By l994, however, I was becoming worn out by the daily grind, and gave in to being permanently disabled.

I took a trip to San Diego with the young woman who became my adopted daughter, Lori.  We decided this was the ideal place to move.  (NYC was getting harder and harder to handle.)  We took an apartment, went back to Manhattan to get packed, and we were back here within three months.  I spent some time looking for what I really wanted, and, in 2000, I purchased a condo in the wonderful community of Pacific Beach.   My daughter lives in a nearby community and makes my life easier and more enriched every day!  I also have a cat named “Lovey.”  Yes.  I’ve turned into the older-woman-living with cat.  Getting older exacerbates the remaining muscle damage, so I’m unable to attend the 50^th reunion of Tottenville High School’s Class of ‘58.