First Born

“How did you feel when your first child was born?” asked my first child.

What could I respond? “Wonderful, bewitched, enchanted, awesome, thrilled, the happiest I’d ever been,” was what she probably wanted to hear.

Was all that true? You bet! But there was more, nothing is that simple. There was a lot that led up to her birth and a few things from after that should be included for a fuller understanding of that hot summer’s day my first child came into the world.

In January of 1970 Mary’s father and I had returned from the South  – – South Carolina and Florida to be specific  – – where we had volunteered as VISTA volunteers for almost a year. We came home because I was pregnant and wanted to be close to family. We got an apartment on the first floor in a three-flat apartment building at 80th and Marshfield. The neighborhood was, in the parlance of the day, “changing” which made the rent affordable and we didn’t mind the integration taking place. In fact, we welcomed it  – –  we both had been active in civil rights since high school.

As I hadn’t yet finished college, I went back to Loyola part-time and Bob went to work for the US Office of Economic Opportunity (OEO). We didn’t own a car, so we commuted downtown by taking the Ashland Avenue Bus to the El station at 63rd and Loomis and then caught the El for downtown. The El (short for Elevated tracks for trains) were first built in Chicago in 1892. The streets were becoming clogged with horses, carts and carriages so the Elevated trains were designed to provide faster transportation above all the congestion. Of course, when I took the El the horses, etc. were long gone, but the old wooden structure still stood and provided faster transport to the downtown than almost any other mode.

I loved taking the El. If I wasn’t studying, I’d spend my time reading “Time” magazine or gazing out the window. The El’s route took us through alleys in some of Chicago’s poorest neighborhoods. The old buildings – – whether apartment buildings or single-family homes – – nearly always had wooden back porches, most of which appeared to be on the verge of falling from the buildings to which they were attached. From my vantage point on the train, I’d watch the activity of the families living there unfold mostly in quick glimpses. . . a woman hanging laundry from lines stretched across the length of the porch, old men sitting and smoking a cigarette, children running in and out. On hot days, the doors were always wide open trying to catch a breeze and bring it in the house. There were no air conditioning units in these apartments or homes. The people I spied on from the train were mostly living on the edges of society, barley getting by. I’d sit and wonder about their lives. I certainly did not come from wealth, but I knew these folks were a lot worse off than anyone I knew.

One day, coming back from class, I was sitting on the El daydreaming when some young kid grapped my purse right off my lap and ran out the door just as it was closing. He never touched me, and I wasn’t hurt, but I was considerably shaken. I got off at the next stop to report it. When the old-country Irish policeman took my report and noticed by pregnant belly, he took the time to drive me to my parents’ home. Bob and I went out to get a car that night, and I never took the elevated train again.

Summer came, and it was hot. Like the people living along the El, we had no air conditioning in our apartment. Our bedroom had two doors, one on each side. As the summer progressed and the heat intensified, I’d put a floor fan in each of the doors directed at the bed and I’d lay on it is hoping for relief.

We had a house guest that summer too. Millard Perry, I think was his name. He was a teenager we worked with in Clemson, S.C. while in VISTA. We knew his family well and they had agreed it would be a good idea for him to live with us for a couple of months and get to know the big city and earn some money. We got him a job in one of the poverty programs so prelavent at the time. Because our neighborhood was still mostly white, Millard, who was African American, had to cross to the east side of Ashland (where the Blacks lived) to hang out. Millard, who I think may have been related to Refrigerator Perry, went home in late July. I spent the remaining weeks of my pregnancy laying on the bed in front of those fans hoping relief from the heat.

I woke in the early morning hours of August 12th with pains in my back that seemed to come and go at regular intervals. No one had told me labor could start with back pain, so I went about my business. I had a scheduled appointment with my doctor that morning, so I dressed and drove downtown with Bob. We parked at OEO which was located around 1400 south Wabash. I started a leisurely walk to the Dr. Towne’s office in the Pittsfield building on Washington Blvd.

As I passed DePaul University, I stopped in the chapel to say a prayer for a healthy baby and for a safe delivery. On my way out, I stopped in their bookstore and brought a book. I also purchased a poster which I hung in the baby’s room after she was born. It showed two little girls hugging – on black, one white. I don’t remember what it said, probably something inspirational, but the message was clear from the photo. I hoped to raise my children with that message: it was a message of love and equality for all.

The pains in my back were getting more frequent now and I began to suspect the pains may be connected to my pregnancy. Could I be in labor, I wondered on my walk to the Pittsfield Building. I was. As soon as I told Dr. Towne of the back pains, she frowned, examined me and told me to have my husband pick me up asap and get to the hospital.

I sat at her desk in the small examining room and dialed Bob’s number at work. I remember waiting for them to get him out of a meeting and looking out the window overlooking Marshall Field’s and the streets below. It was getting close to noon and the street was clogged with shoppers and office workers going to lunch. I remember thinking that labor wasn’t going to be easy and wishing I could make this all go away. I’d rather be joining someone below for lunch. I wanted the baby, but not the labor.

Bob’s voice on the other end of the phone brought me back to reality. He soon picked me up, and being young and stupid, we flew right past Mercy Hospital and went all the way home to pick up my bag. Somehow, in our minds, I couldn’t go through labor and delivery with that packed bag.

We were fortunate. We arrived back at the hospital about 1:30 pm, four hours before I delivered. In those days there were no epidurals. I begged the doctor for gas, but she wouldn’t administer it until I was on the delivery table. By then, having gone through labor for four hours and knowing the baby was coming, I didn’t want it. I wanted to be awake to welcome my baby.

She had other ideas, and in those days, the doctor’s ideas prevailed. I remember being on the table and looking at a big clock on the wall, it read 5:39. Then the gas mask hit my face and nothing. When I awoke, still on the delivery table, they told me I had a beautiful baby girl – – at 5:40! They put that darned mask on me for one minute before my beautiful Mary Eileen came into my life!

Mary Eileen and proud mother

Then someone handed me this tiny, pink baby wrapped up tight in blanket and my world changed forever. I was in love like never before. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I was bursting with happiness and awe for this little life I held in my arms.

I felt wonderful, bewitched, enchanted, awesome, thrilled – – and the happiest I’d ever been.