Coming to America 1

The Welcoming Committee:
I had completed the college requirements to be a Registered Nurse in Toronto Canada, and was looking forward to my first nursing position.

Unfortunately a hiring freeze was in effect for area hospitals and my graduating class was facing a bleak job market. I was nineteen and one of the youngest graduates in my class. A poor college student, I was ready to start making some cold, hard cash.

The light at the end of the tunnel appeared when a group of nurse recruiters from Fort Smith, Arkansas arrived at our nursing school. They regaled our graduating class with facts, figures and a slide presentation that showed nurses water skiing, disco dancing and sunbathing.

We were hooked.

The ‘sunbathing’ part was the biggest draw as we Canadian nurses typically spent six months of the year in snow and another three months in rain.

Twenty-six of us signed up to work at Sparks Regional Medical Center on the spot. We had no idea where Fort Smith was - but it was in “the states” and the weather had to be a whole lot better.

Our flight to Fort Smith was in August and included three airplane changes. I suppose that should have clued me into what could lay ahead of us but my nineteen-year-old “city-fied’ brain only had visions of handsome men in three piece suits, Wall Street, palm trees. Rodeo Drive and cocktails in fancy glasses.

As the plane was preparing to land in Fort Smith, we were looking out the window of our aircraft and could see nothing but trees. "What did we get ourselves into?” Stepping out of the airplane, the blanket of heat was like no other I’ve ever experienced.

We had never stepped onto a “tarmac” before and (for some unknown reason) really got a kick out of it.

Hospital representatives from Nursing, Dietary, Housekeeping, etc. were waiting for us and standing in a receiving line began introducing themselves. Soon, we were traveling with them to our new apartment complex, “The El Conquistador”.

As we approached "El Con" - we couldn't help but notice the numbers of people lining the driveway with lawn chairs and beer coolers, ‘horseshoe’ games in full tilt. Apparently, they had been waiting for our arrival. They were all men and we were the attraction. Word had gotten out that twenty-six single Canadian nurses were arriving and it looked as though every single guy within a fifty-mile radius was there to check us out.  Part 2: The Welcoming Committee

Coming to America 2

It Could Be Worse...
The Welcoming Committee couldn’t have been nicer. Several of the guys came by our apartments with handwritten “business cards” detailing their names, addresses and phone numbers accompanied with offers to show us around town. The hospital had provided us with sheets and towels, a fruit basket and disposable cutlery and dishware. We were set.

None of us had cars so we became regulars with ‘The Razorback Cab Company’. A “Razorback” is the University of Arkansas’ mascot – a really big mean-looking red pig and oh my God, It gets worse. The pig was so popular that everyone (except for us) knew what ‘calling the hogs’ meant and ‘Pig-Calling Contests’ were fairly popular. ‘Calling the Hogs’ wasn’t very pretty but after a few drinks, it was easy. Ahem.

According to a University of Arkansas Website...."Although historians aren’t exactly sure of the exact date, a group of Arkansas football fans at some point during the 1920s are believed to have been the first to “call the Hogs” during a game. Spontaneous “hog calls” have been known to break out in airports, malls, restaurants and hotels all across the country. The words to the Hog call are simple: 'Woooooooooo, Pig! Sooie! “Woooooooooo, Pig! Sooie! “Woooooooooo, Pig! Sooie! Razorbacks!' Correctly calling the Hogs takes some practice. It starts with [a little alcohol and] both hands raised high into the air, fingers waving as the volume increases during the word Woooooooooo. The arms pump down on the word Pig and then back into the air on the word Sooie."
Speaking of drinking, I ran into a little snag when I first tried to gain entry into one of Fort Smith’s discos. For starters, it was law that you had to be a ‘member’ of any place that offered mixed drinks. For some reason, “Redneck Bars” were exempt. I guess it was because they only served beer. Secondly, the legal drinking age in Arkansas was twenty-one. I, being a Registered Nurse, responsible for the care of cardiac patients and licensed to administer narcotics had to provide fake I.D. to gain admission.

On our days off from work, we would hang out at the pool and/or go to ‘Central Mall” during the day, go disco dancing at night and drink ‘Wild Turkey’and coke. We were assimilating nicely to Fort Smith and soon started to make friends with native Arkansans. It was then that we learned of a few ‘peculiarities?’ I guess ‘squirrel-hunting’ was not peculiar to the natives but when you are raised in the city by a moose hunting Newfoundlander, I would think that those cute little squirrels would be completely obliterated with one rifle shot. When I asked a ‘squirrel-hunter’… “What is left of them after you shoot them?” He answered “Enough to make ‘Squirrel Chili”. Call me prissy but I have yet to eat a squirrel.

Considering the fact that we all spoke English, I noticed several differences. The expressions “Huh-uh and Uh-huh” were two very different things altogether. “Huh-uh means “No” and “Uh-huh” means “Yes” or if elongated “Uh-huhhhhh” means “You’re welcome”. ‘Fixin’ meant ‘preparing’, ‘coke’ was any kind of soft drink, as in…“I’m fixin’ to get me a Coke”. That same person would return with 7-Up. Despite our differences though, the people of Fort Smith will always hold a special place in my heart as they were so warm and welcoming to us, eh?  Part 3: Hang Around Fort Smith Awhile

Coming to America 3

Hang Around Fort Smith A While
We nurses could only do so much sunbathing and drinking without ending up looking like leather bags with bloodshot eyes so, on occasion we would ‘soak in’ the local culture.

Fort Smith was known for Judge Parker “The Hanging Judge”. Over the years, Judge Parker sentenced 160 men to death by hanging. The slogan, “Hang Around Fort Smith A While” was actually posted on billboards, T-shirts and mugs as part of the city’s ad campaign. Eww. Points of interest in Ft. Smith included The Courthouse and Gallows where there was room for three hangings to occur simultaneously. Nice. Another claim to fame was the fact that Belle Starr a notorious outlaw and sometime 'madam' owned a house of ill repute located on the train line conveniently very near to The Ft. Smith Train Depot. Reportedly, Jesse James and his gang frequented it regularly.The military base of Fort Chaffee also called Fort Smith home and was where a young Elvis Presley was inducted into the Army and recieved his military haircut.

So much for the culture and history of Fort Smith.


Elvis' haircut at Ft. Chaffee and the outlaw, Belle Starr

Alrighty then, back to drinking at the pool.

Sparks Regional Medical Center, was wonderful. We were given positions in the areas that interested us most and were oriented thoroughly. I was on a Telemetry floor and was caring for heart patients. One morning, during my orientation my preceptor (trainer) asked me to administer a mouthwash of hydrogen peroxide and water to a little old lady. She was unsure as to why this had to be done but that it was ordered none-the-less. When I explained to the patient that she was to swish the liquid around in her mouth and then spit it out, she did as I had instructed. When I saw what she had spat out – I panicked. The little lady was African-American and the contents in the basin were black! Did she have a tumor? Was the inside of her mouth sloughing off? I thought she looked OK - but at this rate, I just knew it was only a matter of time. I raced back to the nurse’s station with basin in hand showing the sludge to anyone who would look... my preceptor gently put her arm around me and sweetly said, “Honey, have you never seen snuff before?” Seen it? I had never even heard of it.

Ground Snuff Tobacco

My real education had begun.

My Arkansas nursing colleagues were so incredibly helpful and kind. They demonstrated as much care and compassion towards me as they did their patients. I thank them for being such incredible role models and setting a high standard for me during a very impressionable period of my life.  Part 4: Moving On

Coming to America 4

Moving On...Snuff, chewing tobacco, rifle practice, horseshoes, squirrel killings, pick up trucks, “Wild turkey”, razorbacks and rednecks. A little over a year had passed since I arrived in Fort Smith. I had bought and learned to drive a car, ignorantly chewed ‘a plug’ of Redman” chewing tobacco (and promptly vomited), was getting pretty good at tossing Horseshoes and shot a rifle at some tin cans . It was about all I could take. I was not cut out for this. Several of my nursing class graduates had returned to Canada, one married an American and some traveled to other cities in the U.S. When my roommate announced she would be returning to Canada, I decided to move on.

The thought of returning to The Great White North didn’t interest me at all. I had become accustomed to sunshine and didn’t want to leave it behind so, I hopped in my Chevette and headed for Southwestern Bell Telephone Company (SWB). I presumed that SWB would have telephone books for most major U.S. cities (as this was way pre-internet). My research began and ended with The Yellow Pages for Dallas, Houston and New Orleans. I scribbled down the phone numbers of only those hospitals that displayed the largest ads.

The first hospital that returned my call was Baylor University Medical Center in Dallas, Texas. Baylor arranged for an interview, took care of my air and ground transportation to Dallas and provided a room for me at the Baylor Nursing School Residence. Following my interview, I was introduced to another Canadian nurse, who had been working at Baylor for a couple of years. She invited me out to dinner and brought me to the happening place at the time – TGI Fridays on Greenville Avenue. It was everything I had dreamed of … handsome guys in three-piece suits and cocktails in fancy glasses... Who could ask for more?  Part 5: A Friend in Dallas

Coming to America 5

My New Friend, Earl.
Moving to Dallas was a piece of cake. My new apartment was arranged through the hospital. I sold my car for the first month’s rent and security deposit. After all, I really didn’t need a car anyway as a city the size of Dallas would surely have a super mass transit system a la Toronto, New York, London or Paris. A friend’s Dad offered to drive me to Dallas and off we went.

My new furnished apartment was perfect and located about seven or eight miles from the hospital. Knowing that it would take me a while to get used to the transit system, I called a cab to take me to the grocery store. Dallas was kinda 'spread out' and the nearest grocery store was about three miles away. I had expected neighborhood markets. Oh well. There was a 7-eleven within walking distance.

About one and one-half hours later, the cab arrived. Apparently, cabs were not plentiful in Dallas and according to my gravel-voiced cowboy-hatted cab driver, and new best friend, Earl, “everybody has a car here”. When I asked about Dallas’ transit system, Earl snickered and in heavy southern drawl answered “Ayyy what?” It turns out that Dallas didn’t have a real transit system. It was rudimentary and unreliable, virtually non-existent. I was crushed, broke and car-less. I made a deal with Earl to come back and pick me up from the grocery store in an hour. He did.

Sitting in my new apartment, feeling sorry for myself and without a friend in the world (except for Earl), I started questioning my decision-making abilities. Why did I sell my car when I didn’t know that I would need one in Dallas? Why did I choose a city where I didn’t know a soul? Would I have enough money to last me until I get my first paycheck?

I recall my Fort Smith friends telling me how ‘brave’ I was for moving to Dallas, alone. I realized now that ‘bravery’ didn't have a lot to do with it but that ‘stupidity’ surely did. I was miserable. Part 6: Twist of Fate