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November 2, 2008

Together Wendy We Can Live With the Sadness

I didn't even know she was sick.

I hadn't been in touch with Judy for years. Back in 2000, we'd worked together very closely on our attempt to help the nurses at Riverview Medical Center in Red Bank, New Jersey organize their union. She was one of the leaders at the Jersey Shore local, a hospital where Edward has led a strike back in 1992-1993. She was, and I do not exaggerate, one of the nicest people you could ever meet. She cared so much for her fellow nurses that she worked tirelessly to help them, even while raising her own family and working as a nurse in the recovery room. She got her RN in 1974... the year I was born.

She was always up for doing a meeting with a nurse from an unorganized hospital. I could call her on a couple of hours notice and she'd turn up at the diner in Red Bank, always early, always ready to talk with her colleagues about what they'd been able to achieve as organized nurses. And it was remarkable. The nurses at Jersey Shore taught a hospital system what it means to respect registered nurses. I've never met such a strong group of nurses, not anywhere, not at Temple, not at Crozer, not at Englewood. Jersey Shore nurses had been through a long strike together during the worst winter in memory, and they were not about to give up one inch of what they'd won. They set an example of what organized, empowered nurses can do when they stand up for themselves and their patients.

Judy was a living example of what it meant to be a Jersey Shore union nurse. Proud, absolutely, but also approachable, friendly, and always eager to help out her colleagues. She absolutely would not let her co-workers drown... not in the PACU and not on the organizing battle field.

When a nurse was fired at Riverview during the organizing campaign, Judy was immediately on the task of circulating petitions at Jersey Shore, the flagship hospital in the system of which Riverview was the second largest. She was outraged that Anna (those who know me well will know that I have a history with nurses named Anna -- code name of course but the real names match up) was fired for the crime of sending a co-worker who was suffering severe chest pains to the ER. That's right: a nurse on the maternity floor was having severe chest pains, and Anna, then charge nurse, insisted that the nurse go to the ER. Her manager said no: there weren't enough nurses on the floor to replace her. Anna over-ruled the manager, sent the co-worker to the ER, and a few days later found herself fired on some trumped up charge about signing for food incorrectly in the cafeteria. The manager had said for years that she had a problem with Anna. Too outspoken.

As it turned out, Anna had delivered half the babies in that county. A petition at Riverview, a petition at Jersey Shore, and shortly Anna had her job back. We didn't even have to follow through on a labor charge.

Judy was the kind of nurse who would never turn away in the face of injustice. She was first to the barricades in the strike, first to meet with colleagues from Riverview during the organizing campaign, and the last to give up, even when September 11 destroyed our campaign and so many lives.

We had just had our organizing committee meeting where we put out a mission statement, that was going to function as an authorization card. We had 18 nurses at the 8 am meeting -- an amazing turnout. Fred, Fran, and my co-workers and I were packing up the room after the meeting and as we walked out a couple of nurses were sitting in the bar.

"Having a drink?" I asked. It's not that unusual for night shifters to have a drink after work, at 8 or so in the morning.

"A plane just flew into the World Trade Center."

The majority of nurses at Riverview lived in Middletown, New Jersey, the town in New Jersey that was most affected by 9/11. We watched in horror as so many lives were destroyed. Our cell phones didn't work. We canceled the remaining meetings and rushed home to loved ones, holding them close throughout the days that followed. Almost every Riverview nurse lost a family member, friend or neighbor in the attack.

The campaign was over. People couldn't focus on organizing. The nurses there would continue to see their standards lag behind.

A few months later I was asked to lead the Fletcher Allen campaign, the largest hospital in Vermont, 1200 RNs. It was my biggest single win to date, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. But I always knew that it came at the price of Riverview, at the price of failing to unite the nurses in the Meridian system under one strong, professional nurses' union.

Judy called me the day we won to congratulate me. I burst into tears. It should have been her victory too, but she was calling to congratulate me on a victory for nurses in a far away state whom she'd never meet.

As I've gone on to organize, I've thought about her often. The example of the "bad ass chicks from Jersey Shore," as I'd think of them while I drove down I - 195 blasting "Lady Marmalade" as high as my Geo Prizm's stereo would go, stuck with me. The way that organized, empowered nurses walk around, without fear, knowing that they can speak up for their patients when they need to. Knowing that their families are going to have affordable health care and their patients are going to get the care they need, not by any grace or good will of hospital administration but because the union nurses force them to deliver what nurses and patients deserve! The nurses at Jersey Shore are to this day a role model for organized nurses everywhere.

Judy was in her fifties when she died. Way too young. Melanoma, I heard, but I didn't hear many details. She'd been sick for about a year but I was so far out of touch with the Jersey Shore crew that I hadn't even known.

I'm not sure what I would have said if I had known. That her example is a constant inspiration to me as I help other nurses find their voice? That any sacrifice of sleep, energy, relationships, peace of mind, is nothing in comparison to what she sacrificed for her patients and her profession? That I'll keep fighting as though she were right by my side, just like we used to be in the diner booth, answering questions from unorganized nurses and spreading the word that yes, there is hope?

I think she knows all these things, and I know she is with God now, watching us and rooting for us as we go on struggling for the things she fought her whole life for: safety for patients, justice for nurses, and a better life for the working people who deserve a shot at the American dream.

I suspect that she also knows exactly where our next victory will be, and where the next group of nurses to find their voice are working. And that she'll be looking down and cheering us on as. we lead the campaign to change the future of our city and our state. I know that she would be proud. And when the votes come in, I know I will feel her there, watching and waiting with us, still a part of the movement of nurses worldwide, even though she can't be with us here on earth.

Judy grew up near Asbury Park and heard Bruce Springsteen play when she was a kid. You can't be from that area and not love Springsteen, and I never really understood him until I lived there. So she'd appreciate my Bruce quotation to end my entry in her memory:

The highway's jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive
Everybody's out on the run tonight but there's no place left to hide
Together Wendy we can live with the sadness, I'll love you with all the madness in my soul
Someday girl I don't know when we'll get to that place where we really need to go
And we'll walk in the sun
But till then
Tramps like us, baby we were born to run
Come on Wendy
Tramps like us, baby we were born to run.

Come on Wendy!

Posted by april at November 2, 2008 7:24 PM

Comments

Posted by: Judith at November 2, 2008 10:38 PM

Posted by: Fred at November 3, 2008 7:24 AM

Posted by: JAMES DOUGHERTY at November 3, 2008 8:14 PM

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