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Sunday, May 18, 2014

What Could Make a Rich Man's Daughter Want to Be a Nurse? 1914

“The ‘Mystery” in Wanting to Be Useful” by Winifred Black from the May 16, 1914, issue of The Washington Times

Miss Helen Cudahy, the youngest daughter of Patrick Cudahy, the millionaire meat packer, is going to register in the Massachusetts General Hospital as a student in the school for trained nurses.

“Her family,” says the press dispatch which gives the news, “declines to give Miss Cudahy’s reason for this action.

Dear me, how mysterious!

There must be a man in an iron mask or a woman in a velvet domino somewhere in the story. It wouldn’t be possible for an energetic, ambitious, big-brained, big-hearted, generous souled girl to want to go somewhere and be of some use in the world—would it?

Not when her father pays an income tax of thousands of dollars a year. Why, the idea—why should she want to amount to anything?

Why should she care whether people die in pain or are born in agony or not? What is it to her that friendless women need comforting and that little, helpless babies need care? What earthly reason can she have for wanting to make things a little easier for a dying man or to help some poor wreck of a woman say good-by to a life of misery with some show of decent fortitude?

A Noble Profession
A trained nurse, a good trained nurse, is the noblest and the most useful creature that walks the earth.

If ever there is any use for a halo in this world of ours—I’ve seen one hovering around the forehead of a nice, cosy, comfy, little trained nurse who would go without sleep for nights at a time, and without rest for days, just to see some cantankerous patient “pulled through” in spite of the family.

And she’d think you were joking if you even hinted that she was anything like a saint.

Patience, courage, resourcefulness, self-reliance, tact, a quick wit, a sense of humor, a gentle hand, a light heart, a generous soul—all these are the things that go to make up the character of the trained nurse.

What should the daughter of a rich man want with such a list of the beatitudes?

Nurse a little mother back to health, back to the care of her little children, save the flower of the family to be a useful man and take his place in the world with a sound constitution and good, clean blood; put the head of the house on his feet and make him able to go on with the work he ought to be doing—why, why what’s such trifling as that to the things that Miss Helen Cudahy could do, if she only had sense enough to want to.

She could be the best tango dancer in her set without a doubt.

They say she’s a regular witch at bridge if she’d only put her mind on it; and as to tennis and golf—just think of it.

There’s a motor boat, too—why doesn’t she learn to run one of them if she really wants to be useful in the world, and go chuff, chuffing up and down in season and out of season, just to show that she can?
And automobiles—what’s the matter with Miss Cudahy’s driving her machine and making a few killings now and then—just to show she’s game.

Think of giving up joys like this, just to be somebody real—somebody good—somebody kind—somebody reliable—somebody worth while in the world. Why the girl must be crazy, or else all the rest of us are.
I wonder which it is. Her act is so mysterious!

Prudence McKinley—oh yes, I’m going to call your name right out in print for once, just to see how you like it.

You who wouldn’t lie down for three nights because you wanted to change the bandages on a little child’s eyes yourself—for fear any one else who came in might nap and forget—just once.

When you meet that little child now, growing into gracious and graceful womanhood and she looks at you with two clear, beautiful eyes—how much money would you take for the song that stirs your heartstrings when you think that if it was not for you that girl would probably be groping in the utter dark of total blindness today?

Is that what you are looking for, Miss Helen Cudahy, you with your money and your beautiful home—the chance to be a woman of glorious use in the world?

If it is—here’s my heart in my hand. Take it, it is yours to keep.

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