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THE YELLOW BUG

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It was the summer of 1970. I worked as a dental assistant for Doctor Edward G. Wozniak for about a year and a half. I started working for him when I was a senior in high school. My title was dental assistant, but actually, I was the entire office staff.

1970 Yellow Volkswagon

1970 Yellow Volkswagon

I was his chairside assistant and was responsible for developing dental X-rays decades before digital X-rays. I answered the phone, handled the billing and confirmed appointments, cleaned the dental office and the waiting room, sterilized dental tools, and sometimes babysat his two young children. It wasn’t unknown for me to take his car for a tune-up.

I worked a split shift. I didn’t get home until 9:30 at night, and then I would have to be back first thing in the morning by 8 a.m. I worked five and a half days a week. I made a minimum wage of $1.45 an hour for 40 hours. I didn’t get paid overtime.

I worked from eight to twelve hours, then drove home and had lunch with my parents. After lunch, I went back to work. My mother always had lunch waiting for me: a buttered bagel and lemon yogurt. Once my mother found out you liked something, she gave it to you long after you were sick. She was funny like that. Finally, I begged, “Please, Mom, no more bagels and yogurt.”

It was a vigorous work schedule, but looking back at it, I realize I enjoyed working there. Dr. Wozniak was a decent man who worked as hard and long hours as I did. He was about thirty-eight when I started to work for him, and I was almost eighteen. Even though there was a twenty-year age gap, we worked well together.

He was patient with me while I learned the job. I was quick to study and loved the fast pace and meeting new people. I enjoyed keeping the office spic and span and keeping everything orderly. I was my father’s daughter, intelligent, quiet, organized, and always on time.

I decided I needed to buy a vehicle of my own. My sister, Karen, and I had been sharing a car our father had given us. Did I mention we are Fraternal Twins? It was a beat-up Edsel, about ten years old at the time. It was my father’s car before it became ours.

Now that I think about it, my father was very generous in giving us his car. He had to purchase another car for himself. My dad had recently retired and was living on Social Security, so he must not have had much money. I guess I never really thought about that until now.

My sister and I were somewhat embarrassed driving this car because it was in pretty rough shape—let’s say it had seen better days. The trunk was banged up, and a chain held it closed. My father had glued a picture of a strawberry on it in a misguided attempt to cover up the enormous dent. He was something of a folk artist. But that is a story for another time.

The driver’s seat tended to collapse backward unexpectedly. We had to anticipate this and keep our backs straight at all times. You couldn’t lean all your weight against the back seat. You had to keep your back straight and somehow suspend it that way unless you wanted to end up in the back seat with no one driving.

At some point, I had the brilliant idea to prop an umbrella behind the seat to prevent the seatback from collapsing backward.  The umbrella worked for some time until it would vibrate and, over time, fall to the right or left. I realize now that this was a dangerous and possible suicidal driving problem. At the time, I didn’t give it much thought. My sister and I never talked about it.

The other problem was that my sister and I were inexperienced at both driving and being responsible. As a result, we would often forget to turn the headlights off on our shared automobile when we arrived home. And during that first cold winter night, we repeatedly killed the battery by leaving the headlights on overnight. In 1970, lights didn’t turn off automatically when you took the keys out of the ignition.

Unfortunately, we would have to wake my father to jump the car battery. This happened quite frequently and made for some very tense mornings. My father, who worked nights, would be sleeping, and we had to wake him up. He would yell and holler and give us hell. We would promise not to do it again. But we did, and then we would have to wake him up again. It was a long learning curve for my sister and me.

We lived closer to my sister’s job than mine, and I had that two-hour break in the middle of the day. So, I would drop her off at the Mailing Services where she worked. Then, I went to my job, another ten minutes away from Collingswood, to Oaklyn, NJ.

My sister endlessly complained that I had the car more often than her. She said it was unfair and that I had always been the favorite. And sometimes she had to take customers out. I never fully understood where she took these customers and for what purpose. I probably never asked.

About this time, a friend of hers, Elaine Wharton, stopped by to visit. We went to grade school together. She taught Karen how to drive even though she had just gotten her driver’s license a few weeks before.

Elaine was driving her new car, and Karen and I were sitting on our front steps. She told us that she had just purchased a brand-new automobile. She informed us that she didn’t have to put out any money. She had financed the whole thing. We had no idea that this was possible.

My sister went to the car dealer and purchased a new car within a couple of weeks. She bought a Maverick. It turned out to be a lemon, breaking down more than it ran.

I decided to get a 1970 Volkswagen. My sister went with me to the VW Dealer since she already knew the ropes. She did all the talking. She was imbued with confidence at an early age. Confidence I didn’t develop until much later in life. The car salesman asked me, “Is she your Philadelphia lawyer?”

It turned out that I was making less money than Karen, and I had to get a co-signer. I don’t think my sister and I ever discussed our salaries. I asked my older brother, Hugh. He was a clinical psychologist, twenty years older than us. He was married, had three kids, and had two jobs. He wasn’t too thrilled about co-signing, but he did it.

The car was a 1970 lemon-yellow VW, and it was love at first sight. It had an automatic stick shift, which I had to learn how to use on the drive home from the dealer.

The car cost $2,300.00. My payments were $65.54 a month for three years. I paid it off in eighteen months because I couldn’t tolerate the idea that my brother had to co-sign for me and seemed ticked off about it.

I was so excited about this beautiful car; it was all mine. I used to get up early every day and hose it down before I went to work. My father swore that I would wash the paint off it.

My Dad was annoyed that Karen and I were only nineteen and had brand-new vehicles. And here he was, sixty-three, and never purchased a new car.  That year, he bought his first new car, a Ford.

I had my yellow bug for ten years. I drove it out of NJ  to Florida when I moved there. I drove that car all over Florida. And to California when we moved there when Bob attended Brooks Institute, a photography school.

I loved that car up to the day my husband, Bob, and I was involved in an accident while driving in the rain on the way to San Diego. We were going to spend Thanksgiving with his best friend, Ronnie.

We didn’t have any extra money because we were living hand to mouth. And unfortunately, the car had bald tires. There was an accident in front of us. And we skidded into the median strip. My VW was crushed in the front by the car we hit and a car in the rear. The trunk was in the front of those early VWs, and it was totaled.

When my car was towed away, I never saw it again. I cried like a baby. I cried the whole time we were visiting Bob’s friends and refused to eat anything for the three days we visited them. I’m sure he and his wife were glad when we left.

It’s a true axiom that you never truly get over your first love. Although it has been over fifty years since I lost my beautiful VW, and I have owned many cars since I have never loved one as much as I loved that yellow VW.

ONE TOOTH TOO MANY

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Throughout my lifetime, I have had many jobs. My first job out of high school was working as a dental assistant for Edward G. Wozniak in Haddon Township, NJ. In the second semester of my senior year of high school, I had enough credits to graduate early. So, the school allowed me to work part-time after school. The school found a position for me with Dr. Wozniak, a young man who practiced dentistry out of his home. His wife attended Saint Mary of the Angels Academy as a girl. That is why she called Saint Mary’s, asking if one of the students was looking for a job.

His practice had two patient rooms, a small lab where he repaired dentures and partial plates, and a very small room where I, as his dental assistant, developed xrays. Dr. Wozniak didn’t schedule patients on Wednesday as it was his day off. He went golfing which was apparently a traditional habit among dentists in the early 1970’s. 

Wednesday, I spent the majority of the day in the dark room developing xrays, cleaning the patient exam rooms and the lab, and typing notices to patients that they had overdue accounts and also reminders of their next appointments. The phone never stopped ringing all day. I would answer the phone and say, “Good morning, Dr. Wozniak’s office. How can I help you.”

Dr. Wozniak and I had a cordial relationship. We worked well together. He was a young man who was married and had two children during the time I was working there. I have to say, overall, I found that I enjoyed working and earning money. Since I was, for the first time, able to buy myself things that I wanted or needed. Before working there, the only way I had to earn money was by babysitting for my older sister’s young children. In fact, I liked taking care of their little kids, but the pay was not great.

On Wednesday, Dr. Wozinak was playing golf, or so I thought. I finished my work early and walked over through the office door exit to the Wozniak’s kitchen. I didn’t see Mrs. Wozniak, so I called out to her.

She didn’t answer, and then I heard a voice say,” What’s going on?” It was Dr. Wozniak, standing there in his underwear. I was so shocked to see him without his usual attire or any attire other than his underpants. I ran out of the house altogether and out to my car. And I went home. I lived about a twenty-minute drive from Oaklyn, NJ, in Maple Shade, NJ, and when I got home, my parents were surprised to see my home so early. They were sitting at the kitchen table. And my mother said, “Is everything alright, Susan? You’re home rather early.”

I stood there, unable to think of what I could tell my parents. I knew there was no way on earth that I could ever go back and face Dr. Wozniak again after seeing him practically naked. And then the phone rang, my mother answered it, she kept saying, “What? What? Over and over again?” Then she said hold on, she said, “Susan, it’s Mrs. Wozniak said that you ran out of the office. What happened to make you run out of the office.” I said,”

I saw Dr. Wozniak in his jockeys. I can’t go back, and I won’t be able to look at him.” My mother repeated to Mrs. Wozniak what I said. My mother said to me, “ Mrs. Wozniak said, “You have to go back. They need you.”

My father sat at the kitchen table, looking at me. And then he said, “You’re going back tomorrow.” My mother picked up the phone again and said, “She’ll be there tomorrow first thing. And I did when my father told you that you had to do something. You didn’t argue, you did it, and there weren’t any ifs and or buts. My first day back was awkward, but I forgot about the whole incident after a while. Dr. Wozniak and I continued to work together for years.

In fact, there weren’t any further incidents. But, occasionally, something odd or weird would occur. One day a new patient came in to have her teeth examined. She was the first patient that morning. As soon as I saw her, I realized that the day was going to have a rough beginning. The reason was that this woman was highly unusual-looking. Dr. Wozniak had a hair-triggered laugh, as did I. Plus, laughing is contagious sometimes. As I was saying, I accompanied our new patient into the room with the X-ray machine. I put the plastic bib around her neck. I asked if there were any problems she wanted to address today or if this was a check-up. And as I was talking to her, I couldn’t help but notice that she was not your everyday middle-aged woman. She was quite tall, so much so that her long legs extended past the footrest on the dental chair. She had high heels on her feet, which were quite large. Her fingernails were extremely long and painted bright, bright red. This was long before fake nails or extension nails were available. They were so long that they curled under at their tips. Her make-up was exotic and almost appeared somewhat like a mask. Since her own features were hidden, she was dressed to her teeth. I suggested that she wear a dental bib so that her clothes wouldn’t be damaged. And she agreed. Her hair was jet black and was parted in the middle, and she had her hair in two braids that extended to her waist. She had silver earrings hanging from her ear lobes that touched her shoulder blades. The longer I gazed at her, the more I realized that Dr. Wozniak would have difficulty keeping a straight face.

I told her that the doctor would be with her in a few moments. And I went back to the desk in the office and continued taking out the dental files for the patients that were going to come that day and the next. The phone rang, and I answered it. It was a patient canceling their appointment for the next day, so I rescheduled it for the next opening we had available. I was still talking on the phone when Doctor Wozniak came through the office from his house and continued into the front exam room. I hung up the phone, and the next thing I knew, Dr. Wozniak came out of the exam room and motioned to me to follow him into the dark room where I developed the x-ray. He closed the door behind us. I thought, “What in the world?” And then he started laughing, I knew he was laughing at the woman’s appearance. And unfortunately, I found laughter contagious. And then we were both laughing. Finally, we regained control of ourselves, and Dr. Wozniak regained control of himself and went back into the exam room. I waited outside the room until he was finished, and then I took the xrays and developed them. At the same time, he was cleaning her teeth. I brought the exams into the room and returned to the office. Then, the woman came out of the room, and I scheduled another appointment for her, and she was on her way. After she left, Dr. Wozniak came out of the exam room and acted like nothing unusual had happened.

Dr. Wozniak came into the office one day while I was typing renewal notices. He asked if I would park my car on the side street rather than in front of his office and house. At first, I thought he was concerned that I was taking up a parking space that a patient might need to use. But, as I thought about it, I realized that he was never that busy at any one time. However, he was busy all day. And I finally realized that he was embarrassed by the car I drove. My father had given me and my twin sister, who worked not too far from me, his old car when he bought a newer one. He had handpainted the car. There was a chain holding the back trunk in place, and he had collaged several pictures from magazines or books on the trunk since it was lacking paint. It was colorful, to say the least. My sister and I were so happy to have a car at all. Otherwise, we would have to take the bus back and forth to the town where we lived. And that would mean we would have to change buses in Camden, NJ, which is not a good place for two young women to go alone. So, needless to say, I, for one, was more than happy with the car, regardless of how it looked.

But then, one day, Elaine Wharton, a girl that we went to high school with, stopped by our house as she saw us sitting on our front step. She told us that she had bought a new car. She had saved a downpayment and took out a loan that was going to pay it off in five years. We were astonished. We had no idea that we could do that. And before you knew it, my sister and I had each bought and took out a loan to pay for the new cars. I bought a 1970 yellow Volkswagon. And I can not tell you how much I came to love that car. And all the trips I took to Atlantic City, Wildwood, and all over South Jersey and Philadelphia. And eventually, I decided to move to Florida and then several years later to California.

One day Dr. Wozniak had a patient, whose name was Mrs. Pinto come in to have an extraction. I didn’t know she was having all her teeth extracted on the same day. As I was assisting Dr. Wozniak, I realized that he was extracting ALL her teeth, one after the other. As I stood there, I started feeling lightheaded, and every time he took out a tooth, I felt worse and worse. The next thing I knew, I was waking up on the couch in Dr. Wozniak’s living room. Apparently, I had passed out. I’m not sure why I passed out since I had seen many extractions in the past. It seemed overwhelming to me to stand there and watch someone have all their teeth out at once. Apparently, Dr. Wozniak had to carry me while I was unconscious into his house. Yet, it is another experience I had to get over. I felt bad for Mrs. Pinto and Dr. Wozniak, but mostly for me since I was way past embarrassment to humiliation.

I worked for Dr. Wozniak for several more years until I decided that I would like to change jobs. The next job I took was working for Harry and Evie Ellis in Collingswood, NJ selling high-risk insurance. And that my friends I will write about in my next memoir story.

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OH WHAT A TANGLED WEB WE WEAVE

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I want a car more than anything I ever wanted in my entire life. Last month I turned seventeen, and I took the written driver’s test. I was so nervous that I failed the test the first two times I took it. My dad told me that if I didn’t pass the written test this time, I can’t retake it for a year.

I told him I would die if I couldn’t get my driver’s license. Just die. Can you imagine graduating from high school without their driver’s license? The humiliation alone would kill me. Absolutely everyone I know has their driver’s license. And their parents are buying them a new car for graduation. My father said, “you have to get a job and earn money to  pay one half of the cost of the car.” And can you imagine he said I have to get a used car? A used car, I will be devasted if I have to drive around a hoopty.

Girl learning to drive

I’ve made up my mind that I will pass my written driver’s test and my driving test. Whatever it takes. And by that, I mean WHATEVER. I will beg, bribe, or sleep with someone to get my license.

I have agreed to start looking for a part-time job to earn money. I have made a commitment to myself to accomplish this goal. And I will.

I spent the whole weekend studying the driver’s manual. My friend, Gina, ask me all the questions for the written test twenty times. I’m ready. Today I will be taking the written test for the third and last time. I’m stoked.

“Good news, I passed the test. I only had one question wrong. I couldn’t remember the shape of the road sign for Yield. And now I am going to get my mother to teach me how to drive.”

“Get this, my father said he will be the one teaching me to drive. Can I never catch a break? What’s next, water torture?”

Today my father took me out for my first driving lesson in the parking lot of the Mall. Can you say a living nightmare? So, I get behind the wheel, and the seat is so far back that my feet can’t even touch the peddles. Let’s just say that my father is somewhat “softig.” And by that, I mean he looks like he is going to give birth any day now.

First, he says,” Adjust the mirrors, the side mirrors, and the rear-view mirror.”

“I know Dad, I know. I did take driver’s ed.”

“Make sure your seat is adjusted too, Samantha.”

“I did that already, Dad.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady.”

After that, I kept my mouth shut, because when my dad says, “don’t roll your eyes at me.” That means he’s not kidding around. And I keep my mouth shut. I just complain in my head.

“Alright, ease your foot off the brake and gently press on the gas pedal.”

I do just that, and the next thing I know, we are shooting forward, and I totally freak out and let go of the steering wheel. My father grabs the wheel and starts screaming at me like a maniac. “Have you lost your mind, never take your hands off the wheel. Are you trying to kill the both of us?”

I begin to silently weep. I have found that my father is very uncomfortable with crying females, and he immediately feels repented. I wipe my eyes repeatedly and then my father looks over at me.

“Alright, alright, stop crying. Take a deep breath. Let’s begin again. Samantha, you must always, always drive with great care. Your life and the other drivers on the road depend on that. A car can become a weapon of death and destruction if we do not learn how to drive responsibly. Our lives and the other driver’s lives on the road depend on responsible driving.”

“Ok, ok, dad I get it. I just freaked out momentarily. I’m a little nervous.”

“Let’s begin again. Take your foot off the brake and depress the gas pedal slowly. Look both ways to the right the left and the rear-view mirror.”

For the next half-hour, my dad has me drive in circles, practice parallel parking. Can you believe it he had two traffic cones in the trunk of the car, god knows where he got those?  Then he had me drive forward and backward.

“That’s it for today, Samantha. Next time we’ll go out on the back roads around town, and you can get some practice in the traffic where the traffic is not as congested as on Route 50 or 40.”

I look over at my dad, and he has sweat dripping down from his forehead. His face is red as a beet. I think he might be having a heart attack or something. “Are you alright, Dad? You look kind of sick.”

“What? Of course, I am. No problem. Let’s change seats.”

“Oh, please, dad, let me drive home.”

“What? NO. I mean not today, honey.”

I moved to the passenger seat; I notice that my dad seems a little unsteady on his feet as he gets out of the car and walks over to the driver’s side. I guess it’s tough getting old.

I start looking at part-time jobs online. I don’t have any work experience except baby-sitting. And god, how I hate taking care of little kids. Absolute torture. “I want this; I want that.” Annoying as hell. I could get a job at the mall, but I would have to take the bus. Taking the bus is so lame, nothing but old and poor people take the bus. What choice do I have? I’ll have to take the bus.

I see there’s an after-school job at the Shop and Stop, which is only about two blocks from my house. I can walk there. The hours are three days a week from 4 until 8 pm. I’ll have to talk to my mother about it. My dad says he wants me to earn money, but he won’t like it if my grades slip.

“Good news, my mom and dad said I can work that job I told you about, but if my grades fall, I’ll have to quit. My grades aren’t great. I can’t really afford my grades dropping, or I might not graduate. And I must get out of high school this year.

Today is my first day on the job. I have to admit I’m a little nervous. Here I go through the Stop and Shop entrance. I see a woman who looks like an employee standing in front of the store. She’s wearing an apron that says Stop and Shop. I walk over to her. “hello, my same is Samantha Miller. I supposed to start working here today.”

“Well, dear, I don’t know nothing about that. Go over to that door that says manager and knock.”

“Ok, thanks.” I knock at the door. It is a very small office. And the man that interviews me is apparently the manager. I don’t remember his name. He is talking on the phone and gestures for me to come in and sit and wait. I do.

After about five minutes, he hangs up.

“Your Samantha, correct?”

“Yes, I’m supposed t start working here today.”

“Well, I think we are going to start you out by teaching you how to restock the shelves. And after you are finished that I’ll have you work with Terri.”

I spent the next four hours stocking shelves. It isn’t hard, but it is boring. But I keep telling myself I will have my car soon. I can’t imagine doing this sort of job for the rest of my life. This makes me start thinking about school and how I need to improve my grades if I want to go to college or some type of technical school after I graduate. I hadn’t really put any thought into it before.

When I get home, I hear my mother calling me from the kitchen.” Samantha, is that you?”

“Yes, Mom, it’s me.”

“How was your first day?”

“Well, it was boring, but I guess it will be worth it. When I get a car.”

“Honey, we all have to work at boring jobs when we first start out and don’t have any experience. When I was in high school, I had a job in a factory where I had to do assembly. I attached one part to another part by soldering it. Over and over again, I thought I would go insane from boredom. But every Friday, when I got my paycheck, it all seemed worth it.”

“Yeah, Mom, you told me that before.”

“Well, I supposed I did, but it’s true none the less. You better get started on your homework. Oh, I put dinner in the oven for you. You’re probably starving.”

“I am starving. What did you make for dinner?”

“Your favorite, lasagna, and, meatballs. I knew you would be hungry.”

“Lasagna, Oh, really, thanks, Mom. You’re the greatest.” I gave my Mom a little hug. And I noticed a tear run down her cheek. It made me realize that sometimes I’m not very nice to her or my dad.

“You go on now, and eat up. I love you, honey.”

“I look at my mom and, I got a lump in my throat. I swallowed it hard. Can’t show weakness. As I turned and walk toward the kitchen, I said really quietly, I love you too. Mom.”

After I eat dinner, I walk into my bathroom and brush my teeth and wash my face and use the toilet. There is no way I’m ever going to use a public toilet and the Stop and Shop. Gross. I go back to my room and open up my laptop and spend about five minutes checking emails. Then I close the laptop and get busy with my homework.  I remember how boring stocking shelves are and how I don’t want to do it for the rest of my life. I make a promise to myself that I will pull up all my grades, even math. I have definitely made the decision today that I want to get Tech training. I’m not sure exactly what I will do, but it won’t be some boring and repetitive job like stocking shelves or cashier.

After I spent a good two hours finishing my homework, I start studying for my history final as I’m reading the history of and the Holocaust. It occurs to me how much I love learning about the past. And how we need to know the past and learn from it. As I’m sitting on the bed, I realize what I really would love doing is teaching. I would love to teach history. I’m going to teach history.

__________________________________

My First Job

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The year is 1969. The most significant year in my life. The year I graduate from high school. This is the twelfth year that I have attended Catholic Schools. In the first eight years, I attended Our Lady of Perpetual Help Grade School, and now I’m graduating from St. Mary of the Angels Academy in Haddonfield, NJ. It’s a private all-girls school.

St. Mary of the Angels Academy Graduation 1969

Graduation photo by Hugh Carberry

St. Mary’s is a college prep high school. I took four years of Math, History, English, Religion, and four years of Latin and French. I have to say the most useful skill I learned in high school was typing and English grammar. I can still read French quite well and Latin, not so much. But I did learn self-discipline. I learn to keep my mouth shut around the nuns.

These are changing times, turbulent times. The world is changing. The United States has become involved in the Viet Nam War. A war that ultimately will take the lives of 54,000 young men of my generation.

But I, for the most part, remain blissfully unaware of what is going on in the world. The only news I hear if I bother to listen at all is the 6 o’clock news with Walter Cronkite. The NJ Bulletin is delivered to our house like clockwork every day. But I only read the comics on Sunday morning. Girls are not subjected to the draft as young men are of my generation are.

In the last half of my senior year Sister Eileen Marie the principal at St. Mary’s called me into her office. A terrifying experience for me. And one I had avoided for four years. “Susan it has come to my attention that you have enough credits to graduate. I have been informed that you won’t be going to college as some of our students are going to do. Therefore, I have arranged for you to be interviewed for a job at a dentist’s office as an assistant. I’ve spoken to your parents about it. And they are agreed that this will be an excellent opportunity for you.”

I find Sister Eileen Marie to be quite intimidating. She is an old school nun in that many of the younger nuns are taking off their veils and shortening their skirts. She never smiles and has a stern and off-putting demeanor. This is all news to me since no one discussed my future with me.  Not by my parents and not by any of the other dear sisters.

My main goal in high school is to graduate, I naively haven’t considered for a moment what I would do after I graduate. I stare at Sister Eileen momentarily and then mumble, “Yes, Sister.”

“Miss Carberry, here is the address to the dentist’s office. It’s in Oaklyn. A town not too far from here. You can take the bus from Kings Highway in Haddonfield to Haddon Avenue in Heather Rd. in Oaklyn. If all goes well, you’ll be working there in the afternoons until you graduate and then start working full-time afterward. The dentist’s name is Dr. Wozniak. You will have an interview tomorrow afternoon. Here’s the information you need.”

“Yes, Sister.” As I walk out of the office. I begin to tremble. I can’t fathom what has just happened so unexpectantly to me. I gulp and stuff the paper in my pocket. I try not to think about it for the rest of the day. When I get home that day, I mention what Sister had said to me in her office today. “Mom, Sister Eileen Marie told me I have a job interview tomorrow at a dentist’s office as an assistant.”

“Yes, that’s right, Susie, you’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it. You can take the bus.”

I look at my mother, and I’m shocked. She knew all about it and didn’t tell me.” But Mom, I don’t want to go to work in a dentist’s office. I hate the dentist.”

“Don’t be silly, you’ll be fine. I’ll give you the bus money, and you can come home by bus too.”

“What I have to go by bus by myself?”

“Of course, you’re a big girl now, everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

I stare at my mother. Dumbfounded. I repeat,” Everything will be fine.” I feel a tear run down my cheek. I go to my room, and at dinner time when my mother calls me, I yell,” I’m not hungry.” I didn’t come down for the rest of the evening. I have trouble sleeping that night. In the morning, I get up and put on my navy blue uniform and knee-high navy blue socks and shoes and take the bus to school. I have to take the bus from Main Street in Maple Shade to Federal Street in Camden to Haddon Avenue and Kings Highway and then walk about a quarter of a mile to St. Mary of the Angels Academy.

That afternoon after lunch, I walk up to the bus stop on Haddon Avenue and Kings Highway and catch the bus to Kings Highway and then walk from the White Horse Pike to Heather Rd. It turns out to be a fairly long walk. I was a little sweaty by the time I arrive. I walk up to the door that says Dr. Wozniak DDS and knocks. The office is attached to their house where I presume they live.

My mouth is dry as sandpaper. I’m terrified. I’m not sure what I think is going to happen, but I feel unprepared. I’ve only been to the dentist myself for emergencies. I don’t know anything about working there. The only job I’ve ever done is babysitting my nieces and nephews since I was about eleven or twelve.

A young woman with short, blond hair answers the door. I look at her and I don’t know what to say. She says to me, “Susan?”

“Yes, I’m Susan Carberry, is Dr. Wozniak here, I have an appointment for a job interview as a dental assistant.”

“Yes, I know I’m Dr. Wozniak’s wife, Connie. I’m going to interviewing you. Come in.”

She opens the door wide to a small room with chairs and a coffee table. And at the end of the room is a window with doors on it. She looks at me and says, “Come into the office. We’ll talk in there.”

l glance at her. I don’t know where it is. But there’s only one door in the room beside the outside door.  So I walk up to and pull open the door to another small room with a desk, chair, and a filing cabinet. There are two doors in this room and an open doorway on the right.

“You can sit down at the desk, here is an application for you to fill out. There’s a pen there in that cup. I’ll come back in a few minutes and check on you and show you around.”

“Alright.” I sit down and look at the job application. I never filled one out before. I don’t have any experience. There isn’t much information for me to fill in. I write down my name and address and our phone number. I write in I attend St. Mary of the Angels Academy in Haddonfield. And I write in my graduation date. And the times I will be able to work here if they hire me until my graduation. I write down my parent’s names as people to contact in case of an emergency. I’m briefly concerned about what type of emergency might happen to me in a dentist’s office. I wonder, will someone bite me? And then I let out a chuckle. The next thing I hear is, “Are you finished, Susan?”

“Yes, I think so.”

She smiles at me and picks up my application, and reads it over in about a minute or two. She asks me, “So, why do you want to work here, Susan?”

I look at her somewhat panicked, I don’t really know how to answer. “Well, I’m graduating in June. And I’m not going to be going to college because my father says that women don’t need to go to college. Because they’re just going to get married and have children. So, it’s just a waste of money. As far as he’s concerned. And then Sister Eileen Marie the principal at St. Mary of the Angels Academy, called me into the office and told me this is what I’m going to do, and, so did my parents. So, here I am.”

Mrs. Wozniak smiles at me. Well, Susan, I think you will do just fine here. You probably don’t know this, but I went to St. Mary of the Angels Academy too. I remember Sister Eileen Marie very well. She made quite an impression on me. I was terrified of her when I was going to school there. But as I grew up, I realized she was trying to help me. And she had faith that I was going to do well in life. And she must feel the same about you because you were the first person she thought of for this job.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. When can you start?”

“When do you want me to start?”

“How about this Monday, you will have to buy a couple of white uniforms and white shoes and wear stockings. Dr. Wozniak will be training you. Let me show you the other rooms and explain some of the things you will be doing.”

“Alright, thanks.”

“So, the room straight ahead of you is the darkroom. It’s small but there is room for everything you need to do in there. You will assist  Dr. Wozniak in taking the x-rays. And then you will come into the darkroom and develop them. Mrs. Wozniak shows me a room and turns a small light on in there. There is a double sink in there and a faucet. And above the sinks is a wire with dental x-rays hanging from it. “This is where you will be developing and drying x-rays. Don’t worry it’s easy. Doctor will teach you.

In the next room is small. There are dentures on the counters. I recognize them because both of my parents wear dentures. ”This is where Dr. Wozniak adjusts dentures or repairs them. They are made in a dental lab and then sent here. Dr. Wozniak makes molds of patients’ mouths and then sends the molds to the lab to create the dentures. Sometimes the dentures don’t fit the patients’ mouths perfectly, and he has to alter them slightly.”

The next two rooms are where the doctor does the dental work fillings and extractions and takes the X-rays. You will be assisting him. He will teach you all about the dental tools and which ones to put out for each procedure. And that machine over there is an autoclave you will put the instruments in there to sterilize them.’

“You will be standing in the operating rooms with him and assist him by handing him the appropriate dental tools. And then cleaning the room after each patient and setting new tools out for the next patient. And bringing them into the room when it is there appointment time.”

I stare at her with my mouth open. I feel overwhelmed by everything she told me.

“Don’t worry; you’ll learn everything a little at a time. Dr. will teach you. He knows you don’t have any experience. But I have no doubt that you will do just fine.”

“You do. I hope so. It sounds like a lot to learn.”

“It seems like that at first, but in a couple of weeks, you will be an old hand in it. And if you have any problems, you can talk to me or the Doctor and we’ll help you.”

“So, does that mean I have the job?’

“But, of course it does. Susan. I know you will do a great job. So, I expect I’ll see you next Monday at one ‘clock wearing uniform and white shoes and stockings. Here is my phone number if you have any questions.”

She starts walking me towards the door. I open the door, and she says,” Susan, it was a pleasure to meet you. See you next Monday. I step out the door, and she closes it behind me. I stand outside the door momentarily. I realize that I have taken the first step in what will be the rest of my life. I smile and start walking down the street to the bus stop.

The Yellow Bug- 1970 Yellow Volkswagon

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It was the summer of 1970. I had been working as a dental assistant for Doctor Edward G. Wozniak for about a year and a half. I started working for him when I was a senior in high school. My title was dental assistant. But actually, I was the entire office staff.

1970 Yellow Volkswagon

1970 Yellow Volkswagon

I was his chairside assistant and was in charge of developing dental x-rays. This was decades before digital X-rays. I answered the phone. I handled the billing and confirmed appointments. I cleaned the dental office and the waiting room. I sterilized dental tools. Sometimes I babysat his two young children. And it wasn’t unknown for me to take his car for a tune-up.

I worked a split shift. I didn’t get home until 9:30 at night. And then I would have to be back first thing in the morning by 8 am. I worked five and a half days a week. I made a minimum wage of $1.45 an hour for forty hours. I didn’t get paid overtime.

I worked from eight in the morning until twelve, and then I drove home and had lunch with my parents. After lunch, I went back to work. My mother always had lunch waiting for me a buttered bagel and lemon yogurt. Once my mother found out you liked something, she kept giving it to you long after you were sick of it. She was funny like that. Finally, I begged, “Please Mom, no more bagels and yogurt.”

It was a vigorous work schedule. But looking back at it, I realize I enjoyed working there. Dr. Wozniak was a decent man who worked as hard and long hours as I did. He was about thirty-eight when I started to work for him. I was almost eighteen. Even though there was a twenty-year age gap, we worked well together.

He was patient with me while I learned the job. I was a quick study and loved the fast pace, and meeting new people. I enjoyed keeping the office spic and span and keeping everything orderly. I was my father’s daughter, intelligent, quiet, organized, and always on time.

I decided I needed to buy a vehicle of my own. My sister, Karen, and I had been sharing a car our father had given us. Did I mention we are Fraternal Twins? It was a beat-up Edsel, about ten years old at the time. It was my fathers’ car before it became ours.

Now that I think about it, my father was very generous in giving us his car. He had to purchase another car for himself. My dad had recently retired and was living on Social Security, so he must not have had very much money. I guess I never really thought about that until now.

My sister and I were somewhat embarrassed driving this car because it was in pretty rough shape. Let’s say it had seen better days. The trunk was banged up and had a chain holding it closed.  My father had glued a picture of a strawberry on it in a misguided attempt to cover up the enormous dent. He was something of a folk artist. But that is a story for another time.

The driver’s seat tended to collapse backward unexpectantly. We had to anticipate this and keep our backs straight at all times. You couldn’t lean all your weight against the back seat. You had to keep your back straight and somehow suspend it that way unless we wanted to end up in the back seat with no one driving.

At some point, I had the brilliant idea to prop an umbrella behind the seat to prevent the seatback from collapsing backward.  The umbrella worked for some time until it would vibrate and, over time, fall to the right or left. I realize now that this was a dangerous and possible suicidal driving problem. At the time, I didn’t give it much thought. My sister and I never talked about it.

The other problem was that my sister and I were inexperienced at both driving and being responsible. As a result, we would often forget to turn the headlights off on our shared automobile when we arrived home. And during that first cold winter night, we repeatedly killed the battery by leaving the headlights on overnight. In 1970  lights didn’t turn off automatically when you took the keys out of the ignition.

Unfortunately, we would have to wake my father up to jump the car battery. This happened quite frequently and made for some very tense mornings. My father, who worked nights, would be sleeping, and we had to wake him up. He would yell and holler and give us hell. We would promise not to do it again. But we did, and then we would have to wake him up again. It was a long learning curve for my sister and me.

We lived closer to my sister’s job than mine, and I had that two-hour break in the middle of the day. So, I would drop her off at the Mailing Services where she worked. And then, go to my job, which was another ten minutes away from Collingswood to Oaklyn, NJ.

My sister endlessly complained that I had the car more often than her. She said it was unfair and I was always the favorite. And sometimes she had to take customers out. I never fully understood where she was taking these customers or for what purpose. I probably never asked.

About this time, a friend of hers stopped by to visit. Her name was Elaine Wharton. We went to grade school with us. She taught Karen how to drive even though she had just gotten her driver’s license a couple of weeks before.

Elaine was driving her new car. Karen and I were sitting on our front steps. And she told us that she had just purchased a brand-new automobile. And she informed us she didn’t have to put out any money. She had financed the whole thing. We had no idea that this was possible.

My sister went to the car dealer and purchased a new car within a couple of weeks. She bought a Maverick. It turned out to be a lemon and broke down more than it ran.

I decided to get a 1970 Volkswagen. My sister went with me to the VW Dealer since she already knew the ropes. She did all the talking. She was imbued with confidence at an early age. Confidence I didn’t develop until much later in life. The car salesman asked me, “Is she your Philadelphia lawyer?”

It turned out that I was making less money than Karen, and I had to get a co-signer. I don’t think my sister and I ever discussed our salaries. I asked my older brother, Hugh. He was a clinical psychologist. He was twenty years older than us. He was married and had three kids and two jobs. He wasn’t too thrilled about co-signing, but he did it.

The car was a 1970 lemon-yellow VW, and it was love at first sight. It had an automatic stick shift, which I had to learn how to use on the drive home from the dealer.

The car cost $ 2,300.00. My payments were $65.54 a month for three years. I paid it off in eighteen months since I couldn’t tolerate the idea that my brother had to co-sign for me and seemed ticked off about it.

I was so excited about this car; it was all mine and beautiful. I used to get up early every day and hose it down before I went to work. My father swore that I was going to wash the paint off of it.

My Dad was somewhat perturbed that Karen and I were only nineteen and had brand-new vehicles. And here he was, sixty-three, and never purchased a new car.  That year he went out and bought himself his first new car, a Ford.

I had my yellow bug for ten years. I drove it out of NJ  to Florida when I moved there. I drove that car all over Florida. And to California when we moved there when Bob attended Brooks Institute, a photography school.

I loved that car up to the day my husband, Bob, and I were involved in an accident while driving in the rain on the way to San Diego. We were going to spend Thanksgiving with his best friend, Ronnie.

We didn’t have any extra money because we were living hand to mouth. And unfortunately, the car had bald tires. There was an accident in front of us. And we skidded into the median strip. My VW was crushed in the front by the car we hit and a car in the rear. The trunk was in the front in those early VW, and it was totaled.

When my car was towed away, I never saw it again. I cried like a baby. I cried the whole time we were visiting Bob’s friend and refused to eat anything for the three days we visited them. I’m sure he and his wife were glad when we left.

It’s a true axiom that you never truly get over your first love. Because although it has been over fifty years since I lost my beautiful VW, and I have owned many cars since, I never loved one as much as I loved that yellow VW.