Liv I know a story a14

A teenager in 1962 realized she was in over her head when she took a summer job at a Catskills resort coffee shop.

 UNSPLASH

It’s the middle of a June day in 1962 and I am sitting in a communal bathroom with wet hair and clothed in only a bathrobe. My room key has slipped between two shower stalls, and I cannot get back into my employee dorm room at Grossinger’s Resort in the Catskill Mountains of New York. Peeking into the hall of the coed building, I see there isn’t a soul around. A call of “anybody around?” brings no response. I feel so foolish; the only thing I can do is wait for someone to help me.

As I sat there, agonizing about this summer job, I recounted had happened.

The previous summer, I worked at Buck Hill Falls Resort in the Poconos. This summer, wanting new adventure, I obtained a waitress position in the largest “Borscht Belt” resort, serving a kosher Jewish clientele of wealthy and celebrated guests. I soon found this solo adventure was well beyond my 18 years of life experience.

My mother drove me to Liberty, New York, and deposited me and my bulky blue suitcase at the resort. Immediately, I was out of my comfort zone as I waited for instruction. When I asked a question, it was answered with a question. Employees spoke loudly and seemed to be arguing with one another. “Stop kvetching!” someone yelled, and “Oy vey!” was uttered numerous times. The orientation amounted to the mantra that the guest is always right. And, to my dismay, I was told that I would not be working days in the main dining room with the other college students, but from 6 p.m. to 2 a.m. with the year-round staff in the coffee shop.

Then I was sent to the employee dormitory, struggling to carry my suitcase. Knocking on the assigned room door, I called out that I was the new roommate. I heard banging of drawers and an irritated voice before the door was finally opened by a very heavily made-up, middle-aged woman with the highest beehive hairdo I had ever seen. It was wrapped in toilet paper, presumably so it would stay in place while she slept.

Toma informed me that she didn’t want a roommate and that I was to lock the door, even when I went to the hall bath. What a welcome!

At 6 p.m., I reported to the coffee shop for my shift and was given the briefest of instructions. Female guests in mink stoles (in June) and men in dinner jackets were seated in rapid succession, all wanting immediate service before the early show. Orders were thrown to me, and questions were asked that I could not answer. Desperate, I went for help to the only younger waitperson. Tina looked me up and down, shook her head, saying, “Whadda ya wanna know, kid?” and answered, adding “Good luck, cuz you’re gonna need it.”

All evening, the manager reprimanded me for doing things incorrectly and guests snapped at me. When I splashed some creamer on the fur stole of a guest, Tina came to my rescue and assured the annoyed lady that it would not harm the mink. My next mistake was far worse. I had just emptied the coffee from a glass coffee pot sitting on a warmer and then turned the maker off. The manager, hissing with disbelief, said, “Don’t you know that you can’t turn things off or on during Shabbat?” I had no idea what he meant. Tina then explained that it was a condition of the Jewish sabbath.

The shift seemed eternal and, when it ended, Tina said I needed some fun and that I should join her and two male friends. So, still dressed in our waitress uniforms and aprons, we meet the young men. After explaining she was half Jewish and half Italian, Tina relayed the mishaps of my first night, as the guys laughed hysterically. Then they suggested we take a ride in their convertible. I had no idea where we were going as we flew north. At 5 a.m., we reached Albany, New York, 100 miles away, and had breakfast in a diner.

When we arrived back at Grossinger’s at 8 a.m., I was glad that my roommate wasn’t there and I went to bed. When I awoke, I slipped into a robe and padded down the hall to the shower. That is where the key mishap happened, and where I sat until I heard some females, one of whom went to the office to get another key. Boy, did I feel dumb!

Realizing I had made a mistake in my summer employment choice, I went to a pay telephone and made a collect call to the manager at Buck Hill Falls in the Poconos.

When I poured out my story, he told me he had a job waiting for me. Then I had to figure out how to get to the Poconos. It involved a bus to New York City; a late-night subway to Brooklyn, where I would stay with a friend from Penn State; and a bus the next morning to the Poconos. The employment office at Grossinger’s was not happy about my abrupt departure, but Toma, my roommate from Romania, was delighted.

I pulled the bulky blue suitcase out from under the bed, quickly shoved everything in and headed to the bus station.

A hectic day later, and a bit wiser and more savvy, I arrived at Buck Hill Falls, realizing what this Penn State coed was meant to do in the summer of 1962.

The author lives in Willow Street.

If you know an interesting story, please write it in 600 words or less and send it to Mary Ellen Wright, LNP editorial department, P.O. Box 1328, Lancaster, PA 17608-1328, or email it to features@lnpnews.com. Please include your phone number and the name of the town you live in.

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