In January 1986, my wife Lynn wanted us to leave Manhattan because she had a chance to triple her income.
I had no choice, although I loved my job as a computer programmer. I also loved meeting brilliant, motivated people who gravitated to Manhattan.
Manhattan was the most convenient location in the world. It was an hour ride on the subway to visit my parents and childhood friends in Brooklyn. But everything else was a few minutes away.
Our new daughter changed our priorities. It was too stressful and expensive to raise a child in Manhattan.
Manhattan in the Mid-1980s
Living in Manhattan with a baby was expensive. Our apartment cost $475 a month, but only because St. Joseph’s Hospital reserved it for medical residents. Similar apartments rented for $1200 a month. We would have to move after Lynn finished her residency, even if she joined the hospital staff.
The Upper West Side was a desirable neighborhood. Broadway between 96th and 110th streets had over ten Chinese restaurants. Further south, between 72nd and 96th, you’d find several movie theaters and hotels.
I loved buying freshly pickled herring from Barney Greengrass and delectable pastries from Eclair Bakery on 72nd Street. My parents bought their wedding cake from Eclair. We had Zabar’s for gourmet groceries and Murray’s Sturgeon Shop for the thinnest sliced lox in the world. The slicer didn’t need plastic gloves. He sometimes offered you a taste of transparent lox balanced on his long carving knife.
There were many bars with entertainment. Lincoln Center was close. The New York Coliseum and Carnegie Hall were nearby. The Bottom Line was in Greenwich Village, but worth the trip.
Our neighbors were wonderful. A comedian on the first floor gave us tickets to his shows. Others posted notices in the elevator about their upcoming performances. Most shows were within walking distance.
Employers liked hiring people from the Upper West Side. We could always get to work, even during snowstorms or subway problems.
But everything was expensive in this desirable location.
The Growing Pressure
I enjoyed going out on Sunday morning to get a newspaper and bagels for Lynn. Sometimes I walked to Murray’s Sturgeon Shop. I felt like a modern version of the alpha male hunter, returning from a hunt with delectable treats for my sweetheart.
But our one-bedroom apartment was crowded. Ella’s crib filled our bedroom. We needed more space.
The final financial blow came from Ella’s daycare center. Our monthly bill was $700. Then they handed us an $875 charge. “This month has five weeks,” they explained with straight faces.
Lynn and I looked at each other. We couldn’t keep living like this.
The Parking Problem
Lynn bought a car after she started her residency. But parking in Manhattan was complicated.
During alternate side parking restriction times, it was acceptable to double park. But the car next to the curb was stuck. Our restriction times were 9:30 AM to 11:30 AM on Mondays and Wednesdays.
People with emergencies leaned on their horns to call the driver who blocked them.
Lynn took a job with “Doctors On Call” driving to see patients. She conducted physical exams for insurance policies. They paid Lynn $125 per exam. It was excellent pay in 1981.
But one day, someone double-parked and blocked her in. She couldn’t leave to see her insurance patients. Lynn was livid.
Lynn tried one more solution. She paid $100 to park the car for one month in a garage on West 100th Street. The garage was between Columbus Avenue and Amsterdam Avenue.
But it was a long walk to reach the car, especially at night.
So, Lynn sold the car.
The Hardship Clause
Lynn met recruiters at a medical jobs fair at the New York Coliseum. One recruiter explained that she could leave her residency early by using an obscure hardship clause in most residency job contracts.
Lynn came home and reviewed her employment contract. She got very excited after she found the hardship clause in her contract.
Lynn wrote a letter claiming she could not afford Ella’s daycare and other costs on her resident’s salary. Lynn delivered the letter to the hospital administrator’s office.
The hospital responded in a day or two. It was a serious matter.
Lynn used the hardship clause to leave her residency a year early. Our lease expired July 1, but Lynn gave notice we would leave December 31.
Her department head, Dr. Albert J. Rose, was furious.
Dr. Rose treated rich and famous patients. Lynn said he spent most of his day writing research papers in his office. He needed competent residents to work for him. He introduced himself to patients, then returned to his office after they fell asleep. The resident who worked during the operation called him when the patient was ready to wake up.
Lynn and I attended the final meeting together. Dr. Rose screamed at her, “You’re going to be a Killer! You need more time! Please stay for another year. You can be chief resident and make out the schedules. Then you can join the staff.”
It was an exceptional offer. Normally, doctors had to pay to join a practice before getting a staff job. Dr. Rose offered her a direct path.
Lynn screamed back at him, “You don’t remember what it is like to be poor. You live on an estate next to a golf course, but I live in a one-bedroom apartment. I love my husband but he does not make much money. I am tired of being poor.”
Lynn had faith in her abilities. She did not want to be indebted to Dr. Rose or limited by department guidelines. Lynn wanted to write her own guidelines and retire early.
After Lynn’s case, the hardship clause was eliminated from anesthesiology residencies.
The Compromise That Never Came
I didn’t want to move to the Deep South. A two-bedroom condo in our neighborhood cost about $125,000. I had a better idea.
“What about Tarrytown?” I suggested. “Let’s buy a two or three-bedroom house for the same money.”
We visited Tarrytown and looked at one house. I fell in love with the place. It was only a 26-minute train ride to Grand Central Station. The roads were perfect for bicycle riding. Shopping was easier than in Manhattan. Daycare was cheaper. The schools were decent. Everything about Tarrytown made sense.
But Lynn dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “If I’m going to stay in New York, I want to walk to work and Zabar’s.”
“But you want a backyard and garden,” I pointed out. “You miss the farm.”
“That’s right,” she said. “We’re leaving.”
Lynn wanted space and soil. She missed driving tractors and planting vegetables from her childhood on the family farm. She was tired of cold winters and snow. The rural South promised warmth, land to cultivate, and the chance to own something instead of paying rent forever. Lynn wanted us to own land that Ella could inherit.
Mountain Manor Memories
After that, we rented cars a few times for weekend escapes from Manhattan. Lynn’s favorite destination was the Mountain Manor Inn in Marshalls Creek, Pennsylvania. We played golf on par-3 courses while a babysitter watched Ella.
Lynn had an expensive set of golf clubs in a beautiful bag. I bought my clubs and bag at a pawn shop on lower Third Avenue. I didn’t need a full set to play par-3.
Mountain Manor was a friendly place. “Eddie at the Organ” entertained golfers during happy hour. Mixed drinks cost only 75 cents.
The hotel had no social director or planned activities. Happy hour was the main event. The daycare closed at 6:30 PM. The bar closed at 7 PM.
Children ate dinner at the daycare center. After their dinner, the babysitters led the children to the bar if nobody picked them up. Eddie played children’s songs from 6:30 to 7. Children and parents were in a great mood when Eddie said, “Good night folks. See you tomorrow.”
Night owls could buy a bottle of vodka or scotch anytime at the front desk.
Those weekends were some of our happiest times.
The Lure of the Deep South
The Deep South was attractive for reasons beyond Lynn’s potential earnings.
An ophthalmologist and an orthopedist persuaded a small hospital to offer more surgeries. The eye surgeon made an ambitious proposal. He offered to buy a van and hire a recruiter to find cataract patients in nursing homes. In exchange, he wanted to use the hospital’s unused operating room.
The orthopedic surgeon heard about this plan and made his own offer. He offered to open an office across the road from the hospital. This arrangement appealed to him because he had built a custom house near the hospital. He was tired of commuting to other locations for work.
The hospital administrators liked both proposals. They agreed to hire new staff for the operating room and the recovery room. But they faced one critical problem. They needed an anesthesiologist to make the surgeries possible.
The hospital hired a recruiter to find someone qualified. But the remote location created challenges.
When Lynn expressed interest, they were eager to hire her. She needed a medical license and had to pass a few personal interviews. But she did not need a recommendation or reference from her Manhattan program.
Lynn had no professional references because Dr. Rose refused to recommend her. But this little hospital focused on profit. They wanted Lynn to revive their vacant operating room and encourage more surgeons to use it.
They offered her a job starting January 1. She would be the only anesthesiologist in the county, setting her own rates. It meant handling emergencies and midnight car crashes, but it was a fantastic first-job opportunity.
The Recruitment Trip
We flew down to this little town on a Friday. The hospital had reserved a room for us at the only hotel. The hotel featured a special “all you can eat buffet” in its restaurant. On Friday nights, they offered crab legs. These were huge crab legs.
Joyous couples out on date night lined up for the crab legs. Cooks rushed out of the kitchen to keep replenishing the buffet’s supply. We got a table near the line to watch the cheerful diners return for seconds and thirds.
People behaved well and ate what they took. But the huge piles of empty crab leg shells on some tables were frightening.
Lynn watched the spectacle and said, “We needed to see something different.”
The following day, Ella and I lounged by the hotel pool while Lynn attended meetings. Three charming young men traveling together kept making her laugh and giggle. They turned out to be The Oak Ridge Boys, relaxing before their evening concert. They assured me that Ella would be happier and I would live longer if we left Manhattan.
We visited two more times before we moved. I walked around town pushing Ella’s baby carriage while Lynn went to job meetings.
The town square was peaceful and clean. Well-kept lawns surrounded the buildings. There was no litter, no crowds.
“It’s nice, Lynn. But I have to drive about 35 miles to buy The New York Times.”
“It doesn’t matter. Get it delivered. Because I can retire in ten years.”
Making the Decision
Lynn’s parents raised her on a dairy farm. The rural South promised space and soil and the chance to own something instead of paying rent forever. Lynn wanted us to own land that Ella could inherit.
The cost of living was a fraction of Manhattan’s crushing expenses. We wanted to own property instead of renting forever.
Instead of hearing car horns and sirens, we’d wake to cheerful birds calling to each other. No crowds blocking the sidewalk. We deserved a peaceful morning.
The hospital administrator referred Lynn to a car dealer for a full-sized pickup truck with four-wheel drive. After the dealer handed Lynn a bottle of soda, she told him, “You treated me nicer than anyone in my life.”
“Because you are polite,” he said. “Most of my customers are polite. They might want a lower price, but they ask politely.”
He lowered his voice. “We had one bad guy. He went to Tennessee for a test drive and didn’t want to come back. Now we only keep one gallon of gas in the tank of the floor models, and we lock up our keys at night.”
The First Drive
On our first drive in Lynn’s new truck, we went to the shopping center to buy a toy for Ella. Our blood pressure dropped during the two-mile drive. There was only one traffic light.
The parking lot was safe and orderly. Most vehicles were late-model Ford or Chevrolet pickup trucks.
Inside the store, prices were much lower than in Manhattan. But we couldn’t walk to Zabar’s or take the subway to Yankee Stadium.
Tomorrow morning will be quiet. No one will honk because they can’t move their car. No crowds. Ella will play outside safely.
The Oak Ridge Boys were right. We will be happier here, and I will live longer away from the stress of city life.
Leaving Everything Behind
So in January 1986, we packed our one-year-old daughter and headed south. Lynn was thrilled to have space for a garden and to escape the cold winters. She wanted to own land that Ella could inherit.
I was sad about moving 800 miles away from my parents and my job. I abandoned the nine members of my programming team on our project. My project manager had a five-year plan for me. But there was no option to work remotely in 1986. Lynn’s job was more important.
We had no idea what was coming.