CHAPTER 5 CONTINUED. . .

Nurse Marie Yopp

The money is such a temptation. They (parents) take the money and the next thing they know they have a dead son. Money is everything. Do you know it is a dangerous thing? . . . Boys drop out. . .

Mrs. Yopp is concerned about the changes that have occurred in her community. She suggests that during the past ten year drugs have gotten out of hand. One block of her street has been taken over by drug marketers. Money has been the driving motive for the destruction of the community and the lives of young men and the broken hearts of their mothers, she concludes.

Mrs. Yopp believes that education is the way to improve one's life. Plus, she considers a lack of money is an insufficient reason not to get an education. However, she understands a legacy of oppression contributes to many of problems African Americans confront. "We can't get rid of what happened to us in slavery. Our fathers went through it and we still go through it," she surmises. Given the complexities of African American life and her personal philosophies, she chose nursing as a means to serve and educate her community for more than twenty five years. Without significant financial resources but with the assistance of teachers, community people, and a network of their friends, she received a nursing education. However, the path to community service was not without its hardships in a segregated world. Nevertheless, her education not only improved her life but also the lives of other African Americans.

A Desire To Serve Nurtured By A Community

"I always just loved people period," explains Mrs. Yopp. This love was nurtured by her teachers. Her interest in music and learning attracted her first grade teacher and her sister. She recalls, "I used to sing . . .and play the piano. My mother loved music." The sisters encouraged her to become a musician. Although, they had a certain vision for her, they remained steadfast in their support of her when she decided to become a nurse instead of a musician.

I decided that I wanted to be a nurse. After I finished high school, . . . my mother did not have the money but we had help. My first grade teacher and her sister. . . knew Dr. Anderson . . . who was a good friend to President Lee at Florida A and M University. Your parents had to get your books.... But we didn't pay the regular fees like the other students paid.

Good Will And Intent Challenged By Segregation

Despite the goodwill and intent of her teachers, at the end of three years of nursing school, she and her mother discovered that the school was not accredited. This situation meant that she could not take the Florida Nursing Board examination. Primarily because she did not have enough contact hours in obstetrics and pediatrics.

Florida A and M did not have many women delivering their babies at the hospital, she explains. During the middle part of this century, African American women in Tallahassee, where she attended school, were assisted by midwives at home. Therefore the state of Florida's sole school for Negro nurses only qualified for surgery and general medicine. Mrs. Yopp reminds me that her nonAfrican American cohorts did not have problems receiving their certifications because "all- white" hospitals had a sufficient number of deliveries. Despite the number of hospitals in Florida which could have provided the necessary training, the custom of segregation forbade an offer of such opportunities to her. With the lobbying of a Secretary-Treasurer of the Florida State Board of Examiners, Florida A and M University Hospital arranged for her and her cohorts to go to Provident, a historically Negro hospital in Baltimore. For a year, she received training there. "I had six months in obstetrics and six month in pediatrics," she remembers. While certifying, she became an evening supervisor. Unpretentiously, she adds that such leadership and responsibility were an accomplishment because students from John Hopkins University were among her charges.

Perhaps, one of the most fundamental things that she learned was not assessed by the Nursing Board. During this period, she learned how significant touch and emotions are to infants. "No matter how young they are, they know the difference when you pick them up by your touch," she recalls. "Some of them used to think I was their mother. All people and animals know when warm feelings are shown through touch," she explains. The experience of working in the nursery still amazes her. "They were so cute and so loving," she remembers.

Life Is A Bitter Sweet Deal

Although professionally she mothered many infants, she and her husband never had children. They maintained a long distance marriage until his death recently. For example, while she was in Baltimore, her husband was stationed in Long Branch, New Jersey. They commuted between the two cities. Her husband, a native of St. Petersburg found the racial climate too repressive and intolerable to live in Florida. He vowed never to return to Florida.

However, her mother's declining health, motivated her to come back to Florida. Mrs. Yopp suggests that her choice of taking care her of mother was further dictated by her mother's intolerance to racism. Her mother, she suggests, was a proud woman who did not stomach the asymmetrical relationship that domestic jobs demanded. Yet, her education and racial status relegated her to that certain economic subordination. Hence, as an only child, Mrs. Yopp took in her mother and supported her. They lived together until her mother died several years later.

Historical Beginnings

"It was always we -- my mother and 1," says Mrs. Yopp. She was reared by her mother on Columbus Drive in Belmont Height, a predominately African American neighborhood in Tampa. Her marriage initially brought her to St. Petersburg.

After graduating from Florida A and M University nursing school, she became a part of the St. Petersburg community. For thirteen years she and her mother lived in Jordan Park like many other professional people who had few other housing alternatives during the 1940s and 1950s. "It was community pride in Jordan Park. It was real nice." She reminds me that St. Petersburg restricted African Americans to an area west of Fifteen Avenue, South. She also suggests that Jordan Park was a transitional stage for married couples and other families who were saving to buy homes. Mrs. Yopp followed that pattern. After living in Jordan Park for more than a decade, she bought a lot and had her home built in a new development for Negroes in 1953. Since that day, she and many of her neighbors have remained in that neighborhood.

Making A Difference

Apart from living in the community, her services became integral to the livelihood of African Americans. After passing the state boards, she became the second African American nurse employed by the Pinellas County Health Department. From 1947 until 1968 she was assigned to the public health clinic, on Twenty-Second Avenue, next door to Mercy Hospital. Until she retired, she mostly served the African American community. "We still took care of our community and they took care of their's. It was a sort of a segregated thing," describes Mrs. Yopp.

Most of her career was helping the indigent. She immunized babies, counselled mothers during pregnancies, provided well baby care, cared for patients with tuberculosis and supervised midwives. "Our job was to keep people well. We were preventing illness and helping people to maintain good health," she explains. However, she is proud of her work in assisting women to become licensed practical nurses and volunteers.

Shortly after coming to St. Petersburg, the Red Cross asked if she would teach a class of about thirty women who were interested in becoming nurses' aides. She suggests that her love for people led her to consent to train the women.

"They were taught the basics -- temperature, blood pressures, giving baths and simple treatments." That basic training was so thorough and comprehensive that the State Board of Examiners accepted it as a standard course. The state then permitted the trainees to take the state boards for licensed practical nurses. Hence, her commitment to providing quality education, led to improved economic opportunities for many African American women in St. Petersburg and empowered them to assist others. One of the women she trained still works with the Tuberculosis Association and provides clothes and food for needy people. This training continued until the desegregation of the health services in 1968. At that point, Mercy hospital closed.

During mid sixties, Mrs. Yopp also assisted the Red Cross in establishing the Grey Ladies, a volunteer service program for African American women. Their role was to help control the flow of visitors at Mercy hospital. Mrs. Yopp reminisces,

Mercy didn't have any strict visiting hours. People would go in anytime, take food, and sit on the beds. After the Grey Ladies were formed, visiting schedules were established. They worked the desk, reminded visitors of the visiting hours, took care of flower and wrote letters. They were volunteers. You never saw such proud ladies in your life. They looked so pretty in their grey uniforms and their caps.

Integration Doesn't Mean You

However, their dedication, abilities and good looks were not sufficient to convince then Mound Park, the present Bayfront Hospital to incorporate these women in their volunteer services. Mrs. Yopp explains that after Mercy closed there was one hospital. "The White people had their own Grey Ladies. They did not want our Grey Ladies. That was the end of that. But it lasted for four or five years," she recalls. Not only did the closing of Mercy contribute to the demise of this volunteer institution, her training of license practical nurses was also terminated. Essentially those services that she provided through governmental agencies did not have a role and place in a desegregated system.

On Our Own, We Can Survive

Although institutional racism terminated her training program and her work with the Grey Ladies, she helped to develop other services that were not linked to predominately "white" institutions. Mrs. Yopp is one of the founders of the Gamma Omicron chapter of the iota Phi Lambda sorority. This business organization was founded by Lola M. Parker in Chicago during the Depression in 1929, to offer African American women an alternative to domestic work. Mrs. Yopp, explains that "things were pretty tough, especially for women, unless their families arranged for them to go to school and teach." She and others assisted in organizing business schools throughout the United States. The effectiveness of the organization in the community, she suggests is shown by its ability now to attract professional women to their membership. In March 16, 1991, Mrs. Yopp was honored for her consistent work and contribution to the sorority by her sisters from the southern region and Mayor Bob Ulrich at a conference downtown at the St. Petersburg Hilton. More than two hundred people attended this conference. Mrs. Yopp has also been very instrumental in uniting African American nursing professionals. In 1945, she organized a Registered Nurse club (RN). She was motivated to initiate the club because "they (nurses) needed to meet and talk together and support each other." The club was not a coffee klatch. The nurses actively educated the public concerning health problems and founded a scholarship fund for nursing students. For example, the members go to churches to screen people for health problems and talk to them about their diet. When necessary, people are referred for treatment. These independent organizations continue to thrive.

No One Said That The Road Would Be Easy

Mrs Yopp observes that such charitable work is not always readily accepted by African Americans. She suggests that they are often embarrassed. She summarizes the attitudes which she had to confront. "When we (African Americans) see it (free services), we say "Oh, that's charity. I don't want to be a part of that." "That is our philosophy," she observes. Despite the difficulty in educating the community, they respected her and affectionately called her "Nurse Yopp." Such term of endearment, she suggests meant that they were proud of her educational accomplishment as a nurse.

Respect Must Be Accorded

"Nurse Yopp" used by the African American community expressed feelings of benevolence. However, out of the mouths of her nonAfrican American cohorts, such words symbolized malevolence.

They would call the white nurse, Mrs. Jones or Mrs. White. But they wanted to call me Nurse Yopp. I told my director, "Look now, I am a nurse. The rest of the ladies are nurses too but you don't call them "nurse so and so". So don't call me nurse. I would prefer that you call me Marie. So that stopped that. I was the only one (African American) for a long time. I wasn't the first one but the only one at that time. When I started in 1946, there was another black nurse. She was so anxious to get me to work with her because she felt lonely, too. You know we would go to staff meetings and we were the only blacks. They were nice and courteous but they would make little statements.

However, before retiring she supervised "a whole staff of white nurses." Mrs. Yopp recalls that this position gave her opportunities to dispel myths and stereotypes. While supervising, she sometimes had to accompany her staff on home visits. She recalls when introduced as a supervisor, "these white people would stretch their eyes. They couldn't believe it." Many times they would ask if she was a teacher. "They think that only teachers are intelligent people. They were shocked when I would tell them, I am a nurse," she explains. Preparation Is A Key To Making A Difference

Mrs. Yopp believes that African Americans are going to compete with other people. When they are prepared and produce, they can make a difference she concludes. This philosophy served her well.

Despite racial attitudes, Mrs. Yopp suggests that the health department recognized her skills. In 1958 she was encouraged to get a Master's degree in public health nursing supervision. The County paid for her tuition, books, transportation and salary. "The health department evidently thought I was doing a pretty good job as so they invested that much money in me."

However during that era, she had to attend a school outside of the South. Hence, she went to Columbia University in New York. Only graduate nursing programs available at that time in Florida were at predominately white institutions. The segregated educational system in 1958 did not admit African Americans to their programs.

When she returned she was appointed supervisor and served in that capacity until she retired ten years later in 1970. "Retired" means that she is not professionally employed. She is still active in her sorority and church, First Institutional Baptist (formerly known as Shell Dash Church). In the church, she is a senior deaconess.

Also she continues to educate the community, as she explains to the interviewer that drugs is public health problem. She recognizes that there are several etiologies of the drug problem in her community. Stress, tortures and the unpleasant things African Americans live with contribute to their health status, including drug abuse.

However, having lived long enough to see the changes in her community, she concludes that, "You don't have to go downtown and buy all these expensive things to get attention and feel secure. It doesn't take all of that." Her life exemplifies that one can live a comfortable life when a commitment to education and service are made.