NOVEMBER 5, 1960
Yesterday was my birthday. I’m twenty-three. My friends at HQ surprised me with a cake. Last night, Freddie took me to dinner at Gage & Tollner’s, down on Fulton Street. That was where I first met Fiorello, so it brought back poignant memories. The dinner was exquisite, though, and Freddie thanked me for “looking out for him” all year. He was very sweet. I got a little teary-eyed.
I didn’t hear from Lucy. Did she forget?
Oh, well, these birthdays are starting to get overrated.
My last Kennedy Girl assignment was today, Saturday, at the New York Coliseum at Columbus Circle. Kennedy held a rally there, and it was also his last big event in the city before the election on Tuesday. Nixon had a rally in the same location on Wednesday, but I didn’t go. I was too busy playing my new Elvis record, “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” over and over. I had to stop when Freddie threatened to slit his wrists if he heard it one more time, ha ha.
Betty, Louise, and the rest of the Girls were all present today, and we sang “High Hopes,” “Marching Down to Washington,” and “Happy Days Are Here Again,” just like we always do. The rally was very crowded. I heard over a million people attended the senator’s rally in Chicago yesterday. There may very well have been that many supporters at the Coliseum today.
Kennedy thanked each girl personally for our help. Once again, he called me “Miss Cooper.” I’m amazed that he can remember my name. I wished him luck and I told him I know he will win.
“Do I have a guardian angel watching over me?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“More than you know,” I answered.
He shook my hand and went on to the next girl. Sigh.
I will miss being a Kennedy Girl. Luckily, we get to keep our uniforms. Betty joked that they’ll be worth money someday.
One thing bothers me about today, though. Billy was supposed to be there and he wasn’t. He and Lily had important volunteer jobs. I asked Lily where he was, and she averted her eyes and said, “He sick.” I asked, “Is he okay?” and she wouldn’t answer. In fact, she looked like she might cry! That’s when I knew she wasn’t telling me the truth. Something was very wrong.
I decided to pay a visit to Chinatown tomorrow.
NOVEMBER 6, 1960
Tonight I took the chance of dressing as the Stiletto and venturing back into dangerous waters. It had been a while since I’d shown my mask in Chinatown, and I didn’t know what to expect. I knew where Billy and his mother lived on Mott Street and unfortunately, that was in Flying Dragons and Hip Sing Tong territory. Hopefully I could get in and out as quickly as possible without attracting much attention.
I waited until 10:00, after businesses and restaurants were closed and less people populated the streets. The sidewalks were never completely empty, though. I’m sure I was seen by someone as I darted from one shadow to the next and made my way from Canal to Mott. The building where Billy lived seemed to be in more disrepair, and scaffolding now stood in front of it. That actually made my job easier; I didn’t have to bother with the fire escape and it concealed my presence outside their window. I climbed to the second-floor platform and peered inside.
It appeared to be a studio apartment—one room—that contained the bedroom, kitchen, and living area all in one space. I saw one bed and what I thought was an army cot. Billy lay in that one, and, Lord, his face was bruised and swollen. He had been badly beaten. His mother sat in a chair beside him with a book in her hands.
Even though she disliked me, I tapped on the window. The woman looked up and made an angry face. She stood, jabbered at me in Chinese, and gestured for me to go away. I put my hands together in prayer fashion and mouthed “Please, let me in,” but she would have none of it. Then Billy opened his eyes, saw me, and said something to his mother. She argued with him for a moment, but apparently he won out. She came over and opened the window. I slipped inside.
“Thank you,” I said to her, and then I knelt by Billy’s cot. Only then did I see bloody bandages around his torso. “Billy, what happened?”
Dear diary, he could barely talk and was in a tremendous amount of pain. From the way he was breathing, I guessed he had some broken ribs and maybe even a punctured lung, which could be quite serious.
Even so, he looked at me and smiled. “I’m glad . . . to see you.”
“Billy,” I repeated. “What happened? Who did this to you?”
“Flying Dragons. Who else?”
“What happened?”
He spoke slowly with great effort. “We owe them ten thousand dollars. They wanted me to join instead. I refused. How could I join the gang that killed my father? I stood up to them and they . . . they . . .”
I shushed him and examined his injuries. He had a knife wound in his chest, and his mother had tried to patch it up with a bunch of rags. His face was battered and he couldn’t move his right arm. When I touched it he winced, indicating it was broken.
“My God, Billy, you need to be in the hospital!”
He shook his head. “We don’t have moneyfor hospital.”
“I’ll give you money. They should treat you anyway, silly. They’re not going to turn you away.” I looked around the room. “Do you have a phone?”
Again, he shook his head.
“I’m going outside to call an ambulance.” I dug into my backpack and pulled out all the money I had on me—$35. But there was plenty more at home. I thrust it into his mother’s hands. “For hospital,” I told her, but she looked at it as if it was gold. I turned back to Billy and said, “I’ll bring back more money tomorrow night. Tell your mother to expect me around this same time. What’s the nearest hospital?”
Billy was fading fast. “Beekman Downtown.” he managed to murmur before passing out.
I left, found a pay phone on the corner, and called for the ambulance. I hid in the shadows and waited until it arrived, and then watched as the medics brought Billy down on a stretcher. I’m afraid I shed a few tears as they drove away.
Then I went home.
NOVEMBER 7, 1960
Beekman Downtown Hospital is located near City Hall. After work at the gym, I took the bus in my street clothes to check on Billy. When I asked to see him, the dumb nurse asked, “Are you a relative? Oh, of course you’re not.” I explained I was a friend, but she wouldn’t let me in the room. All she could tell me was that he was stable, whatever that meant. However, as I was leaving, I saw Lily in the hallway and managed to catch her.
“Oh, hi, Judy. You here to see Billy?”
“They won’t let me. How is he?”
“I can take you. They let me. But he asleep now. His mother here, too. She no like visitors.”
“I understand. Tell me, do you know what his injuries are?” She explained in her broken English that Billy had been stabbed, he had two broken ribs, a slightly punctured lung, a broken right arm, and numerous contusions on his face and body. The Flying Dragons had taken him close to death but purposefully left him alive so he would always remember what they perceived to be a snub.
That made me hate the Tongs more than ever.
Tonight at the appointed time, as the Stiletto, I brought Billy’s mother $5000 of the money from Mitch’s suitcase. This time she seemed eager to see me, ready for the handout. I didn’t mind. I’m sure she’d never seen that much money at once in her entire life. I told her, “For Billy. For Billy.” She nodded as if she understood, but then she immediately sat and started counting the bills. I didn’t wait to be asked to have a cup of tea, so I left the way I came in—through the window.
Gosh, tomorrow’s Election Day. All that hard work I did for Senator Kennedy is going to pay off.
At least I hope so!
NOVEMBER 9, 1960
It’s three in the morning, dear diary, and I just got home from a victory celebration at HQ! JOHN F. KENNEDY IS THE NEXT PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES! Holy cow, it was so close! I don’t think an Alfred Hitchcock movie would ever be as suspenseful as tonight was. Kennedy and Nixon were neck and neck throughout the day, and the senator eventually won by just a hair. I was surprised it was so close. That just shows how blinded I was by working on Kennedy’s campaign. I knew Nixon had a lot of supporters in the country, but I didn’t think he’d actually give Kennedy such a run for his money. Wow.
Well, we threw a party at HQ. We had champagne. A lot of champagne. Everyone was there—Mr. Dudley and Mr. Patton and Chip and Betty and Louise and Karen and Mrs. Bernstein and a lot of my other friends and the rest of the Kennedy Girls. Of course, Billy wasn’t there, and neither was Lily. A few people mentioned Mitch and Alice, but they remained a mystery to the rest of the team. There had been no more in the papers about them, nor about Michael and Ivan. That chapter of 1960 was closed.
I was very, very happy, but on the way home in the cab—it was so late that I splurged, and besides, I can afford it now—I did get a little sad. I couldn’t help thinking about how the year started with someone I care about in the hospital—Freddie—and now it looks like 1960 will end with another person I care about in the hospital.
I’m not much for prayer, but I did say one tonight for Billy.