This Fine Vista

If one hails a New York City taxi and tells the driver, “Bellevue Hospital, First Avenue and 27th Street,” invariably the cabby will attempt to negotiate a closer look at his passenger.

“That’s where they keep crazy people — the Nuthouse, ain’t it?”

“Not really,” I have responded to such comments. “It’s a medical center — the New York University Medical Center. I work on the Gynecology Ward.”

Of course, the cabby gives a noncommittal shrug. He has no intention of abandoning his belief in the mythology that still adheres to Bellevue Hospital.

But even I find myself juggling assorted and disparate impressions of this fine vista. When I try to describe the hospital which claimed my working hours from the summer of 1968 to June, 1987,when I chose to retire, I myself cannot fully expunge ancient and terrible recollections.