It Happened in Manhattan

By Dorothy A. Campbell

The scam took place at a vulnerable time and place in the author’s life. Have you ever been scammed by a con artist? How did you find out you’d been duped and what happened? Do you think you are too smart to fall for a scam? Read this book! The con artists steal from you by sneaking through your emotions instead of through your window. This book will explore a brief history of the author and how she encountered scamming for the first time. Readers will travel with her and the con artists until they set her up for the kill. Readers will also experience how she took them home in the presence of her four young children. Under the spell of the con artists, she placed herself and her family in a dangerous situation. Read along and witness the strategies she used to escape from her captives. Even though she did manage to escape, she was left traumatized for life. The author asked the question “why me?” while it was still fresh in her mind. She wanted to write a book about the scam. She couldn’t because “life” got in the way. She was left living in fear before she was able to move away from New York City. Finally, in 1976, she moved to Sumter, South Carolina where she got the surprise of her life. She felt like she had moved to a Third World Country. She had to adjust to living in the south. She had to adjust to many traumatic changes during her Golden Years. She managed to survive but it wasn’t easy. There came a time in her life when she lost five significant members in her family and a close confidant. After that, she lost her home in a fire in the year 2000. When things couldn’t get any worse, she had to file bankruptcy in order to save her new home. She knew there was a God because she survived to tell the story. Over the years, life and stress took a toll on her. God brought some serenity to her life in 2014. Since scamming is a major problem in society today, a friend of the author will be sharing a recent scam in her memoir. Hope you enjoy it! It Happened in Manhattan is a memoir about a scam that took place on a cold morning in October of 1972.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781684098729

Book preview

Chapter 1

It Happened in Manhattan

Origin

In 1972, I was scammed. Merriam-Webster defines a scam as a dishonest way to make money by deceiving people. The aftermath of that deception has lasted me a lifetime of distress. It was hard for me to overcome it. I am going to explain why it was hard and what happened. I am going to begin my story at my first place of employment. It was there; I encountered the first case of scamming in my life.

Between 1959 and 1960, I worked at the Towers Nursing Home on 106th Street and Central Park West in Manhattan. I was a nursing assistant which required no previous experience. I was a young mother of four children. When my baby was fifteen months old, I discovered Planned Parenthood and landed my first job. I can’t recall who recommended the job to me, but I was grateful for the job.

The nursing home moved into the facility in 1956. It was a place that provided a home and nursing care for the elderly and indigent people. The buildings were old, rusty and dark brown in color. They looked like medieval castles. The Towers were not an inviting place to work. Some of the buildings were empty and looked like castles from a horror movie. I was never comfortable in my work environment. It was very creepy at night. The Towers looked out of place across from Central Park, the largest park in Manhattan.

I worked with a mixed group of people. I recalled two sisters and a cousin from the same family, one lady worked with her adult son, there was a pretty mulatto female that captured the attention of all the males and females; we had two homosexual individuals, one married and one single and one brazen young man I will never forget. There was Gladys Woodberry and a host of other individuals who created an interesting place to work.

The older homosexual was married and developed a fancy for me, and the younger one liked me as a big sister. I was young and green as a switch off a tree. The two homosexual individuals and the brazen young man was a learning experience for me.

One morning, the nineteen-year-old homosexual male approached me. He praised me for being kind and for accepting him. He said, Mrs. Campbell, you socialize with me on the job, but I know you would not socialize with me outside of the workplace. I can tell. I looked at him and saw he was serious.

I said without hesitation, You know, you are right. I am married and a mother of four children. I do not live your lifestyle. I do not have any personal problems working with you. You are a kind young man. You respect me, so I respect you.

He smiled and said, I want to thank you for being honest with me. Some people pretend to be kind to me and talk about me behind my back as soon as I walk away. I like an honest person. We remained friendly toward each other.

Now, for the older homosexual individual. He was a controversial person. He was thirty-two years old, about five feet ten inches tall and slim built. He was a dark handsome man. He was fast and flippant in speech. He told us he was married with a two-year-old son. I don’t think he was living with his wife. He was supposed to be a minister. He walked on the job and introduced himself. He said, "I am Ms. Jeffery, better known as Enrique. He was putting on airs all over the place. He loved to cook, so he got next to us by bringing us cooked meals. He would come on the job dressed up on Friday nights, go upstate to participate in orgies on Saturdays and come back to work on Sunday nights with the same clothes on smelling like a skunk. He talked about the fun he had, the people who attended and their activities in the orgy.

I worked on the ground level in a dorm in the back at night. It was dim on the dorm. One night, I was sitting in a chair alone. I became aware that someone was watching me. I looked up, and there was Enrique standing in the doorway staring at me. I said, Enrique, why are you standing there staring at me? He didn’t reply to my question. I repeated the question.

He said, You know, Ms. Campbell, you are a very pretty lady. I like you. I can’t help it. I looked at Enrique, waved at him and started laughing. He had a sullen look on his face. He turned around and walked away.

Well, his behavior didn’t end there. I found him watching me several other nights. I started taking him serious. One night, he grabbed me and started grappling with me. I knew he meant business! I pushed him away, stood erect and read him. I said, Enrique, your behavior is inappropriate. The first thing I want to say to you is, I am a married woman with children. When you came on this job, you introduced yourself to us as ‘Ms. Jeffery.’ I want you to know, I don’t play that!

I was fuming and felt insulted. He walked away quietly with his head hanging down. I huffed and puffed, but I finally settled down. We continued working together. He never approached me or mentioned the incident again.

Now, let me discuss that brazen young man. He definitely was a street man. He had no shame. He was about twenty-six years old, about five feet nine inches tall and light brown in complexion. He was another handsome young man. He reminded me of a young Terrence Howard. One night, I was standing in front of the elevator waiting to go to the second floor. It was dim as usual. He walked up behind me and said in an undertone, Mrs. Campbell, you have a behind like a Mack Truck.

I turned around and said, What did you say? He boldly repeated himself. I got on the elevator. I didn’t understand what he was talking about, but I knew it was an improper statement. He was talking about my behind!

It wasn’t until a few days later that his conversation came to me. I figured out what he meant. I recalled as a child watching the Mack Trucks hauling heavy loads on our dirt roads in the Lowcountry of South Carolina. They were the biggest trucks on the road. When I figured out what he meant, I grabbed my head between my hands. I knew he was nasty, but I didn’t know he was so bold. I was furious. I said, The nerve of him! That was one co-worker I kept at a distance at all times.

I enjoyed the comrade among the workers. I am sorry, I started the story and got off track. Let me continue. Some employees told stories about jails and torture chambers in the basement of the nursing home. One night, some employees formed a group to go and investigate the basement. They asked the security officer to escort them. I can tell you right now, Dorothy Campbell was not a part of that group. I was born in the country. I left there at the age of nine. My family didn’t have electricity during the first six years of my life. As a child, I sat and listen to all kinds of horror stories in front of a fireplace with the fire dancing to the story. Do you know how a scene like that would fire up a child’s mind? I used to have bad dreams at night. I saw all kinds of devils and creatures in my dreams. I woke up many nights crying.

As an adult, I was a scary individual. Well, the group came back reporting their findings. They reported jails and torture like chambers in the basement. They said it was eerie. I was curious about their findings, but I never attempt to investigate the place.

The Towers were located about five blocks from where I lived. My apartment was situated in the back of my twenty-story building. I could see the Towers from my eighteenth-floor apartment. I worked on the night shift to supplement my husband’s income. My family was living below the poverty level. I was in desperate need for additional income. I made a meager income, but on payday, the money looked good. We had smiles on our faces. The salary gave me the opportunity to help pay bills and shop for items I couldn’t afford on layaway plans. Working there gave me the opportunity to get out of the house and meet people.

Forecasted

One night, I got into a conversation with a co-worker. I will call her Maude Jackson. I was vaguely familiar with her. She lived in my housing development. I occasionally ran into her at a local church. Maude had three or four children and separated from her husband. She was a kind and gentle person.

She was also very spiritual in nature and didn’t hesitate to give spiritual advice. I observed her reading her Bible many nights. Maude was an individual who didn’t mingle much with the staff. She was plain in appearance and dress. She was much older than I. As we talked, she told me a very interesting story. The story she told me that night played a part in my life to this very day.

Maude’s eldest child had recently enlisted in the military. He was sending money home for Maude to bank for him. She was proud of him because she struggled and reared him alone. He decided to enlist in the military to help his mother and siblings. Maude got busy, and she wasn’t banking his money regularly. She became concerned and decided to take the money to the bank.

On the way to the bank, this young man unknown to Maude approached her. He started a conversation with Maude. She said, He was a tall young man, very pleasant and friendly. I stood in the street and talked to him a long time.

He questioned her about where she was going and where she kept her money for safety. He said, You know, most women keep their money in their bras. She agreed with him, letting him know that was the place she had her money. He told her, You know, your money isn’t safe in your bra because everyone knows that women keep money in their bras. Someone can easily attack you and go right to your bra for the money. He offered to show her a safer place to keep her money.

He produced a brown paper bag. He told her to take the money from her bra and place it in the bag. She said, I turned away from him and removed the money from my bra. I placed it in the bag.

When she mentioned brown paper bag, I became alarmed because I heard that story many times during my adolescent years. I had a cousin named Alfred. He used to brag about the brown bag trick. There were operators on the street stealing people’s money using that trick. Maude followed his instructions. He folded the bag up and told her to put it in her pocketbook’s inside pocket and zip it up.

He showed her how to hold her pocketbook close to her side away from the street. He said, A person could snatch your pocketbook and run in the street and get lost fast.

He finally said good-bye to her and walked away. I listened intensely because I was waiting for her to drop the bomb. I knew it was coming. When she got to the bank, she opened the bag and found a bundle of newspaper. I was not surprised. She was devastated by the loss of her son’s money. She was upset for a long time. Maude looked sad as she related the story to me. She felt she betrayed her son.

I looked at Maude feeling sad myself. I was bewildered, and I looked at her with new eyes. I had high respect for this woman. I thought to myself, How can a person with your intelligence fall for something like that? You have to be the dumbest, uneducated person in the world. She was in the street taking money out of her bra for a strange man. He stole her son’s money! My respect level for her dropped to zero. Maude’s story was unbelievable.

Fast forward, I told Maude’s story to others many times over the years. I couldn’t imagine anyone could be so dumb and stupid. Yes, I said it, dumb and stupid. I was young at the time. I didn’t know any better. That was the way I thought at the time Maude Jackson was scammed. Hang on, I am not going to discuss my story about my scam right now. I am going somewhere else.

Gladys

Chapter 2

All About Gladys

Background

While working at Towers Nursing Home, I met a lady by the name of Gladys Woodberry. Gladys commuted from Brooklyn to Manhattan to work on the night shift. She was married to the late Warren Woodberry. She had four children when I met her. There were Leo, Larry, Geraldine and Linda. It was not long before we started visiting each other’s home and socializing with each other.

Gladys had a fifth child Warren Woodberry Jr. She was under five feet in height. She was a small woman with a big heart. As a matter of fact, I’ve never met a kinder individual in my lifetime other than my dear mother. We still communicate today. Gladys resides in Florence, South Carolina.

I was discussing my friend Gladys Woodberry. Now, I am lost, where was I? You know, I love to run off at the mouth. I am getting older, and my memory isn’t as good as it used to be. OK! I started discussing Gladys because I wanted to talk about how I got into nursing school. Gladys told me about this nursing program and invited me to attend school with her. It was a one-year training program.

I was interested in furthering my education. I was waiting for my son to get in the first grade.

I was fond of Gladys, so I decided to attend school with her. I was reluctant, but I felt she would be a support for me. I got used to working and earning an income. Since I was working in nursing, I saw myself becoming a nurse. I decided to learn as much as possible on my job at Towers,

I witnessed the death of a client one night. I was afraid of the dead. I said to myself, Dorothy, do you want to become a nurse? You have to deal with the dead because patients do die. You need to go in that room and help them prepare the body. After much debate, I forced myself to enter the room. It took a lot for me to remain in the room. In the end, I learned a lot that night. I started my growth to overcome my fear of the dead. I became more interested and opened to things related to nursing.

We had a young nurse working with us. I became interested in her and the job she performed. I told her about my interest in nursing. She was very encouraging. Well, I was accepted in the nursing school. Tower Nursing Home was later plagued by allegations of patient abuse and nasty living conditions. The home closed its doors in 1974 after it provided me with an opportunity to get into the workforce. From the Towers, I went right into the nursing program. That was the beginning of my journey into the field of nursing.

Nursing Career

I enrolled in Helene Fuld School of Nursing located in historic Central Harlem in New York City in the fall of 1961. The school was connected with the Hospital for Joint Diseases. In the end, Gladys did not enroll in school as planned. I was devastated, but I entered school without her. The school was located in a drug-infested area. We had to get off the bus on 116th Street and Madison Avenue and walk to 119th Street and Madison. The drug addicts would be huddling around opened canisters with fires in vacant lots during the winter. They would be standing on corners bent over in a drug-induced stupor during the spring and summers. I couldn’t figure out why they didn’t fall over on the sidewalk. There were times when I regretted enrolling in the school. I decided to remain in school because it was beneficial for me and my family.

We, nursing students, were afraid of the addicts. We complained to our nursing instructors and the school’s administrator. We lost a few students as a result of the presence of the addicts. We were informed they were harmless in their drug-induced state. They were only dangerous when they were craving and seeking money for their drug habit. Their assurances and explanations relieved some of our stresses and fears. I got to learn their behaviors well from watching them. After my one year of training, I noticed there were drug addicts in my neighborhood. I didn’t notice them before. I was devastated. I was concerned for my children.

The training I received was excellent but very hard. The school was in transition. They were upgrading the program to train students in registered nursing. There were times when we were assigned to set up foods and refreshments for visitors from Albany, New York. They were checking out the program and the progress of the transition.

We were the guinea pigs for the future program. We started out with forty-three students. During the first six months, the school started dropping students left and right. They were being dropped for various reasons. I was very opinionated about the reasons some students were dropped. Being the professional nurse I developed into over the years, I realized it was necessary. The training was rigorous! I would like to share two experiences that I feel made a nurse out of me.

I had a nursing instructor. She was a thirty-two-year-old unmarried Italian woman. She was very attractive. We wondered why she wasn’t