Stacy Horn

The New-York Historical Society has a collection of records from the New York Foundling Hospital. Among the collection are five scrapbook of notes from parents and others about children who were left at the Hospital. Most are simply heart breaking. I spent an afternoon copying a selection that I plan to research. I picked ones that had some information to go on, and names that were at least a little unusual. Maybe I’ll be able to track down the families and learn whatever became of them.

Here is a letter from a father who kept writing about this son (more below).

Sadly, I didn’t need to research what became of him. His last letter says it all.

I’m not including the one I’ve already started to research. I found the family, but not the baby yet. But here are a couple more.

A picture I took from inside a taxi, when I was taking Finney home from the hospital. I’m actually already looking back on that day with nostalgia. Surgery had gone well and I was taking him home, full of hope for the future. Finney is doing well, but I still wake up every morning unable to accept that Fuckface von Clownstick is the president. How can this be??

I think I have to bury my head in the sand for a little while. I need to finish my book by the end of the year. I will bury myself in that.

A picture of the sunset from the former Blackwell’s Island (the subject of the book I am currently writing). Actually, it’s not like I escape the horror in this book. It’s essentially the history of mistreating the poor and mentally ill.

I felt a lot better after going to the anti-Trump protest yesterday. I have to say though, I just watched a video of Elizabeth Warren addressing the AFL-CIO and I’m beginning to understand how Trump won, and that makes me feel better too. Not about the outcome, but it feels better to begin to know why.

Here are a couple of shots of the post-its lining one wall at the Union Square subway stop. These aren’t necessarily the best, I was too tired after the protest to spend too much time reading them. But I liked the effort.

I borrowed a book from someone in the late 1970’s and I never returned it. She specifically told me she wanted it back and it has haunted me for years. I still have it, but she died in 1991 so I can’t return it now. I recently discovered a thank you card inside which references the war. A little bit of googling, and I’ve confirmed the writer is referring to WWII. The card was marked “benefit of the War Orphans for the Chinese Women’s Relief Association Inc., 5 East 57th Street New York City,” and that organization sold these cards in the 1940’s. The card reads:

Dear Mrs. Farr,

We are all so grateful for your kindness to Aunt Tillie and your wonderful helpfulness generally. I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing more of you after this war is over.

With every good wish,
Eleanor S. Kleinschmidt

I love the Aunt Tillie part. Who is ever named Tillie anymore, and what is that short for? Oh, Mathilda probably. Here is Bleecker, inspecting the evidence of my shame.