A retired nurse, a Gilroy native and an artist
– these three women, all with the same name, have interesting
individual stories
As you may remember from our previous stories about three South Valley women named Sue and three South Valley men named Mike, we have this theory: Everyone has something noteworthy about them. Whether it’s an interesting family, quirky hobbies, a unique achievement or some other distinction, even the most seemingly average person has something fascinating to share.
Adhering to that theory, we again picked a name at random – Sarah this time, with or without an “h” – and searched the South Valley phone book for three ladies by that name. Having done that, we came up with three very different stories about a gal named Sarah.
Sara Dunlap of Morgan Hill
Sara Dunlap is, in the coolest possible way, old-school. Before moving to Morgan Hill 30 years ago and before marrying her husband 45 years ago, Dunlap went to nursing school. She began her education and career in 1951 at the Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia.
“Nursing school was very different then. It was much more strict, but I loved it,” she said. “We had a very strict director of nursing who had served in the first World War. We had to be perfectly dressed. If we had dirty shoes, we were sent off duty. If I remember correctly, we couldn’t wear earrings or nail polish, either. We went to chapel every morning, and we weren’t allowed to be married if we were in training, although one of my classmates was, secretly.”
Dunlap and the other women in her nursing class lived in an old sea captain’s house near the hospital. The house was huge, most of the rooms had a fireplace and were nearly big enough to house a small ball, Dunlap said.
“On Friday afternoons, we had tea with a beautiful silver tea service and little goodies,” she continued. “They encouraged us to be ladies and taught us how to behave properly. We had to sign in and out if we left the house, and I saw my first television while I was living there. Looking back, it was a really wonderful time in my life.”
Students at the nursing school had to pass a psychiatric exam before beginning their courses, and the women had a six-month probationary period after being accepted. Once they made it through probation, the women went through a ceremony during which they received a small Nightingale lamp, a small white Bible and their nurse’s cap.
“We had the white caps that we used to send to the laundry, and they would come back starched flat, like a board,” Dunlap, 72, remembered. “We had to fold them up into the cap ourselves. The hats had a brim, with no black stripe, and were gathered in the back. You made five rosettes across the back and a little curl on the top, and held it all together with a bobby pin. We had ‘big sisters’ who taught us how to fold our caps – it was pretty awkward at first.”
Seeing nurses now dressed casually in medical scrubs upsets Dunlap, she said, because she considered her uniform a badge of honor.
“I think the pendulum has swung too far,” Dunlap said. “We didn’t have to be as starched as we were, but I think nurses should be more cognizant of looking professional. We were always taught that if we dressed and acted like a professional, we would be treated with respect, and we were.”
Sarah Aceves of Gilroy
Sarah Aceves has lived in Gilroy her whole life – all 77 years of it. She was born in a little house that no longer exists on Monterey Road between Second and Third streets. She and her husband eventually had a house built on Welburn Avenue, and that’s where she’s lived for the last 46 years, watching Gilroy grow and change before her eyes.
“You go into the store now, and you don’t know people anymore,” Aceves said. “But it used to be a social event. You’d go to the store, and you knew everyone. Everyone would talk to each other and catch up on the news.”
Aceves attended Jordan Elementary School and the old Gilroy High School. After graduating in 1947, she went to work at the cannery and at the Sprouse-Rietz store, earning 50 cents an hour.
“They eventually gave us a raise to 90 cents an hour, and boy, we thought we were living,” Aceves said, laughing. “I read about apprentice carpenters now who make $19.50 after six weeks of training. I can’t even imagine that.”
Two years after her high school graduation, she married her high school sweetheart, Lupe Aceves. She joked that her husband fell in love with her Sprouse-Rietz uniform, which she said made her look like a “majorette.”
“My uniform was pants, and that was a big deal then,” Aceves remembered. “Not many women wore pants then.”
Gilroy in the 1940s and ’50s was a very different town, Aceves said. Not a single building could be found after Miller and Sixth streets. The area was full of orchards. Sidewalks lining Monterey Road were made from wood planks rather than cement.
“I can still remember the paper boys on Monterey when World War II broke out,” Aceves said. “They ran up and down those wooden sidewalks yelling ‘Extra! Extra!’ That’s how we found out we were at war. Whenever any news broke out, the paper boys would run up and down the streets.”
The first time Aceves left Gilroy was on her honeymoon in 1949. She and her husband went to Los Angeles and Hollywood. But, despite a taste of big-city life, Aceves said, she was happy to come home to Gilroy.
“I can’t imagine living elsewhere,” she said. “This is where I had my children, this is where my extended family is and I’m happy here.”
Sara Anderson of Aromas
Sara Anderson has led a nomadic life, a life that has brought her in contact with Rockefellers, Fort Knox and naval bases, among other things.
Anderson’s father, an engineer, lost his job during the Depression, so he moved his family from Iowa to New York City, just in time to see the 1939 World’s Fair. He eventually was hired by the Rockefellers and moved his family to a community built by the prestigious family for families of their employees.
“The Rockefellers thought of everything,” Anderson, 70, said. “There was a pond in the town, which was called Pocantico Hills. We’d go ice skating on the pond in the winter, but it was only a few feet deep. So, if we fell through on accident, it didn’t matter because we’d only fall in up to our waist, if that.”
On the night of Dec. 7, 1941, Anderson said she remembered sitting in front of the radio and listening to her favorite program when the broadcast was interrupted.
“I remember it so clearly,” Anderson said, looking off into space. “I remember this voice saying, ‘This is your president, Franklin D. Roosevelt …’ and him delivering that very famous speech that announced Pearl Harbor had been bombed and we were officially at war.”
With the war, the country began to ration everything and the Rockefellers began to focus their business on the war, putting Anderson’s father out of a job again. He got a job at the naval base on Coronado, Calif., an island just off the coast of San Diego. Her parents moved there immediately but left Anderson with relatives living at Fort Knox.
“I got horribly car sick, so my parents knew they couldn’t drive me all the way across the country,” she said. “So, I stayed with my aunt and uncle until they arrived and got settled. Then, my aunt and uncle put me on a train. They hired someone to watch me as far as New Orleans, and after that, the train conductor watched out for me. I had a note pinned on me, so everyone on the train knew I was headed for California. I was about 9 years old.”
Anderson said the train she was on happened to be a troop train, and she spent much of her journey in the club car with soldiers who bought her Cokes and told her stories about their families. She credits the troops with keeping her entertained and for making sure she got to California safely.
After arriving in her new home, Anderson spent most of her adolescence in Southern California, mostly working as an art teacher. In 1999, Anderson and her husband, Ted, moved to Aromas because it reminded her of the Midwest where she grew up.
“Now, I focus on my art,” she said. “I wrote a book on elementary instruction in art, and I plan to write another book about my life.”
