Nightmare at the Y

For many years I suffered regularly from a terrible nightmare of finding myself at lets say the Easter Parade on Fifth Avenue or some other embarrassing place, balls ass naked. Between trying to cover up as best one can with my hands over the “gentles” (thank you Mel Brooks) and slipping in and out of doorways, the anxiety grew and grew into such a bundle of fear that I just woke up thankful I was at home in my own bed.

Another favorite sight for this particular nightmare was at a podium delivering an important talk on, for instance, ”Why Workers Join Unions.” Low and behold, again I am as God delivered me with not a stitch on. As long as I stayed behind the podium I was okay. But what happens when I have to leave? So I keep talking, sort of a filibuster to hide my privates from public scrutiny. The audience is getting restless. I’m in a rising anxiety crisis and whamo! I wake up. The nightmare became a regular part of my dreaming life. Of course there were other dreams, but here is the one we are writing about today.

During my years as an employment specialist, both working for the City of New York as well as the Ford Foundation, I would regularly find myself in Washington D.C. attending yet another meeting on what to do with the army of unemployed Black youth. It was at one of these “schmoozes” (that’s what I began to call them), attended by Mike Sviridoff, George Bennet and an assortment of other aficionados in the field, that Mike, who was my boss at both the City and Ford, suggested we all go for a “schwitz” in the YMCA. Mike took any opportunity for a good sweat before dinner. Traveling in Sweden with Mike was like being in his heaven. Before any dinner with Swedish officials there was always an opportunity, as Mike said, “for a good schwitz in a sauna as a rebirth before dinner.” In New York City in the twenties there were many Turkish Baths that were famous for their steam rooms.

Back to the Washington meeting. We had some time to spare between the late afternoon and evening meeting when Mike suggested we all go to the YMCA for a good schwitz. I was not nearly as enthusiastic about schwitzing, but to be a good group member I went along with the suggestion. At the Y we were given a couple of towels, keys to a locker, and directions to the steam room and the pool.

With towels wrapped around our bottoms, we were sort of self conscious about our nakedness as we made our collective way to the steam room. We sat on the benches in the steam, with Mike waxing poetic, “isn’t this just best thing in the world” and me beginning to think “I can’t take this much longer.” (I suffered from hypertension, I shouldn’t have been there at all.)

I said I would take a swim to cool off and meet the rest of the gang in lobby of the Y. On the way to the pool were big wire fence doors that had a way of slamming behind you that made clear it was definitely closing. After my nice cool swim in the pool I began to realize I did not know my way back to the locker room. In a hasty moment I went through a wire fence door and, in my effort to catch it before it closed, I lost my big towel. What I was left with was a small hand towel about as good as Adam’s fig leaf. No I think the fig leaf was bigger.

Standing in a maize of wire fence passageways, I tried to remember how I had come in? Nothing seemed to be the same. I was lost in the bowels of the YMCA with nothing but a fig leaf. I tried desperately to go back, but without any success. All the wire doors locked as soon as you went through them. There was no way back. There was only one way forward up a flight of stairs and through a door that said “Lobby.” I thought “Okay. So what if I end up in the YMCA Lobby in my fig leaf. Someone will come to my rescue. Besides, the men in the lobby will certainly understand and we will all have a good laugh.”

The “Lobby” door was big and heavy. In my effort to open the door I dropped my fig leaf towel, yanked the door open, and before I knew what happened “bammo”, it was closed. Now all I had was my two hands to cover the “gentles.” It all happened in an instant flash. I looked around and only saw young women in the lobby. What flashed through my mind was, “Hey, this is only my dream.” A young, laughing woman with a big towel came running over saying, “Don’t feel bad. You’re in the YWCA. It happens all the time. You see we are neighbors and we share some things we would rather not, but the police or fire or some department insists on these various exits.” I am now pleading with my rescuer, “How do I get my clothes back?” She is beginning to annoy me as she is not only attractive but keeps giggling as she says, “I think this is hilarious. It sure puts some guys in their place.”

The rest of my group are sitting in the YMCA lobby. As I am delivered, they are having the laugh of their life. The guy at the desk already told them what probably happened to me. As we settled down for dinner at Harvey’s there was no letup. “How did it feel to be balls ass naked in the YWCA?” “So what did those girls make of you running around naked in their lobby?” “I betcha they figured you were flashing them? Tell the truth Schrank, isn’t that what you were doing?” And so it went all evening and the next day. Whenever we passed each other in the hall Mike would say, “Schrank, let’s have the truth about what happened in the YWCA that afternoon?”

So what did happen that afternoon? I’m not sure, but I have never had my “caught naked dream” again. I had been caught naked in a public place in the real world and survived. Maybe that’s the reason the nightmare went away. Now if I can just figure out how to make the one about “what gate is the plane leaving from” or “where in the city did I park my car?” or a couple of others that can make me wake up in a sweat.

Thanks Kate. N.H.W.Y.