At Maumee Valley Hospital on Arlington Avenue the emergency room supervisor, registered nurse Carolyn Koberstein (formerly Carolyn Bacho), is due to get off work at 11PM. The hospital has been notified that ambulances are on the way. Just as the first victims arrive, the Toledo Police Chief, also shows up demanding to see a supervisor. Koberstein orders him out of the hospital yelling she hasn't got time for him right now. A few days later she will find herself in a heated discussion with the hospital administrator over the incident. She will have many of these types of discussions before her death in 1963.
She began life as Carolyn Marie Foster on February 14th, 1921. Her mother, Mary Foster, claims it was the best Valentine's Day gift she ever received. Raised on a farm with three brothers in Oregon, Ohio, she developed a hardened, competitive nature that would help her survive problems later in life.
After finishing high school, Carolyn began dating Ted Bacho, one of the summer farm workers whom she had known since grade school. Unfortunately, World War II interrupted. Ted enlisted in the Army Air Corps and Carolyn, wanting to do her part for the war effort, enrolled in nursing school at Lucas County General Hospital (later Maumee Valley).
Completing her nursing training allowed her to enlist in the Army Nurse Corps where she was given the rank of Second Lieutenant. In May of 1945, while on Army leave, she married Ted Bacho after his release from a German prison hospital. Deciding it was time to start a family she applied for a discharge.On May 2nd, 1946, Carolyn gave birth to twins prematurely. The baby girl died at birth. I would spend my earliest years in and out of hospitals because of severe allergies and rheumatoid arthritis. I spent nearly a year in the crippled children's ward at Maumee Valley Hospital. Thankfully, because of her training, my mother was able to work at the same hospital. The post-war era produced a wealth of new discoveries. One of the new drugs on the market was cortisone. I was fortunate to be one of the first in the country to receive injections of the drug. My ability to walk and eventually start school would be one of the few bright spots for my mother in the 1950's. My father saw his businesses fail and self-confidence erode during this same time. They were divorced in 1957
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My mother's army records list her as only 5 feet, 2 inches tall. But as that Toledo Police Chief became aware she could command a room or situation. She's driving me home one day when we happened upon an accident with one car flipped on its side, police and emergency personnel have yet to arrive. She jumps out of our car, climbs on top of the car on its side to begin pulling people out. She ends up with so much blood on her hands and clothes the police think she's one of the injured. She could discipline, with a touch of humor. If I complained about not having anything to do, she would repeat a line she learned from my grandmother: "How about I put blisters on your butt and you can sit in the corner and pick them off." She could be kind and thoughtful. During grade school on very cold winter days she would turn on the oven in the kitchen and drape my clothes over the warm door and sides before I put them on. The same oven also baked the world's best apple pies.
She eventually met and marred Paul Koberstein, a gentle hard-working man. She convinced my new stepfather that she only had two personal goals in her life; a stable family and my college education. She died at 42 years old while I was still in high school. Paul gave her the gift of the first goal. I made sure to give her the gift of the second one.
