Louise Pearl "Cavi" Cavagnaro, a former World War II Army nurse and longtime Johns Hopkins Hospital administrator who helped end racial segregation at the East Baltimore hospital, died Thursday from complications of dementia at Roland Park Place.
She was 90.
Miss Cavagnaro, the daughter of Italian immigrant parents, was born and raised in Portland, Ore., where she graduated in 1937 from Franklin High School.
After earning her nursing degree from Oregon Health Services University — now part of the University of Oregon — she enlisted in the Army in 1943.
Miss Cavagnaro served primarily as an operating room nurse in Utah, England, France and Germany during World War II, and in 1946, went to work for the Atomic Bomb Casualty Commission and served as director of nursing in Hiroshima.
During her time in Hiroshima, it was Miss Cavagnaro's job to train nurses who went out into the community to treat those suffering from the effects of the atomic bomb.
Miss Cavagnaro, who remained in the Army Reserves for 30 years, attained the rank of major.
After returning to New York City in 1951, she enrolled at Columbia University, where she earned a master's degree in hospital administration.
She began her career at Hopkins Hospital in 1953, holding administrative positions in the department of surgery, medical affairs and patient services.
Miss Cavagnaro also played a role in the establishment of organ procurement programs and transplant resources throughout Maryland and the Southeastern states.
She was a strong proponent of Hopkins' nursing program, and when the School of Nursing was re-established in 1984, she was appointed a clinical associate on the faculty.
One of Miss Cavagnaro's more enduring accomplishments during her Hopkins career was working to end the era of segregated wards at the hospital.
In her 1992 monograph, "A History of Segregation and Desegregation at the Johns Hopkins Medical Institutions," Miss Cavagnaro wrote that benefactor Johns Hopkins had instructed his trustees that the "hospital shall admit the indigent poor — without regard to sex, age, or color."
When the hospital opened in 1889, the second patient admitted was "colored," and by the end of the first year of operation, African-American patients accounted for 13.6 percent of those treated at Hopkins, and by 1900, 20.7 percent.
The first "colored ward" at Hopkins Hospital opened in 1894, with men on the first floor and women on the second. In 1916, two separate morgues were constructed, one for white patients and the other for African-Americans.
These separate facilities lasted until being abolished in 1960.
"As I joined the hospital administrative staff in 1953, I was an active participant in the program to eliminate 'separate facilities' for 'colored' and 'white,' " she wrote.
"Actually, the separate facilities were for Americans of African descent. Asians were never segregated. The first black patient on the Marburg Private Service was a diplomat from Africa. This event occurred about 1951 or 1952," Miss Cavagnaro wrote.
Dr. Richard S. Ross, who later became dean of the Johns Hopkins medical school, arrived as an intern in 1947 at Hopkins after graduating from Harvard Medical School. He related to Miss Cavagnaro of being rebuked one day while making rounds after referring to female patients as "Mrs."
He was told by the assistant resident he had made the "patient uncomfortable by calling her 'Mrs.,' and it was better to call colored people by their first names," according to Miss Cavagnaro's monograph.
Another veteran Hopkins physician from those days told Miss Cavagnaro that it was the custom to have shelves labeled "white blood" and "colored blood" as were the bottles containing blood.
Miss Cavagnaro, who was also affectionately know as "Miss Cav," was an assistant vice president of the hospital when she retired in 1985.
"She was the right-hand person to Dr. Russell A. Nelson when he was president of the hospital," said Dr. Ross.
"She served on many committees and had a major point role in desegregating the hospital," said Dr. Ross. "She and Mac Harvey [Dr. A. McGehee Harvey, who had been chairman of the department of medicine at Hopkins] were prime movers in that effort."
Dr. Ross recalled her efficient manner.
"She was military and got things done, but not in an offensive military way," he said. "If I were running a ward in an Army hospital as I have done, Cavi was the kind of person I'd want for a head nurse. She had a good sense of organization and planning."
After retiring, Miss Cavagnaro launched a second career at the Alan Mason Chesney Medical Archives at Hopkins, where she spent the next 25 years as a volunteer, accumulating thousands of volunteer hours, until retiring a second time earlier this year.
"She did more than put in a couple of hours. She was a tremendous networker and put us in touch with all the major players," head archivist Nancy McCall said Tuesday.
"She had great contacts with the administration, faculty and staff. She was an extraordinary resource," said Ms. McCall. "She really understood the true nature of collaboration and she had respect for each person's contributions. 'What we do is collaborative,' she was fond of saying.
"Cavi had the respect and love of so many of the black employees. Everywhere I went I'd hear from gardeners or those in housekeeping of how she helped them or got them into training programs," she said.
If Miss Cavagnaro had a weak spot, it was for male graduate students doing research.
"I have to say she took a special interest in them," Ms. McCall said with a hearty laugh. "She doted on them and gave them food. She was continually giving things away and helped decorate a lot of apartments."
A longtime resident of Roland Park, Miss Cavagnaro was an avid collector of Asian art. She was an active member of the Walters Art Museum and the Baltimore Museum of Art.
"She was also a fabulous cook, especially Italian food," said a niece, Jeanine Cavagnaro of Portland, Ore.
Plans for Miss Cavagnaro's interment at Arlington National Cemetery were incomplete Tuesday.
Also surviving are two nephews and another niece.