Of the countless things she did to me and others over the 4 years I was under her rule, one stands out over and above them all. It happened when I was in the eighth grade.
In the 50’s the popular hair style was a pony tail. My hair went to my waist, and I loved to wear it in a pony tail. I liked to walk so it would sway back and forth with each step. The day students all seemed to wear them but BM hated pony tails. She said: “the only time you should wear a pony tail is when you tie your hair up to take a bath”. So, she always made me wear my hair down…and she hated that too. One day, she asked me (all nice and sweet) if I would please let her “fix” my hair. I was picturing ringlets or something equally as stupid, and in an adventurous state, I said: – “sure”! (I should have suspected something was not right for the mere fact she was actually talking nice to me).
She told me to wash my hair, comb it out and sit down in a chair by the sinks. So, I did. As I sat in the chair, she stood behind me and started combing my hair. Then, she took a hold of it with one hand, and I heard this awful sound of scissors cutting! She had grabbed my hair right at the nape of my neck, and she cut it off with one grinding snip!
My long hair was cut off! This amounted to about 16 inches of hair that had taken me years to grow. My hair was my best feature. I wasn’t pretty and I was overweight, but I had nice hair and I loved having it long. My hair is fine and when it was long, it was straight. After she cut it I found out I have naturally curly hair. I started screaming and crying hysterically!
She then proceeded to call over the other 50 or so boarders. She said to them: “look at her carrying on like this, when she TOLD me I could cut her hair! She is trying to lie and make a scene and deny that she told me I could cut it!” Not only was I campused for two weeks after that, but that night she made me sit on my chair by my bed, all night long, for telling “lies”. She was supposed to come to me and let me get into bed after an hour or two, but evidently she either fell asleep herself, or she forgot about me. I was too scared to get up off of the chair and get into bed on my own, so I sat there until she came to wake everyone the next morning. I could tell by the look on her face that she was surprised that I was still sitting in my chair, but she didn’t apologize. All of the girls were appalled.
The next day, everyone was forbidden to talk to me - and me to them. My hair looked so awful that it was hard for the other girls to look at me without laughing. It was not anything like a professional haircut. She had cut it at the base of my skull, above my neckline. I – literally – wanted to die. This is the first time I seriously considered suicide. I was 13. To be honest, the entire four years at Holy Names Academy, I wished I would die.
There were three bathtubs at the far end of the dormitory. Each one was in an enclosed cubicle and had a door with a sliding lock on it. One cubicle had a window to the outside. It was five stories up. When it was my turn to take a bath, I chose the bathtub with the window. I opened the window & climbed out onto the ledge. It was made of cement and was about one foot wide. It was dark outside. I stayed there, too afraid to jump, until my time was up for taking a bath (10 minutes) and she came looking for me. She pounded on the door. I climbed back inside and closed the window. No one ever knew I did that. It wasn’t until many years later that I told my brother & sister. The only other person I ever told was a Psychiatrist when I was in my late 20’s.
To this day, I have never been able to wear my hair cut short. I tried it once. After years of bleaching my hair a Platinum Blonde color, I decided to grow it out back to my natural color. I needed to cut off much of the blonde as it grew it out because my hair was quite damaged. Like a phobia, the feeling of short hair swept over me and brought back the feelings I experienced after BM cut my hair. I vowed to never cut it short again. Also, I wear my hair in a pony tail style almost every day.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
Chapter 3, Part 3 - ONGOING MISTREATMENT
It didn’t take long before I was singled out to be required to attend Mass every morning. BM had this deep down feeling that I was a great sinner and badly in need of repenting and reform.
Once she decided that I needed to attend Mass every morning, she had a unique way of waking me up. All of the other girls would be asleep (prior to the bright lights and bell ringing). She would come to my bed in the dark, grab my foot by the toes and (painfully) bend my toes backward. This technique woke me up instantly! Then, she would stand over me while I said my morning prayers.
Once, I was very sick with a really bad cold. I coughed and coughed during Mass and she punished me afterward because in her opinion, I was “just trying to get attention”. She told me the next day that I had “better not cough in church if I knew what was good for me”. I tried so hard not to cough in the chapel the next morning that I actually passed out from holding it back (try sometime not to cough when you have a cold and you will understand what I was up against). She was so extremely furious at me, her face turned red. She said she was sick of me trying to make people feel sorry for me and that I had done it on purpose to make her look bad. I was campused for a month for that one.
There were other ways BM was relentless in her treatment of me. She would call me into her office, and the conversation would go something like this:
BM: (arms folded) “Do you want to tell me what it was you did two days ago that you didn’t want me to find out about?”
Sharon: “I have no idea what you are talking about”.
BM: “Well, is that so! I’ll give you some time to think about it until you are ready to tell me what you did”.
Sharon: “You can give me all the time you want, I didn’t do anything”.
BM: “Until you tell me, you are campused, so it would be wise if you would just admit it”.
Being ‘campused’ meant that you were not allowed to leave the building or the school grounds at any time. She had to know where you were at all times. She even made us ask permission to go to the restroom – and we were given 5 minutes maximum to do that. Only one of us at a time was ever allowed to go to the bathroom, lest we try to make it into a social event.
She always seemed to find a reason to campus me when she knew I had plans to do something on the weekend. She would know when I was planning to spend the weekend with my sister and brothers, or with another boarder at her house. She would make sure I had to spend it at the boarding school instead. Many times I was the only boarder at the school over the weekend (which ironically, meant that she was also punishing herself because she had to constantly be with me to monitor everything I did). Then, she would carry out the punishment for what I had done. Most often this would consist of making me clean the decorative rod-iron grate-work on the sides of the multitude of desks in the dozens of classrooms throughout the school. I would spend all day Saturday performing that task. Luckily, Sunday was a day we were not allowed to do any extra tasks other than our basic routine (Sunday was a day of “rest”).
She would find a way to keep me busy anyway. She would make me write a letter to my father. She would read it and mark any mistakes in red ink. I would have to keep re-writing it until everything was perfect. This task took up most of my Sundays. Of course, I couldn’t write what I really wanted to – because she was reading it and editing it. Our incoming mail was also opened and read before it was given to us.
Whenever I would ask her what it was that I had done, she would invariably answer: “you know what you did; I don’t need to tell you”. Needless to say, never did I ever learn what any of the awful things I had done were. She also told me – many times: “you are on the wrong path. Somehow you slid off the track heading to heaven, and you are sliding into hell”.
Don’t misunderstand, I seemed to be at the top of her “hate” list, but she inflicted the same kind of treatment upon all of the boarders under her charge. Of the myriad of horrendous things she did to me and others over the years, there was one particular incident that was by far the worst - ever. It was one that would have a lasting effect on me for the rest of my life...
Once she decided that I needed to attend Mass every morning, she had a unique way of waking me up. All of the other girls would be asleep (prior to the bright lights and bell ringing). She would come to my bed in the dark, grab my foot by the toes and (painfully) bend my toes backward. This technique woke me up instantly! Then, she would stand over me while I said my morning prayers.
Once, I was very sick with a really bad cold. I coughed and coughed during Mass and she punished me afterward because in her opinion, I was “just trying to get attention”. She told me the next day that I had “better not cough in church if I knew what was good for me”. I tried so hard not to cough in the chapel the next morning that I actually passed out from holding it back (try sometime not to cough when you have a cold and you will understand what I was up against). She was so extremely furious at me, her face turned red. She said she was sick of me trying to make people feel sorry for me and that I had done it on purpose to make her look bad. I was campused for a month for that one.
There were other ways BM was relentless in her treatment of me. She would call me into her office, and the conversation would go something like this:
BM: (arms folded) “Do you want to tell me what it was you did two days ago that you didn’t want me to find out about?”
Sharon: “I have no idea what you are talking about”.
BM: “Well, is that so! I’ll give you some time to think about it until you are ready to tell me what you did”.
Sharon: “You can give me all the time you want, I didn’t do anything”.
BM: “Until you tell me, you are campused, so it would be wise if you would just admit it”.
Being ‘campused’ meant that you were not allowed to leave the building or the school grounds at any time. She had to know where you were at all times. She even made us ask permission to go to the restroom – and we were given 5 minutes maximum to do that. Only one of us at a time was ever allowed to go to the bathroom, lest we try to make it into a social event.
She always seemed to find a reason to campus me when she knew I had plans to do something on the weekend. She would know when I was planning to spend the weekend with my sister and brothers, or with another boarder at her house. She would make sure I had to spend it at the boarding school instead. Many times I was the only boarder at the school over the weekend (which ironically, meant that she was also punishing herself because she had to constantly be with me to monitor everything I did). Then, she would carry out the punishment for what I had done. Most often this would consist of making me clean the decorative rod-iron grate-work on the sides of the multitude of desks in the dozens of classrooms throughout the school. I would spend all day Saturday performing that task. Luckily, Sunday was a day we were not allowed to do any extra tasks other than our basic routine (Sunday was a day of “rest”).
She would find a way to keep me busy anyway. She would make me write a letter to my father. She would read it and mark any mistakes in red ink. I would have to keep re-writing it until everything was perfect. This task took up most of my Sundays. Of course, I couldn’t write what I really wanted to – because she was reading it and editing it. Our incoming mail was also opened and read before it was given to us.
Whenever I would ask her what it was that I had done, she would invariably answer: “you know what you did; I don’t need to tell you”. Needless to say, never did I ever learn what any of the awful things I had done were. She also told me – many times: “you are on the wrong path. Somehow you slid off the track heading to heaven, and you are sliding into hell”.
Don’t misunderstand, I seemed to be at the top of her “hate” list, but she inflicted the same kind of treatment upon all of the boarders under her charge. Of the myriad of horrendous things she did to me and others over the years, there was one particular incident that was by far the worst - ever. It was one that would have a lasting effect on me for the rest of my life...
Chapter 3, Part 2 - THE DAILY ROUTINE
All of the boarders slept on the 5th floor of the huge brick building, in two separate dormitories. No private rooms. Each dormitory had about 60 beds, which was quite a bit larger than good ol’ VV. Above and around each bed were pipes with pink curtains. This way you could dress in the morning and undress at night with some privacy. However, this was the only time we were ever allowed to close our curtains.
There were six long electrical cords hanging from a high ceiling. Each cord had a bare 150-watt light bulb hanging at the bottom. We would be awakened each morning at 6:00 AM. Sister Bernard Marie would turn on all six light bulbs - at once - and walk up and down the aisles of beds with a large bell that she rang as loudly as she possibly could. All of us were to immediately get on our knees on the floor next to our bed and say morning prayers. We would all say the Our Father, Hail Mary, and the Act of Contrition (out loud). After saying prayers, Sister BM (which I will call her from here on) would clap her hands and order us to get in line at the eight washbasins located at one end of the dorm. We were each allowed three minutes to wash our face and brush our teeth. If we were not done in our allotted time, we were yanked by our hair, scolded, and sent back to our station (bed). BM obviously enjoyed being mean and cruel.
Next we would go back to our beds, close the curtains and put on our uniforms. The uniforms were dark navy blue long sleeved dresses that buttoned in the front and were pleated from the waist down. They had a matching cloth belt that buttoned at the waistline. There was a round white cotton collar that buttoned onto the neckline of the dress. On our feet we wore white anklets and brown oxford shoes. The collars would only be worn once and then put into the laundry.
Each girl was required to heavily starch and iron her own collars. There was so much starch in them that they were stiff and could actually stand up on their own. They were so stiff that many times they would actually cut into our necks. None of the “day students” had starched collars. Our anklets had to be folded down an exact way so we all looked exactly alike. Boarders were not allowed any creative folding or rolling of their socks, which many of the day students did. The high school students had completely different uniforms than the grade school.
We would then go to breakfast. All students were required to attend Mass before breakfast twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays (sometimes more if there was a religious feast during the week). We went to Mass every day during Lent. We were awakened at 5:00 AM on Mass days.
The heat took a long time to get from the basement, where the furnace was located, up to the 5th floor. It was not heated during the night. The Janitor would arrive around 4:00 am to load it with coal and get it started. In the winter we would be on our knees on ice-cold hard wood floors, saying our prayers. Sometimes it would be so cold at 5:00 AM we could see our breath.
After cleaning and getting dressed into our uniforms, we formed into a line and marched either to the chapel or to breakfast. Once a week, we would have to go to “confession” after Mass, before we could go to breakfast. There, we would tell the priest in the confessional all the great and horrible sins we committed the past week in boarding school.
After breakfast, we would be marched back up the 5 flights of stairs to the dormitory where we would clean our stations. This was an area that consisted of our bed, a chest of drawers, and a chair that was at the end of each bed. We had to dust the floors and the furniture every day. We also had to clean the other areas of the dorm where the sinks were, and the room where there were three bathtubs. We rotated on the cleaning of those areas. After cleaning, we had the dreaded “inspection”. Because she was (without a doubt) sadistic, this was BM’s favorite time of day. She really enjoyed making all of us as miserable as possible. If our bed was not absolutely perfectly made, she ripped down the sheets and blankets and made us do it over.
She would inspect the insides of each drawer in our chest of drawers. If everything was not in perfect order and folded exactly the right way, she would dump it all onto our bed and make us put it back in order. She would look for dust under each bed. The curtains around our bed had to be folded perfectly with the pleats at the top all facing in the same direction. If too many things were not perfect, we would be punished after school by not being able to join in the recess we all looked forward to. Sometimes we would have to write punishment “essays” instead of having recess. Needless to say, since she never liked me anyway, my station was rarely up to par, no matter how hard I tried. I was destined to spend 4 years redoing my station, writing essays, and recesses that were few and far between.
There were six long electrical cords hanging from a high ceiling. Each cord had a bare 150-watt light bulb hanging at the bottom. We would be awakened each morning at 6:00 AM. Sister Bernard Marie would turn on all six light bulbs - at once - and walk up and down the aisles of beds with a large bell that she rang as loudly as she possibly could. All of us were to immediately get on our knees on the floor next to our bed and say morning prayers. We would all say the Our Father, Hail Mary, and the Act of Contrition (out loud). After saying prayers, Sister BM (which I will call her from here on) would clap her hands and order us to get in line at the eight washbasins located at one end of the dorm. We were each allowed three minutes to wash our face and brush our teeth. If we were not done in our allotted time, we were yanked by our hair, scolded, and sent back to our station (bed). BM obviously enjoyed being mean and cruel.
Next we would go back to our beds, close the curtains and put on our uniforms. The uniforms were dark navy blue long sleeved dresses that buttoned in the front and were pleated from the waist down. They had a matching cloth belt that buttoned at the waistline. There was a round white cotton collar that buttoned onto the neckline of the dress. On our feet we wore white anklets and brown oxford shoes. The collars would only be worn once and then put into the laundry.
Each girl was required to heavily starch and iron her own collars. There was so much starch in them that they were stiff and could actually stand up on their own. They were so stiff that many times they would actually cut into our necks. None of the “day students” had starched collars. Our anklets had to be folded down an exact way so we all looked exactly alike. Boarders were not allowed any creative folding or rolling of their socks, which many of the day students did. The high school students had completely different uniforms than the grade school.
We would then go to breakfast. All students were required to attend Mass before breakfast twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays (sometimes more if there was a religious feast during the week). We went to Mass every day during Lent. We were awakened at 5:00 AM on Mass days.
The heat took a long time to get from the basement, where the furnace was located, up to the 5th floor. It was not heated during the night. The Janitor would arrive around 4:00 am to load it with coal and get it started. In the winter we would be on our knees on ice-cold hard wood floors, saying our prayers. Sometimes it would be so cold at 5:00 AM we could see our breath.
After cleaning and getting dressed into our uniforms, we formed into a line and marched either to the chapel or to breakfast. Once a week, we would have to go to “confession” after Mass, before we could go to breakfast. There, we would tell the priest in the confessional all the great and horrible sins we committed the past week in boarding school.
After breakfast, we would be marched back up the 5 flights of stairs to the dormitory where we would clean our stations. This was an area that consisted of our bed, a chest of drawers, and a chair that was at the end of each bed. We had to dust the floors and the furniture every day. We also had to clean the other areas of the dorm where the sinks were, and the room where there were three bathtubs. We rotated on the cleaning of those areas. After cleaning, we had the dreaded “inspection”. Because she was (without a doubt) sadistic, this was BM’s favorite time of day. She really enjoyed making all of us as miserable as possible. If our bed was not absolutely perfectly made, she ripped down the sheets and blankets and made us do it over.
She would inspect the insides of each drawer in our chest of drawers. If everything was not in perfect order and folded exactly the right way, she would dump it all onto our bed and make us put it back in order. She would look for dust under each bed. The curtains around our bed had to be folded perfectly with the pleats at the top all facing in the same direction. If too many things were not perfect, we would be punished after school by not being able to join in the recess we all looked forward to. Sometimes we would have to write punishment “essays” instead of having recess. Needless to say, since she never liked me anyway, my station was rarely up to par, no matter how hard I tried. I was destined to spend 4 years redoing my station, writing essays, and recesses that were few and far between.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Chapter 3, Part 1- BOARDING SCHOOL #2 - SPOKANE
My second boarding school was “Holy Names Academy” in Spokane, Washington. I would live there for four years while my sister and two brothers attended Gonzaga University nearby. This boarding school was by far the most difficult for me, and the hardest on me than any of the others. The nuns there were nothing like the first ones, especially one in particular. I have always been grateful for the tender loving care I received from the Visitation Sisters. They were like 20 moms to me.
My father chose Holy Names Academy in Spokane, so named for the Holy Names nuns that ran it. He picked Spokane because my sister Beverly was starting her first year at Gonzaga there. My oldest brother Jim started the following year along with my brother Bill after he graduated from St. John’s Military Academy. Gonzaga was only about a mile from Holy Names, so it fit the bill.
My brother, Jim, was eleven years older than me, and we had not seen him for a very long time. He lied about his age and joined the Air Force at sixteen (something that probably could never be done today). He was in the military for five years, including three years in Korea during the war. Following a foot injury he was reassigned to work as a court stenographer in Military trials. When he left the Air Force, he had decided he wanted to become a Lawyer because of all the injustice he witnessed in the military courtrooms. He qualified for the GI Bill to attend College. First, he had to get his high school diploma and he managed to complete the two years he had missed in less than one year.
Jim was extremely intelligent. He had a photographic memory and could remember everything he ever read or saw. It was truly amazing. After a while in college, he could find information, instantly, out of dozens of different law books, because he could remember exactly which book and where he had read the information he was looking for. I’ve never known anyone else equal to him.
I would be starting Holy Names in 6th grade. My arrival there was memorable only in that it was nothing like Visitation Villa - whatsoever. The school was in a crowded residential neighborhood and had very little property, probably about an acre or less. The boarders there were also in two groups, but this time they were divided into 1st through 8th and 9th through 12th grades. Again, my father took me there. He spent a very short time meeting the nun who would be in charge of me. The majority of the boarders were all arriving around the same time with their parents so it was quite a busy place. After telling her what a wonderful child I was, he departed and left me in the hands of “the nun from hell”.
Sister Bernard Marie was the one in charge of the 1st through 8th grade boarders. I knew immediately that she did not like me. I will never know why, but it was quite evident from day one. Her name was really appropriate because she rather resembled a St. Bernard dog in a nuns’ habit. When she would bite down, her upper teeth went behind her lower teeth so her chin stuck out in what I would call an “under bite” as apposed to an “overbite” (actually she looked more like a Bulldog, but St. Bernard dog would do). I don’t know if she sensed my “doggy” description or maybe she didn’t like my father (which I did sense). Perhaps it could have been my looks that she didn’t like. I was a chubby, overweight, unattractive ten year old with buck teeth. Whatever the reason, she did not like me. She would make the next few years truly hell on earth, not only for me, but for all of the girls in her charge.
There was one “rule” the Holy Names nuns required of us which was quite different from any other school I ever attended. Whenever you were walking down the hallway and saw a nun approaching you, you had to stop dead in your tracks, move to the far right of the hallway, next to the wall, and bow your head as they walked by. You were never to look them in the face. They considered themselves “sacred” because they were devoting their lives to God. We were to do this out of “respect”.
My father chose Holy Names Academy in Spokane, so named for the Holy Names nuns that ran it. He picked Spokane because my sister Beverly was starting her first year at Gonzaga there. My oldest brother Jim started the following year along with my brother Bill after he graduated from St. John’s Military Academy. Gonzaga was only about a mile from Holy Names, so it fit the bill.
My brother, Jim, was eleven years older than me, and we had not seen him for a very long time. He lied about his age and joined the Air Force at sixteen (something that probably could never be done today). He was in the military for five years, including three years in Korea during the war. Following a foot injury he was reassigned to work as a court stenographer in Military trials. When he left the Air Force, he had decided he wanted to become a Lawyer because of all the injustice he witnessed in the military courtrooms. He qualified for the GI Bill to attend College. First, he had to get his high school diploma and he managed to complete the two years he had missed in less than one year.
Jim was extremely intelligent. He had a photographic memory and could remember everything he ever read or saw. It was truly amazing. After a while in college, he could find information, instantly, out of dozens of different law books, because he could remember exactly which book and where he had read the information he was looking for. I’ve never known anyone else equal to him.
I would be starting Holy Names in 6th grade. My arrival there was memorable only in that it was nothing like Visitation Villa - whatsoever. The school was in a crowded residential neighborhood and had very little property, probably about an acre or less. The boarders there were also in two groups, but this time they were divided into 1st through 8th and 9th through 12th grades. Again, my father took me there. He spent a very short time meeting the nun who would be in charge of me. The majority of the boarders were all arriving around the same time with their parents so it was quite a busy place. After telling her what a wonderful child I was, he departed and left me in the hands of “the nun from hell”.
Sister Bernard Marie was the one in charge of the 1st through 8th grade boarders. I knew immediately that she did not like me. I will never know why, but it was quite evident from day one. Her name was really appropriate because she rather resembled a St. Bernard dog in a nuns’ habit. When she would bite down, her upper teeth went behind her lower teeth so her chin stuck out in what I would call an “under bite” as apposed to an “overbite” (actually she looked more like a Bulldog, but St. Bernard dog would do). I don’t know if she sensed my “doggy” description or maybe she didn’t like my father (which I did sense). Perhaps it could have been my looks that she didn’t like. I was a chubby, overweight, unattractive ten year old with buck teeth. Whatever the reason, she did not like me. She would make the next few years truly hell on earth, not only for me, but for all of the girls in her charge.
There was one “rule” the Holy Names nuns required of us which was quite different from any other school I ever attended. Whenever you were walking down the hallway and saw a nun approaching you, you had to stop dead in your tracks, move to the far right of the hallway, next to the wall, and bow your head as they walked by. You were never to look them in the face. They considered themselves “sacred” because they were devoting their lives to God. We were to do this out of “respect”.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Chapter 2, Part 5 - THE NEXT FIVE YEARS
Frankie returned to Seattle with the four of us children. Doctor Shay had committed suicide by hanging himself. I don’t know why. It always seemed strange to me that a doctor wouldn’t find an easier way to do it. Frankie had since met a man, Dave Caldwell, who was a cab driver, and they had fallen in love. We all moved in together into a low income housing development in Kirkland, Washington a suburb of Seattle. I never knew for sure if they had married, but I don’t think they did because I do know my mother was on Welfare.
Dave started staying away more and more because he had no tolerance for the four children. When they were together both Dave and Frankie were very heavy drinkers…..alcoholics. Even though I was very young, I do have memories of that time and that neighborhood. I can remember them arguing and fighting a lot. I remember my mother hitting him on the head with a cast iron frying pan and blood everywhere. I also remember my mother bleeding during their fights. She also would fall down a lot.
Everyone in that housing development was poor. Each apartment was in long row that connected 10 apartments side by side. All apartments had the same exact floor plan. Everything was bare bones basic. My mother cooked on a wood range which also kept the apartment warm. I don’t think there was another source of heat but I could be wrong. There were 3 bedrooms and one bathroom. The kitchen and living room were all one room. Each apartment was probably around 600 sq ft. total. I remember my mother giving me baths in the kitchen sink.
We had an “ice box” to keep things cold. An Iceman would deliver large bricks of ice that he placed in a compartment at the top. As the ice melted, it ran into a pan that was under the ice box and had to be emptied regularly. We had dairy products delivered by a Milkman. Our next order would be written on a piece of paper that was stuck into the top one of the empty glass milk bottles which always had to be returned. He delivered Milk, Eggs, Butter and other things such as Cottage cheese and Sour Cream. Everything was left on our front doorstep early in the morning. The milk was raw milk and it would separate so the cream rose to the top.
Margarine was a new product and at first it was not allowed to look like butter. It was white and in a plastic bag that had a red ball inside. We would squish it until the ball broke and yellow die came out which we would squeeze and squeeze until the product ended up looking yellow like butter. We all loved to do it so we would have to take turns. I remember clearly that sometimes when we cracked an egg, there would be a chick embryo inside and it would have to be discarded.
Back then there were no televisions and it isn’t likely that we had a telephone. We all would gather around a radio that we listened to regularly at night. There are a few that I remember very well. One was Baby Snooks with Fanny Brice (who was played by Barbara Streisand much later in Funny Girl). Also very popular were Jack Benny, Bob Hope, Phil Harris, Alice Faye, Groucho Marx, Milton Merle and their sidekicks in a variety of comedy sitcoms. We always loved George Burns and Gracie Allen and Amos and Andy. Henry Aldrich, Abbott and Costello, Lone Ranger, Cisco Kid, Hopalong Cassidy and Superman were especially for kids. Inner Sanctum and The Shadow were thrillers. It was the highlight of our entire day to sit and listen to the radio.
There are only a few incidents I remember about my mother. They must be ones that for some reason had an impact on me. Once when we were in a grocery store, she shoplifted a can of tuna. Somehow she was caught and the police arrived. I was scared but that is all I remember about it. I also remember riding on busses quite a bit with her and having to walk a long ways from the bus stop home. Once I pretended I was asleep so she would carry me – she did too! She took me to two movies. I vividly remember parts of each movie, but it wasn’t until many years later, when I saw them again, that I recognized the scenes that were locked in my memory. That is when I realized which movies they were. One was Gone With the Wind and the other was Unconquered with Paulette Goddard and Gary Cooper.
When I was five, one morning at the breakfast table, my mother had a serious stroke. She was taken away in an ambulance. Like I said before, she was only thirty-four. The stroke paralyzed her entire right side and took away her ability to speak. That was the last time I saw her for at least five years.
Dave started staying away more and more because he had no tolerance for the four children. When they were together both Dave and Frankie were very heavy drinkers…..alcoholics. Even though I was very young, I do have memories of that time and that neighborhood. I can remember them arguing and fighting a lot. I remember my mother hitting him on the head with a cast iron frying pan and blood everywhere. I also remember my mother bleeding during their fights. She also would fall down a lot.
Everyone in that housing development was poor. Each apartment was in long row that connected 10 apartments side by side. All apartments had the same exact floor plan. Everything was bare bones basic. My mother cooked on a wood range which also kept the apartment warm. I don’t think there was another source of heat but I could be wrong. There were 3 bedrooms and one bathroom. The kitchen and living room were all one room. Each apartment was probably around 600 sq ft. total. I remember my mother giving me baths in the kitchen sink.
We had an “ice box” to keep things cold. An Iceman would deliver large bricks of ice that he placed in a compartment at the top. As the ice melted, it ran into a pan that was under the ice box and had to be emptied regularly. We had dairy products delivered by a Milkman. Our next order would be written on a piece of paper that was stuck into the top one of the empty glass milk bottles which always had to be returned. He delivered Milk, Eggs, Butter and other things such as Cottage cheese and Sour Cream. Everything was left on our front doorstep early in the morning. The milk was raw milk and it would separate so the cream rose to the top.
Margarine was a new product and at first it was not allowed to look like butter. It was white and in a plastic bag that had a red ball inside. We would squish it until the ball broke and yellow die came out which we would squeeze and squeeze until the product ended up looking yellow like butter. We all loved to do it so we would have to take turns. I remember clearly that sometimes when we cracked an egg, there would be a chick embryo inside and it would have to be discarded.
Back then there were no televisions and it isn’t likely that we had a telephone. We all would gather around a radio that we listened to regularly at night. There are a few that I remember very well. One was Baby Snooks with Fanny Brice (who was played by Barbara Streisand much later in Funny Girl). Also very popular were Jack Benny, Bob Hope, Phil Harris, Alice Faye, Groucho Marx, Milton Merle and their sidekicks in a variety of comedy sitcoms. We always loved George Burns and Gracie Allen and Amos and Andy. Henry Aldrich, Abbott and Costello, Lone Ranger, Cisco Kid, Hopalong Cassidy and Superman were especially for kids. Inner Sanctum and The Shadow were thrillers. It was the highlight of our entire day to sit and listen to the radio.
There are only a few incidents I remember about my mother. They must be ones that for some reason had an impact on me. Once when we were in a grocery store, she shoplifted a can of tuna. Somehow she was caught and the police arrived. I was scared but that is all I remember about it. I also remember riding on busses quite a bit with her and having to walk a long ways from the bus stop home. Once I pretended I was asleep so she would carry me – she did too! She took me to two movies. I vividly remember parts of each movie, but it wasn’t until many years later, when I saw them again, that I recognized the scenes that were locked in my memory. That is when I realized which movies they were. One was Gone With the Wind and the other was Unconquered with Paulette Goddard and Gary Cooper.
When I was five, one morning at the breakfast table, my mother had a serious stroke. She was taken away in an ambulance. Like I said before, she was only thirty-four. The stroke paralyzed her entire right side and took away her ability to speak. That was the last time I saw her for at least five years.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Chapter 2, Part 4 - MARRIAGE OF FRANKIE AND RALPH
After Bill was born, she now had three children to take care of: ages five, one and a newborn. She stayed home to be a mother and a wife. It kept her very busy all of the time. Remember, this was before any of the modern conveniences mothers have today. There were no disposable diapers or disposable bottles. She mixed her own formula for the baby bottles and mashed up food for them to eat. Frankie never learned to drive a car. (As a matter of fact, her sister, Kay never learned to drive a car either and she lived to be 80). Whenever my mother needed to go shopping or to appointments, she had to load up the three children and take busses wherever she went.
For his entire working life, my father, Ralph, was always a traveling salesman. He worked for many different companies over the years, but was constantly on the road and rarely ever came home. Frankie found her life very stifling. She was in a loveless, lonely marriage with little companionship other than her children. She was a heavy smoker for all of her adult life and then she started drinking heavily too.
When her husband did come home, he saw the state she was in and began being very abusive to her both verbally and physically. She felt trapped. With very little education and no skills to go to work, she accepted her fate and stayed in her nightmare of a marriage and her miserable existence.
*******
The children were growing and when Jim was ten, Beverly five, and Bill four years old, she discovered she was pregnant again. Now Frankie felt completely lost and hopeless. She couldn’t bear to stay married to Ralph and start raising yet another child. She began going out by herself and leaving the children at home alone, sometimes even overnight. The abuse from her husband had escalated over the years and now she was not only abused but had become an alcoholic. Next, she started having her doctor prescribe sleeping pills.
Ralph informed her that as soon as she had the baby, he was going to take the four children from her and get a divorce. She was relieved knowing she would get away from him but devastated by the thought of losing her children. From what I was told, she had become very close to her physician, Doctor Shay. He told her he would help her with the divorce and help her retain custody of the children.
On November 19, 1942, Frankie’s fourth child was delivered by Doctor Shay. It was a girl she named Sharon. The baby girl was me. Dr. Shay found my mother a place to stay hoping she and her children would be safe and Ralph would not know where she was. He also hired an attorney to represent her in the divorce.
Unfortunately, Ralph did find her. One day (or perhaps night) he kidnapped the four of us. I was seven months old. His plan was to take us to New Jersey and try to talk his mother or his sister or one of his brothers to take care of us until he figured out what to do with us. We rode a train all the way across the country from Seattle to New York. I guess it was a harrowing trip, especially with me in diapers and drinking a bottle.
The reception he got from his family was not what he had hoped it would be. They still had not forgiven him for his betrayal of their Aunt Leah and the resulting disinheritance. They refused to help him in any way. He moved the five of us into a hotel in New York City. He just couldn’t figure out what to do with us, so he resorted to contacting Frankie and having her come to New York to retrieve us. The only photograph I have with my entire family when I was a baby was taken of us sitting at a table in a restaurant there. We look like the picture of a happy family. Pictures can be deceiving…
For his entire working life, my father, Ralph, was always a traveling salesman. He worked for many different companies over the years, but was constantly on the road and rarely ever came home. Frankie found her life very stifling. She was in a loveless, lonely marriage with little companionship other than her children. She was a heavy smoker for all of her adult life and then she started drinking heavily too.
When her husband did come home, he saw the state she was in and began being very abusive to her both verbally and physically. She felt trapped. With very little education and no skills to go to work, she accepted her fate and stayed in her nightmare of a marriage and her miserable existence.
*******
The children were growing and when Jim was ten, Beverly five, and Bill four years old, she discovered she was pregnant again. Now Frankie felt completely lost and hopeless. She couldn’t bear to stay married to Ralph and start raising yet another child. She began going out by herself and leaving the children at home alone, sometimes even overnight. The abuse from her husband had escalated over the years and now she was not only abused but had become an alcoholic. Next, she started having her doctor prescribe sleeping pills.
Ralph informed her that as soon as she had the baby, he was going to take the four children from her and get a divorce. She was relieved knowing she would get away from him but devastated by the thought of losing her children. From what I was told, she had become very close to her physician, Doctor Shay. He told her he would help her with the divorce and help her retain custody of the children.
On November 19, 1942, Frankie’s fourth child was delivered by Doctor Shay. It was a girl she named Sharon. The baby girl was me. Dr. Shay found my mother a place to stay hoping she and her children would be safe and Ralph would not know where she was. He also hired an attorney to represent her in the divorce.
Unfortunately, Ralph did find her. One day (or perhaps night) he kidnapped the four of us. I was seven months old. His plan was to take us to New Jersey and try to talk his mother or his sister or one of his brothers to take care of us until he figured out what to do with us. We rode a train all the way across the country from Seattle to New York. I guess it was a harrowing trip, especially with me in diapers and drinking a bottle.
The reception he got from his family was not what he had hoped it would be. They still had not forgiven him for his betrayal of their Aunt Leah and the resulting disinheritance. They refused to help him in any way. He moved the five of us into a hotel in New York City. He just couldn’t figure out what to do with us, so he resorted to contacting Frankie and having her come to New York to retrieve us. The only photograph I have with my entire family when I was a baby was taken of us sitting at a table in a restaurant there. We look like the picture of a happy family. Pictures can be deceiving…
Saturday, June 19, 2010
REBUTTAL
**** I am going to continue writing my blog again but I have decided for now to leave this post in until I feel I can remove it at a later time. This incident has caused great problems and grief for me. *******
***************
I have decided to quit writing my blog on the Internet for awhile and will continue to write it in private. A certain individual has accused me of copying her blog, almost word for word. I want to state here that it is NOT true in any way, shape or form.
I began writing my story over five years ago. This is my story in my own words - no one else’s. All I have done so far is to copy and paste what I wrote a long time ago onto this blog. I have no interest, need, desire or intention of "stealing" someone else's life story or writing abilities. To do so would not only be ridiculous, but stupid. I would not even be writing my life story if I needed to depend on someone else’s writing skills. If I needed to do that I would hire someone else to write it for me.
I took five writing classes in five quarters of college in preparation for writing my story. Over the years I have read at least 50 Biographies and Autobiographies to get a feel for how others wrote their story and to learn what I liked and didn't like about how they wrote it. I also wanted to learn the kinds of things I didn't want to incorporate into my story. That is the only outside influence, whatsoever, that I have ever had.
I am writing my story because I have been told for years, by many, that I should write it. Also, my children have begged me for years to write it, not only for them but for all of my descendents. I didn’t even have a chance to get to the best parts of my life story here because I feel I am being forced to quit.
My accuser believes that I have read her story and used her words and her phrases in order to write mine. When, in fact I have read very little of her story and have no desire to copy one thing she has written, nor her style of writing. If a sentence or two resemble something she wrote, it is simply a coincidence and nothing more.
***************
I have decided to quit writing my blog on the Internet for awhile and will continue to write it in private. A certain individual has accused me of copying her blog, almost word for word. I want to state here that it is NOT true in any way, shape or form.
I began writing my story over five years ago. This is my story in my own words - no one else’s. All I have done so far is to copy and paste what I wrote a long time ago onto this blog. I have no interest, need, desire or intention of "stealing" someone else's life story or writing abilities. To do so would not only be ridiculous, but stupid. I would not even be writing my life story if I needed to depend on someone else’s writing skills. If I needed to do that I would hire someone else to write it for me.
I took five writing classes in five quarters of college in preparation for writing my story. Over the years I have read at least 50 Biographies and Autobiographies to get a feel for how others wrote their story and to learn what I liked and didn't like about how they wrote it. I also wanted to learn the kinds of things I didn't want to incorporate into my story. That is the only outside influence, whatsoever, that I have ever had.
I am writing my story because I have been told for years, by many, that I should write it. Also, my children have begged me for years to write it, not only for them but for all of my descendents. I didn’t even have a chance to get to the best parts of my life story here because I feel I am being forced to quit.
My accuser believes that I have read her story and used her words and her phrases in order to write mine. When, in fact I have read very little of her story and have no desire to copy one thing she has written, nor her style of writing. If a sentence or two resemble something she wrote, it is simply a coincidence and nothing more.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)