Excerpt for “Changing the Sheets – A Kentucky Memoir”
From the chapter named: “Sex, sex, sex!” (I’m in my early 30’s).
On this particular summer day, I came into Mom’s place humming, “Wouldn’t It Be Nice,” by the Beach Boys. I had just listened to on my car radio as I drove in to pick up my children. Mom was a great baby sitter for my many obligations as a Catholic School teacher. Today, had been another hot summer day (there was no air-conditioning) I had to spend in a tiring teacher’s workshop. Mom was in the den, listening to the Dinah Shore Show while she snapped fresh green beans from Dad’s garden. My children, age 6 and 7, were outside playing chase games in the side lot with my younger brothers, Bill and Pat. My little brothers were just a few years older than my own children, Lisa and Justin. I enjoyed listening to the kids play as they ran past the screens of the den’s open windows and decided to relax with Mom, before I took them home.
In an effort to calm my jangled nerves from the July heat, I settled in on Mom’s den couch and grabbed a bowl to fill with several handfuls of the fragrant beans. No matter what was going on in my personal life, I always felt relaxed at Mom’s. Soon the air was filled with rhythmic “pops, pop, pop,” sounds as both she and I worked on the bushel of beans. She would be caning them tomorrow.
Mom interrupted my peacefulness when she suddenly blurted out, in response to Dinah’s topic of the day, “Sex, sex, sex!” That’s all you hear about on TV these days!” Pressing her lips together, she pouted, as she continued, “And, I didn’t hear any mention of marriage.”
Mom squirmed as the program got more explicit. She was uncomfortable with sexual topics. I sympathized, realizing that it was hard for those in the Generation Gap to take in the idea of sex without marriage. It was especially hard for them to take the idea of having sex without the obligation of producing babies.
“Mom, you gotta’ get with the times,” I chuckled, remembering that my friend Nora had said this to me many times. “Sex is the national pastime. Just like the British Invasion was a few years ago, when we were singing Tiny Tim’s song, “Tip toe through the Tulips,” and talking about the scandals of Queen Elizabeth’s children. Now it’s sex.” I smiled at the memory of Tiny Tim, recalling his wavy, shoulder length hair, falsetto voice and marriage to his girlfriend, Miss Vickie.
Aloud, I said, “Mom, the pill has changed everything for women.” Her face frowned as I reached into the wicker basket to grab another handful of beans. “Most women are on the pill, and they don’t have to worry about getting pregnant. Sex is seen in a whole new light, now.”
Mom sighed, “That’s just what I mean; sex is too serious to be taken lightly.” Not knowing what to say next, Mom swallowed hard and reached for more beans for her own empty bowl.
On the TV, I saw Dinah throw back her blond page-boy hairdo as she talked to her guests, George and Nina O’Neal about their scandalous new book called, Open Marriage.” The O’Neal’s introduced their book, and then introduced the “mod” couple they brought on the show with them. This couple explained how they lived out the book’s ideals – ideals that kept their marriage thrilling. These two people were the epitome of taking sex lightly. I looked up from my beans and noticed Mom’s head already moving, her salt and pepper curls bouncing.
Dinah liked bold topics and this one fulfilled all her desires. One of the book’s suggestions was that couples needed to have affairs to keep themselves happily married. The camera quickly focused on the sexy couple brought in by the O’Neal’s.
The wife, wearing a coquettish see-through blouse that showed off her black lacy bra, and generous bosom, spoke up first. “Marvin and I think it’s fun to go to parties and find other couples who like to swing (trade partners).” She cast her husband a wink and blew him a kiss.
I heard Mom gasp at that idea, “Well, I never!”
Marvin was dressed in a powder-blue leisure suit with a Nehru-style jacket. Inside was a tight-fitting, acetate shirt, unbuttoned to expose the gold medallion on his hairy chest. He eagerly yanked forward in his chair, and chimed in, “That‘s what’s really kept our marriage exciting!” Marvin turned and winked at the audience then purred to his wife in a deep, solicitous voice, “Hasn’t it Darling?”
Their eyes met as they shared a lusty smile. He moved toward her. The camera quickly flipped off the couple, and cut back to the O’Neal’s, who were chuckling at the couple’s candor. I wondered what happened to Marvin and his sexy wife, but didn’t wonder long because of the giggles coming in (off camera), from the audience.
The program now settled on the O’Neal’s. “Nina and I wrote our book because we want to let people know that it’s okay to have fun with sex,” Nina nodded vigorously.
“Why is America so puritanical when it comes to sex?” George pleaded, giving a plaintive look to the camera.
“It’s simply a natural human activity.” Nina opened her eyes wide and gave her head an an exasperated shake, to the audience.
“Well, I never!” Mom repeated, heaving up and just about dropping her bowl of beans. “They act like sex is just supposed to be for fun,” she huffed, her salt and pepper curls bouncing, again.
I yawned, thinking that in the time I had spent in therapy, I had had many talks about sex. There was so much talk about sex on the airways, and in our groups, that sex was almost becoming, passé. It would be too shocking to my old-fashioned mother to know about the books I had been reading on the subject, so I didn’t mention them.
My girlfriend, Nora, and I read books like, The Sensuous Woman by J and Fear of flying by Erica Jong, among several others. Laughing, we discussed them all. I felt a delicious streak of rebelliousness that I could easily credit to the emerging Women’s Freedom Movement, I continued my conversation.
Speaking in a matter-of-fact manner, I offered information about the changing sexual themes of the day, feeling a mischievous streak, inside. I just wanted to see what Mom would say. “Some young people are even moving in together before tying the knot. You know what I mean, Mom, it’s called “shacking-up.” My lips formed a sly grin as I went on, “There is a couple at the school where my friend Nora teaches, who are living like that right now.”
“Well, I don’t care what you call it!” Mom spoke back. “Those people are just living in sin!” Her words were in a loud whisper, even though the kids were outside in the yard. Looking me square in the eye, she pressed her lips together, obviously wondering how she could have been such a failure as a mother.
“I can’t believe you would even mention an amoral situation like that one to me,” she gasped. Her hands fell onto her plump little lap again, this time the bowl of beans spilled over onto the cushions of the couch. “I sure don’t want any of my grandchildren to be born in such a godless situation,” she cried, her lips tightening, again. “And, I hope you and Kurt are not committing a mortal sin by using birth control, especially that Pill! You know what the church says about that.” Mom’s face reddened, suspecting the worse. But not wanting to hear me say yes, she looked out the window at the kids playing in the yard, as her face blushed. I wondered if her face had reddened in embarrassment about sex, or in anger that the rules about it had changed.
I wanted to tell Mom to stay out of my sex life, but I was sure she couldn’t handle a confrontation like that. I waited until the show reached an advertising break, then some teenage anger inside me, made me blurt out another challenging remark, with a little grin.
“You know that movie Dinah and her guests just mentioned, the one she called, Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice, about couples switching partners?”
Mom’s eyes grew wider, “You’re surely not doing that!” she shouted as the bowl of beans shook again. Mom’s eyes widened and her horrified look continued, “Now, Deanna, You know that the Record, (the weekly Catholic Newspaper) said that that movie was rated “X.” Catholics should not see it. It’s your job as the wife to protect your husband’s morality. You should have told Kurt about the X- rating.”
Then sighing, she finished by saying as her head shook, “Deanna, you’ve changed. I should pray for your soul.”
Excerpt for “Opening a New Window – a Kentucky Memoir”
From the chapter named “Babyface.” (I had been divorced about 3 years and was about 41 years old).
Unfortunately, in my beloved Highlands Area neighborhood, where I now lived, there had been some recent rapes. My son, Justin, now newly a teenager, started to be anxious for my safety.
“I’m scared for you to be here by yourself, Mom,” he said, as he sat on the seat of his bike, ready to take off back to his dad’s house. “When we’re not here with you, I worry.” His blond curls and his prepubescent face looked up at me from the bike seat, as he spoke with concern. “Things are not safe in this neighborhood, anymore, like they used to be.”
“Don’t worry about me, Honey, things are fine here.´ I shrugged off Justin’s worries by telling him that, “The evening news has just blown things out of proportion.” I quoted one of Unity’s new-thought principles, “The Universe says that you bring into your life what you think about. I refuse to think about negative happenings like that, because I don’t want to produce that kind of stuff, in my life!”
Justin looked at me while he waited for his sister, Lisa, to join him in their ride back to their father’s house. He shook his head and said, “You’re weird, Mom.”
I thanked him for thinking about me, as he and Lisa both, took off on their two mile ride, for their three day stay at their dad’s place. It was located across the street from St. Francis of Assisi Parish, where they went to grade-school.
A couple of weeks passed and I ignored any worries about the neighborhood pest. I always felt comfortable walking in this neighborhood, and continued to do so. At our next neighborhood Blockwatch meeting, a poster was passed around of a “Peeping-Tom,” named “Babyface.” Sitting on the comfortable chairs in a member named, Bambie’s house, with the music of John Mellencamp’s, “Hurts So Good,” playing softly on the radio on the bookcase behind us, the poster made its way around the room. I was surprised when I looked at the poster. I found the hair standing up on the back of my neck.
The pudgy-round face, the no-color eyes, of the man in the picture, looked like the guy I had caught staring in my back window, from one of the units in the Camelot Apartments. The huge complex was located one back yard over from being right behind my house. The hair had stood up on my neck that night, too. There was something chilling in the way the strange man had continued to stare at me. I felt it again this afternoon, at the blockwatch meeting. As I looked at this poster, I recalled that I had been hearing the snapping of twigs, and the crunching of pebbles between my house, and the one on the east side of me.
I passed Babyface’s picture along to the next person at the meeting, I stiffened my upper lip and said I will not give this man any space in my mind. “I’m in charge of my life.”
Only a week after the blockwatch meeting, I ran around the house gathering items from one room to the next, eager for a weekend trip to Cincinnati. “Endless Love,” by Diana Ross and Lionel Ritchie, was playing, softly, in the background. Totally distracted by my plans, my head heaved up when I heard a noise in my mud-room. This was the small room between the kitchen and the back porch. I thought something fell off the shelf that I had just quickly rummaged through. I ignored it. When I returned to the mud-room to get something else for my suitcase, my heart jumped into my mouth.
The man with the pudgy-face and the no-color eyes that was shown in the poster at our blockwatch meeting was standing in the tiny room. It was Babyface! His stretch-pants down around his ankles, he stood there in front of me, doing something very naughty! My eyes became saucers and my mouth dropped. A blistering scream erupted from my throat, as he had the audacity to ask me, to help him!
My scream immediately, alerted the two young men who rented my upstairs apartment. I heard them scrambling on the floor above my head, and then run down the steps in the front hall.
“What’s the matter, Dea??!!” they shouted, both bursting into my kitchen at once. My body dissolved in relief, I was so glad they were home.
In the confusion, Babyface had grabbed my purse, and left by the back door. I was on the kitchen table. I was getting it ready for my trip. Luckily, I hadn’t yet put in my wallet, any money or credit cards. It saddened me to lose that “Louie Vuitton-look-alike” purse because my kids had given it to me, for my birthday. My nervousness finally gave way, and my heart palpitated. Don and Gary stayed with me until the police arrived.
“Yes, that sounds like Babyface,” the young officer told me at the door. “You’re the third house he’s hit.” The policeman was dressed in teenage garb, as an undercover agent, “he’s having one hell of a night!”
I went on to bed, feeling safe with my two male renters above me. I refused to tell my children about this incident. “Now, that the police know about him, Babyface will surely be caught by the time I return from Cincinnati,” I told myself as I went to sleep. I didn’t tell anybody else about this incident. I didn’t want to spread around negative vibrations, and attract more negative happenings. I told myself, again, one of Unity’s new-truth lessons, “What you focus upon, multiplies.”
Unfortunately, Babyface had not been caught by the time I got back. That disappointed me. I heard the stealthily moving sounds between the houses, and jumped up to call the police. The police frustrated me. They even doubted that my intruder had been Babyface. They put me off by saying that I was just hearing a dog running between the houses. I knew it was Babyface, I could tell that the sounds of his foot-falls were done in the same way, as before. Didn’t the police have it in their records that the young undercover policeman, agreed with me, that it was Babyface, on the night that it happened. I was heartbroken that he was still at large.
I hadn’t considered how this event would affect me, and the way I lived my life. I couldn’t seem to remember the Universal Law of stopping my negative thinking. I was scared and couldn’t deny it. I stopped my walks in the neighborhood. I found myself afraid to go into any darkened room, afraid to park anywhere alone at night, and even afraid to stay by myself, in my own home. Yes, this jerk was limiting my freedom and it made me furious!
Babyface was getting bolder. I heard more and more of his escapades of twigs snapping and pebbles rolling, between my house and the house next door. When this happened, I turned off the TV and drove over to Alta Avenue, a mile and a half away, to spend the night at my parents’ place. I wouldn’t let Lisa and Justin spend any time, at my house. I was afraid for them. I just told them that I was spending the night with my friend, Ginger.
The teachers at school advised me to protect myself with a large, mean-looking dog. Going to the city dog-pound, I got the meanest-looking, mixed-breed-dog there. It was a 70 pound Boxer-mix, that I named Buster. I wanted Buster to be a ferocious presence, barking loudly when I heard the noises outside my tall, vulnerable windows. Sprawled on my couch, Buster didn’t cooperate and slept instead. No matter how much I pressed on his meaty haunches.
Buster turned out to be a real bruiser for me. I had to get rid of him because he did his heavy barking and home-destruction, during the daytime. He drove my tenants, Don and Gary, who both worked at odd hours, nuts. As the big dog that he was, Buster tore my place to pieces while I was out teaching at N-Middle. Good-bye Buster; my hoped-for rescuer.
I lived like a hermit in a cave; I kept all my shades down and nailed the windows shut. I was even afraid to open the transom windows, above my back and side doors. It felt like I was living in a coffin. I hired Sears to put in a heavy window air-conditioner, to bring in a little air circulation, so I could breathe.
The police weren’t doing much to help – it felt like I was last on their list. My daily pleading phone calls didn’t speed them up, either. I was transferred from one call to the next, and put on hold, for long periods of time. It was obvious that they didn’t want to be bothered by the complaints of a single woman. Angrily, I wondered if they would treat a man like this.
From the chapter named: “Sex, sex, sex!” (I’m in my early 30’s).
On this particular summer day, I came into Mom’s place humming, “Wouldn’t It Be Nice,” by the Beach Boys. I had just listened to on my car radio as I drove in to pick up my children. Mom was a great baby sitter for my many obligations as a Catholic School teacher. Today, had been another hot summer day (there was no air-conditioning) I had to spend in a tiring teacher’s workshop. Mom was in the den, listening to the Dinah Shore Show while she snapped fresh green beans from Dad’s garden. My children, age 6 and 7, were outside playing chase games in the side lot with my younger brothers, Bill and Pat. My little brothers were just a few years older than my own children, Lisa and Justin. I enjoyed listening to the kids play as they ran past the screens of the den’s open windows and decided to relax with Mom, before I took them home.
In an effort to calm my jangled nerves from the July heat, I settled in on Mom’s den couch and grabbed a bowl to fill with several handfuls of the fragrant beans. No matter what was going on in my personal life, I always felt relaxed at Mom’s. Soon the air was filled with rhythmic “pops, pop, pop,” sounds as both she and I worked on the bushel of beans. She would be caning them tomorrow.
Mom interrupted my peacefulness when she suddenly blurted out, in response to Dinah’s topic of the day, “Sex, sex, sex!” That’s all you hear about on TV these days!” Pressing her lips together, she pouted, as she continued, “And, I didn’t hear any mention of marriage.”
Mom squirmed as the program got more explicit. She was uncomfortable with sexual topics. I sympathized, realizing that it was hard for those in the Generation Gap to take in the idea of sex without marriage. It was especially hard for them to take the idea of having sex without the obligation of producing babies.
“Mom, you gotta’ get with the times,” I chuckled, remembering that my friend Nora had said this to me many times. “Sex is the national pastime. Just like the British Invasion was a few years ago, when we were singing Tiny Tim’s song, “Tip toe through the Tulips,” and talking about the scandals of Queen Elizabeth’s children. Now it’s sex.” I smiled at the memory of Tiny Tim, recalling his wavy, shoulder length hair, falsetto voice and marriage to his girlfriend, Miss Vickie.
Aloud, I said, “Mom, the pill has changed everything for women.” Her face frowned as I reached into the wicker basket to grab another handful of beans. “Most women are on the pill, and they don’t have to worry about getting pregnant. Sex is seen in a whole new light, now.”
Mom sighed, “That’s just what I mean; sex is too serious to be taken lightly.” Not knowing what to say next, Mom swallowed hard and reached for more beans for her own empty bowl.
On the TV, I saw Dinah throw back her blond page-boy hairdo as she talked to her guests, George and Nina O’Neal about their scandalous new book called, Open Marriage.” The O’Neal’s introduced their book, and then introduced the “mod” couple they brought on the show with them. This couple explained how they lived out the book’s ideals – ideals that kept their marriage thrilling. These two people were the epitome of taking sex lightly. I looked up from my beans and noticed Mom’s head already moving, her salt and pepper curls bouncing.
Dinah liked bold topics and this one fulfilled all her desires. One of the book’s suggestions was that couples needed to have affairs to keep themselves happily married. The camera quickly focused on the sexy couple brought in by the O’Neal’s.
The wife, wearing a coquettish see-through blouse that showed off her black lacy bra, and generous bosom, spoke up first. “Marvin and I think it’s fun to go to parties and find other couples who like to swing (trade partners).” She cast her husband a wink and blew him a kiss.
I heard Mom gasp at that idea, “Well, I never!”
Marvin was dressed in a powder-blue leisure suit with a Nehru-style jacket. Inside was a tight-fitting, acetate shirt, unbuttoned to expose the gold medallion on his hairy chest. He eagerly yanked forward in his chair, and chimed in, “That‘s what’s really kept our marriage exciting!” Marvin turned and winked at the audience then purred to his wife in a deep, solicitous voice, “Hasn’t it Darling?”
Their eyes met as they shared a lusty smile. He moved toward her. The camera quickly flipped off the couple, and cut back to the O’Neal’s, who were chuckling at the couple’s candor. I wondered what happened to Marvin and his sexy wife, but didn’t wonder long because of the giggles coming in (off camera), from the audience.
The program now settled on the O’Neal’s. “Nina and I wrote our book because we want to let people know that it’s okay to have fun with sex,” Nina nodded vigorously.
“Why is America so puritanical when it comes to sex?” George pleaded, giving a plaintive look to the camera.
“It’s simply a natural human activity.” Nina opened her eyes wide and gave her head an an exasperated shake, to the audience.
“Well, I never!” Mom repeated, heaving up and just about dropping her bowl of beans. “They act like sex is just supposed to be for fun,” she huffed, her salt and pepper curls bouncing, again.
I yawned, thinking that in the time I had spent in therapy, I had had many talks about sex. There was so much talk about sex on the airways, and in our groups, that sex was almost becoming, passé. It would be too shocking to my old-fashioned mother to know about the books I had been reading on the subject, so I didn’t mention them.
My girlfriend, Nora, and I read books like, The Sensuous Woman by J and Fear of flying by Erica Jong, among several others. Laughing, we discussed them all. I felt a delicious streak of rebelliousness that I could easily credit to the emerging Women’s Freedom Movement, I continued my conversation.
Speaking in a matter-of-fact manner, I offered information about the changing sexual themes of the day, feeling a mischievous streak, inside. I just wanted to see what Mom would say. “Some young people are even moving in together before tying the knot. You know what I mean, Mom, it’s called “shacking-up.” My lips formed a sly grin as I went on, “There is a couple at the school where my friend Nora teaches, who are living like that right now.”
“Well, I don’t care what you call it!” Mom spoke back. “Those people are just living in sin!” Her words were in a loud whisper, even though the kids were outside in the yard. Looking me square in the eye, she pressed her lips together, obviously wondering how she could have been such a failure as a mother.
“I can’t believe you would even mention an amoral situation like that one to me,” she gasped. Her hands fell onto her plump little lap again, this time the bowl of beans spilled over onto the cushions of the couch. “I sure don’t want any of my grandchildren to be born in such a godless situation,” she cried, her lips tightening, again. “And, I hope you and Kurt are not committing a mortal sin by using birth control, especially that Pill! You know what the church says about that.” Mom’s face reddened, suspecting the worse. But not wanting to hear me say yes, she looked out the window at the kids playing in the yard, as her face blushed. I wondered if her face had reddened in embarrassment about sex, or in anger that the rules about it had changed.
I wanted to tell Mom to stay out of my sex life, but I was sure she couldn’t handle a confrontation like that. I waited until the show reached an advertising break, then some teenage anger inside me, made me blurt out another challenging remark, with a little grin.
“You know that movie Dinah and her guests just mentioned, the one she called, Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice, about couples switching partners?”
Mom’s eyes grew wider, “You’re surely not doing that!” she shouted as the bowl of beans shook again. Mom’s eyes widened and her horrified look continued, “Now, Deanna, You know that the Record, (the weekly Catholic Newspaper) said that that movie was rated “X.” Catholics should not see it. It’s your job as the wife to protect your husband’s morality. You should have told Kurt about the X- rating.”
Then sighing, she finished by saying as her head shook, “Deanna, you’ve changed. I should pray for your soul.”
Excerpt for “Opening a New Window – a Kentucky Memoir”
From the chapter named “Babyface.” (I had been divorced about 3 years and was about 41 years old).
Unfortunately, in my beloved Highlands Area neighborhood, where I now lived, there had been some recent rapes. My son, Justin, now newly a teenager, started to be anxious for my safety.
“I’m scared for you to be here by yourself, Mom,” he said, as he sat on the seat of his bike, ready to take off back to his dad’s house. “When we’re not here with you, I worry.” His blond curls and his prepubescent face looked up at me from the bike seat, as he spoke with concern. “Things are not safe in this neighborhood, anymore, like they used to be.”
“Don’t worry about me, Honey, things are fine here.´ I shrugged off Justin’s worries by telling him that, “The evening news has just blown things out of proportion.” I quoted one of Unity’s new-thought principles, “The Universe says that you bring into your life what you think about. I refuse to think about negative happenings like that, because I don’t want to produce that kind of stuff, in my life!”
Justin looked at me while he waited for his sister, Lisa, to join him in their ride back to their father’s house. He shook his head and said, “You’re weird, Mom.”
I thanked him for thinking about me, as he and Lisa both, took off on their two mile ride, for their three day stay at their dad’s place. It was located across the street from St. Francis of Assisi Parish, where they went to grade-school.
A couple of weeks passed and I ignored any worries about the neighborhood pest. I always felt comfortable walking in this neighborhood, and continued to do so. At our next neighborhood Blockwatch meeting, a poster was passed around of a “Peeping-Tom,” named “Babyface.” Sitting on the comfortable chairs in a member named, Bambie’s house, with the music of John Mellencamp’s, “Hurts So Good,” playing softly on the radio on the bookcase behind us, the poster made its way around the room. I was surprised when I looked at the poster. I found the hair standing up on the back of my neck.
The pudgy-round face, the no-color eyes, of the man in the picture, looked like the guy I had caught staring in my back window, from one of the units in the Camelot Apartments. The huge complex was located one back yard over from being right behind my house. The hair had stood up on my neck that night, too. There was something chilling in the way the strange man had continued to stare at me. I felt it again this afternoon, at the blockwatch meeting. As I looked at this poster, I recalled that I had been hearing the snapping of twigs, and the crunching of pebbles between my house, and the one on the east side of me.
I passed Babyface’s picture along to the next person at the meeting, I stiffened my upper lip and said I will not give this man any space in my mind. “I’m in charge of my life.”
Only a week after the blockwatch meeting, I ran around the house gathering items from one room to the next, eager for a weekend trip to Cincinnati. “Endless Love,” by Diana Ross and Lionel Ritchie, was playing, softly, in the background. Totally distracted by my plans, my head heaved up when I heard a noise in my mud-room. This was the small room between the kitchen and the back porch. I thought something fell off the shelf that I had just quickly rummaged through. I ignored it. When I returned to the mud-room to get something else for my suitcase, my heart jumped into my mouth.
The man with the pudgy-face and the no-color eyes that was shown in the poster at our blockwatch meeting was standing in the tiny room. It was Babyface! His stretch-pants down around his ankles, he stood there in front of me, doing something very naughty! My eyes became saucers and my mouth dropped. A blistering scream erupted from my throat, as he had the audacity to ask me, to help him!
My scream immediately, alerted the two young men who rented my upstairs apartment. I heard them scrambling on the floor above my head, and then run down the steps in the front hall.
“What’s the matter, Dea??!!” they shouted, both bursting into my kitchen at once. My body dissolved in relief, I was so glad they were home.
In the confusion, Babyface had grabbed my purse, and left by the back door. I was on the kitchen table. I was getting it ready for my trip. Luckily, I hadn’t yet put in my wallet, any money or credit cards. It saddened me to lose that “Louie Vuitton-look-alike” purse because my kids had given it to me, for my birthday. My nervousness finally gave way, and my heart palpitated. Don and Gary stayed with me until the police arrived.
“Yes, that sounds like Babyface,” the young officer told me at the door. “You’re the third house he’s hit.” The policeman was dressed in teenage garb, as an undercover agent, “he’s having one hell of a night!”
I went on to bed, feeling safe with my two male renters above me. I refused to tell my children about this incident. “Now, that the police know about him, Babyface will surely be caught by the time I return from Cincinnati,” I told myself as I went to sleep. I didn’t tell anybody else about this incident. I didn’t want to spread around negative vibrations, and attract more negative happenings. I told myself, again, one of Unity’s new-truth lessons, “What you focus upon, multiplies.”
Unfortunately, Babyface had not been caught by the time I got back. That disappointed me. I heard the stealthily moving sounds between the houses, and jumped up to call the police. The police frustrated me. They even doubted that my intruder had been Babyface. They put me off by saying that I was just hearing a dog running between the houses. I knew it was Babyface, I could tell that the sounds of his foot-falls were done in the same way, as before. Didn’t the police have it in their records that the young undercover policeman, agreed with me, that it was Babyface, on the night that it happened. I was heartbroken that he was still at large.
I hadn’t considered how this event would affect me, and the way I lived my life. I couldn’t seem to remember the Universal Law of stopping my negative thinking. I was scared and couldn’t deny it. I stopped my walks in the neighborhood. I found myself afraid to go into any darkened room, afraid to park anywhere alone at night, and even afraid to stay by myself, in my own home. Yes, this jerk was limiting my freedom and it made me furious!
Babyface was getting bolder. I heard more and more of his escapades of twigs snapping and pebbles rolling, between my house and the house next door. When this happened, I turned off the TV and drove over to Alta Avenue, a mile and a half away, to spend the night at my parents’ place. I wouldn’t let Lisa and Justin spend any time, at my house. I was afraid for them. I just told them that I was spending the night with my friend, Ginger.
The teachers at school advised me to protect myself with a large, mean-looking dog. Going to the city dog-pound, I got the meanest-looking, mixed-breed-dog there. It was a 70 pound Boxer-mix, that I named Buster. I wanted Buster to be a ferocious presence, barking loudly when I heard the noises outside my tall, vulnerable windows. Sprawled on my couch, Buster didn’t cooperate and slept instead. No matter how much I pressed on his meaty haunches.
Buster turned out to be a real bruiser for me. I had to get rid of him because he did his heavy barking and home-destruction, during the daytime. He drove my tenants, Don and Gary, who both worked at odd hours, nuts. As the big dog that he was, Buster tore my place to pieces while I was out teaching at N-Middle. Good-bye Buster; my hoped-for rescuer.
I lived like a hermit in a cave; I kept all my shades down and nailed the windows shut. I was even afraid to open the transom windows, above my back and side doors. It felt like I was living in a coffin. I hired Sears to put in a heavy window air-conditioner, to bring in a little air circulation, so I could breathe.
The police weren’t doing much to help – it felt like I was last on their list. My daily pleading phone calls didn’t speed them up, either. I was transferred from one call to the next, and put on hold, for long periods of time. It was obvious that they didn’t want to be bothered by the complaints of a single woman. Angrily, I wondered if they would treat a man like this.
Excerpt for, “Kiss Your Elbow – A Kentucky Memoir”
“Shopping downtown on Fourth Street” – (age 8 – 1949)
Downtown Louisville, several blocks long, was filled with beautiful theaters, hotels, department stores. Each building was more elegant than the next. I snuck peaks through the tall glass doors of the hotels as we walked past them. The doormen were polite, always tipping their hat and saying, “Good afternoon, young lady.” In my pretty polka-dot dress and Mary Jane shoes, they probably thought I was from the city and not the farmland of Hikes Point. Pulling up my white gloves, I smiled to myself.
Using my best manners, I answered, “Fine, thank you, Sir.” They wore top hats, long-tailed suits, and white gloves. I begged Mama to let us go inside and see the lobbies of the Seelbach and the Brown Hotels. These two had the most handsomely dressed doormen. Sometimes, we had time to do this. Mama liked the Brown the best because of their Tea Room.
Mama, my Aunt Aurelia, who had ridden the train in from Gethsemane, KY, and I, had spent the day enjoying Fourth Street – Louisville’s major shopping area. We went to a double movie feature at the Kentucky Theater, and avoided the expensive stores like Daddy told us to. We shopped for the best bargains at the dime stores, like Woolworth’s and McCrory’s. We listened to the piano player hawk the latest sheet music, while we ate banana splits for lunch, at the lunch counter in another dimestore, W.T. Grant’s. Before we left each Dimestore, I ran up and down the aisles that held small animals for household pets and enjoyed stroking each one. At Ben Snyders’ and JC Pennys’ I followed Mama’s orders and scampered back and forth through the racks of clothes, as I helped she and Aunt Aurelia find the dresses they liked.
Finally, all three of us were heavily burdened with bags of purchases. Luck was with us, and we finished in plenty of time before the last Blue Motor Coach bus back to Hikes Point, at five o’clock. Now, we could go into the higher-priced stores like Stewart’s just to look around and see the nicer things. Stewart’s had hired a beautiful model seated on a rope swing to swoop back and forth over the cosmetic counter. The ropes on the swing were covered with fresh flowers. Everything smelled so good that I wanted some cosmetics, too. But, I knew my brothers would tease me to death if that ever happened. Kaufman Strauss and Burdorff’s had the best furniture. Byck’s and Selman’s had the prettiest gowns. They looked like whipped cream, delicious and frothy enough to eat.
Mama was patient with my desire to ride up and down the elevator in these expensive stores. She and Aunt Aurelia busied themselves at the hat counter while I enjoyed the elevators. The attendants wore a smart uniform that looked something like that of a member of a marching band. He grabbed the big brass handle, pulled it down to the left, and the ratcheted door closed all of us inside. The ride tickled my tummy. Some operators were not skillful enough to stop the elevator car level with the approaching floor and had to ‘jockey’ the brass handle back and forth. Then, our stomachs were jolted up and down. Some of the customers rudely complained out loud, but I was just happy for the ride. It almost felt like the Ferris wheel at Fontaine Ferry Park.
With our extra time, we ended our day by having iced tea in the Tea Room of the Brown Hotel. Just being inside there made me feel special. Choosing a table where we could look out through the window and see other bustling shoppers, I thought, we looked like that a few minutes ago. It was so sophisticated – my heart almost stopped when I saw the white lace tablecloths with linen napkins rolled into little silver rings. Each table had a crystal vase holding a fragrant pink rose. We felt a bit awkward with all our packages, but the waiter smiled at us and helped us arrange them under the table. I guess he could tell by our drawn faces that we were pooped!
“Shopping downtown on Fourth Street” – (age 8 – 1949)
Downtown Louisville, several blocks long, was filled with beautiful theaters, hotels, department stores. Each building was more elegant than the next. I snuck peaks through the tall glass doors of the hotels as we walked past them. The doormen were polite, always tipping their hat and saying, “Good afternoon, young lady.” In my pretty polka-dot dress and Mary Jane shoes, they probably thought I was from the city and not the farmland of Hikes Point. Pulling up my white gloves, I smiled to myself.
Using my best manners, I answered, “Fine, thank you, Sir.” They wore top hats, long-tailed suits, and white gloves. I begged Mama to let us go inside and see the lobbies of the Seelbach and the Brown Hotels. These two had the most handsomely dressed doormen. Sometimes, we had time to do this. Mama liked the Brown the best because of their Tea Room.
Mama, my Aunt Aurelia, who had ridden the train in from Gethsemane, KY, and I, had spent the day enjoying Fourth Street – Louisville’s major shopping area. We went to a double movie feature at the Kentucky Theater, and avoided the expensive stores like Daddy told us to. We shopped for the best bargains at the dime stores, like Woolworth’s and McCrory’s. We listened to the piano player hawk the latest sheet music, while we ate banana splits for lunch, at the lunch counter in another dimestore, W.T. Grant’s. Before we left each Dimestore, I ran up and down the aisles that held small animals for household pets and enjoyed stroking each one. At Ben Snyders’ and JC Pennys’ I followed Mama’s orders and scampered back and forth through the racks of clothes, as I helped she and Aunt Aurelia find the dresses they liked.
Finally, all three of us were heavily burdened with bags of purchases. Luck was with us, and we finished in plenty of time before the last Blue Motor Coach bus back to Hikes Point, at five o’clock. Now, we could go into the higher-priced stores like Stewart’s just to look around and see the nicer things. Stewart’s had hired a beautiful model seated on a rope swing to swoop back and forth over the cosmetic counter. The ropes on the swing were covered with fresh flowers. Everything smelled so good that I wanted some cosmetics, too. But, I knew my brothers would tease me to death if that ever happened. Kaufman Strauss and Burdorff’s had the best furniture. Byck’s and Selman’s had the prettiest gowns. They looked like whipped cream, delicious and frothy enough to eat.
Mama was patient with my desire to ride up and down the elevator in these expensive stores. She and Aunt Aurelia busied themselves at the hat counter while I enjoyed the elevators. The attendants wore a smart uniform that looked something like that of a member of a marching band. He grabbed the big brass handle, pulled it down to the left, and the ratcheted door closed all of us inside. The ride tickled my tummy. Some operators were not skillful enough to stop the elevator car level with the approaching floor and had to ‘jockey’ the brass handle back and forth. Then, our stomachs were jolted up and down. Some of the customers rudely complained out loud, but I was just happy for the ride. It almost felt like the Ferris wheel at Fontaine Ferry Park.
With our extra time, we ended our day by having iced tea in the Tea Room of the Brown Hotel. Just being inside there made me feel special. Choosing a table where we could look out through the window and see other bustling shoppers, I thought, we looked like that a few minutes ago. It was so sophisticated – my heart almost stopped when I saw the white lace tablecloths with linen napkins rolled into little silver rings. Each table had a crystal vase holding a fragrant pink rose. We felt a bit awkward with all our packages, but the waiter smiled at us and helped us arrange them under the table. I guess he could tell by our drawn faces that we were pooped!