As the sun comes over the horizon each morn
It shines its head little by little and ever so gingerly
Expanding, it grows into a bright shining ball
Glowing in a new blue sky - Arachne 1/30/06
Monday, January 30, 2006
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Know The Writer
Within ourselves we may find that even our worst weaknesses can become our greatest strengths. It is only a matter of recognition, clarification, and optimization. I have always found that step one is the easiest step to make. In step one, you must accept that which is defined as weak. Only after one accepts, can one move on to step two which is to understand the now defined weakness. Rectification comes in stage three where you can utilize that which was weak by transforming it into a positive or strength. This is optimization and is the hardest step to take.
I am tough, humorous, funny, funky, speak-her-mind, Brooklyn girl. I am the type of person that not only stands up for myself in the face of opposition, but also for others who lack the strength to stand up for themselves. Yes, I know I have a big time attitude problem which needs adjustment. This I readily and happily admit. I have had this problem for more years than I can remember. Maybe it is because I was a spoiled brat. In addition, it is almost foreign for me to keep my mouth shut on any given occasion because I must speak my peace and tell the truth even at the risk of getting in trouble. The funny thing is that my attitude and apparel have not lost me friends nor has it kept me from being befriended because people like the way I come off. What is great is that I can strike up a conversation with just about anyone I meet and actually engage them. I like this aspect. My strange, acentric, avant-garde self is all natural and blended in America. This is who I am.
Under my depths lurks a very soft and romantic side. The side that can watch Beaches more than 50 times and still cry and who reads and writes poetry with the most romantic notions. I am an individual who thinks of romance on a large scale to the point of mush with white knights and castles glistening in the sunlight. Not too many people have seen this side of me as I do not make it known.
I usually give guys a hard time in that I look for discrepancies in what they say as I have only been lied to so trust does not come easy. In addition, I also look for weakness. I am not interested in liars or weakness and it seems that there is an abundance of liars and feeble men out there. In essence, I consider my personality a strength as it allows me to be who I am without care of judgement and it doesn’t allow for room for me to be walked on anymore. Sometimes I do come off as being a bitch (not a dom). This, however, does provide a barrier of protection. There is definite room for improvement as I don’t want to be a bitch. That is something I want to change. I want to get more in touch with my soft side.
My biggest weakness is and has always been love (now referred to by me as “l”) or the search for it. I don’t usually write or say the word to anyone other than my daughter. It is like it is taboo to me as the word has no meaning. To me the word is used too lightly and I have yet to see it backed up by anyone. Basically, actions speak louder than words. It is possible to “l” without having “l” returned. It seems that “l” is one of the most elusive things to come across. Although, I have tried so hard to obtain it from various levels in my life that I am not sure it is obtainable. I do know what it is like to “l,” as I have given my heart on more than one occasion only to have it broken. The fact that this is my weakness is recognized, and accepted. However, I have yet to find strength in my greatest weakness. Broken hearts only become hardened hearts. This is not what I want as it does not qualify as strength, but rather as avoidant behavior. I use this avoidant behavior as a mode to keep myself safe.
I first noticed there was a problem with the “l” situation at relatively young age. Actually, I was six. After my grandma died, there was no more safety nor was there any stability. Everything I had known was pulled out from under me. Pretty much I was passed around like a rag-doll to relatives who kept me for a time and passed me around again. (Trust me. I am not looking for pity. Only though my background will you know why I think the way I do and how I have arrived at my weaknesses and strengths.) Had my mother not been selfish, I could have had parents who would have loved me. At least I think they would have. My aunt and uncle were by no means perfect, yet they did have good hearts and were willing to adopt this rag-a-muffin. Unfortunately, mom would not hear of it. So, instead I was passed to an abusive baby sitter where I stayed until my mother decided it was time for me to come home. Sometimes this would be a week or two. Regardless, I would sit faithfully beside the phone every Friday hoping and praying that she would phone for me to come home. Most Fridays I would just sit there and shake and feel sick to my stomach as five o’clock would come and go. What a lovely time I would have at the sitters. I was beat with a dog leash on a daily basis, but then again, so where the rest of the unwanted kids. I was also fed stuff that would make me puke. The bed I slept in smelled of dog urine and was void of pillows and blankets. This is what love got me...the love of a person that I did not know...my mom. I did not know her as my grandparents raised me. I really have no recollection of her prior to six years of age. You can now see where my DSM-IV Axis I panic/anxiety disorder comes from. It can’t be more obvious.
I finally did get to live with good old mom when I was about eight, but I moved out when I turned 12 and headed to Canada (hereafter known as hell) to live with my grandfather. I clashed big time with the men in her life as I hated what she was doing so I used to kick them out. At about eight years of age, I also realized that I was a geek...a book reading geek who immersed herself deep into renaissance and Egyptian history as well as Greek mythology.
To protect myself from the crap that was going on around me I said “Goodbye USA and hello hell ” Grandpa was real cool, however, he could never bring himself to say I “l” you. This really bothered me. I had once asked him why he never said it and his answer was I buy you everything you want. That was not good enough and I walked away discouraged. It was even hard to hug him. The old Indians are all like that as it is some form of conditioning from the residential schools.
Moving here to this hick rez was a total culture shock. I went from being voted “best dressed” in an NY junior high school to being a freak here on the rez. My drug and alcohol use started when I was around 14. It helped me cope with what was going on around me. However, it did cause me harm in that my wonderful friends left me passed out at some old guy’s house. I was found passed out and naked by CC who rescued me. To have to submit to rape tests was terrible. Luckily, I had not been raped. The mentality of this town was to call me by the man’s name at whose house I was found. This traumatized me to the point I could not go back to school. I stayed at the social services office where all my school work was sent. However, I found that the books on their shelves interested me more. That is when I started reading up on psychology. When I finally did get back to school, it was short lived as I found myself fighting and hanging with a tough bunch. It did not take long before I was kicked out. Well, at least I finished 8th grade.
Considering my age, I had to be in school. It was at this point that I went to the Six Nations Iroquois Confederacy School (a/k/a Longhouse) and asked for admittance. The prerequisite to get in was to shovel chicken crap. I passed. Even this situation was short lived as well as our school was blown up. I hung around for a while then headed to NJ to live with my aunt and to resume my studies. I had gotten my GED is record time and had enrolled in Rutgers University. I guess the geek within kept me from being scholastically dumb. Being dumb was something I was in that I chose to leave NJ before I could even get my feet wet. Back to hell I went.
At this point I was 17 and I met Paul (the bum I married in 2003). He was my first “l.” Although he was not good looking by any means, I liked how he treated me. He did not push or rush me to do anything. After being with him for four years, I was told that the novelty wore off. What sweet words. I was like a puppy to this guy. I did his mom’s grocery shopping, cleaned his house, cooked, baked, lent him my car, and bought him stuff. What a dope. My heart was in the right place, but I think my mind was not as this BURN did not teach me a lesson. Lessons are supposed to be learned in life.
Being so broken hearted I could not stay here on the rez and I did not want to live with mom, so silly me headed out to Greenville, South Carolina to be with my good old abusive baby sitter. Oh did I forget to tell you that she actually kept my brother as her own? At least as a grown woman I did not have to worry about her doing anything to me as I knew I could stand up for myself. Let me tell you about grand old Dixie. They just don’t like us Yankees. Finding a job was not happening even though I had skills at this point. The next course of action was to turn tail and return to NY. Living with mom was hell so the drugs really helped in not “being there.” It made things much easier to tolerate. Living with her control freak attitude did not sit well with me and I threatened to join the army if she did not give me my money so that I could get my own apartment. She gave it up. Although I did not live that far away, I chose not to see her. I had a really good job. I was working for the US Department of Probation and Parole, Eastern District. What is really funny is that I was sitting in there stoned most of the time and they didn’t even know it. Talk about dressing funky and working for the government. Wow Everything I wore was black. I also had a wild punk hair cut and tattoos. Sure I dressed straight up to get the job, but I had to be me. That was me at 21. As you can see, I never grew up. I think that is a strength as my mind is still young and open to adventure.
Enter Andrew I used to frequent The Brooklyn Zoo and was there to see Wendy O and the Plasmatics. The crowd was so dense that bodies were crushing up against me. Suddenly, someone within the crowd grabbed my hand and led me through and then let me go to stand there alone. I didn’t think anything of it. Here I am watching the show when all of a sudden someone is touching my body. I turned around to see who it might be, but there were too many faces. This individual was not shy to touch what he wanted. I was getting more pissed by the moment and finally was able to grab that hand and find the body behind it. Lo and behold it was Andrew. After hitting him a few times and giving him shit, he apologized and I accepted. We talked for a long period of time and he, his friend, and my girlfriend, all headed back to my apartment to hang out. Since he was really drunk, I made him coffee and told him to shower and straighten up. I found out it was his friend that dragged me though the crowd to be placed near Andrew. By the way he was 19. That night, my girlfriend was going home with his friend and he thought that he was going to stay with me. WRONG I chucked him out. A few days later, my girlfriend called to tell me that he wanted to reach me and wanted to know if she could give my number to his friend. I said sure, no harm. Talk about romancing. He would read me poetry over the phone and play his guitar. Now that is the way to win a girl’s heart. I spot a weakness here. However, I do not feel it necessary to change that aspect of me.
After about six months of co-living together on the lower east side, he moved out of his apartment and into mine. Our life consisted of sex and drugs and more sex and drugs. When Andrew met me I might as well have been a virgin as I knew nothing about sex. Things that he did and had me do were new, different, and exciting. He enjoyed sexual control. I didn’t even know what that was until years later. What an ignoramus. I learned to enjoy his control too. However, together we were like fire and gasoline. A very dangerous combination. His control also did not spill out of the bedroom and so I did not take crap from him. I thought nothing of standing up to his 6' 3 self and lambasting him if I was angry. I always knew I had a violent side, but for the most part I was quite docile. Things went okay for the first two years. However, I was the bread winner for the four years that we lived together. He wanted the freedom to play his guitar and try to get into a band. Being the ever supporting woman, I accepted. While we were together, I had gotten pregnant three times in a row. I was so happy when I first got pregnant only no one else was. There was no support to be found as he did not want a baby. My baby was 12 weeks old when I aborted. My second abortion came two months after the first. Although he did not want a baby, I was not allowed to use birth control. Go figure. The third pregnancy came two months after my second abortion. However, this was different. I was on the table and had received my shot when I changed my mind and said NO. I could not kill again. The previous two hurt emotionally more than you can imagine.
Things were getting bad between us. I had forgotten my key one day and had to climb the fire escape and break into my own apartment. He was very shocked when he walked in with two girls only to find me sitting there. I went after them with a baseball bat and threw him down a flight of stairs. Now that is a crazy lady. Don’t get me wrong, but he was not this sweet thing. I had my share of black eyes and lumps. My head was also split open, but so was his arm when I took a knife to his guitar. After four years of this roller coaster, it was time to get off. I moved out of my own apartment, but we were still together. He also raped me without my consent. No game there. Violence is bad in any situation and should never be used against anyone regardless of the reason.
My mom had just bought a house and I moved into the basement apartment. Being pregnant meant something to me so I stopped all drugs and alcohol. I had the will to stop and did not have a problem doing so. You can call that a good strength. My only vice was smoking. You can call that a bad weakness which I have tried numerous times to quit. I guess at this time in my life I was looking for salvation and started to explore religion. Although born a Catholic, I could not deal with Catholicism. I found it too bogus so I became a born again Christian...a real bible toter who went to bible study and church faithfully. I was still with Andrew, but I could not live life in the fast lane. I was pretty cool with the church, but realized that I was surrounded by hypocrites. They talked the talk, but didn’t walk the walk. That was a turn off. At this point I chucked organized religion.
Two months before my daughter was born, I had Andrew sign papers stating that he would never attempt to seek custody of his child and after which, I again headed back to hell. Giving birth to my daughter in hell, ensured that she received dual citizenship. Once here, I had no intention of returning to NY. However, I am a sucker for a sob story and boy did my mom have one. (I have noted this weakness of a soft heart. However, I would not want to change this aspect.) Her husband had left her while I was away and she needed me back for financial help. I was collecting welfare here and when I got to NY, I collected there as well. I committed fraud for which I was caught, but never charged. It is just that NY does not give you enough to live off of. I wanted my daughter to have things. While collecting, I enrolled in college and was attending full time studies at night. I even made the Dean’s list. The classes I took were not so much to get a degree, but more to get me a job. This worked well. In 14 months, I got off welfare and landed a job with JP Morgan: one of the biggest banks in NY. My “end” position was that of administrative assistant in dividend reinvestment. I stayed two years and started looking for more money at other companies. That is how you play the employment game...the thing is to move on.
About this time Andrew was in prison for armed robbery and attempted murder. His prior record of assaulting a police officer did not help in his sentencing. While in there, he married Melissa. Although he wrote to me from the inside, he did not do so in the romantic way. I thought he finally had respect for a woman, mainly his wife. Really this was not the case because as soon as he was out, he was back at my door. The poor woman didn’t know we were addicted to each other. She used to call me when she knew she was dying. Believe it or not she wanted me to take care of him after she was gone. This was the first and only time that I infringed on someone’s marriage vows.
I had been clean for about four years or more. Being with him again, only brought me back down. I was back to drugs and back to alcohol. This storm lasted until 1995/96 when I got charged with assault and harassment and when he started snorting heroin. It was time to say goodbye for good to him and to that life. He thought this was just another break up, but it wasn’t. I could not deal with the worry of his infidelities and drug use combined. It came as a danger sign. He didn’t give up without a fight. Andrew was a great weakness on many different levels. All of these levels combined was leading me down a road of self-destruction. The relationship itself was not a healthy one and should have ended in when I moved out of my apartment. It is unfortunate that hindsight is always 20/20.
By this time, I had two full years of university under my belt. However, the extensive substance abuse was masking my illness. So, when I completely quit, I realized how sick I was. My panic attacks were coming strong and hard so much so that I had a hard time leaving my house. This, coming a girl who thought nothing of riding the subway at 4:00 a.m. and walking through alphabet city alone, is quite a major contrast. From no fear to un triggered fear. How bizarre. Although, I had dealt with this illness since I was very young, I was forced to quit work. This was really bad and I became very depressed. I felt I had no life. I was pretty much home bound until 1999 when I came back to hell.
I had started my political fight 20 years ago and defied council when I moved my butt into my grandfather’s house. Even though I was warned not to come back, I didn’t care. I fought their discriminatory nonsense and won a $20,000 settlement without a lawyer.
This house was something else when I moved in. I had no water, no electricity, a collapsed and leaking roof, busted pipes, totaled furnace, and sinking floors. I had no job and not too much money. How I pulled it off is still a mystery to me. I guess when you want something badly enough you just find the strength to do it. My strength is determination to overcome that which is in front of me. However, being in this god forsaken town depressed the crap out of me and I blew up. I got fat Not small fat...big fat I had gained about 60 pounds by the time I met my husband. During the house fixing I also managed to graduate with my BA.
In 2002 I met Paul again. He knew I was coming into money soon and suggested marriage. My eyes were not closed. I knew his motives. However, my heart was leading me. The flame that burned in a 17 year-old’s heart was still in mine. I was back in “l” with my first “l.” We were married in January of 2003 in Las Vegas. Although he was working prior to our marriage, it seems that he could not find a job afterward. Therefore, I supported him and paid him to work on my house. I stayed in this marriage because of my foolish old-fashioned ways. To me marriage was a sacred vow that had to be honored and if you made your bed you had to lie in it. I dealt with his abusive mouth and his trashing of my house without me saying a word. Never would he hear my voice rise nor an angry words come out of my mouth. I was a mouse. A depressed fat mouse. I was really hurting my body as I was now 100 lbs. more than when I first got here. Taking my meds served to relieve me from being present and accounted for. Because of my weight gain, I developed diabetes and was on five pills of metformine a day. My cholesterol was also high, and my blood pressure was out of control. People would tell me that I was killing myself, but at that point I really didn’t care. I found out that Paul was using cocaine behind my back. I knew he smoked pot and although I did not like it, I did not say anything. I would just spray the house. He was also stealing money out of my bank account and off of my credit cards. The last straw was his physical abuse. He had tried to strangle me while we were in Florida and attempted to punch my face when we got home. I finally opened my mouth and cursed him out I called him a fucking prick bastard. That is when he flung the soda at me and that is the night I got rid of him. I managed to get all his stuff together in one evening and have it all out on the back porch. I was free I took the initiative to take matters into my control and to stand up for myself. This was a good strength. The mouse roared.
Exercise had come to me a few months earlier and I had dropped quite a few pounds, but nothing that noticeable. Now that he was gone, I was working in full force to drop the weight. Once a junk food junkie, I was now a health food junkie. No, I did not just live off of cereal. I was eating fish, veggies, oats, chicken and was drinking tons of water. Also, I had an occasional cheese treat. After 12 months of intense exercise and diet, I went from 242 down to 138. Again, I had the determination to get something done. When I want, I am actually a force to be reckoned with. I no longer needed to take the diabetes meds as my diabetes did not register. My blood pressure was now normal and so was my cholesterol. The doctor was not concerned as I was very healthy. Granted, I still had the mental health issue of panic/anxiety and the occasional depression to deal with. However, I had stopped taking those meds too. I hated feeling drugged and wanted to feel the sharpness of my mind again. Damn, it was a renaissance. Sparks of memory would enter my head and I would run for a book and actually find the particular quote that came to mind. I was honing myself again to be as sharp as a tack. When I was with Andrew, I very sharp. Then again, so was he. I was on my way back to being me again. I just needed the clothes.
My days were spent shopping. Business was great and the money was rolling in. E-bay was something I could do all day long. Actually, the only use my computer saw was banking and E-bay. My niece told me to check out Rez on the internet. Figuring what do I have to lose, I tired it. After speaking for months with this one Native from a sister reserve, I agreed to me him and drove out to Six Nations. That was a joke on me. I did have a romantic interest, but he did deceive me on many issues of which I cannot forgive him. Again “l” is a weakness that I would like to improve on without hardening my heart.
Having spent thousands on clothes for myself and my daughter, I noticed that business was starting to taper off. The price wars had begun. When I let my staff go, I knew things were bad. I was forced to be home now as I had to take care of my business. Although I tried everything to stay afloat, I could not.
The present situation...
The truth of the matter is that my world is falling apart due to excesses that I had committed in the past. My excesses come in the form of clothes buying sprees. Yes, I am a clothes whore. I was one who bought without consciousness or care of the outcome. For this discretion I have fatally stumbled. This may sound like a joke but it is not. The extent of the damage is great. Try financial ruin. However, what I am doing is trying to look at this in a humorous way as to look at it in any other form would only cause depression. I have been down that road and chose not to return. When business was good, it was great. Now it is not so great. Granted I did have a few days of good business, however, not enough to pull out. I just have to take my lumps. Money is not something I am good in handling. This I have always known. It is a very bad weakness that needs definite improvement as I see that I am not a responsible person in this area. What the solution is, I am not sure yet.
I do have a great many strengths and a great many weaknesses. Don’t we all? And I may have stumbled for the time being, but I will rise again. As for my mental health, the only problem with me is my panic disorder which I have come to terms with and know I will have for the rest of my life so I must deal with it. Mental instability is not something I can handle nor is it something that I have time for. With all that is going on right now, instability would have brought me depression and possible suicidal ideation. I will not go in that direction again. Like with most things in my life, I have and will overcome.
THINGS HAVE CHANGED SINCE THIS WAS WRITTEN AS IT IS FROM 2006. Both my finances and I have recovered. ~ April 25, 2011
Scattered Memories
This writing needs tons of work, but I got what I got from only a few hours of work. Maybe one day, I can sort it out.
1965 to 1967
I knew how to read prior to kindergarten because my grandpa had me learn with Dick, Jane, and Spot. I knew my shit before I got to school.
Kindergarten.. Ms. Cheerio was my first teacher. One kid peed in class because he suffered separation anxiety. I was bused in so I was separated from my grandma at home which was on Flatbush Ave and Newkirk. Artwork was interesting and was rewarded with praise. I remember making a sawdust heart. The sawdust was made solid with glue and then painted red. Glitter was added on top of the paint. Paint time was so great, I had the grandparents buy me an easel. First true and remembered interest in art.
When I was sick and could not make it to school, grandma would put a hankie in the loop of the shade so that the bus driver would know that I was not going in.
One day I got mad at grandma and ran away to across the street. When she caught me, I caught IT. My grandmas was a big woman. She was 5' 7" 62.5% (according to council) and on the heavy side. She was a stern mix of Mohawk, Irish, Scottish, German, and Italian. My grandpa was a real tough guy, but not big at 5' 9" and 100% Mohawk. He once went into a bar and said he wanted to drink alone so when no left, he beat them up and threw them out. Once in Coney Island while me and Ida were with him, he ordered clam chowder while we waited in the car. He sent it back twice because he said it was not hot enough. When it was not hot enough on the third try, he threw the soup at the guy and burned him. He was arrested and Sadie was called to get the $100 to bail him out.
I have this memory of me cutting the doctor’s thethascope (sp) upon a visit. Also, I kicked a nurse in the stomach when I was going to have my tonsils out. I was dragged out of the play area as a most unwilling subject, but I did wake to ice-cream and loneliness.
I remember the line for a polio shot was long, miserable, and in a dismal place. It must have been a Department of Health thingy because I had a private doctor.
Although I was beaten for ice-skating on aunt’s lovely shiny parkay floors and damaging the hell out of them, she feared my grandma and begged that I not tell that she hit me. One up for knowing how to hold something over someone’s head and how to threaten them with it.
During this time, I rode a two wheel bike that was way too big for me and fell, but learned how to ride without training wheels.
Some local kid (boy) pushed me off basement stair landing (I was sitting on top). The stairs below were cement and I toppled over backwards ergo the bump on my nose.
I remember Mr. King. He worked on a cruise ship and his stories always entertained me. All above his crown molding were pictures from all around the world. When he spoke of far off places, I listened and daydreamed. I used to bug grandma as to when he was coming back because I wanted to go visit him again. When he shipped out, it seemed like he was gone for an eternity and I missed him. He is the first black person that I ever made friends with, but he was not the last.
I remember Marjorie at my 6th birthday party. Pin the tail on the donkey was played with actual tacks and as grandpa was nearby and grandma had a sick sense of humor, she told me to put the tack in his ass which I did. Ouch! He was real mad.
Marjorie and I used to make weird concoctions with soda and eggs for local kids just to see if they would drink it and throw up.
I used to try to hide in the dumbwaiter. Don’t ask what that is. Look it up. Grandma used to hide around the house or in the hall and scare the hell out of me and make me cry. The harder I would cry, the harder she would laugh. Maybe that is why I did sick stuff to my daughter. Who knows.
Grandma did not laugh when I wrote all over her hallway with my grandfather’s ironwork pencils nor did she laugh when I poked holes in her mock leather recliner. I had a good laugh when I my uncle put me in a box and then kicked the box down the stairs. I didn’t get hurt. This is the same uncle I stole quarters from (read on).
My grandmother sewed the best quilts from scraps of material. The way it was hooked up was that it was extended by wood and clamps. To me this was a fort which I could be princess of. Grandma made me some real pretty clothes and I can’t ever say that I was hurting for fashion.
I had tapeworm, mumps, and chicken pox. YUCK.
The roof was my playground and the soft thick tar was interesting to make temporary footprints in. The summer heat gave the tar an interesting smell. Grandma hung her clothes on the roof and the contrasting smells were interesting. I used to hand her the clothes pins.
One day someone was blasting music across the way and my grandma yelled at them to lower it. When they didn’t, she dragged the hifi over and blasted them back. I stood there and laughed at the lunacy. Getting even is a bitch, but I was taught well over the years.
That good old hifi played the newly released “THEY’RE COMING TO TAKE ME AWAY” and the family would sit around singing it and make crazy faces. Mom was learning how to type around that time as I remember the typewriter by the window. Mom was still young...under 21. I don’t remember mom, but I remember the typewriter was hers. Before, my mother reached her 24th birthday, she found her mother dead. My grandma knew she was going to the hospital and wanted to clean her house before she left. As she waited for my always LATE aunt Ida, she suffered a massive heart attack and fell across her bed. Her death was kept from me and they shipped her body back to Canada via train.
Mr. Murphey’s Deli on Flatbush Ave. had the best bologna. My allowance of .25 per week went to buying bologna. Bizarre huh?
Hair cut pixie style from a salon on Flatbush. When the beautician cut my long hair off, she also cut my ear. Bitch! I made sure that the next time I went back that I didn’t get her, but the next woman cut my ear too. Maybe I had big ears. Grandma stopped taking me there after that. There was this great Chinese restaurant on Flatbush that served the best Chow Mein and that is all I would eat except for Egg Drop Soup.
Exposure to Greenwich Village. Lafayette Bakery in the Village was a usual event after attending mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Manhattan. The first time I saw pink and blue hair was in the Village as the two women walked down the street in their massive beehives. My mouth hung open wide in amazement as my white gloved hands gripped the old Chevy window. The women were walking along Avenue of the Americas (a/k/a 6th Ave.). In the winter grandpa used to take me to Rockefeller Center to see the skaters. Now you know where I got the wonderful idea to skate on my aunt’s floor. Radio City Music Hall was another attraction. Years later, Radio City events caused me to get gramps to buy me pink satin toe shoes. He went crazy trying to find them as I would not settle for dance shoes. They were finally obtained in Jersey. While we were out hunting for them, we stopped to have pizza. Not knowing any better, I took the garlic SALT and poured it all over my pizza until it was white (I thought it was cheese). Grandpa watched and did not say a word. Yeah he let me bite into it and I started crying. Much to his dislike, he ate it and bought me another piece..
1967
1st grade...Grandma died this year and school is hazy. On my wonderful 7th birthday, my aunt came to the party drunk. As I had lived with my grandparents from birth, it was a habit to call my grandpa daddy as he was the only father I knew. I guess this twisted her horns a bit. Therefore, on this day in her stupor when she heard me call my grandpa daddy, she said to me: Don’t call him daddy. You are just a bastard and you don’t have a father. Of course my mom kicked her out, but from that day forward, I never called gramps daddy. Lesson learned that some things only need be said ONCE to be burned in forever.
During this time I was living with my aunt in Jersey and sometimes with my aunt in Flushing. While in school in Jersey I do remember one thing the word LAVATORY. They did not use the word bathroom or toilet. It was a strange difference. Being with my aunt was a happy time even if not fully remembered. She was my favorite until she died at the age of 57. Strange as my grandma was 57 when she died.
1968
2nd grade bully...Donna. Coffee. She kicked my ass for an absurdity that I won’t even go into. Ms. Richmond was my second grade teacher. I tested horribly in reading so I did summer school and loved it. Hell would have looked good if it got me away from Sadie’s sadistic ways. I devoured everything they had and passed with flying colors.
My buddies were Jonie, Gina, and Michelle. First major crush was on Joey Polucci.
My school’s bathrooms did not have doors for privacy and the desks were ink well desks that were iron and bolted to the floor. I learned how to cross Prospect Parkway unassisted. Then again who the hell assists a kid right? First time stealing food (Devil Dogs...YUM)) from local grocer on 4th Ave. The shit that Sadie gave me made me vomit so stealing goodies was a real treat. I was not worried about a JD card.
Jonie was a drop off kid at Sadie’s just like me and Gina and Michelle where the girls across the street whose mothers had ties to the gangsters on the corner.
Joey’s mother worked at Seafarers’ International Union (SIU) with my mom. You can imagine the bunch that they knew during those years. They knew longshoremen and people with ties at the AFL (American Federation of Labor) and CIO (Congress of Industrial Organizations). The guys carried guns and dealt clothes out of their car trunks for discount prices. Mine and Joey’s mother were very well dressed women. Hell, they knew gangsters.
Poor Joey was abused by me. Sure I was all peaches and cream...a total girl, but I was shy and did not know how to react or act towards him. He used to carry my books for me when I was at the union hall and I would wait until he got down the stairs and I would throw my books at him. When he would call me, I would bang the phone on the window. Why he even bothered is beyond me. Years later, my mother and I ran into him and his mother. He was a pizza face and when he leaned forward to kiss me hello, I kind of backed up. My mom told me that he was into crime and drugs and he was hitting and abusing his mother. I felt bad for Marie because she was really nice.
Mom started working at SIU as a telephone operator with all the plugs and switches on the board. It sure looked like fun. However, over the years she rose from switchboard operator to personal secretary for the president of the union who at that time was Paul Hall. Paul Hall had ties to the president of the United States amongst other things. Now that is power.
Paul Hall’s daughter Margo (who lived on Park Avenue in Manhattan and with whom I moved in with when I came back from Canadian hell 1981), offered to get the signatures a senator(s) for me to be accepted at West Point Military Academy (breeding the leaders of tomorrow) in 1978 when I got my GED. Yeah we had our connections and I could have become an officer, but NAH. Can you picture me an OFFICER in the corp? I also took the NYPD exam and passed. I was in the “under investigation” part of the screening and had my number of placement (174), but I got pregnant. No loss as I was working for the United States Probation and Parole Department (Eastern District). Yeah Gotti’s courthouse.
Mom did go to the governor’s ball on more than one occasion and was picked up by limo courtesy of the union. She even dated the then vice president Frank Drozak. That shit made me move out as it was sickening. I was 13 (all this time I was thinking I was 12) when I took off.
Mom was my in at SIU of Canada in Montreal. My interview consisted of bullshit talk to the then secretary treasurer Roger Desjardins who was under orders from Roman Gralewicz to take me. Of course Roman did the favor for Paul Hall. Yuppers. Pull goes a long way. It really is about WHO YOU KNOW and not what you know. I even managed to get people jobs as crew on ships with no effort. A simple psst do me a favor worked fine. Ronald Regan was president while I was employed at SIU and the US experienced Reaganomics. The country BOOMED.
While in second grade I lived on 6th Ave. between 19th and 20th St. when with mom. When with Sadie (which was most of the time), I lived on 17th Street between 4th and 5th Avenues. Guess what? That neighborhood is no better now than it was then.
Jerry Gagliarti was my mom’s boyfriend and gangster. Monticello was were his parent’s lived. While visiting them, the guys took me out hunting. One of them shot a squirrel or rabbit and told me to bring the bloody creature into house. They died laughing seeing me standing in the doorway with kill and hearing the women scream get that the hell out of here. They guys thought it was hysterical. Jerry paid $5 or $10 for me to go to sleep so he and my mom could be alone. I thought it was a profitable deal and took it.
First gangster 12 course meal at a super fancy restaurant out in Monticello, NY.
The gangster bar across the street was named either 3 or 5 Five Star Bar. It would close to house special FAMILY dinners. I remember one of the guys was named Blackie. He was he was a big scarey dude. The bar was located across the street from my house at 662 6th Ave. 662 was six story walk up. As we did not have bells in the building nor security, if you wanted money, help, or attention, you screamed at the building and hoped that someone heard you. Money for the store was dropped out the window in a tissue or in paper. Everyone screamed at their apartment pretty much. What could you do? "Maaaaaa" was heard all over the place. Who the heck wanted to walk all the way up the stairs just to ask a question. Maybe that is why I have a big mouth.
At around this time, I think it was the Boston Stranger or some other sick fuck, was gaining notoriety. My mom had told me someone came to the apartment door claiming that they were from the electric company. Mom questioned him and did not let him in. However, when she checked with the super named Fannie, no one was called. As a latchkey kid, I was always told NEVER answer the door for anyone. Years later, **Wendy could have used this information as she stupidly opened our apartment door to some guy who said he was from the telephone company. She was raped and beaten. Her ribs were broken and so was her cheek bone. She also had several stitches in her cheek. The Bozo should have known better as not too long before that someone knocked at our door and when I checked through the peephole, a guy was standing there holding a gun. I ducked into the kitchen and called the cops. Mind you I had no kitchen window. I had a green garbage bag for a window. It broke and the landlord never fixed it.
**Wendy (raped and beaten - junkie), Andrew (junkie - dead), Margureitta (murdered), Bobby (hoodlum/junkie - murdered), Steve (hoodlum/junkie - murdered) Petey (the lowest of the lowest scum - dead), Marge (dead), Lamours (gone), Grace, Crazy Sal (mildly insane bouncer from Lamours), Toni (reformed junkie, but still a whore (no more prostitution though) she recently ODed - August 2013), Vinnie (gangster - stabbed 24 times and lived - he had three guns on him always???), Karen, Billy (AIDS), Chris and Chris (hoodlums and druggies - guys), Pat (crooked cop on coke from the other side of Ocean Parkway), Tommy (fucked up garbage man from Hicks Street), Carmine (Bobby’s brother more than likely dead), Linda (still a whore), Phil (carpet layer amongst other things), my downstairs neighbor who cut his front tooth out of his mouth with a razor blade, my Houndie the killer hound dog (became a junk yard dog in Staten Island), T the U shaped Doberman whom I tried to kill with rat poison and cheese, Ritchie the tattoo kid with braces who did two of my tatts with his kit, the Irish lady (I use that word lightly) from Hell’s kitchen and Attica who lived across the courtyard with her swinging arm, family, and barking dog, the Jewish/Puerto Rican neighborhood, the burnt out buildings, the old fashioned barber’s chair and the four guys who brought it to my apartment, my throwing knives, my target, the guy in the car with the gun who almost shot me because I pulled a knife on him on my way to a party, the guy who threw the party (his name will come back JOE), the guy who chased me with a knife from the Zodiac (Houston and Mercer Streets) after hours club, massive amounts of drugs, cops on the take, and crooked people...I am sure there is more associated to the roommates period. Wendy and murdered Bobby were my roommates. I threw Bobby out as he was annoying me but I still remained his friend and I kept his leather jacket.
I remember my portable turntable paying The Archies SUGAR SUGAR and go go dancing in the street.
Around this time, my cousin Barbara D****** slit her wrists and went back to bed. I was on my way to the bathroom in the dark and when I turned on the light, I saw the razor blade and all the blood in the bathroom. I had walked barefoot through all that. No I did not scream, but I did wake my grandfather and let him know what was going on. She lived.
Also, my brother liked this whipped marshmallow stuff in a jar and I had seen a commercial on how thick Ivory liquid could get. So, I gently beat the Ivory to a rich creaminess and wondered if I could get my brother to eat that on a sponge. I never did feed it to him.
1969
3rd grade (Ms. Izzi) - I tested with a 9th grade reading level. I felt that I did not do good enough even though I scored the just about the highest in class. John with the big dirty ears scored 10th grade. That kid could have had a potato farm. I don’t know what the hell I was looking to score, but I was not satisfied.
The beating of Danny Schultz for bothering my brother. Only I could beat my brother up. After Danny’s beating, he left my brother alone and I got some respect. My poor brother did not get respect as he needed his big sister to fight his battles. This neighborhood was tough. Gun shots were heard throughput the night and you did not sit in front of your window even on the 6th floor. It was a real bitch having to go to the laundromat with the cart full of bagged clothes as I dreaded that. The block kids would pick and poke and I had to not only defend myself, and my little brother, I had to defend the clothes. If the temperature was 100 degrees outside, the laundromat had to be 130 degrees with the dryers. Everything had to be folded before I got home or I got shit.
My brother ripped open his arm on a barbed wire church gate and got six stitches. He was climbing it and was hung upside down by his arm. This was in the Sunset Park area.
Around this time I learned how to deep sea fish. Yup, I baited my own hooks with CHUM and helped scale and clean the fish. My cousin Billy O’C***** taught me well. Years later, Billy committed suicide by jumping through an air shaft at a hospital. He was in the hospital because he had tried on other occasions to take his life via stabbing himself in the heart and setting himself on fire. The death of his father William (Irish) O’C***** and the controlling nature of his mother Ida Stacey-O’C threw him out of wack. I remember my uncle Willy’s brother Patrick (I believe his name was or it was Edward) who lived out in Jersey and how he had a ton of dirty kids. Ah we had fun though hanging out in the yard and on the Jersey shore. Motor Mouth Kevin O’C***** is from that litter as is Colleen, and Maureen. Kevin went from needles in the arm to family life. When their mom died, Colleen took care of all the kids. She had no life. Now Maureen and Colleen live together and help each other out. Maureen has her masters and is one smart cookie (one of these women has since departed this world as did Kevin). That is also one hell of a tight family unit. That O’C***** blood is strong as they all look like the dad or my uncle Willy.
After uncle Willy and Billy died, aunt Ida got a 90 year old boyfriend named John (he too was an Irishmen). She had a stick with a nail in the end that she used to go after him with it and even though she broke a big ashtray over his leg, he stayed with her until she died of a heart attack right in front of him. She couldn’t handle those stairs on Livingston Street. Again top floor. BTW, Billy looked like a very muscular and very tall Buddy Holly (glasses and all). He was Irish cop material with a degree in engineering. Too bad my aunt never let him work or have a girlfriend.
Somewhere during this time period, I was also entered into the LITTLE MISS AMERICA contest and went to semi-finals. Yippie. I was not really interested in carrying the number and wearing my white gloves. The turnon came from going to Palisades Park and visiting the fun house. The park was eventually torn down in favor of apartments.
While still at this apartment, I had robbed my uncle Bobby (a/k/a Machine Gun Kelly) and he found out and went ballistic over some quarters.
Somewhere between here and there, mom married Red Ryan and we moved to 59th St. Between 3rd and 4th Avenue. We rented from Marie and Red Campbell. Guess what? They worked for the union as did Red Ryan. Sure it was a nice brownstone with railroad rooms, but it was a tough neighborhood. This is where I learned to play man in the middle, pillow and bridge, and skullies.
1970
4th grade (Mrs. McGilligan) I won several awards for excellent book reports. What got Mrs. McGilligan was the fact that I would add humorous commentary to my reports. When that got stale, I used more analytical comments and won back her favor. Yes I did vie for teacher’s pet. She was a tough old cookie, but a nice one.
1971
5th grade...the stabbing of Antonette (Mr. Harrison’s class 5-1) The lesson learned in the stabbing of Antonette was how to stand on your own and gain supporters afterward. Although I can’t remember the girl’s name, I do remember that she handed me a compass as I was in a headlock. When I stabbed Antonette, she let me go and never bothered me after that. I sure wish I could remember that girl and her buds but they have long been forgotten. She did teach me to say fuck you in Spanish.
Best buds...Me Li Lung and Lillian Rivera. Mr. Harrison pushed for spelling accuracy and definitions. He also pushed us to be GREAT! You not only had to know your spelling words you had to write the dictionary definition next to the word. Man he kicked ass. I do remember Chico from class and Michael and Sal Incorvia from school. Michael and Sal were twins.
1972
6th grade...(Ms. Rhoda Kaufman’s class 6-1) Crushes...Michael Incorvia and Michael Conway. M. Conway wrote in my grad signature book...Roses are red, violets are blue. The shorter the skirt, the better the view. I guess I liked the long legs, short skits, and chunky shoes.
I loved Ms. Kaufman because she just had this way of opening eyes to interesting things like sounds of rain and the Moody Blues. She also took us into the city on a class trips and we explored the United Nations amongst other things. I don’t remember what she did to piss me off, but one day I was walking out of school and I turned and said to her: Did a student ever hate you before and she said no. Then I told her that I hated her. Actually, I did not hate her at all. Graduation from grammar school was devastating as everyone was separated and friends were lost.
1973
I just realized my papers for Canada were doctored to say 1972. LOL Oh goodie that means I spent one less year in Canada.
7th grade split William McKinley - Jumped by gang of girls for my bus pass. I had to walk home beat up and it was quite a long walk. I was back in the Sunset Park area...8th Avenue and 42nd Street in Brooklyn and living two houses away from the crazy Carbones. I went on one date with the cousin when I was 21 and he wouldn’t leave me alone after that. After numerous calls and repeat visits, I had to tell my mother to tell him I left the country. He was a real Guido and I relied on his stupidity not to check with his cousins. The plan worked.
Ruthie Dervin and her husband were the owners of the house. They had three kids: Raymond, Jr., Cynthia, and Anthony. Raymond Jr. was my age, Cynthia was a year younger, and Anthony was three years younger and my brothers age.
Raymond Jr. was a crook and coke head that robbed my mother’s apartment on one occasion or maybe two to feed his habit. My mom knew that it was him as the fence in the neighborhood told her. Mom being mom, was afraid to say anything to Ruthie because she thought she would lose the apartment. There was no lease and my mother was/is a MOUSE.
When I had enough of the bullshit, I headed into his basement and grabbed him by the neck and with all the seriousness I could muster, threatened to kill him. He was also corrupting my little brother with thieving and drugs. I was still squeaky clean. Once I left for Canada, my brother got in deep and had to be shipped off to South Carolina to avoid being locked up. He never lived with mom again. Just a few short years and that was it. Sadie was like his real mom anyway as she had him almost from birth and my mom just took him back in 1969. Damn he was already six.
When I came back in 1979, I was corrupt so I partied and hung with Raymond. I knew enough to have him locked up or beaten up by me or others so he was always cool. My ex-husband was my boyfriend at that time and we both headed for New York to try and make a life there, but he had no balls and after about a month he couldn’t cut it and left. I left New York to be with him in suck hole Canada. Okay. I was an idiot. Raymond and Paul became good buddies as they had one interest in common: COKE. When Paul returned to the apartment with white in his nose and denying left and right it was not coke, I headed downstairs to Raymond once again and Raymond cut Paul off from the supply. That may be why he left New York. That and he could not get a job as an electrician. This wonderful relationship (said sarcastically) lasted until 1981 and then I moved back to New York and MADE it!.
Pershing JHS - Knife put to my throat for a whole nickle on my way home for lunch. I did not go back that afternoon.
Howard S. Billings Regional High School (Canada) - Got kicked out for fighting.
School up the Hill - ********* - Finished up and went from 6th grade to 8th grade. It was like hold over camp.
1974
Howard S. Billing Regional High School (Canada) - 8th grade completed. - Cigarettes, pot and alcohol use and abuse started in a big way. Supposedly raped during this time. My body was found before anything happened.
1975
Permanently removed from Billings for truancy and fighting.
Six Nations Iroquois Confederacy School - Destroyed! - Went riding on Ski-doo with friends and got too cold to maneuver the vehicle as my hands were frozen so I laid in the snow and waited for death. No one was around in the bush. Eventually, they came looking for me.
1976
Lee Dyers (Lachine, Quebec) factory work $3.00 per hour.
1977/1978
O’Sullivan College (Montreal, Canada) tying course - passed with the help of joint.40 words per minute.
Bergan Community College, NJ - GED.
Lee Dyers (Lachine, Quebec) - $3.10 per hour.
1979 - 1981
Seafarers’ International Union of Canada - Clerk Typist
1981 - 1985
United States Probation and Parole Department (Eastern District). Started as a G-4 ended as a G6.4 I think. I just know I could not go higher.
I am tough, humorous, funny, funky, speak-her-mind, Brooklyn girl. I am the type of person that not only stands up for myself in the face of opposition, but also for others who lack the strength to stand up for themselves. Yes, I know I have a big time attitude problem which needs adjustment. This I readily and happily admit. I have had this problem for more years than I can remember. Maybe it is because I was a spoiled brat. In addition, it is almost foreign for me to keep my mouth shut on any given occasion because I must speak my peace and tell the truth even at the risk of getting in trouble. The funny thing is that my attitude and apparel have not lost me friends nor has it kept me from being befriended because people like the way I come off. What is great is that I can strike up a conversation with just about anyone I meet and actually engage them. I like this aspect. My strange, acentric, avant-garde self is all natural and blended in America. This is who I am.
Under my depths lurks a very soft and romantic side. The side that can watch Beaches more than 50 times and still cry and who reads and writes poetry with the most romantic notions. I am an individual who thinks of romance on a large scale to the point of mush with white knights and castles glistening in the sunlight. Not too many people have seen this side of me as I do not make it known.
I usually give guys a hard time in that I look for discrepancies in what they say as I have only been lied to so trust does not come easy. In addition, I also look for weakness. I am not interested in liars or weakness and it seems that there is an abundance of liars and feeble men out there. In essence, I consider my personality a strength as it allows me to be who I am without care of judgement and it doesn’t allow for room for me to be walked on anymore. Sometimes I do come off as being a bitch (not a dom). This, however, does provide a barrier of protection. There is definite room for improvement as I don’t want to be a bitch. That is something I want to change. I want to get more in touch with my soft side.
My biggest weakness is and has always been love (now referred to by me as “l”) or the search for it. I don’t usually write or say the word to anyone other than my daughter. It is like it is taboo to me as the word has no meaning. To me the word is used too lightly and I have yet to see it backed up by anyone. Basically, actions speak louder than words. It is possible to “l” without having “l” returned. It seems that “l” is one of the most elusive things to come across. Although, I have tried so hard to obtain it from various levels in my life that I am not sure it is obtainable. I do know what it is like to “l,” as I have given my heart on more than one occasion only to have it broken. The fact that this is my weakness is recognized, and accepted. However, I have yet to find strength in my greatest weakness. Broken hearts only become hardened hearts. This is not what I want as it does not qualify as strength, but rather as avoidant behavior. I use this avoidant behavior as a mode to keep myself safe.
I first noticed there was a problem with the “l” situation at relatively young age. Actually, I was six. After my grandma died, there was no more safety nor was there any stability. Everything I had known was pulled out from under me. Pretty much I was passed around like a rag-doll to relatives who kept me for a time and passed me around again. (Trust me. I am not looking for pity. Only though my background will you know why I think the way I do and how I have arrived at my weaknesses and strengths.) Had my mother not been selfish, I could have had parents who would have loved me. At least I think they would have. My aunt and uncle were by no means perfect, yet they did have good hearts and were willing to adopt this rag-a-muffin. Unfortunately, mom would not hear of it. So, instead I was passed to an abusive baby sitter where I stayed until my mother decided it was time for me to come home. Sometimes this would be a week or two. Regardless, I would sit faithfully beside the phone every Friday hoping and praying that she would phone for me to come home. Most Fridays I would just sit there and shake and feel sick to my stomach as five o’clock would come and go. What a lovely time I would have at the sitters. I was beat with a dog leash on a daily basis, but then again, so where the rest of the unwanted kids. I was also fed stuff that would make me puke. The bed I slept in smelled of dog urine and was void of pillows and blankets. This is what love got me...the love of a person that I did not know...my mom. I did not know her as my grandparents raised me. I really have no recollection of her prior to six years of age. You can now see where my DSM-IV Axis I panic/anxiety disorder comes from. It can’t be more obvious.
I finally did get to live with good old mom when I was about eight, but I moved out when I turned 12 and headed to Canada (hereafter known as hell) to live with my grandfather. I clashed big time with the men in her life as I hated what she was doing so I used to kick them out. At about eight years of age, I also realized that I was a geek...a book reading geek who immersed herself deep into renaissance and Egyptian history as well as Greek mythology.
To protect myself from the crap that was going on around me I said “Goodbye USA and hello hell ” Grandpa was real cool, however, he could never bring himself to say I “l” you. This really bothered me. I had once asked him why he never said it and his answer was I buy you everything you want. That was not good enough and I walked away discouraged. It was even hard to hug him. The old Indians are all like that as it is some form of conditioning from the residential schools.
Moving here to this hick rez was a total culture shock. I went from being voted “best dressed” in an NY junior high school to being a freak here on the rez. My drug and alcohol use started when I was around 14. It helped me cope with what was going on around me. However, it did cause me harm in that my wonderful friends left me passed out at some old guy’s house. I was found passed out and naked by CC who rescued me. To have to submit to rape tests was terrible. Luckily, I had not been raped. The mentality of this town was to call me by the man’s name at whose house I was found. This traumatized me to the point I could not go back to school. I stayed at the social services office where all my school work was sent. However, I found that the books on their shelves interested me more. That is when I started reading up on psychology. When I finally did get back to school, it was short lived as I found myself fighting and hanging with a tough bunch. It did not take long before I was kicked out. Well, at least I finished 8th grade.
Considering my age, I had to be in school. It was at this point that I went to the Six Nations Iroquois Confederacy School (a/k/a Longhouse) and asked for admittance. The prerequisite to get in was to shovel chicken crap. I passed. Even this situation was short lived as well as our school was blown up. I hung around for a while then headed to NJ to live with my aunt and to resume my studies. I had gotten my GED is record time and had enrolled in Rutgers University. I guess the geek within kept me from being scholastically dumb. Being dumb was something I was in that I chose to leave NJ before I could even get my feet wet. Back to hell I went.
At this point I was 17 and I met Paul (the bum I married in 2003). He was my first “l.” Although he was not good looking by any means, I liked how he treated me. He did not push or rush me to do anything. After being with him for four years, I was told that the novelty wore off. What sweet words. I was like a puppy to this guy. I did his mom’s grocery shopping, cleaned his house, cooked, baked, lent him my car, and bought him stuff. What a dope. My heart was in the right place, but I think my mind was not as this BURN did not teach me a lesson. Lessons are supposed to be learned in life.
Being so broken hearted I could not stay here on the rez and I did not want to live with mom, so silly me headed out to Greenville, South Carolina to be with my good old abusive baby sitter. Oh did I forget to tell you that she actually kept my brother as her own? At least as a grown woman I did not have to worry about her doing anything to me as I knew I could stand up for myself. Let me tell you about grand old Dixie. They just don’t like us Yankees. Finding a job was not happening even though I had skills at this point. The next course of action was to turn tail and return to NY. Living with mom was hell so the drugs really helped in not “being there.” It made things much easier to tolerate. Living with her control freak attitude did not sit well with me and I threatened to join the army if she did not give me my money so that I could get my own apartment. She gave it up. Although I did not live that far away, I chose not to see her. I had a really good job. I was working for the US Department of Probation and Parole, Eastern District. What is really funny is that I was sitting in there stoned most of the time and they didn’t even know it. Talk about dressing funky and working for the government. Wow Everything I wore was black. I also had a wild punk hair cut and tattoos. Sure I dressed straight up to get the job, but I had to be me. That was me at 21. As you can see, I never grew up. I think that is a strength as my mind is still young and open to adventure.
Enter Andrew I used to frequent The Brooklyn Zoo and was there to see Wendy O and the Plasmatics. The crowd was so dense that bodies were crushing up against me. Suddenly, someone within the crowd grabbed my hand and led me through and then let me go to stand there alone. I didn’t think anything of it. Here I am watching the show when all of a sudden someone is touching my body. I turned around to see who it might be, but there were too many faces. This individual was not shy to touch what he wanted. I was getting more pissed by the moment and finally was able to grab that hand and find the body behind it. Lo and behold it was Andrew. After hitting him a few times and giving him shit, he apologized and I accepted. We talked for a long period of time and he, his friend, and my girlfriend, all headed back to my apartment to hang out. Since he was really drunk, I made him coffee and told him to shower and straighten up. I found out it was his friend that dragged me though the crowd to be placed near Andrew. By the way he was 19. That night, my girlfriend was going home with his friend and he thought that he was going to stay with me. WRONG I chucked him out. A few days later, my girlfriend called to tell me that he wanted to reach me and wanted to know if she could give my number to his friend. I said sure, no harm. Talk about romancing. He would read me poetry over the phone and play his guitar. Now that is the way to win a girl’s heart. I spot a weakness here. However, I do not feel it necessary to change that aspect of me.
After about six months of co-living together on the lower east side, he moved out of his apartment and into mine. Our life consisted of sex and drugs and more sex and drugs. When Andrew met me I might as well have been a virgin as I knew nothing about sex. Things that he did and had me do were new, different, and exciting. He enjoyed sexual control. I didn’t even know what that was until years later. What an ignoramus. I learned to enjoy his control too. However, together we were like fire and gasoline. A very dangerous combination. His control also did not spill out of the bedroom and so I did not take crap from him. I thought nothing of standing up to his 6' 3 self and lambasting him if I was angry. I always knew I had a violent side, but for the most part I was quite docile. Things went okay for the first two years. However, I was the bread winner for the four years that we lived together. He wanted the freedom to play his guitar and try to get into a band. Being the ever supporting woman, I accepted. While we were together, I had gotten pregnant three times in a row. I was so happy when I first got pregnant only no one else was. There was no support to be found as he did not want a baby. My baby was 12 weeks old when I aborted. My second abortion came two months after the first. Although he did not want a baby, I was not allowed to use birth control. Go figure. The third pregnancy came two months after my second abortion. However, this was different. I was on the table and had received my shot when I changed my mind and said NO. I could not kill again. The previous two hurt emotionally more than you can imagine.
Things were getting bad between us. I had forgotten my key one day and had to climb the fire escape and break into my own apartment. He was very shocked when he walked in with two girls only to find me sitting there. I went after them with a baseball bat and threw him down a flight of stairs. Now that is a crazy lady. Don’t get me wrong, but he was not this sweet thing. I had my share of black eyes and lumps. My head was also split open, but so was his arm when I took a knife to his guitar. After four years of this roller coaster, it was time to get off. I moved out of my own apartment, but we were still together. He also raped me without my consent. No game there. Violence is bad in any situation and should never be used against anyone regardless of the reason.
My mom had just bought a house and I moved into the basement apartment. Being pregnant meant something to me so I stopped all drugs and alcohol. I had the will to stop and did not have a problem doing so. You can call that a good strength. My only vice was smoking. You can call that a bad weakness which I have tried numerous times to quit. I guess at this time in my life I was looking for salvation and started to explore religion. Although born a Catholic, I could not deal with Catholicism. I found it too bogus so I became a born again Christian...a real bible toter who went to bible study and church faithfully. I was still with Andrew, but I could not live life in the fast lane. I was pretty cool with the church, but realized that I was surrounded by hypocrites. They talked the talk, but didn’t walk the walk. That was a turn off. At this point I chucked organized religion.
Two months before my daughter was born, I had Andrew sign papers stating that he would never attempt to seek custody of his child and after which, I again headed back to hell. Giving birth to my daughter in hell, ensured that she received dual citizenship. Once here, I had no intention of returning to NY. However, I am a sucker for a sob story and boy did my mom have one. (I have noted this weakness of a soft heart. However, I would not want to change this aspect.) Her husband had left her while I was away and she needed me back for financial help. I was collecting welfare here and when I got to NY, I collected there as well. I committed fraud for which I was caught, but never charged. It is just that NY does not give you enough to live off of. I wanted my daughter to have things. While collecting, I enrolled in college and was attending full time studies at night. I even made the Dean’s list. The classes I took were not so much to get a degree, but more to get me a job. This worked well. In 14 months, I got off welfare and landed a job with JP Morgan: one of the biggest banks in NY. My “end” position was that of administrative assistant in dividend reinvestment. I stayed two years and started looking for more money at other companies. That is how you play the employment game...the thing is to move on.
About this time Andrew was in prison for armed robbery and attempted murder. His prior record of assaulting a police officer did not help in his sentencing. While in there, he married Melissa. Although he wrote to me from the inside, he did not do so in the romantic way. I thought he finally had respect for a woman, mainly his wife. Really this was not the case because as soon as he was out, he was back at my door. The poor woman didn’t know we were addicted to each other. She used to call me when she knew she was dying. Believe it or not she wanted me to take care of him after she was gone. This was the first and only time that I infringed on someone’s marriage vows.
I had been clean for about four years or more. Being with him again, only brought me back down. I was back to drugs and back to alcohol. This storm lasted until 1995/96 when I got charged with assault and harassment and when he started snorting heroin. It was time to say goodbye for good to him and to that life. He thought this was just another break up, but it wasn’t. I could not deal with the worry of his infidelities and drug use combined. It came as a danger sign. He didn’t give up without a fight. Andrew was a great weakness on many different levels. All of these levels combined was leading me down a road of self-destruction. The relationship itself was not a healthy one and should have ended in when I moved out of my apartment. It is unfortunate that hindsight is always 20/20.
By this time, I had two full years of university under my belt. However, the extensive substance abuse was masking my illness. So, when I completely quit, I realized how sick I was. My panic attacks were coming strong and hard so much so that I had a hard time leaving my house. This, coming a girl who thought nothing of riding the subway at 4:00 a.m. and walking through alphabet city alone, is quite a major contrast. From no fear to un triggered fear. How bizarre. Although, I had dealt with this illness since I was very young, I was forced to quit work. This was really bad and I became very depressed. I felt I had no life. I was pretty much home bound until 1999 when I came back to hell.
I had started my political fight 20 years ago and defied council when I moved my butt into my grandfather’s house. Even though I was warned not to come back, I didn’t care. I fought their discriminatory nonsense and won a $20,000 settlement without a lawyer.
This house was something else when I moved in. I had no water, no electricity, a collapsed and leaking roof, busted pipes, totaled furnace, and sinking floors. I had no job and not too much money. How I pulled it off is still a mystery to me. I guess when you want something badly enough you just find the strength to do it. My strength is determination to overcome that which is in front of me. However, being in this god forsaken town depressed the crap out of me and I blew up. I got fat Not small fat...big fat I had gained about 60 pounds by the time I met my husband. During the house fixing I also managed to graduate with my BA.
In 2002 I met Paul again. He knew I was coming into money soon and suggested marriage. My eyes were not closed. I knew his motives. However, my heart was leading me. The flame that burned in a 17 year-old’s heart was still in mine. I was back in “l” with my first “l.” We were married in January of 2003 in Las Vegas. Although he was working prior to our marriage, it seems that he could not find a job afterward. Therefore, I supported him and paid him to work on my house. I stayed in this marriage because of my foolish old-fashioned ways. To me marriage was a sacred vow that had to be honored and if you made your bed you had to lie in it. I dealt with his abusive mouth and his trashing of my house without me saying a word. Never would he hear my voice rise nor an angry words come out of my mouth. I was a mouse. A depressed fat mouse. I was really hurting my body as I was now 100 lbs. more than when I first got here. Taking my meds served to relieve me from being present and accounted for. Because of my weight gain, I developed diabetes and was on five pills of metformine a day. My cholesterol was also high, and my blood pressure was out of control. People would tell me that I was killing myself, but at that point I really didn’t care. I found out that Paul was using cocaine behind my back. I knew he smoked pot and although I did not like it, I did not say anything. I would just spray the house. He was also stealing money out of my bank account and off of my credit cards. The last straw was his physical abuse. He had tried to strangle me while we were in Florida and attempted to punch my face when we got home. I finally opened my mouth and cursed him out I called him a fucking prick bastard. That is when he flung the soda at me and that is the night I got rid of him. I managed to get all his stuff together in one evening and have it all out on the back porch. I was free I took the initiative to take matters into my control and to stand up for myself. This was a good strength. The mouse roared.
Exercise had come to me a few months earlier and I had dropped quite a few pounds, but nothing that noticeable. Now that he was gone, I was working in full force to drop the weight. Once a junk food junkie, I was now a health food junkie. No, I did not just live off of cereal. I was eating fish, veggies, oats, chicken and was drinking tons of water. Also, I had an occasional cheese treat. After 12 months of intense exercise and diet, I went from 242 down to 138. Again, I had the determination to get something done. When I want, I am actually a force to be reckoned with. I no longer needed to take the diabetes meds as my diabetes did not register. My blood pressure was now normal and so was my cholesterol. The doctor was not concerned as I was very healthy. Granted, I still had the mental health issue of panic/anxiety and the occasional depression to deal with. However, I had stopped taking those meds too. I hated feeling drugged and wanted to feel the sharpness of my mind again. Damn, it was a renaissance. Sparks of memory would enter my head and I would run for a book and actually find the particular quote that came to mind. I was honing myself again to be as sharp as a tack. When I was with Andrew, I very sharp. Then again, so was he. I was on my way back to being me again. I just needed the clothes.
My days were spent shopping. Business was great and the money was rolling in. E-bay was something I could do all day long. Actually, the only use my computer saw was banking and E-bay. My niece told me to check out Rez on the internet. Figuring what do I have to lose, I tired it. After speaking for months with this one Native from a sister reserve, I agreed to me him and drove out to Six Nations. That was a joke on me. I did have a romantic interest, but he did deceive me on many issues of which I cannot forgive him. Again “l” is a weakness that I would like to improve on without hardening my heart.
Having spent thousands on clothes for myself and my daughter, I noticed that business was starting to taper off. The price wars had begun. When I let my staff go, I knew things were bad. I was forced to be home now as I had to take care of my business. Although I tried everything to stay afloat, I could not.
The present situation...
The truth of the matter is that my world is falling apart due to excesses that I had committed in the past. My excesses come in the form of clothes buying sprees. Yes, I am a clothes whore. I was one who bought without consciousness or care of the outcome. For this discretion I have fatally stumbled. This may sound like a joke but it is not. The extent of the damage is great. Try financial ruin. However, what I am doing is trying to look at this in a humorous way as to look at it in any other form would only cause depression. I have been down that road and chose not to return. When business was good, it was great. Now it is not so great. Granted I did have a few days of good business, however, not enough to pull out. I just have to take my lumps. Money is not something I am good in handling. This I have always known. It is a very bad weakness that needs definite improvement as I see that I am not a responsible person in this area. What the solution is, I am not sure yet.
I do have a great many strengths and a great many weaknesses. Don’t we all? And I may have stumbled for the time being, but I will rise again. As for my mental health, the only problem with me is my panic disorder which I have come to terms with and know I will have for the rest of my life so I must deal with it. Mental instability is not something I can handle nor is it something that I have time for. With all that is going on right now, instability would have brought me depression and possible suicidal ideation. I will not go in that direction again. Like with most things in my life, I have and will overcome.
THINGS HAVE CHANGED SINCE THIS WAS WRITTEN AS IT IS FROM 2006. Both my finances and I have recovered. ~ April 25, 2011
Scattered Memories
This writing needs tons of work, but I got what I got from only a few hours of work. Maybe one day, I can sort it out.
1965 to 1967
I knew how to read prior to kindergarten because my grandpa had me learn with Dick, Jane, and Spot. I knew my shit before I got to school.
Kindergarten.. Ms. Cheerio was my first teacher. One kid peed in class because he suffered separation anxiety. I was bused in so I was separated from my grandma at home which was on Flatbush Ave and Newkirk. Artwork was interesting and was rewarded with praise. I remember making a sawdust heart. The sawdust was made solid with glue and then painted red. Glitter was added on top of the paint. Paint time was so great, I had the grandparents buy me an easel. First true and remembered interest in art.
When I was sick and could not make it to school, grandma would put a hankie in the loop of the shade so that the bus driver would know that I was not going in.
One day I got mad at grandma and ran away to across the street. When she caught me, I caught IT. My grandmas was a big woman. She was 5' 7" 62.5% (according to council) and on the heavy side. She was a stern mix of Mohawk, Irish, Scottish, German, and Italian. My grandpa was a real tough guy, but not big at 5' 9" and 100% Mohawk. He once went into a bar and said he wanted to drink alone so when no left, he beat them up and threw them out. Once in Coney Island while me and Ida were with him, he ordered clam chowder while we waited in the car. He sent it back twice because he said it was not hot enough. When it was not hot enough on the third try, he threw the soup at the guy and burned him. He was arrested and Sadie was called to get the $100 to bail him out.
I have this memory of me cutting the doctor’s thethascope (sp) upon a visit. Also, I kicked a nurse in the stomach when I was going to have my tonsils out. I was dragged out of the play area as a most unwilling subject, but I did wake to ice-cream and loneliness.
I remember the line for a polio shot was long, miserable, and in a dismal place. It must have been a Department of Health thingy because I had a private doctor.
Although I was beaten for ice-skating on aunt’s lovely shiny parkay floors and damaging the hell out of them, she feared my grandma and begged that I not tell that she hit me. One up for knowing how to hold something over someone’s head and how to threaten them with it.
During this time, I rode a two wheel bike that was way too big for me and fell, but learned how to ride without training wheels.
Some local kid (boy) pushed me off basement stair landing (I was sitting on top). The stairs below were cement and I toppled over backwards ergo the bump on my nose.
I remember Mr. King. He worked on a cruise ship and his stories always entertained me. All above his crown molding were pictures from all around the world. When he spoke of far off places, I listened and daydreamed. I used to bug grandma as to when he was coming back because I wanted to go visit him again. When he shipped out, it seemed like he was gone for an eternity and I missed him. He is the first black person that I ever made friends with, but he was not the last.
I remember Marjorie at my 6th birthday party. Pin the tail on the donkey was played with actual tacks and as grandpa was nearby and grandma had a sick sense of humor, she told me to put the tack in his ass which I did. Ouch! He was real mad.
Marjorie and I used to make weird concoctions with soda and eggs for local kids just to see if they would drink it and throw up.
I used to try to hide in the dumbwaiter. Don’t ask what that is. Look it up. Grandma used to hide around the house or in the hall and scare the hell out of me and make me cry. The harder I would cry, the harder she would laugh. Maybe that is why I did sick stuff to my daughter. Who knows.
Grandma did not laugh when I wrote all over her hallway with my grandfather’s ironwork pencils nor did she laugh when I poked holes in her mock leather recliner. I had a good laugh when I my uncle put me in a box and then kicked the box down the stairs. I didn’t get hurt. This is the same uncle I stole quarters from (read on).
My grandmother sewed the best quilts from scraps of material. The way it was hooked up was that it was extended by wood and clamps. To me this was a fort which I could be princess of. Grandma made me some real pretty clothes and I can’t ever say that I was hurting for fashion.
I had tapeworm, mumps, and chicken pox. YUCK.
The roof was my playground and the soft thick tar was interesting to make temporary footprints in. The summer heat gave the tar an interesting smell. Grandma hung her clothes on the roof and the contrasting smells were interesting. I used to hand her the clothes pins.
One day someone was blasting music across the way and my grandma yelled at them to lower it. When they didn’t, she dragged the hifi over and blasted them back. I stood there and laughed at the lunacy. Getting even is a bitch, but I was taught well over the years.
That good old hifi played the newly released “THEY’RE COMING TO TAKE ME AWAY” and the family would sit around singing it and make crazy faces. Mom was learning how to type around that time as I remember the typewriter by the window. Mom was still young...under 21. I don’t remember mom, but I remember the typewriter was hers. Before, my mother reached her 24th birthday, she found her mother dead. My grandma knew she was going to the hospital and wanted to clean her house before she left. As she waited for my always LATE aunt Ida, she suffered a massive heart attack and fell across her bed. Her death was kept from me and they shipped her body back to Canada via train.
Mr. Murphey’s Deli on Flatbush Ave. had the best bologna. My allowance of .25 per week went to buying bologna. Bizarre huh?
Hair cut pixie style from a salon on Flatbush. When the beautician cut my long hair off, she also cut my ear. Bitch! I made sure that the next time I went back that I didn’t get her, but the next woman cut my ear too. Maybe I had big ears. Grandma stopped taking me there after that. There was this great Chinese restaurant on Flatbush that served the best Chow Mein and that is all I would eat except for Egg Drop Soup.
Exposure to Greenwich Village. Lafayette Bakery in the Village was a usual event after attending mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Manhattan. The first time I saw pink and blue hair was in the Village as the two women walked down the street in their massive beehives. My mouth hung open wide in amazement as my white gloved hands gripped the old Chevy window. The women were walking along Avenue of the Americas (a/k/a 6th Ave.). In the winter grandpa used to take me to Rockefeller Center to see the skaters. Now you know where I got the wonderful idea to skate on my aunt’s floor. Radio City Music Hall was another attraction. Years later, Radio City events caused me to get gramps to buy me pink satin toe shoes. He went crazy trying to find them as I would not settle for dance shoes. They were finally obtained in Jersey. While we were out hunting for them, we stopped to have pizza. Not knowing any better, I took the garlic SALT and poured it all over my pizza until it was white (I thought it was cheese). Grandpa watched and did not say a word. Yeah he let me bite into it and I started crying. Much to his dislike, he ate it and bought me another piece..
1967
1st grade...Grandma died this year and school is hazy. On my wonderful 7th birthday, my aunt came to the party drunk. As I had lived with my grandparents from birth, it was a habit to call my grandpa daddy as he was the only father I knew. I guess this twisted her horns a bit. Therefore, on this day in her stupor when she heard me call my grandpa daddy, she said to me: Don’t call him daddy. You are just a bastard and you don’t have a father. Of course my mom kicked her out, but from that day forward, I never called gramps daddy. Lesson learned that some things only need be said ONCE to be burned in forever.
During this time I was living with my aunt in Jersey and sometimes with my aunt in Flushing. While in school in Jersey I do remember one thing the word LAVATORY. They did not use the word bathroom or toilet. It was a strange difference. Being with my aunt was a happy time even if not fully remembered. She was my favorite until she died at the age of 57. Strange as my grandma was 57 when she died.
1968
2nd grade bully...Donna. Coffee. She kicked my ass for an absurdity that I won’t even go into. Ms. Richmond was my second grade teacher. I tested horribly in reading so I did summer school and loved it. Hell would have looked good if it got me away from Sadie’s sadistic ways. I devoured everything they had and passed with flying colors.
My buddies were Jonie, Gina, and Michelle. First major crush was on Joey Polucci.
My school’s bathrooms did not have doors for privacy and the desks were ink well desks that were iron and bolted to the floor. I learned how to cross Prospect Parkway unassisted. Then again who the hell assists a kid right? First time stealing food (Devil Dogs...YUM)) from local grocer on 4th Ave. The shit that Sadie gave me made me vomit so stealing goodies was a real treat. I was not worried about a JD card.
Jonie was a drop off kid at Sadie’s just like me and Gina and Michelle where the girls across the street whose mothers had ties to the gangsters on the corner.
Joey’s mother worked at Seafarers’ International Union (SIU) with my mom. You can imagine the bunch that they knew during those years. They knew longshoremen and people with ties at the AFL (American Federation of Labor) and CIO (Congress of Industrial Organizations). The guys carried guns and dealt clothes out of their car trunks for discount prices. Mine and Joey’s mother were very well dressed women. Hell, they knew gangsters.
Poor Joey was abused by me. Sure I was all peaches and cream...a total girl, but I was shy and did not know how to react or act towards him. He used to carry my books for me when I was at the union hall and I would wait until he got down the stairs and I would throw my books at him. When he would call me, I would bang the phone on the window. Why he even bothered is beyond me. Years later, my mother and I ran into him and his mother. He was a pizza face and when he leaned forward to kiss me hello, I kind of backed up. My mom told me that he was into crime and drugs and he was hitting and abusing his mother. I felt bad for Marie because she was really nice.
Mom started working at SIU as a telephone operator with all the plugs and switches on the board. It sure looked like fun. However, over the years she rose from switchboard operator to personal secretary for the president of the union who at that time was Paul Hall. Paul Hall had ties to the president of the United States amongst other things. Now that is power.
Paul Hall’s daughter Margo (who lived on Park Avenue in Manhattan and with whom I moved in with when I came back from Canadian hell 1981), offered to get the signatures a senator(s) for me to be accepted at West Point Military Academy (breeding the leaders of tomorrow) in 1978 when I got my GED. Yeah we had our connections and I could have become an officer, but NAH. Can you picture me an OFFICER in the corp? I also took the NYPD exam and passed. I was in the “under investigation” part of the screening and had my number of placement (174), but I got pregnant. No loss as I was working for the United States Probation and Parole Department (Eastern District). Yeah Gotti’s courthouse.
Mom did go to the governor’s ball on more than one occasion and was picked up by limo courtesy of the union. She even dated the then vice president Frank Drozak. That shit made me move out as it was sickening. I was 13 (all this time I was thinking I was 12) when I took off.
Mom was my in at SIU of Canada in Montreal. My interview consisted of bullshit talk to the then secretary treasurer Roger Desjardins who was under orders from Roman Gralewicz to take me. Of course Roman did the favor for Paul Hall. Yuppers. Pull goes a long way. It really is about WHO YOU KNOW and not what you know. I even managed to get people jobs as crew on ships with no effort. A simple psst do me a favor worked fine. Ronald Regan was president while I was employed at SIU and the US experienced Reaganomics. The country BOOMED.
Jerry Gagliarti was my mom’s boyfriend and gangster. Monticello was were his parent’s lived. While visiting them, the guys took me out hunting. One of them shot a squirrel or rabbit and told me to bring the bloody creature into house. They died laughing seeing me standing in the doorway with kill and hearing the women scream get that the hell out of here. They guys thought it was hysterical. Jerry paid $5 or $10 for me to go to sleep so he and my mom could be alone. I thought it was a profitable deal and took it.
First gangster 12 course meal at a super fancy restaurant out in Monticello, NY.
The gangster bar across the street was named either 3 or 5 Five Star Bar. It would close to house special FAMILY dinners. I remember one of the guys was named Blackie. He was he was a big scarey dude. The bar was located across the street from my house at 662 6th Ave. 662 was six story walk up. As we did not have bells in the building nor security, if you wanted money, help, or attention, you screamed at the building and hoped that someone heard you. Money for the store was dropped out the window in a tissue or in paper. Everyone screamed at their apartment pretty much. What could you do? "Maaaaaa" was heard all over the place. Who the heck wanted to walk all the way up the stairs just to ask a question. Maybe that is why I have a big mouth.
At around this time, I think it was the Boston Stranger or some other sick fuck, was gaining notoriety. My mom had told me someone came to the apartment door claiming that they were from the electric company. Mom questioned him and did not let him in. However, when she checked with the super named Fannie, no one was called. As a latchkey kid, I was always told NEVER answer the door for anyone. Years later, **Wendy could have used this information as she stupidly opened our apartment door to some guy who said he was from the telephone company. She was raped and beaten. Her ribs were broken and so was her cheek bone. She also had several stitches in her cheek. The Bozo should have known better as not too long before that someone knocked at our door and when I checked through the peephole, a guy was standing there holding a gun. I ducked into the kitchen and called the cops. Mind you I had no kitchen window. I had a green garbage bag for a window. It broke and the landlord never fixed it.
**Wendy (raped and beaten - junkie), Andrew (junkie - dead), Margureitta (murdered), Bobby (hoodlum/junkie - murdered), Steve (hoodlum/junkie - murdered) Petey (the lowest of the lowest scum - dead), Marge (dead), Lamours (gone), Grace, Crazy Sal (mildly insane bouncer from Lamours), Toni (reformed junkie, but still a whore (no more prostitution though) she recently ODed - August 2013), Vinnie (gangster - stabbed 24 times and lived - he had three guns on him always???), Karen, Billy (AIDS), Chris and Chris (hoodlums and druggies - guys), Pat (crooked cop on coke from the other side of Ocean Parkway), Tommy (fucked up garbage man from Hicks Street), Carmine (Bobby’s brother more than likely dead), Linda (still a whore), Phil (carpet layer amongst other things), my downstairs neighbor who cut his front tooth out of his mouth with a razor blade, my Houndie the killer hound dog (became a junk yard dog in Staten Island), T the U shaped Doberman whom I tried to kill with rat poison and cheese, Ritchie the tattoo kid with braces who did two of my tatts with his kit, the Irish lady (I use that word lightly) from Hell’s kitchen and Attica who lived across the courtyard with her swinging arm, family, and barking dog, the Jewish/Puerto Rican neighborhood, the burnt out buildings, the old fashioned barber’s chair and the four guys who brought it to my apartment, my throwing knives, my target, the guy in the car with the gun who almost shot me because I pulled a knife on him on my way to a party, the guy who threw the party (his name will come back JOE), the guy who chased me with a knife from the Zodiac (Houston and Mercer Streets) after hours club, massive amounts of drugs, cops on the take, and crooked people...I am sure there is more associated to the roommates period. Wendy and murdered Bobby were my roommates. I threw Bobby out as he was annoying me but I still remained his friend and I kept his leather jacket.
I remember my portable turntable paying The Archies SUGAR SUGAR and go go dancing in the street.
Around this time, my cousin Barbara D****** slit her wrists and went back to bed. I was on my way to the bathroom in the dark and when I turned on the light, I saw the razor blade and all the blood in the bathroom. I had walked barefoot through all that. No I did not scream, but I did wake my grandfather and let him know what was going on. She lived.
Also, my brother liked this whipped marshmallow stuff in a jar and I had seen a commercial on how thick Ivory liquid could get. So, I gently beat the Ivory to a rich creaminess and wondered if I could get my brother to eat that on a sponge. I never did feed it to him.
1969
3rd grade (Ms. Izzi) - I tested with a 9th grade reading level. I felt that I did not do good enough even though I scored the just about the highest in class. John with the big dirty ears scored 10th grade. That kid could have had a potato farm. I don’t know what the hell I was looking to score, but I was not satisfied.
The beating of Danny Schultz for bothering my brother. Only I could beat my brother up. After Danny’s beating, he left my brother alone and I got some respect. My poor brother did not get respect as he needed his big sister to fight his battles. This neighborhood was tough. Gun shots were heard throughput the night and you did not sit in front of your window even on the 6th floor. It was a real bitch having to go to the laundromat with the cart full of bagged clothes as I dreaded that. The block kids would pick and poke and I had to not only defend myself, and my little brother, I had to defend the clothes. If the temperature was 100 degrees outside, the laundromat had to be 130 degrees with the dryers. Everything had to be folded before I got home or I got shit.
My brother ripped open his arm on a barbed wire church gate and got six stitches. He was climbing it and was hung upside down by his arm. This was in the Sunset Park area.
Around this time I learned how to deep sea fish. Yup, I baited my own hooks with CHUM and helped scale and clean the fish. My cousin Billy O’C***** taught me well. Years later, Billy committed suicide by jumping through an air shaft at a hospital. He was in the hospital because he had tried on other occasions to take his life via stabbing himself in the heart and setting himself on fire. The death of his father William (Irish) O’C***** and the controlling nature of his mother Ida Stacey-O’C threw him out of wack. I remember my uncle Willy’s brother Patrick (I believe his name was or it was Edward) who lived out in Jersey and how he had a ton of dirty kids. Ah we had fun though hanging out in the yard and on the Jersey shore. Motor Mouth Kevin O’C***** is from that litter as is Colleen, and Maureen. Kevin went from needles in the arm to family life. When their mom died, Colleen took care of all the kids. She had no life. Now Maureen and Colleen live together and help each other out. Maureen has her masters and is one smart cookie (one of these women has since departed this world as did Kevin). That is also one hell of a tight family unit. That O’C***** blood is strong as they all look like the dad or my uncle Willy.
After uncle Willy and Billy died, aunt Ida got a 90 year old boyfriend named John (he too was an Irishmen). She had a stick with a nail in the end that she used to go after him with it and even though she broke a big ashtray over his leg, he stayed with her until she died of a heart attack right in front of him. She couldn’t handle those stairs on Livingston Street. Again top floor. BTW, Billy looked like a very muscular and very tall Buddy Holly (glasses and all). He was Irish cop material with a degree in engineering. Too bad my aunt never let him work or have a girlfriend.
Somewhere during this time period, I was also entered into the LITTLE MISS AMERICA contest and went to semi-finals. Yippie. I was not really interested in carrying the number and wearing my white gloves. The turnon came from going to Palisades Park and visiting the fun house. The park was eventually torn down in favor of apartments.
While still at this apartment, I had robbed my uncle Bobby (a/k/a Machine Gun Kelly) and he found out and went ballistic over some quarters.
Somewhere between here and there, mom married Red Ryan and we moved to 59th St. Between 3rd and 4th Avenue. We rented from Marie and Red Campbell. Guess what? They worked for the union as did Red Ryan. Sure it was a nice brownstone with railroad rooms, but it was a tough neighborhood. This is where I learned to play man in the middle, pillow and bridge, and skullies.
1970
4th grade (Mrs. McGilligan) I won several awards for excellent book reports. What got Mrs. McGilligan was the fact that I would add humorous commentary to my reports. When that got stale, I used more analytical comments and won back her favor. Yes I did vie for teacher’s pet. She was a tough old cookie, but a nice one.
1971
5th grade...the stabbing of Antonette (Mr. Harrison’s class 5-1) The lesson learned in the stabbing of Antonette was how to stand on your own and gain supporters afterward. Although I can’t remember the girl’s name, I do remember that she handed me a compass as I was in a headlock. When I stabbed Antonette, she let me go and never bothered me after that. I sure wish I could remember that girl and her buds but they have long been forgotten. She did teach me to say fuck you in Spanish.
Best buds...Me Li Lung and Lillian Rivera. Mr. Harrison pushed for spelling accuracy and definitions. He also pushed us to be GREAT! You not only had to know your spelling words you had to write the dictionary definition next to the word. Man he kicked ass. I do remember Chico from class and Michael and Sal Incorvia from school. Michael and Sal were twins.
1972
6th grade...(Ms. Rhoda Kaufman’s class 6-1) Crushes...Michael Incorvia and Michael Conway. M. Conway wrote in my grad signature book...Roses are red, violets are blue. The shorter the skirt, the better the view. I guess I liked the long legs, short skits, and chunky shoes.
I loved Ms. Kaufman because she just had this way of opening eyes to interesting things like sounds of rain and the Moody Blues. She also took us into the city on a class trips and we explored the United Nations amongst other things. I don’t remember what she did to piss me off, but one day I was walking out of school and I turned and said to her: Did a student ever hate you before and she said no. Then I told her that I hated her. Actually, I did not hate her at all. Graduation from grammar school was devastating as everyone was separated and friends were lost.
1973
I just realized my papers for Canada were doctored to say 1972. LOL Oh goodie that means I spent one less year in Canada.
7th grade split William McKinley - Jumped by gang of girls for my bus pass. I had to walk home beat up and it was quite a long walk. I was back in the Sunset Park area...8th Avenue and 42nd Street in Brooklyn and living two houses away from the crazy Carbones. I went on one date with the cousin when I was 21 and he wouldn’t leave me alone after that. After numerous calls and repeat visits, I had to tell my mother to tell him I left the country. He was a real Guido and I relied on his stupidity not to check with his cousins. The plan worked.
Ruthie Dervin and her husband were the owners of the house. They had three kids: Raymond, Jr., Cynthia, and Anthony. Raymond Jr. was my age, Cynthia was a year younger, and Anthony was three years younger and my brothers age.
Raymond Jr. was a crook and coke head that robbed my mother’s apartment on one occasion or maybe two to feed his habit. My mom knew that it was him as the fence in the neighborhood told her. Mom being mom, was afraid to say anything to Ruthie because she thought she would lose the apartment. There was no lease and my mother was/is a MOUSE.
When I had enough of the bullshit, I headed into his basement and grabbed him by the neck and with all the seriousness I could muster, threatened to kill him. He was also corrupting my little brother with thieving and drugs. I was still squeaky clean. Once I left for Canada, my brother got in deep and had to be shipped off to South Carolina to avoid being locked up. He never lived with mom again. Just a few short years and that was it. Sadie was like his real mom anyway as she had him almost from birth and my mom just took him back in 1969. Damn he was already six.
When I came back in 1979, I was corrupt so I partied and hung with Raymond. I knew enough to have him locked up or beaten up by me or others so he was always cool. My ex-husband was my boyfriend at that time and we both headed for New York to try and make a life there, but he had no balls and after about a month he couldn’t cut it and left. I left New York to be with him in suck hole Canada. Okay. I was an idiot. Raymond and Paul became good buddies as they had one interest in common: COKE. When Paul returned to the apartment with white in his nose and denying left and right it was not coke, I headed downstairs to Raymond once again and Raymond cut Paul off from the supply. That may be why he left New York. That and he could not get a job as an electrician. This wonderful relationship (said sarcastically) lasted until 1981 and then I moved back to New York and MADE it!.
Pershing JHS - Knife put to my throat for a whole nickle on my way home for lunch. I did not go back that afternoon.
Howard S. Billings Regional High School (Canada) - Got kicked out for fighting.
School up the Hill - ********* - Finished up and went from 6th grade to 8th grade. It was like hold over camp.
1974
Howard S. Billing Regional High School (Canada) - 8th grade completed. - Cigarettes, pot and alcohol use and abuse started in a big way. Supposedly raped during this time. My body was found before anything happened.
1975
Permanently removed from Billings for truancy and fighting.
Six Nations Iroquois Confederacy School - Destroyed! - Went riding on Ski-doo with friends and got too cold to maneuver the vehicle as my hands were frozen so I laid in the snow and waited for death. No one was around in the bush. Eventually, they came looking for me.
1976
Lee Dyers (Lachine, Quebec) factory work $3.00 per hour.
1977/1978
O’Sullivan College (Montreal, Canada) tying course - passed with the help of joint.40 words per minute.
Bergan Community College, NJ - GED.
Lee Dyers (Lachine, Quebec) - $3.10 per hour.
1979 - 1981
Seafarers’ International Union of Canada - Clerk Typist
1981 - 1985
United States Probation and Parole Department (Eastern District). Started as a G-4 ended as a G6.4 I think. I just know I could not go higher.
Saturday, January 7, 2006
A Dream
He comes to me in a dream
Cloaked in darkness
Yet so many shades of gray
A great beauty to behold
Eyes that glow with blood stained radiance
I am beckoned by a voice that cracks the silence with hollow whispers
It fills the empty corridors of my mind with fantasies gone a-wild
Taking me...I reel backwards into oblivion
Floating endlessly into night
Allow me to dance in the dark
Spinning endlessly in black sheer - Arachne 1/7/06
Inspired by a dream
Cloaked in darkness
Yet so many shades of gray
A great beauty to behold
Eyes that glow with blood stained radiance
I am beckoned by a voice that cracks the silence with hollow whispers
It fills the empty corridors of my mind with fantasies gone a-wild
Taking me...I reel backwards into oblivion
Floating endlessly into night
Allow me to dance in the dark
Spinning endlessly in black sheer - Arachne 1/7/06
Inspired by a dream
DRAFT BILL. WHERE WILL YOU BE WHEN THEY COME FOR YOU?
DRAFT BILL. WHERE WILL YOU BE WHEN THEY COME FOR YOU?
1. *EDITED WITH DRAFT DODGING LINKS
Chaney Dodge: http://www.slate.com/id/2097365/
Bush AWOL: http://www.awolbush.com/
Weldon Dodge?: http://www.taylormarsh.com/archives_view.php?id=24504
Clinton Dodge: http://www.urbin.net/EWW/polyticks/bc-rotc.html
Confronting the War Machine: http://uncpress.unc.edu/chapters/foley_confronting.html
Draft Dodger Memorial: http://www.cbc.ca/canada/story/2004/09/08/draft_dogers040908.html
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: February 14, 2006
Contact: George Dalley
(202) 225-4365
RANGEL REINTRODUCES DRAFT BILL
WASHINGTON - Lawmaker Says Volunteer Military May be Overwhelmed by Military Challenges in Iran, North Korea and Syria requiring more troops who will have to be drafted.
Congressman Charles Rangel today introduced new legislation to reinstate the military draft that will include draftees up to 42 years of age.
"Every day that the military option is on the table, as declared by the President in his State of the Union address, in Iran, North Korea, and Syria, reinstatement of the military draft is an option that must also be considered, whether we like it or not," Congressman Rangel said. "If the military is already having trouble getting the recruits they need, what can we do to fill the ranks if the war spreads from Iraq to other countries? We may have no other choice but a draft."
The bill would mandate military service for men and women between the ages of 18 and 42.
Deferments would be allowed only for completion of high school up to the age of 20, and for reasons of health, conscience or religious belief. Recruits not needed by the military in any given year would be required to perform some national civilian service.
"My bill conforms to the age standards that have been set by the Army itself," Congressman Rangel said, referring to the Army's recent announcement raising the top age for Army volunteers from 39 to 42. "With volunteers now being accepted up to the age of 42, it makes sense to cap the age of draftees at 42," Congressman Rangel said.
Congressman Rangel first proposed legislation for the draft in January 2003 before the invasion of Iraq. Since then more than 2,200 American troops have been killed and 16,000 wounded. Despite dramatic increases in military bonuses, the Army failed to meet its recruiting goal last year by 6,000 recruits. In the face of that failure, last month the Army announced that it was doubling enlistment bonuses to $40,000 for Special Forces. Enlistment bonuses for Reservists were also doubled to $20,000 from $10,000. Reenlistment bonuses for specialized active duty soldiers were also increased drastically, going from $60,000 to $90,000.
"The Pentagon's own researchers have reported that the military is broken and there's no plan to fix it," Congressman Rangel said. "It's not unusual for active-duty and Reserve units to see two and three deployments. Troops are spending about a third of the time on deployment, instead of a fifth of the time, as preferred, to adequately rest, train and rebuild units.
"Our military is more like a mercenary force than a citizen militia. It is dominated by men and women who need an economic leg-up. Bonuses of up to $40,000 and a promise of college tuition look very good to someone from an economically depressed urban or rural community. But, as events unfold in Iran, Syria and North Korea and become even more dangerous, at what point will the risks outweigh the attraction of money--even to the hungriest recruits?
"I don't expect my bill to pass; my purpose in introducing this legislation is for it to serve as a constant reminder that we have lost 2,200 of the best, brightest and bravest Americans, have had thousands more maimed, and countless Iraqi citizens killed. As the President speaks of a national response involving the military option, military service should be a shared sacrifice. Right now the only people being asked to sacrifice in any way are those men and women who with limited options chose military service and now find themselves in harm's way in Iraq. A draft would ensure that every economic group would have to do their share, and not allow some to stay behind while other people's children do the fighting.
"It is shameful for high ranking government officials who have never placed themselves in harm's way to promote military solutions as a substitute for diplomacy. It's disheartening to hear the most strident champions of war in Iraq or anywhere else who have never thought or voted in Congress to send their own children to war.
"I dare anyone to try to convince me that this war is not being fought predominantly by tough, loyal, and patriotic young men and women from the barren hills and towns of rural and underprivileged neighborhoods in urban America where unemployment is high and opportunities are few. As we see who are the troops coming home wounded and killed, I challenge anyone to tell me that the wealthiest have not been excluded from that roll call.
The Republican Leadership responded to my first bill by procedurally preventing debate on the issues it raised; let us see how they try to avoid facing the question of shared sacrifice this time.
WASHINGTON, DC OFFICE
2354 Rayburn House
Washington, DC 20515
(202) 225-4365 NEW YORK OFFICE
163 W. 125th Street #737
New York, NY 10027
(212) 663-3900
http://www.house.gov/apps/list/press/ny15_rangel/CBRStatementonDraft02142006.html
http://www.cnn.com/2003/ALLPOLITICS/01/07/rangel.draft/
CHECK OUT NEW YORK CITY DRAFT RIOTS: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York_Draft_Riots
MY NOTE: Let the leaders fight their own damned wars for their own damned interests. Leave the people out of it lest we slap them all down with one swoop! ~ Arachne 10:05 p.m. 1/7/06
1. *EDITED WITH DRAFT DODGING LINKS
Chaney Dodge: http://www.slate.com/id/2097365/
Bush AWOL: http://www.awolbush.com/
Weldon Dodge?: http://www.taylormarsh.com/archives_view.php?id=24504
Clinton Dodge: http://www.urbin.net/EWW/polyticks/bc-rotc.html
Confronting the War Machine: http://uncpress.unc.edu/chapters/foley_confronting.html
Draft Dodger Memorial: http://www.cbc.ca/canada/story/2004/09/08/draft_dogers040908.html
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE: February 14, 2006
Contact: George Dalley
(202) 225-4365
RANGEL REINTRODUCES DRAFT BILL
WASHINGTON - Lawmaker Says Volunteer Military May be Overwhelmed by Military Challenges in Iran, North Korea and Syria requiring more troops who will have to be drafted.
Congressman Charles Rangel today introduced new legislation to reinstate the military draft that will include draftees up to 42 years of age.
"Every day that the military option is on the table, as declared by the President in his State of the Union address, in Iran, North Korea, and Syria, reinstatement of the military draft is an option that must also be considered, whether we like it or not," Congressman Rangel said. "If the military is already having trouble getting the recruits they need, what can we do to fill the ranks if the war spreads from Iraq to other countries? We may have no other choice but a draft."
The bill would mandate military service for men and women between the ages of 18 and 42.
Deferments would be allowed only for completion of high school up to the age of 20, and for reasons of health, conscience or religious belief. Recruits not needed by the military in any given year would be required to perform some national civilian service.
"My bill conforms to the age standards that have been set by the Army itself," Congressman Rangel said, referring to the Army's recent announcement raising the top age for Army volunteers from 39 to 42. "With volunteers now being accepted up to the age of 42, it makes sense to cap the age of draftees at 42," Congressman Rangel said.
Congressman Rangel first proposed legislation for the draft in January 2003 before the invasion of Iraq. Since then more than 2,200 American troops have been killed and 16,000 wounded. Despite dramatic increases in military bonuses, the Army failed to meet its recruiting goal last year by 6,000 recruits. In the face of that failure, last month the Army announced that it was doubling enlistment bonuses to $40,000 for Special Forces. Enlistment bonuses for Reservists were also doubled to $20,000 from $10,000. Reenlistment bonuses for specialized active duty soldiers were also increased drastically, going from $60,000 to $90,000.
"The Pentagon's own researchers have reported that the military is broken and there's no plan to fix it," Congressman Rangel said. "It's not unusual for active-duty and Reserve units to see two and three deployments. Troops are spending about a third of the time on deployment, instead of a fifth of the time, as preferred, to adequately rest, train and rebuild units.
"Our military is more like a mercenary force than a citizen militia. It is dominated by men and women who need an economic leg-up. Bonuses of up to $40,000 and a promise of college tuition look very good to someone from an economically depressed urban or rural community. But, as events unfold in Iran, Syria and North Korea and become even more dangerous, at what point will the risks outweigh the attraction of money--even to the hungriest recruits?
"I don't expect my bill to pass; my purpose in introducing this legislation is for it to serve as a constant reminder that we have lost 2,200 of the best, brightest and bravest Americans, have had thousands more maimed, and countless Iraqi citizens killed. As the President speaks of a national response involving the military option, military service should be a shared sacrifice. Right now the only people being asked to sacrifice in any way are those men and women who with limited options chose military service and now find themselves in harm's way in Iraq. A draft would ensure that every economic group would have to do their share, and not allow some to stay behind while other people's children do the fighting.
"It is shameful for high ranking government officials who have never placed themselves in harm's way to promote military solutions as a substitute for diplomacy. It's disheartening to hear the most strident champions of war in Iraq or anywhere else who have never thought or voted in Congress to send their own children to war.
"I dare anyone to try to convince me that this war is not being fought predominantly by tough, loyal, and patriotic young men and women from the barren hills and towns of rural and underprivileged neighborhoods in urban America where unemployment is high and opportunities are few. As we see who are the troops coming home wounded and killed, I challenge anyone to tell me that the wealthiest have not been excluded from that roll call.
The Republican Leadership responded to my first bill by procedurally preventing debate on the issues it raised; let us see how they try to avoid facing the question of shared sacrifice this time.
WASHINGTON, DC OFFICE
2354 Rayburn House
Washington, DC 20515
(202) 225-4365 NEW YORK OFFICE
163 W. 125th Street #737
New York, NY 10027
(212) 663-3900
http://www.house.gov/apps/list/press/ny15_rangel/CBRStatementonDraft02142006.html
http://www.cnn.com/2003/ALLPOLITICS/01/07/rangel.draft/
CHECK OUT NEW YORK CITY DRAFT RIOTS: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York_Draft_Riots
MY NOTE: Let the leaders fight their own damned wars for their own damned interests. Leave the people out of it lest we slap them all down with one swoop! ~ Arachne 10:05 p.m. 1/7/06
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