“Joe, then why do you call me and ask my opinion?” He really just wanted a shoulder to cry on while he went on about how everyone was out to get him. I wanted our relationship to remain amicable. I had tried to stay friendly with him for the sake of our children if nothing else, but his calls escalated in frequency and aggravation to the point that I realized I just couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t want to hear his troubles about money, Evanka, the system that was out to get him— any of it! Talking to Joe was very upsetting to me, which upset Stu. My ex-husband continued to affect my life in a negative way. When push came to shove and Joe realized he had to sell his house, I got yet another jolt of bad news. It had been mortgaged to the hilt. There was literally not a penny to be made from its sale. I was due a certain percentage of the proceeds— it was all clearly spelled out in our divorce decree—but there was nothing to get. Enough was enough.
Same old broken record—me hysterical and disbelieving, Joe swearing up and down it wasn’t his fault, the bank had screwed him, he hadn’t done anything wrong . . . it was very stressful. My nerves were shot, I was drinking too much wine, and my relationship with Stu was suffering. We never argued or fought, but I was so drained from listening to Joey, worrying about the house sale, and fretting about the missing money that I had very little to offer Stu. When he wanted to go out to a movie or golfing for the day, I was always too tired. My mind was constantly racing; I was distracted and distant.
Then one day, the light came on. Why am I in such a state because Joe’s life is once again out of control? We’re officially divorced—we don’t live together anymore! And just like that, I decided to stop taking his calls or interacting with him in any way. I’d spent so many years accepting all this chaos as normal that I habitually and unconsciously fell back into the groove. I had forgotten that I no longer had to be a part of it. I was free! I had been free for a long time, and from this point forward I was going to take advantage of it!
The next time Joe called, I didn’t pick up the phone. When I listened to the message, it was very pleasant. “Hi, Mary Jo. Just wanted to talk to you. Hope all is well. Call me back. Love you.” He closed every conversation with these words, even now. I didn’t return his call.
A few days later, he called again. “Uh, are we not speaking? Did we have a fight? Because you didn’t return my call,” he asked plaintively. “Give me a call. I need to speak with you.” I didn’t return that call either. Several more days passed. One more message.
“All right, well, if this is what you want to do, I won’t bother you anymore. I’ll leave you alone. You know where to find me if you need me. Love you.” Click. And that was the end of that.
A lovely letter from him showed up a week or so later in the mail, containing a photo of me in kindergarten he’d held on to.
You were the most cutest kid in the class. You still are . . . Just thought you should have this.
All my love,
Joe
It was a beautiful letter, meant to tug at my heartstrings, and it did. I felt guilty for not calling him back. Cutting him off made me sad. But I just knew I couldn’t do it anymore. The final layer of the onion had been peeled.
Joe returned to jail briefly for his parole violation. I was finally done. I washed my hands of the whole matter. But my former husband still had some surprises up his sleeve.
I felt I had had quite enough attention from the press given the huge ratings that the historic Joey/Amy/Mary Jo triangle, together again after fourteen years, had generated on ET, as well as my Oprah makeover. David Krieff, the producer who conceived the reunion idea, had delivered a blockbuster, one of the top ten Nielsen-rated shows of the week. He called me again with a brilliant new idea. “Would you be willing to recreate the shooting on television?” he asked.
“For a million dollars, David!” I said sarcastically. “I’ll be happy to do it if someone wants to pay me that much. Otherwise, forget it.” We hung up, and I never heard from him again.
Three weeks later I was in New York, appearing on Good Morning America on the fifteenth anniversary of the shooting. This had been, on the other hand, a very appealing offer because they were doing a piece called “Life after the Light” and wanted to talk about where I was in my life. I was actually in a terrific place and looking forward to saying so and hopefully being an inspiration to people. Wouldn’t you know it, as I was walking the streets in New York, a huge photo of Joey and Amy holding hands on the front page of the New York Post was suddenly in my face, on every newsstand on every street corner of the city. I absolutely could not believe my eyes. Apparently they were “back together.” Both were divorcing their spouses and planned to live together. To say I was shocked was an understatement. This announcement made a big, but short-lived media splash as they appeared together on shows discussing their “reunion.”
I was sure I knew what was going on here. David had conceived of this stunt and convinced these two boneheads that this would lead to all sorts of lucrative deals—probably their own reality show was the goal—and they would eventually both make tons of money. What he didn’t count on was that no one cared. America was interested for about five minutes, then yawned and moved on. No one wanted to follow Joey and Amy around with cameras. No one particularly cared about their lives, together or not. It was a joke—but Jessica and Paul weren’t laughing.
To see their father hugging, kissing, and holding hands on television with the woman who had almost killed their mother was the last straw for them. Joey’s actions never ceased to surprise me, but I couldn’t believe Amy would do this—she had two small children of her own. What kind of message was she sending? She was just like Joe in that she never knew when to shut her mouth, lie low, and go away. The two of them were made for each other, at least in that sense. Too bad nothing ever materialized. The story soon evaporated, no one divorced anyone, and everyone forgot the whole thing.
Everyone except for our family, of course. It was just one more embarrassing episode, the kind that had become all too familiar and would no doubt continue for the rest of our lives. Though I had yet to learn the clinical term for this kind of behavior, this latest stunt proved once and for all just exactly what we were up against: sociopathy. Joey Buttafuoco is a sociopath. And forever will be.
AFTERWORD
Father’s Day 2007 was my “a-ha moment.” Talk about the child teaching the parent. It was as if the lights suddenly came on. I felt like Helen Keller after she realized that the gestures her teacher Annie Sullivan kept making on her hands were words, and that words had a meaning. I’d spent decades trying to fix things . . . reading plenty of “How to Save Your Marriage” columns in women’s magazines and scanning all the latest self-help books. In all that time, I never once heard the word “sociopath.” Certainly, plenty of the things Joey did during our marriage made me crazy. I became increasingly angry, frustrated, and just plain fed up with my husband about his poor choices. But more than anything else, I was just plain baffled. I could not understand why he acted the way he did for so long. Why did he never get it?
The best answer I could come up with was that my former husband’s refusal to “grow up” was the root of Joey’s problem, the source of my misery, and the eventual cause of our divorce— that is, until our son introduced me to the word “sociopath.” The best thing about this realization and all I’ve learned about this condition is the freedom I feel. I no longer blame myself, or even him, for all the events that went so wrong all through our lives together. I honestly believe the man can’t help himself. He simply does not possess the emotional capacity to comprehend how his actions affect others. All the millions of words, excuses, and cajoling mean absolutely nothing. Finally accepting that reality has freed me to go on with my life with no more regrets and “what ifs.”
So it is through different—wiser—eyes that I watch as Joey and Amy Fisher continue to make headlines. The year 2008 began with a surprise: Amy Fisher, whose name will be forever linked with mine, was back i
n the news because of a sex tape. Amy Fisher Caught on Tape was “private” footage taken by her husband, and at first she protested that he had released it without her knowledge. Soon enough, she was all over the national media promoting it. Not to be outdone, a couple of months later Joey and Evanka popped up claiming that they had been set up at a friend’s house, in a guest room with hidden cameras. Their own graphic sex tape was soon all over the Internet, and the two of them made the rounds of talk shows protesting their innocence. I, for one, didn’t buy their stories—any of them. It wasn’t their fault, they were set up, they had no idea . . . I’d heard it all before, a thousand times.
So far, this year has been fairly quiet. Amy Fisher, now in her midthirties and the mother of three young children, has launched a new career as a high-end stripper/pole dancer. Joey and I have resumed talking on occasion. Given my newfound knowledge of sociopathic behavior, my emotional reactions to his antics have dwindled. Experts recommend that the only way to deal with a sociopath is to cut off all contact. However, that is not always possible, particularly when children are involved. I now possess the power to keep his behavior from affecting me. To this day, he tells me how sorry he is, how letting me get away was the biggest mistake of his life, how much he regrets everything, how much I still mean to him. He refers to heart-tugging memories of high school, or our honeymoon time in the little cottage, or one of the many old friends and good times we shared years ago.
But I take it all with a grain of salt, hang up the phone without a pang, and resume my daily life as stepmother to two adolescents in a Brady Bunch–style household. It’s all about homework, curfews, chauffeuring, high school games, and family gatherings. And I have a solid partnership with Stu— barbecuing, going out to a dinner and a movie, watching our twenty-something kids navigate adulthood, and quietly sitting home after a full day’s work, catching our favorite television shows. Is it routine? Yes! Am I content? Very! This is certainly not the life I expected, but it’s the life I’ve earned and chosen for myself, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost, to my literary agent Sharlene Martin: Thanks for working so hard and believing in me when sometimes I didn’t believe in myself. It only takes one! Julie McCarron, you went above and beyond the call of duty when you hooked up with me! Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your hard work! My editor, Michele Matrisciani at HCI Books, for getting me and seeing the bigger picture. Kim Weiss, I’m glad I made your job a little easier!
To my family: My mom, Pat Connery, who taught me how to be strong by her own example and used humor in the face of adversity. My dad, Al Connery, who loved comedy and turned me on to Looney Tunes, Laurel and Hardy, George Carlin, Bill Cosby, Robert Klein, and Tiny Tim. And the New York Giants! I miss you every day. My little sisters, Jeanne, Kathy, Ellen, and Eileen, who drove me nuts as a little kid but are now a source of strength and laughter as we enter old age. Long live YouTube! I love that we can still laugh after all these years! My “other” brothers and sisters, Anne and Ken—your love and generosity know no bounds. I love you both so much and can’t begin to thank you for all the love and support you have shown me throughout the years. Bobby and Ursula Buttafuoco: Bobby, you had to deal with as much as I did. Like me, you loved your brother with all your heart, but in the end, had to walk away. I know your pain, but I am so proud of you for making a beautiful life with Ursula and your children. Dad would be proud. Urs, ya did good! I love you! Bruce, thank you for being my “big brother” and for hanging out with me. I miss you. Luke, I wish things could have been different. Michael and Serena Sbarra, Chris and Dennis McCaully, thank you for your love and support. My nephews and niece, Cass, Alex, and Nicole. I missed you growing up, but am so proud of the young adults you have become. Richie and Joseph, Mom and Dad will tell you all about Aunt Mary Jo and Uncle Joey someday. Hang on to your hats! The Bennett family: Patty, Peggy, and Bonnie Sue, and their spouses and children, and their parents, Chuck and Joanne. We had some wonderful family functions together, and I will always remember them! My father-in-law, Cass, who didn’t know that his son was a sociopath and tried with all his might and heart to make things right. I was proud to be your daughter-in-law. Willie Mae, now that I have stepchildren of my own, I can really appreciate the sacrifices you made when you took on the Buttafuoco children. You are a saint in my eyes! I miss you both very much. To all my aunts, uncles, and cousins, especially my cousin, Susan Hart. I will never forget you helping me out in the hospital when I was too weak to stand, walk, or brush my teeth or hair. I am so grateful for your love and support!
To my new family: Thelma Bernard, I can only imagine what you must have thought when your son said to you, “Mom, guess who I’m going out with? Mary Jo Buttafuoco!” You are such a wonderful woman, with a heart of gold. Thank you for accepting me into your family and for loving me. Mitch and Linda, my newest “big brother and little sister,” you two are great, and I love you very much! To their children, Philip, Ryan, Christina, Jordan, Griffin, and Ethan, thanks for letting Paul, Jessica, and me be a part of your lives.
To my stepchildren, Martine, Cameron, and Hutton. Someday, when you are old and gray, you are going to remember me and say, “She was a pain in the ass, but other than the fact that she repeated herself constantly, she was a pretty cool lady!” I love you like my own.
Stuart, what can I say? You showed me, by example, what a man really is. I never thought that I could love someone again. Falling in love with you was a gift from God, and I am forever grateful that you came into my life.
Thank you to the staff at the Betty Ford Center for your dedication and perseverance in helping people overcome their addictions and in giving them the tools to lead a happy, fulfilling life. And to all the women who were with me during my stay there, I hope that you have all found peace and contentment in sobriety.
Massapequa and Massapequa Park were wonderful areas to grow up in. I was very blessed that my parents worked hard so that I could grow up in a wonderful community with so many fantastic people. My years at St. Rose of Lima Grammar School and Massapequa High School were what I wanted for my own children. Thank you to all the friends I made while I was growing up, especially Eileen Forte, Donna Abatemarco, Sue Hendershott, Patty and Kenny Von Glahn, John Barrett, Tom White, Jim Rice (who taught me how to drive and made me laugh a lot . . . A, I’m adorable!), my first real boyfriend, Tom Neillo (thought I’d forgotten about you, huh?), Mona Steinruck, Stew Gamper (who took care of me on the bus on my first day of kindergarten), and all the other kids on Kinsella Avenue: Michele, Denise and Nick Tardo, Ginny, Al, and Ken Schmadke. I remember when the snowplow would push all the snow up against the dead-end fence, and to us it was as big as any mountain in the Colorados! All the gang in the St. Rose of Lima Youth Group from the ’70s (what a fun and innocent time in my life!). I learned how to play “A Horse with No Name” on the guitar!
My friends from “The Fort”: Paul Myers, his brothers Gene and Denny, his sister Rickki, and their parents, Mr. and Mrs. Myers, thank you for putting up with a bunch of ragtag teenagers! Stephanie Salafrio, Joe Smith, Kathy Meyer (rest in peace), Jimmy Stanton (who, in sixth-grade science class, took one of the dead frogs and started singing, “Everybody Do the Michigan Rag!”). Noreen Jones, Tom Santry, and Rob Shaw (think how much easier my life would have been if I hadn’t broken up with you and started dating Joey!). I know there are others who came into my life at this time; please forgive an old lady for not remembering all your names! Blame it on the weed and beer! Also, love and thanks to Robert Croes.There are two friends who will always stand out to me. They were my “best friends” at a time when life was simple and the biggest decision that needed to be made was what we were going to wear to school the next day: Terese McCarthy and Joanne Shields. With Terese, we used to put sweaters around our heads and pretend to be nuns, that is, when we weren’t going around the neighborhood trying to adopt every stray animal we found! And Joanne and I always lo
ved to play with our Barbie dolls. As teenagers, we would play with them in secret, so that all the other kids didn’t think we were babies for still playing with dolls. Thank you, Terese, and God bless you in heaven, Joanne. Love also to Terry McGullam, John Beermann, and Suzanne Frasier.
Thank you to everyone who worked at Pathmark in Seaford when I was in high school. Bet you never could have guessed that this lowly cashier and her grocery-bagging boyfriend would one day be on the cover of the New York Post (a lot!).
Thanks also to Joan Lewis, Diane Roseberry, MaryEllen, Jeanne, Julianna, Rosemary, Diane, Sarah, and everybody else at National Bank of North America in the Huntington Quadrangle Offices. I hope your lives turned out a little less dramatic than mine!
A shout-out to Diane and Rich, Pat and Frank, Janet and Ed, Linda and Bob, and all of the teachers and friends from Giant Step nursery school and the saints who worked for and with United Cerebral Palsy of Nassau County. It was an honor to be involved with you. My bowling game has never been the same since we were all on a league together! Yes, Joey and I were on a bowling league . . .
I would probably not be here today without the heroic measures of the people who worked for the Nassau County Emergency Medical Trauma team on May 19, 1992. Thank you for being so selfless and for saving my life. You are true angels here on earth!
To the helicopter pilots who transported me to Nassau County Medical Center: I’m sorry I didn’t remember the ride! My first time in a copter, and I missed it! Thank you for transporting me safely from the Biltmore Beach Club to the hospital.
To my friends and neighbors in Biltmore Shores: I want you to know how truly grateful I am to have had you in my life. The years I spent there before I got shot were truly the most wonderful times of my life. Your love and concern for me and my children was incredible. I wanted to stay there forever. Some of you have been lucky enough to stay, while others have moved on. To Josephine Slattery, you heard the shot. I remember you telling me that something didn’t sound right, and you got up from the kitchen to look out the front door. You said that it was as if a force propelled you to go find out what that sound was. I know that God was pushing you that day. To Joe Slattery, thank you for listening to your wife when she insisted you go outside and find out why Mary Jo was lying on a red blanket in front of the house. You were the first one to see that it wasn’t a blanket I was lying on, but my own blood I was lying in.
Getting It Through My Thick Skull Page 20
