Rat Pack Party Girl: From Prostitute to Women’s Advocate

by McCormick, Jane

  “No! No Jane, that wrong! My father never do that nasty thing to me. He not respect you!”

  “Promise not to tell anyone I told you this.”

  “But Jane, that wrong. He hurt you!”

  “No, Lana, you don’t understand! Woody will slice my throat open like that pig and he will kill my mom and brother if he knows I told you!” I looked around the room to see if anyone had heard what I said.

  “Jane, you must tell someone. He’s a bad man!” Lana pleaded.

  “No. Promise me you won’t tell anyone Lana. If Woody finds out, he may hurt you too.” I grabbed her arms and looked into her face. “You have to promise me you won’t tell anyone!”

  “Okay Jane, I promise.”

  “I better go home now before it gets too dark.”

  Lana walked me halfway home. She gave me a hug, and we waved good-bye.

  When I got home, I felt relieved that someone knew my secret. I crawled into bed, thinking that things would never change with Woody. I didn’t know how to stop it. I wanted to slice his throat and hang him to bleed like that pig.

  Our whole family was invited to the luau the next evening at Lana’s. A blended crowd of friends and family members filled her backyard, which was decorated with fiery torches and tables loaded with fresh fruit and flowers.

  Lana grabbed my arm and led me upstairs. “Do you want to get away from your stepfather?” she asked.

  “I would love to get away from him, but I don’t know how.” But after I’d told her what Woody was doing to me she wanted to help me get away from him and said, “I’ll run away with you. That what friends do for friends.”

  “Oh, that would make me so happy!” I put my arms around her and squeezed tight.

  “Okay let’s go,” Lana said as I jumped up and down.

  We planned to run away the next day, the first day of the new school year. We would take off up the mountain—no one would look for us there. After we ate, I went home, lay across my bed, and looked at the ceiling. I was happy that I would never have to see Woody again. I just knew no one would ever find us. I went to sleep early, and as though my plans were being blessed by some higher power, he didn’t come into my room that night.

  The next morning I got up, took a shower, got dressed, and ran out the door to find Lana standing on the side of the road waving to me. We hugged and started to walk toward the school as we had every day. But when we came to the street where we were supposed to turn, we kept going straight, toward the mountain. When we got far enough to feel like we had safely made it, we ran up the street laughing and singing. We were happy because I wasn’t going to have to worry about Woody ever again.

  But I was feeling guilty because it was my fault she had run away also. I was sick inside about the possibility of getting her into trouble. When I suggested she go home later that day, as if she had been to school, Lana grabbed my arm and said, “No! I your friend. We stick together.” There was no convincing her.

  We kept walking up the narrow road until we neared the top of the mountain, where we saw a long-abandoned shack. We crawled through an open window and sat down and I told her more about my stepfather. Lana held me and cried with me. I wept for at least an hour—I had never been able to talk to anyone about what Woody had been doing to me. “It started when I was three years old and as I got older, it got worse. My mom never had any idea. At least she never showed that she did.”

  “Jane, how did that ever happen, right in front of your mom?”

  “He waits until she’s asleep or passed out, and my brother is a sound sleeper. Then Woody puts his hands on me and rubs himself beside my bed at the same time.”

  Lana started to wail, “Oh my god Jane! How do you get through that?”

  “I close my eyes and pretend I like it and then he gets done faster. Then he leaves me alone and goes to his bedroom with my mom. Sometimes I throw up, and I cry myself to sleep all the time.”

  “I will never forget it as long as I live,” Lana said. “I’m sorry you had to live like that, you poor girl. You no go back ever, okay?”

  “Okay. I don’t ever want to see him again. I will miss my brother, and I love my mom, but she never helped me. Even if she knew, I don’t know if there’s anything she could have done.”

  We stayed in that shack until dark then we walked to the beach to find some clams to eat.

  We continued walking along the shore, close to the water so no one could see us. We found an old overturned boat that had been beached a while. It had a gaping hole in the hull that we used to crawl inside. But just as were settling in, someone shoved a flashlight through the hole and flooded the boat with bright light. A man shouted, “Okay you two, get out of there right now!”

  We were so scared we started to cry. He was from the Hawaiian police force, out searching for us because our parents had reported us missing. He put us in the back of a police car and two officers drove us to the police station. On the way, they told us they were going to call our parents.

  I looked at Lana and she said, “Jane, tell the police what your stepfather is doing to you.”

  I thought maybe I could get him to put Woody in jail. So for the second time that night, I let everything spill out of me.

  When Woody and Mom arrived at the police station, one of the officers told them what I’d said. But Woody looked surprised. “God, no! I love her! I’d never touch her.”

  “Oh, she must be making it up.” My Mom told them. “She makes up stuff all the time.”

  I started crying. “Mom, he hurts me down there. He hurts me all the time after you’ve gone to bed. He told me he would kill me and you and Dick if I told anyone. I’m scared of him. Please, don’t make me go home with him, because he’ll really hurt me now.”

  The room was quiet for a minute, then the policeman looked at Woody and said, “We’ll have to send a report to your superior officer, and the marines will deal with you on this matter.”

  Then the officer looked at Mom and said, “If you think your daughter is making up this story, you should get her some psychological help!”

  “Okay, I’ll do that,” Mom said as they stood up and shook hands. To the officer she said, “And thanks for finding my daughter.”

  “You’re welcome ma’am.”

  Then Mom looked at me, anger in her eyes. “Go get in the car. Now.”

  I ran to the officer and begged him to keep me there so I wouldn’t have to go home. But he pried me away from him and explained, “Your stepdad is a military man, and we can’t do anything to him because we’re not authorized to arrest a United States Marine. But we’ll send a report to his commanding officer, I promise! Now go home and be a good girl.”

  I cried all the way home, and every time I looked up, I could see Woody staring at me in the rear-view mirror, plotting how he would exact his revenge. I couldn’t help but think that the first moment he had me alone, he would kill me. The next morning no one woke me, so I stayed in my room until everyone was gone. I ran over to Lana’s house and found her waiting for me in the yard. She told her parents everything and they felt sorry for me, but she was still in trouble for running away. Her mom was understanding and hugged me and said I could come to her anytime I needed help. I was so thankful to hear her say that. I needed an adult to believe me, and she did.

  Mom arrived home around 4 P.M. She came into my bedroom and asked if I was all right. “Janie,” she said with a trace of understanding, “we’re going to take you to a psychiatrist in a couple of days. Maybe we can get this all sorted out. The officer said it’s the best thing to do.”

  After Mom left my room, I thought the psychiatrist might help me understand why Woody had done these terrible things. And Mom might believe I was telling the truth.

  Two weeks later Mom took me to a doctor and after three visits of looking at ink spots and crying every time I thought about Woody touching me down there, I reached my breaking point and threw up all over the carpet in the doctor’s office. I was so sick of bei
ng a sex slave to my sonofabitch stepdad that I got physically sick. I had to tell the doctor everything he did to me; I had to recount every horrifying, disgusting moment, and it was the worst time in my life up until that point.

  But at least now my Mom believed me. She said she was sorry for not believing me. But even though she promised that things would change, it still took her a few years to work up the courage to leave Woody. I still had to see him walking around the house, afraid he was just waiting for the right moment to kill me, or maybe kill my brother or mom.

  At the end of the school year, Woody received orders to return to El Toro Marine Base in California. I said a tearful goodbye to Lana as we boarded the ship, and she made some flower leis to take with me. That was the last time I ever saw her, but I’ll never forget her.

  Woody and Mom rented a 1950s style, three-bedroom house in Tustin and I thought I would be forced to start another terrible adventure with Woody—until one night Woody and Dick got into a fight and he slugged Dick in the face. And that was finally, after all this time, the breaking point for Mom—she was furious and kicked Woody out of the house and filed for a divorce.

  While I was exhilarated that Woody was finally gone, I couldn’t help but wonder why my mother waited for Dick to be abused before finally kicking Woody to the curb. Did she simply think I was a piece of meat and that it didn’t matter that he had molested me for years? Did she favor her son over her daughter? Did she not see Woody’s actions as real abuse? I never got answers to these questions, and I regret to admit that it left me hating my mother.

  Nonetheless, I felt a great weight lifted from my shoulders. I was free from Woody. I could fall asleep knowing that he was gone and that I didn’t have to hide. But I still had nightmares of him entering my room, and the abuse affected me for the rest of my life. To this day, sometimes I still wake up shaking and sweating, convinced that if I open my eyes, Woody will be standing over me breathing heavily, ready to play out my nightmares.

  Chapter 3

  From Teen to Parent: 1954 to 1959

  In 1954 I was fourteen years old, and I spent a lot of time by myself.

  In July, Mom introduced me to Allen, an eighteen-year-old up-and-coming army cadet at Camp San Luis Obispo, California. Her intention was to help me get a boyfriend so that she wouldn’t have to worry about spending time with me. She was convinced that my having a boyfriend meant that she was free to live a carefree life.

  On our first date, Allen brought me flowers, escorted me to his car, and opened the door for me. He made me feel good—he treated me with respect. Soon he was taking me out every weekend. But at fourteen years old, I failed to see that Allen, at eighteen, was more of a predator than a savior.

  After four more dates, our necking was getting a little heavier, and he asked me if I’d like to go to a motel. In the heat of my excitement and a desire to experience lovemaking with a man I thought cared for me, I hastily agreed.

  To my surprise, he got his jollies off just as I was beginning to enjoy it. I was disappointed—I didn’t experience any of the thrill that he did. I didn’t know what statutory rape was; I didn’t realize that I was a victim in this situation. So at the end of the summer when Allen left for Camp San Luis Obispo and I started seventh grade, all I knew was that I missed him.

  As a new way to fill my now empty schedule, Mom signed me up for charm school classes, where every day after school I learned to walk, sit and eat “like a lady.” These lessons made me excited because I was learning how to earn the admiration of all men, including Allen, who I’d begun to miss dearly.

  When Allen returned for Christmas, he took me out to dinner and I practiced what I’d learned at charm school. The lessons seemed to work, because he told me he loved me and it made my head spin. I was so excited to hear those words because I thought I was in love too. He said we were the best couple in town and told me everything I wanted to hear. So when we went to our usual motel, this time I showed him a real fun time. Little did I know I’d played into his plan exactly the way he’d wanted. Afterwards, he took me home, kissed me good night, and drove away without so much as a backwards glance.

  When I didn’t hear from him right away, I began to worry that Allen didn’t respect me anymore because he thought I was easy. But I didn’t see it that way—he said he loved me, so I trusted him and gave him what he wanted.

  Sure enough, after several days without a word from him, the phone rang: “Baby, I miss you and I want you. Can I pick you up?”

  My first thought was to play hard to get, but the truth was, I was relieved to hear from him. I was so excited to see him my heart was beating out of my chest.

  When Allen got to my house, I suggested we go to my bedroom. Mom spent most of her time with Roger, a married man, and my sixteen-year-old brother had a new girlfriend and spent most of his time at her house.

  Allen followed me upstairs and three minutes later, it was over.

  As he cuddled me, we heard car doors slam and my mom’s voice. I pushed Allen to the floor and ran to the bathroom. Just as I pulled my blouse over my head, Mom walked into my bedroom.

  “You little bitch!” she shouted. “Come out of that bathroom you little whore!” While I was scared about being caught, I again couldn’t help but wonder if truly loving mothers ever spoke to their daughters this way. Somehow I doubted it.

  I opened the door and could see Allen standing next to the bed in his jockey shorts. His face was beet red. Roger was standing in the doorway looking at me with a big grin on his face. When I stepped out of the bathroom, Mom grabbed my arm, spun me around, and threw me against the bedroom wall.

  “You little bitch,” she said again. “I ought to beat you to death! What are you doing whoring around with this guy? I told you not to do things like this!”

  “But Mom, I love him, and he loves me! Mom, we . . .” I stammered. I was too embarrassed and afraid to say anything that made sense.

  Mom turned to Allen. “Get the hell out! If I thought you would screw my daughter, I never would have introduced you to her. Now get your naked butt out of this house and don’t come back.”

  Just a few days later, Mom moved us to another apartment in Tustin. For several weeks she continued to remind me of my “downfall,” so I was crushed and stayed in my bedroom after school. I think she finally stopped harassing me when she realized that my sleeping with boyfriends might get me married and out of the house. I wasn’t sure if I was happy or sad about that revelation.

  In September 1955, I entered Tustin High School and became involved in school sports and I joined Tustin High’s Pep Club and met a new boyfriend, Jim Begody. I just couldn’t resist this five-foot-six, cute senior Italian knockout—the MVP and Captain of our football and baseball teams. That same year, I was crowned the Homecoming Princess.

  Jim had a new Chevrolet, and we hung out with other couples at the Tustin drive-in. I played the “innocent” girl for a while, but before long we were going to motels. That’s where I learned to enjoy sex. Jim was the most popular guy in school, but a little guy in size. But you know what they say, it’s not the size that matters, but how you use it. And he knew how to use it to make me feel good.

  In the fall of 1955, Mom’s divorce had become final and she began to receive alimony checks from Woody. When school was out, she used the money to move us to another apartment in Anaheim and began to throw regular weekend parties. She’d ask me to stay over at friend’s houses during these parties, and that’s when Jim began to take me to motels in Tustin and in Anaheim. I let him do anything he wanted to me because I thought that’s what all the girls at my school were doing. Again and again Jim told me that I needed to have sex with him if I wanted to be with him. But again, at fourteen years old, I had no idea that this was also abuse. I hadn’t been raised knowing anything better.

  After a few months, I was actually relieved to find that we were drifting apart and soon we went our own ways.

  As a sophomore at Anaheim High School, I quick
ly made new friends. During my first week I met Carol, who’d become my best friend for the rest of my life. Carol was a six-foot tall senior who’d always bend over to talk to me. She’d tease me, “Why, you’re just a shrimp!”

  Carol was down-to-earth and had a God-loving family with siblings. They lived in the same house, went to the same church and knew everyone in the community. She treated me like a sister and we did everything together.

  As weeks passed, Mom began to show stronger signs that she didn’t want me around. One day she came home and saw me eating a snack and said, “You’re always eating up all the food around here. I’m going to put a stop to that.” A week later she had a lock put on the refrigerator door and hid the key.

  From that time on, Mom fed me only when she and I were home at the same time. And sometimes she didn’t come home at all.

  So when I got hungry, I went to Carol’s house. Carol’s mom would feed us all really good food and spoil us with treats all the time. Her dad owned a grocery store and brought home all kinds of delicious surprises.

  As Mom fell deeper into partying and her relationship with Roger, she became more irresponsible. She began asking Carol’s parents if I could stay with them while she went on a vacation with Roger. Carol’s mom always said, with six children already in their family, “Sure, we always have a houseful of kids, one more won’t make a difference.”

  Eventually, Mom began to ignore me even when we were together. She went into her bedroom after fixing a meal or coming home from a party and shut the door without speaking to me. Even when I spoke to her, she only half-listened, offering an occasional “uh-huh” or grunt in response. Despite her attitude, I still loved my mother and wanted her to love me. I tried to be a good girl, not to complain or make her angry, but she refused to notice me. I pursued her, but nothing I did changed the way she treated me.

  I began to feel like a burden, and on top of it all, Carol started spending more of her time with Curly, her new boyfriend.

  One day after school, Carol and I signed up for the nurse’s training classes at West Fullerton Community Hospital. I really enjoyed medicine, and I knew I could learn enough from it to make a living.