The GI Bride

by Simantel, Iris Jones

  17: Chicago and Another New Job

  Palmer’s new job was with the O’Hare Inn, a hotel close to O’Hare Airport in Des Plaines, a north-west suburb of Chicago. While we looked for a place to rent, we stayed with Peter and Brenda, who lived in the nearby suburb of Elk Grove Village. They had three children of their own so with the four of us it was an extremely tight fit, but Wayne was happy that he had his cousins to play with and baby Robin had lots of attention from everyone. Finding somewhere to live, preferably close to where Palmer worked, became a matter of urgency.

  We soon found an almost new townhouse to rent in Des Plaines; it was less than two miles from the hotel, and we quickly arranged to have our furniture taken out of storage and delivered. I have no idea how we paid the enormous bill we owed to the moving and storage company but I’m sure the money came from someone in the family; it was probably either Palmer’s parents or his Uncle Art.

  The house had three bedrooms and a bathroom on the second floor, then a living-dining room plus kitchen and toilet downstairs. The added bonus was a large basement with laundry room, which made a great indoor playroom. Several children lived in the complex so I didn’t have to worry about Wayne being lonely. He had his first big birthday party in the basement. He and I decorated the walls with posters, hung balloons from the ceiling, and there was a long trestle table with all the snacks, treats and party favours laid out on a birthday tablecloth. He’d been so good through all the unrest of the past year that I wanted him to have a party to remember. He was allowed to invite all of his friends since there was ample space and it didn’t matter how much mess they made. We finally had a place that seemed like a real home.

  By now, Robin was six or seven months old and, just as her brother had been, she was a happy, good-natured baby. I always considered myself lucky to have two such contented children; they were my joy and salvation as the situation with Palmer continued to worsen.

  Something exciting happened shortly after we moved to Des Plaines: Robin was ‘discovered’. We were standing in line at the supermarket checkout one afternoon and I noticed that a man kept staring at us. Eventually he came up to us and remarked on what a beautiful child Robin was. He asked if I would consider letting her do some modelling. I was, of course, extremely wary, thinking he was a photographer who was simply trying to drum up business. However, when he gave me his business card, I recognized his name immediately: he was the owner of one of the biggest modelling and talent agencies in Chicago. He told me we would need to get some good photographs sent to him, and I said I’d think about it. I gave him our name and phone number but, knowing I could never afford to have professional photographs taken of my beautiful baby, promptly pushed the idea out of my mind.

  Within two days of that chance meeting, I received a phone call from the modelling agency asking me if I could bring Robin downtown to do a photo shoot for a national advertisement the next day. I told them I would need a little time to see if I could arrange transport, then phoned a friend and explained what had happened. She offered to take us so I called the agency back and said we would be there. That particular ad was for Sealy Posturepedic Mattresses and it appeared in many national publications. After that, Robin did lots of modelling jobs and we never did send any photographs to the agency. They all loved her, not only because she was such a beautiful child but also because she was so easy to work with. Wayne was usually at school when we went to the jobs, but he happened to be with us on one assignment and was asked to be in one of the photos; they were for a psychology book and we never saw them. I had hoped to keep the money Robin made in a savings account for her education but, sadly, out of necessity most of it was spent on food and to pay other bills. It wasn’t a huge amount of money but I hated having to use it.

  I tried hard to make some money of my own because I had real fears of my children going without, as I’d had to when I was a child. The first thing I did was baby-sitting in our townhouse complex. Then I started sewing for people as I had in the past, just simple hemming of skirts and trousers or other small tasks that could be done by hand since I had no sewing machine. The next thing I added to my repertoire was hair-cutting. At that time, I was cutting my own hair because I couldn’t afford to have it done professionally and my next-door neighbour asked if I would cut her three daughters’. Before I knew it, I was cutting everyone’s hair in our complex and a little stash of cash was accumulating in a box on the top shelf in the kitchen; I kept it hidden there for when I needed it and it gave me a small feeling of security. Then one day I went to get some money to buy a few things for the children, and the box was empty. The feelings I experienced at that moment of discovery are almost indescribable. I felt as though I’d been kicked in the stomach and slammed against a wall; I kept looking in the box, wondering if I was just not seeing right, but I knew what had happened. A combination of emotions swept over me like a tidal wave: hatred, disgust and disappointment were just some of what I felt for the man I had married. Palmer had found and taken all of my savings and I could just imagine the sick, smug pleasure he had felt at having outwitted me.

  When Palmer came home late that night, I shoved the empty box under his nose, and he laughed. ‘How could you?’ I said. ‘That was money I was saving for the children.’

  ‘Liar,’ he spat back at me. ‘You thought you could steal money from me, didn’t you, to spend on yourself?’

  ‘It wasn’t yours. It was money I made myself, doing things for people.’

  ‘Any money coming into this house is mine. You don’t have money of your own!’ he shouted, and then he laughed again. ‘You’re pathetic, really stupid,’ he said, with a sneer on his face. ‘You really think you can get one over on me? No one can do that. No one’s smart enough to outwit Bob Palmer, so you might as well quit trying.’

  I ran outside. I didn’t want him to see me crying and I was afraid of what I might say or do if I had to listen to any more of his ugly words. I wished he was dead, and I wished I could run away but, of course, I could not. I had to pull myself together, for the children’s sake, but I didn’t know how much more I could put up with before I went insane.

  During this time, I started going to church again, at Christus Victor Lutheran church in Elk Grove Village, the suburb where my brother and his family were living. They had told me how much they enjoyed the church and its pastor so I decided to try it, in spite of my previous bad experience with the Lutheran Church.

  Elk Grove Village was a new housing development and no churches had been built yet, so Christus Victor was holding services in an old farmhouse. It was wonderful to find a church that had such a good down-to-earth feel. Pastor Fisher was an unusual man and probably the closest thing to a real Christian I had ever met. The congregation consisted mostly of young couples with children, and they all worked hard at being good Christians, helping each other in every imaginable way; they were proud of what they called their missionary work within their own community.

  Soon, I was teaching at the Sunday school and attending Bible studies and prayer groups, all of which gave me the peace of mind I needed to tolerate Palmer’s drinking and what it was doing to our lives; the church became my sanctuary. At first, he came to church with us, which gave me hope that he was trying to change, but later he told me he had only gone in the hope that the people of the church would help him out of his financial troubles. He took me to services a few more times but then, in one of his strange exhibitions of power and control, he told me I couldn’t go any more. I was devastated.

  I called Pastor Fisher, told him what was happening and asked if the congregation’s missionary work might extend to someone picking me up for church. It was asking a lot because we lived
quite a distance from Elk Grove Village. He told me he would try to figure something out for me. Soon he was back on the telephone saying that someone had come up with a suggestion that would be far more beneficial than simply providing a taxi service. One of the men in the congregation, who worked odd hours for the airlines and often had free daytime hours, had offered to teach me to drive, using his car. I was overjoyed. We had to keep the lessons secret because Palmer would never have allowed it in case it gave me some freedom.

  The lessons proceeded but until I obtained my driver’s licence, I either went to a church nearby or was given lifts by some new members of our church who now lived close to us. It wasn’t a problem if Palmer happened to be working on Sundays, or if he had been out late the night before and was still sleeping: we just had to leave before he had a chance to stop us.

  When I got my driver’s licence, I was filled with new hope. We had just one car, of course, so I could only use it if Palmer was at home. By now, I had become almost as wily as he was he’d been a good teacher. I managed to convince him that I’d got my licence as a surprise for him so that he wouldn’t always have to take me shopping and to medical appointments, and I could drive Robin to her modelling assignments after first dropping him off at work. He seemed okay with that for a while, but then came the first time he decided not to let me drive to church. I was furious. He decided he wanted to have sex instead, which was a rare occurrence. I knew from experience that this was strictly part of his game playing, his need to control me. Since the children and I were already dressed for church, I told him that was not going to happen. He went berserk.

  Leaving two frightened children, he dragged me upstairs to the bedroom and tried to keep me there but I fought back. He was like a wild animal as he dug his fingernails into my flesh and kept pushing me onto the bed. Each time I fought him off and finally managed to get out of the bedroom. I ran downstairs, yelled at Wayne to take his sister to the basement, then locked myself into the bathroom. Palmer tried to break down the door, but he wasn’t strong enough. Then he attempted to pry it open with a knife I could see the tip of the blade as he tried to force the lock. At that moment, I was afraid he might stab me if he got to me, but the knife didn’t work either. The next thing he did terrified me more. He poured a bottle of ammonia under the bathroom door. My eyes burned, tears streamed down my face and the fumes were choking me. I had to unlock and open the door. Thank God, I had the presence of mind to fall to the floor and pretend I’d passed out.

  He left me alone then, frightened of what he had done. The hatred I felt for him at that moment was like bitter gall rising in my throat and choking me. I was afraid at the intensity of my anger and loathing. The children must have been terrified while all this was going on, but Wayne had had the good sense to carry his sister upstairs to a bedroom and lock the door instead of taking her to the basement. They stayed there until I went to them to comfort and reassure them that I was all right.

  After that incident, there were a few times when I hid the car on some side street after he went to sleep at night so that I could get to wherever I might need to go the next morning. I knew he could walk to work if he had to, or take the bus. I also had extra car keys made because he would hide the keys or refuse to give them to me. I knew now how devious he could be so I began making myself think as he might in a particular situation, and always tried to keep a step ahead of him in my struggle to maintain a modicum of independence and dignity.

  While we were still living in Des Plaines, Robin had her first birthday and I invited her godparents, Mary and John Nicholson, my brother and his family, Palmer’s parents, and a few other close friends to join us for a little party. When it was time to feed Robin, I put her in her high-chair and, since I was busy preparing food for the guests, Mary offered to feed her. As she began spooning food into the baby’s mouth, Palmer’s mother started calling Mary names and attacking her for taking over the care of the baby. ‘You bitch!’ she screamed.

  Mary blanched. ‘What have I done?’ she asked, but the tirade continued. Mary and John gathered their belongings and left, followed shortly by our other friends. I was embarrassed for my guests but furious at this outburst of jealousy from Palmer’s mother. I went upstairs, leaving him to deal with his crazy parents, and stayed there until I knew they were gone. Had I gone back downstairs while they were still there, I was afraid of what I might say to them, and of Palmer’s possible reaction. Life with those unpredictable people was extremely difficult. I knew they would never act any differently towards me or any of our friends and longed for my own family, but now, with our financial situation, I wondered if I would ever see them again. I found myself praying to God for strength and an answer.

  At least I had good, supportive neighbours. They provided me with companionship and a shoulder to cry on. They also paid me to do small jobs for them. A young airline pilot and his wife, who lived in the complex, asked if I would clean their townhouse. That wasn’t a problem, although it was a filthy mess, until I decided to check the basement. I had wanted to look down there because a foul smell was wafting up; it was where they locked their two boxer dogs if they both happened to be out, which was usually every day.

  As soon as I started down the basement stairs, I began to retch: the floor was covered with dog faeces. Desperate to make as much money as I could, I decided to tackle the monumental task. Wearing a makeshift face-mask, I began shovelling the mess into one bucket after another, carrying each load outside to a nearby vacant plot of land, and dumping it. When it was all gone, I mixed bucket after bucket of hot water and bleach, and then, barefoot, scrubbed the floor with a stiff broom. I did all this while Wayne was at school; Robin was upstairs in her portable playpen while I worked in the basement, all the time hoping that the rancid air wouldn’t affect her. It took days to get that stench out of my sinuses. I imagined them as a pair of sponges that had absorbed the odours and kept them there to remind me. That young couple paid me well for all I had done for them, but I had to tell them I couldn’t do it again.

  I did manage to have some good laughs while I lived in the townhouse, and one thing I still laugh about involved my next-door neighbour Pat and her husband. They, too, worked for an airline and had to leave for work at an ungodly hour in the morning. That winter was particularly severe, with sub-zero temperatures for many days. Since we had no garages, we had to park our cars outside. Fearing theirs wouldn’t start in the mornings, they would run a heavy-duty extension cable from the house to the car, a distance of about half a block, and connect it to an electric blanket that they wrapped around the car’s engine to stop it freezing. Thankfully, it worked most of the time, and they were very proud of their ingenuity.

  After we’d been in Des Plaines for eight or nine months, Palmer announced that he hated his job and was leaving the O’Hare Inn. Once again, he withheld the truth. I learned from a friend, who happened to be related to the hotel’s owners, that he had been warned about his drinking, which could not be tolerated, and now he had been fired. I knew it would be more of a problem for him to find a job this time because his reputation as a drinker was beginning to catch up with him. Our future looked grimmer than ever.

  Fortunately for Palmer, and for us, of course, an old friend and business associate was now in management at the brand new McCormick Place Convention Center in Chicago, and offered him a job, which meant moving back into the city. I didn’t mind going back to Chicago in fact, I relished the idea, although the children and I would miss the new friends we had made in Des Plaines but I hated the thought of looking for yet another apartment.

  When I told Mary and John that we were leaving Des Plaines, they surprised me with the news that they were once
again making a move within our old building. They were leaving the basement for an identical apartment on the second floor. This meant that our old place would be available, right when we needed it. My prayers had been answered, and I was overjoyed. In the midst of all the misery, the children and I would at least be back in our old neighbourhood with our friends around us: exactly what we needed if we were to survive this nightmare of a life.

  18: Back in the Old Neighbourhood, and Al-Anon

  It was wonderful to be back at 431 North Central Avenue, not only for me but also for Wayne. All of his little neighbourhood friends were still living next door and they all welcomed him, as did everyone at his old school. It was a joy to see some good come out of all the moving around.

  I rejoined the Lutheran church nearby, and started attending with the children; Palmer never went with us. Soon I was teaching at the Sunday school again, which kept me focused and busy. Although I went to one or two Bible study groups and women’s meetings, no one ever spoke to me. The entire congregation seemed snobbish and unfriendly. I had forgotten how this church had been the last time we’d gone there and I missed our old church in Elk Grove Village. I wished we could still go there, but it was much too far away.

  During the time the children and I attended that church, I learned that there was a church-owned retreat and holiday camp for children in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. Besides the main retreat and camp buildings, there were also cabins that Lutheran families could rent by the week. Families could make their own arrangements for meals or they could eat with the other campers in the ‘mess hall’. I made enquiries and was astonished to learn how inexpensive it was to stay there for a week. I now kept some of my earnings at my next-door neighbour’s house, and had enough to pay for a week, including meals.