‘I’m in trouble,’ I said, and the tears began to cascade down my face.
‘I’m sorry,’ he almost whispered, ‘but you really must leave now. You’re welcome to come back tomorrow.’
Numbed by what I considered cruel rejection, I got up, said nothing, and left. How much worse can it get, I wondered, when even the church turns its back on you?
I headed home. For a brief time, I had forgotten about the children but now I was worried about leaving them alone with Palmer, afraid that somehow he might have dragged them into the mire.
When I got home, he appeared to have passed out on the floor. I stepped over him and went to sleep in the children’s room, locking the door behind me.
There were times when my stress level was so high and my spirit so low that I considered suicide, but those thoughts were fleeting. The love I felt for my beautiful children helped me to hang on to my sanity and stopped me doing anything so drastic; I could never have abandoned them, no matter how bad things became.
Wayne, who was now seven or eight, had begun having stomach pains. It broke my heart when the doctor diagnosed him with a childhood ulcer. Clearly, he was feeling the tension and had probably heard Palmer’s tirades when we’d thought he was sleeping. I knew something had to change before someone got hurt but I didn’t know where to turn. I did eventually talk to the minister of the Lutheran church I was attending, and he arranged an appointment for me to see a psychologist who worked for the church. When I was billed thirty-five dollars for my visit to him, I almost went mad. There was no way in hell I could afford it it was a lot of money in those days. Palmer would go crazy if he saw the bill and I had no way of coming up with the payment. I took it to my minister and handed it to him.
‘You know what my financial situation is. There’s no way I can pay this bill, and you know that my husband can’t find out about it. Please, you have to help me.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said. In the end, all he did was arrange for me to pay it off in instalments. I was shocked and disheartened that the church had no resources to help parishioners in such cases. There certainly was no way I could pay for help at that price. Foolishly, I had thought that counselling through the church would be free but, of course, I was wrong.
19: New Neighbours and Unusual New Friends
In the spring of 1963 an older couple, Martha and Jack Evans, moved into the small basement apartment next door to ours. Martha was a kindly soul who must have been in her late seventies. She had borne nine children, been widowed, and then had married Jack, who was a bit younger than she was. Jack was a miserable old codger who went from door to door selling miscellaneous items out of a small suitcase combs, shoelaces and sewing thread. He hated children and made no secret of it so all the neighbourhood children teased him and called him names. I’ll never forget the day Wayne came running in to tell me that Jack Evans had threatened one of the boys.
‘If I catch you, I’ll kick your asshole up between your shoulder blades,’ he had yelled. I’d heard something similar when I was a child, but knowing it had come out of Jack Evans made it seem especially funny. Occasionally, the old curmudgeon would give my daughter, Robin, a sucker, or lollipop. Robin, who was only about three at the time, began calling him ‘Sucker’ to the amusement of all the other children. Now, they all called him Sucker. Of course, the older children knew it meant ‘idiot’ and wallowed in the mischief.
Martha Evans became my surrogate mother. She knew all about my home situation and that I missed my family, so she told all of her children that they now had a new sister. They welcomed me into the family and nicknamed me Number Ten, their mother’s tenth child. Martha became ‘Mom’ to me, and ‘Grandma Evans’ to Wayne and Robin. Jack, however, was still Sucker, but only behind his back.
Now I had a new angel in my life and we looked out for each other. I knew that Jack was mean to her and I assured her daughters that I would take care of her and let them know if there was ever anything I was worried about where their mother was concerned. I was included in their family gatherings and soon felt like one of them.
Mom Evans told me secretly that one of her daughters, Jodi, was married to someone high up in the ‘Chicago Outfit’ or ‘Mob’, and that she was not supposed to discuss it. She said they helped her out, just a little, financially because they knew Jack didn’t bring in much money from his sales job. Jodi and I became good friends and I would often drive Mom over to see her. I learned from Jodi and another sister, Jeanne, that they all hated Jack and didn’t trust him. They were pleased that their mother had someone to look out for her, and that I was right next door. And my friendship with Jodi turned out to be a godsend in ways I would never have expected.
Now that we were once again living in the city, it was easier for Palmer to take the train to work and leave the car at home. Of course, it was also easier for him to drink and not have to worry about driving. I liked having the car for shopping, visiting and keeping appointments. On one particular morning, I went out to the car to go shopping and it wasn’t there. I went back into the apartment and called Palmer to see if he had taken it and forgotten to tell me, but he said he had not. I immediately called the police to report that someone had stolen our car in the night, and they came right away to take the report.
‘I have to ask you, ma’am, but do you know if you’re up to date with your car payments?’ asked one of the officers.
‘I think so, Officer, but I’m afraid my husband doesn’t tell me much about that sort of thing,’ I told him.
‘Well, I’ll just make a couple of phone calls to see what we can find out,’ he said, and went outside. When he returned, I could already tell by the look on his face that it was not good news.
‘Sorry to tell you this, but your car’s been repossessed by the finance company and they’ve had it towed away. They usually do it during the night to avoid confrontations,’ he explained.
‘Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m so embarrassed that I thought it was stolen. You must think I’m really stupid.’ The young police officer assured me that it happened all the time and that I certainly didn’t have to apologize. After they left, I crumpled. This latest assault on my dignity left me feeling as though I’d been run over by a tow truck. Now what?
I called Palmer to tell him what had happened but he didn’t seem to care, I supposed because it meant he’d have one less bill to pay, but I was furious. Afraid that I’d explode if I didn’t talk to someone sane, I called around the apartment building to see if anyone was at home but got no replies. Remembering that everyone else was out at work during the daytime, I went next door to cry on Mom Evans’s shoulder. I hated to burden her with this new problem but I needed to tell someone.
She comforted me with a cuddle and a cup of coffee, then suggested we call Jodi to tell her what had happened and see if she had any ideas of what I could do about the situation. I didn’t think for one moment that Jodi would be able to do anything about my repossessed car but Mom insisted and we called her anyway.
About an hour after that call, Jodi phoned back. She told me to go outside and check the parking lot, which I did, and there, in its rightful place, was my car. I was dumbfounded. She told me not to ask any questions and I didn’t, silence being the better part of valour. Later someone told me they’d read in the newspaper that the Chicago Outfit controlled all of the towing companies in Chicago, but I never found out if that was true.
Soon after the car incident, I was attending an Al-Anon meeting, and again, as I looked around the room at all the other women, it struck me how miserable and beaten they seemed. Overcome with rage that one human being could inflict so much misery on anoth
er, I resolved that I would no longer subject myself to this reminder of Palmer’s drinking by spending time with these fellow victims. I remembered one of the Al-Anon mottoes: ‘Act, don’t REact.’ It was time for me to act.
I had started to have telephone conversations with the attorney who had handled my divorce to discover what options might be open to me: I knew I couldn’t stay married to the man who was destroying my soul. I was in an extremely difficult situation because I had no money and no one to ask for help. I thought of offering my services as a live-in housekeeper, but who would have taken me on with two children?
I had tried talking to Palmer’s boss, whom I knew well; I also tried to get some kind of support from his family, not his parents, of course, but they had all had enough of Palmer’s shortcomings and didn’t want to hear about it. Finally I broke down and told my family in England what was going on. I knew they couldn’t help me financially but I desperately needed their support. I’d been reluctant to tell them about my farce of a marriage, afraid they’d be upset and embarrassed because I’d made a mess of things again, but they had to know. I needed them to be aware of what might lie ahead, but even I dreaded the thought of a second divorce. Most important of all, they needed to know of the potential danger we were in, in case something serious happened.
The next thing I knew, my father was coming over to see if he could help. He had cashed in a life insurance policy to pay for his plane ticket. I couldn’t believe it. It had now been many years since I had seen my family and I was thrilled that I would soon see the only man in my life who had ever loved me with no strings attached. It was a comfort to know that I would have my father beside me; someone who I knew would be on my side.
When he arrived, we had a grand reunion. It had been a long time since I had seen him and I was afraid he might look old, but he hadn’t aged one bit. If anything, he was more handsome than ever. He and I had many long talks, both practical and philosophical, and he was a big hit with all of our friends. Even Palmer took to him and behaved himself when we were together. Dad asked me if I was sure that Palmer had a drinking problem because he hadn’t seen any signs of it. I tried to explain how devious he could be and told him not to be fooled by the face he had put on for him but, sadly, Dad didn’t seem convinced.
My father had his first exposure to the life of the rich and famous when I received an invitation to bring him to my adopted sister Jeanne’s wedding. Palmer had not been invited but we covered that by saying how nice it would be if Dad could take his place. Jeanne had been divorced for years but was now marrying a fairly well-off businessman. I guessed it would be a swank wedding, and I was right. The reception, held at a famous restaurant in downtown Chicago, was like a movie. I spent most of the time pointing out well-known people, and my father was wide-eyed. I don’t think he ever stopped talking about that wedding, which he told everyone was a Mafia wedding although, of course, it was not. There were a number of Chicago Outfit people there because of family connections, but Jeanne’s new husband, Jesse, had no other relationship with them that I knew of.
My dear father, who was in America to help me, had now been completely hoodwinked by Palmer’s bullshit. Palmer had become a master con artist and could charm the bees out of the trees when he had to. He started taking my father all over Chicago with him, using his special contacts and considerable influence to impress him. He arranged personal tours of McCormick Place and the museums, and Dad saw things that the public normally is not privileged to see. He was wined and dined at all the luxury hotels, and introduced to many of Palmer’s VIP associates. Dad was wallowing in the luxury and attention and it was clear that he had forgotten why he had come to Chicago. I loved having him with us but he had defeated the purpose of his visit by drinking with Palmer. I’m not sure if he ever had a talk with Palmer about what had been going on, but if he did, Palmer forgot it.
After my father went back to England, Palmer pushed me again to help with the cheque kiting. Just as before, I refused, and he realized that hitting me would not intimidate me into doing his bidding. Now he found a new way to get to me. It was the final straw. He went to the children’s bedroom where they were sleeping, dragged them out of bed and started telling them that I was a terrible person who didn’t want to help get food for them or take care of them. Wayne and Robin were crying and looking pleadingly at me. I felt like a volcano that was ready to erupt, but I knew I had to remain calm for their sakes. I wanted to kill Palmer but, using every ounce of self-control I could muster, I stayed cool and agreed to do what he wanted if he let them go.
He allowed me to put them back to bed and I managed to calm them down, telling them that Daddy was just playing a silly game. I went to him then and told him to come into the kitchen where the children wouldn’t be able to hear anything.
There, I stuck my finger into his face and said, ‘If you ever do anything like that again, anything that might affect my children, I only have to make one phone call, and you will be maimed or dead.’ I added that he’d better start looking over his shoulder, because someone might be watching him. I’d heard that line in a movie and it seemed the right thing to say at the time, even though I was quaking in my shoes.
He shoved my finger away and laughed. Then he started to hit me. I screamed and went on screaming, which was why one of my neighbours called the police.
When they arrived, Palmer was so belligerent that, instead of just talking to him, they handcuffed him and took him to jail. I was afraid that he would say something to them about the threat I’d made but I think even he was smart enough to know that he shouldn’t risk bringing it up. He stayed in jail overnight, but in the morning they released him. He came home grinning, as though nothing had happened, took a shower and went to work.
The abuse was becoming more frequent and the drinking was worsening. I found out that he was getting off the train a couple of stations before ours so that he could stop for another drink, then try to walk it off before he got home. I hadn’t been aware of his feeble efforts to hide the truth. He would come home reeking of alcohol and sweat, making himself more and more repulsive to me with each passing day. The only thing helping me now was the tranquillizers my doctor had prescribed for me. I still had suicidal thoughts, but I knew I would never act on them. Wayne would have been all right because his father was a good man, but I could never have left Robin in Palmer’s care.
The next time he was especially violent to me I managed to get out of the front door, went to my neighbour’s apartment and called the police myself. Palmer knew what I was going to do so, thinking he was smarter than everyone else, he was pretending to be asleep in bed when the police arrived. I couldn’t believe it but, fortunately, the police didn’t either. Again, he became extremely belligerent to the officers, and again, they hauled him off to jail.
Within hours, he was back, and when I refused to let him in, he tried to break down the back door. I opened it after he’d promised to behave himself. He was laughing at how easy it had been to get someone to bail him out, sneering and saying that no one could ever get the better of ‘the great Robert Palmer’, as he now often referred to himself. I was stunned to learn that one of our friends in the building had paid the bail money, and could never figure out what that particular person found funny about Palmer’s dangerous behaviour.
The next day I went to the police to swear out a restraining order against Palmer. All it meant was that if he hit me again he could go to jail, and not just for one night, but then the police officer told me the awful truth. ‘In all honesty, ma’am, a restraining order is useless until after the act is committed,’ he continued. ‘In my experience it’s often too late by then. I’ve seen women end up dead.
I don’t mean to scare you, but you’d be better off getting as far away from that lunatic as you can.’ I knew he was telling the truth from the many magazine and newspaper articles I had read. If I let this go on much longer, I might become a statistic, and I was not about to let that happen. There had to be something I could do, but what?
I talked to my lawyer friend again about a divorce, but he said there was no way he could take the case because he knew it would be a mess; also, his partners would never agree to take on such a contiguous case. I talked to a number of other attorneys and one or two of them said they would take it on, but they wanted a huge retainer fee, which was out of the question. I’d had the promise of a little help from friends, but not nearly enough to pay the enormous amount required to handle such a nightmare divorce.
To add to my confusion, a couple of my friends were telling me once more that they thought Palmer was a latent homosexual, pointing out his effeminate gestures and his walk. I still didn’t think it was true. From what I had read about alcoholics, I believed that his unusual gait and gestures could have been from poor co-ordination, caused by heavy consumption of alcohol. He had told me early in our relationship that he was very choosy and that I was the only woman he had ever had sex with, except for one ugly incident he’d bragged about. He and a friend had got drunk enough to have sex with some elderly teachers they’d met in the bar of a hotel where they were attending a convention. He thought it was funny, and roared with laughter about how grateful the ‘old gals’ had been. The story disgusted me, and I wondered how I could have forgotten such cruel behaviour. I once asked him about the Jewish girl he’d claimed to have been engaged to, but he told me they had never had sex because they had been too scared.
The GI Bride Page 20
