There were many times when I envied the way ‘the family’ took care of its own, especially when one was in jail or ill. Jodi and the children never had to worry about anything except their separation from Dominic and the valuable years that were lost.
When the time came for my mother to return to England, we all felt she was as ready as she would ever be. She was now anxious to get home to my brothers, Robert and Chris, and we thought she’d be better able to face life without Dad. It broke my heart to see her get back on the plane, knowing what she would face when she arrived at home. I wished I could have gone with her, to help her through the pain, but I promised her I would come soon. I was determined to teach her how to live without suffering the mental anguish brought on by Dad’s abandonment. He had already caused her too much agony over the years. I had to make her see him for what he was, and help her understand that, in all likelihood, he would never change. She simply had to let him go, and get on with her life without him. In my heart, though, I knew I was hoping for the impossible.
With Mum now gone and my relationship with Spiro still strong, everything seemed to be going well, but then I got a bit of a shock. One evening when I was at home alone, except for the children who were in bed, the front-door bell rang. It was late and I couldn’t imagine who it might be, unless one of my neighbours had forgotten their lobby key. I went to the door and there stood a woman I had never seen before.
‘Are you Iris?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I am,’ I said. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, her voice quivering. ‘I’m Mrs T.’
Wham! I felt as though I’d been hit over the head with a sledgehammer. In a state of total shock, I invited her to come in and sit down. I was quaking and she was visibly shaking.
She proceeded to tell me that she had found out about her husband’s affair with me through phone calls she had been receiving from a man named Robert Palmer who had told her that he was my husband. He was now constantly harassing her with calls to the family home and had even talked to their children, telling them about their father’s affair, causing terrible emotional trauma. He was also calling her husband at his restaurant and had threatened to kill him. She said her husband had adamantly denied having an affair and had assured her that he had never heard of me. He had reported the threatening phone calls to the police but she still thought it was just an act to cover up the affair.
Suddenly this whole situation did not sound right. I knew that Spiro only had one child and this Mrs T. had mentioned children in the plural. Spiro did not own a restaurant.
‘What is the name of your restaurant?’ I asked her.
‘The Lamplighter, on Madison Avenue,’ she said.
‘I go there a lot,’ I told her. ‘It’s my favourite restaurant.’
The Lamplighter was a lovely little romantic place, not far from where I lived; all my friends went there. Suddenly something clicked in my mind. ‘What is your husband’s name?’ I asked.
‘Spyros,’ she said.
Oh, my God, I thought. Palmer’s made a huge mistake. Palmer, ‘the stalker’, in doing his detective work had found out the name of my favourite restaurant. Somehow, he had learned the identity of the man I was seeing. He had then discovered the name of the Lamplighter’s owner, which was similar. It was too much of a coincidence not to be the same person. He had incorrectly deduced that he finally had the goods on both of us.
When I explained it to the poor woman sitting on my couch, I thought she was going to kiss me. I told her all about Palmer, how sick he was, and encouraged her to have her husband press charges against him but I don’t know if he ever did. She hugged me before she left and thanked me for helping to straighten out what she had thought was the end of her marriage. Later, I called her husband and apologized for all that he and his family had been subjected to. He was nice about it but, obviously, he’d been terribly shaken by the whole experience. Spiro and I thought it best to stop frequenting the Lamplighter as a courtesy to those poor people who had been the innocent victims of my ex-husband’s warped mind.
I thought that the real Spiro would want out of our relationship when he found out what kind of a situation could erupt without warning, but he never once even hinted at it. I suppose that was why I tended to believe that his marriage was as he had told me, in name only, and that they would part as soon as their daughter left home. It suited me the way it was since I had no desire for a permanent relationship with anyone at that time in my life. Seemingly, insurmountable battles had been fought and won and the lessons I had learned along the way had made me stronger and more confident.
I still had the occasional lunch or dinner with Pete Huber and Chuck M. and was grateful for their continued friendship; they both knew of my relationship with Spiro and had advised me to be careful. How comforting it was to know that I had such good friends and that they genuinely cared about me. Yes, I was still living in my basement apartment but I had a decent job, my friends around me, my children were happy, and we had everything we needed, right there in our familiar neighbourhood.
It had now been approximately ten years since I had come to America as a sixteen-year-old GI bride, but it seemed a lifetime since I had stepped off that ship in New York; sometimes it felt like several lifetimes. I still missed my family and my country and lived for my next trip ‘home’. I now knew dozens of other former GI brides and we supported each other in different ways; life in America had finally become easier for most of us. Many of us were now American citizens, but if anyone ever heard us talk, they’d know that in our hearts we would always be British. We had made our home in America but I can’t think of anyone who didn’t still refer to Britain as home.
Spiro had entered my life when it was at its lowest ebb. He had helped to make me healthy, strong and confident again; he made me feel beautiful and cherished. He showed genuine concern and affection for my children and they had grown fond of him. What more could I want? We were happy with the way things were, and when the time was right, I knew we would be together for ever. Now, filled with optimism, I was confident that this man would never hurt, betray or disappoint me. My future looked bright, and I was no longer afraid of anything.
This GI bride, just one of more than a hundred thousand, had come a long way, both geographically and metaphorically; I didn’t know what Fate had in store for me, but at that crossroads of my life, my children and I were happy, safe and secure, and I was ready for anything the world might throw at me.
Me on ship enjoying my first day without seasickness.
Me rubbernecking at skyscrapers in New York City.
Bob and me in the Irvines’ back garden. Behind us is the porch from which we secretly believed the dog commited suicide.
A typical Sunday gathering at the Irvines’. Left to right: Bob, me, my sister-in-law Brenda Jones, Bob’s sister Roberta, Mr Irvine, Mrs Irvine and Grandma Neuhaus.
Mum and Wayne, on our first visit home to England.
Dr Edward Crown, my obstetrician, guardian angel and saviour. I still believe I owe him my life.
Bob and Wayne on vacation at Paw Paw Lake, Michigan.
A ghastly glamour shot of me taken from my modelling portfolio – aged eighteen but looking forty. When my son saw this photo many years later, he said, ‘Wow, you just don’t see things like that any more.’ Thanks, Wayne!
Me trying to look sexy for a modelling photo shoot.
On a late-1959 visit to England. Left to right: my youngest brother, Chris; Chuck S. ( if I’d married him I might have avoided a whole lot of trouble); me; Wayne.
GI brides, the Daughters of the British Empire
(DBE) and one American friend, Mary Nicholson (left ).
Mom Evans, one of the angels in my life. She adopted me into her family of nine and nicknamed me Number Ten.
Cowboy Wayne on Christmas Day, 1961, in Las Vegas.
Palmer and me outside City Hall, in Chicago, on our wedding day.
Palmer fooling around in front of friends, but was this a sign of things to come?
Palmer, Wayne and pregnant me, just before he left for his new job in Las Vegas.
Robin and Wayne back in Des Plaines, Illinois, after our brief stay in Las Vegas.
My adopted sister Jodi (Mom Evans’s daughter) with her husband, Dominic Cortina, aka Big Dom.
Robin on her third birthday, pictured with her godparents, Mary and John Nicholson.
Left to right: Mum (on her visit to America), me holding onto Robin’s ears, Spiro T. and Wayne. Taken outside my brother Peter’s house in Elk Grove Village.
Epilogue
I cannot leave my story without a few words about what happened to some of the people who featured strongly in this part of my life story.
Bob Irvine, my first love and husband, married several more times, but after his last marriage ended, he lived alone for many years. We always remained friends and I sent him a card on what would have been our fiftieth wedding anniversary; he got a big kick out of that. I think I always loved him in a special way.
Bob Palmer, my second husband, never remarried. He lived with his parents until they died and then continued living alone, supported by the state. He never stopped drinking and subsequently developed serious health problems; he ended up on dialysis and in a wheelchair. He continued to harass me for many years, but he had given me my beautiful daughter, Robin, the best thing he did in his sad and troubled life.
As for my relationship with my parents, my visits with them remained the anchor for my often-troubled life; I always lived for that next trip home. My father never changed: he continued his flirtatious ways, much to the embarrassment of the family. Mum’s words still ring in my ears, ‘There’s no fool like an old fool,’ but she never stopped being jealous.
Pete Huber and I lost touch after he moved to another state. I wondered why I stopped hearing from him, and when I located and spoke to his brother Joe, he told me that Pete had died of leukaemia. I was deeply saddened to lose such a friend, and I will never forget his kindness to my children and me. Pete, with Dr Edward Crown, renewed my faith in humanity. They saved my life.
I am still in touch with Jodi Cortina and her daughter Vicki, who now live in Florida. Dominic, who was nicknamed Big Dom, The Hat and Large, died in 1999 of cancer at the age of seventy-four. His attorney, John C. Tucker (one of America’s top criminal lawyers), wrote in his book Trial and Error of Dominic and his business partner Donald ‘The Wizard of Odds’ Angelini: ‘We soon discovered that Donald and Dominic were delightful company and men of impeccable honesty and candor in their dealings with us. That was also their reputation with their betting clients, their employees, and even the FBI agents who had spent many years trying to catch and convict them.’ Another comment I read, which made me grin, said: ‘Cortina never was associated with the violent faction of organized crime. In fact, he and Angelini were known for not strong-arming clients but instead for treating them politely. In some cases, prosecutors said, the duo even suggested that their clients give up gambling for their own well-being.’ Dominic was well respected and liked by all who knew him; he was indeed a gentle man.
Barbara, or Bobby, McCarthy, my very first GI bride friend, struggled to raise her two daughters following her divorce, but eventually remarried and became Mrs Stuart Oliver. We lost touch after she moved to California, but I was glad that she and her girls were happy and cared for. I later learned that she had remained an officer with the Transatlantic Brides and Parents (TBPA) until she died suddenly and tragically of a brain aneurysm.
Spiro T. and I continued our beautiful love affair until … Well, that’s another story.
For now, let me leave you with my dear friend Woody Barlow, who wrote: ‘I am still dealing with myself. I look forward to future moments of joy and grief they seem to blend together over time in moments that give weight to reflection and oddly disconnected thoughts.’ Thanks for allowing me to quote you, Woody; it seems to say it all for me as I arrive at yet another crossroads in my life. I don’t know where the next road will take me, but I look forward, with optimism, to the ongoing journey.
Acknowledgements
To everyone who contributed and gave permission for me to share pieces of their stories and lives in The GI Bride: June Gradley Armstrong, Shirley Ashburn, Jodi Cortina, Vicki Annecca, Mary Nicholson, Cindy Ballmaier, my son Wayne Irvine, and my daughter Robin Palmer. To Valerie Bettag for providing a forum for local writers to share and improve their writing skills at the Sidmouth Writing Circle. To Alison Kerruish and Margaret Pilkington for their continued friendship and encouragement. To my editor Daniel Bunyard, for his patience, support, suggestions and encouragement; ditto to my dear friend Roger Stanley for his excellent feedback and suggestions. To my treasured writing friend Woody Barlow, who tells me he’d rather be pecked to death by a chicken than check every punctuation mark in a manuscript. Last, but by no means least, to my wonderful life partner, Ralph Brooks, who not only provides loving support and encouragement but also brings me cups of tea when I need them the most. Ralph, I finally picked a winner!
THE BEGINNING
Let the conversation begin...
Follow the Penguin Twitter.com@penguinukbooks
Keep up-to-date with all our stories YouTube.com/penguinbooks
Pin ‘Penguin Books’to your Pinterest
Like ‘Penguin Books’on Facebook.com/penguinbooks
Find out more about the author and
discover more stories like this at Penguin.co.uk
PENGUIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)
Penguin Group (Australia), 707 Collins Street, Melbourne, Victoria 3008, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)
Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, Block D, Rosebank Office Park, 181 Jan Smuts Avenue, Parktown North, Gauteng 2193, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
www.penguin.com
First published 2013
Text and photographs copyright © Iris Jones Simantel, 2013
Cover image: © Topham
Picturepoint: Mary Evans/Classic
Stock/H.Armstrong Robert
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Typeset by Palimpsest Book Production Ltd, Falkirk, Stirlingshire
ISBN: 978-0-718-17808-6
ilter: grayscale(100%); -moz-filter: grayscale(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
The GI Bride Page 25
