Famous Last Words: "If I Can't Have You, No One Else Can"

By Christi Golden-Clark

She was lucky the bullet hit her lung and not her heart. They inserted a breathing tube down her throat which they connected to the respirator machine. She was also connected to a machine to monitor her vital signs. Her blood was typed and cross-matched immediately; a bag of life-sustaining blood was placed on the bag hanger and released to flow

• Language: English
• Publisher: Global Summit House
• Release date: Dec 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781647133955

Christi Golden-Clark

Christi Golden-Clark lost her ability to walk, but hasn't let her disability hold her back. She is an independent businesswoman with a degree in business administration and has held licenses in real estate and insurance and has a child development certificate. Golden-Clark has 5 children, 15 grandchildren, 5 great-grandchildren and one little angel in heaven. She also has 2 dogs, Gretta and Maxx. She fills her days and many nights working on her "Dearborn, Michigan...Where we lived and what we loved" Facebook site. She is the founder of Writers Reign of Asheville and the founder/director of "Overcomers of Domestic Violence."

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FAMOUS LAST WORDS:

If I Can’t Have You, No One Else Can

Christi Golden-Clark

Copyright © Christi Golden-Clark.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

ISBN: 978-1-64713-408-2 (Paperback Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-64713-409-9 (Hardcover Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-64713-395-5 (E-book Edition)

Some characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Book Ordering Information

Phone Number: 347-901-4929 or 347-901-4920

Email: [e-mail]

Global Summit House

www.globalsummithouse.com

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Dedication

Preface

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1: The Meeting

Chapter 2: Frozen Soap

Chapter 3: The Going Steady Ring

Chapter 4: Rocky the Squirrel

Chapter 5: The Diamond Ring Theft

Chapter 6: Just the Two of Us

Chapter 7: Truth or Dare

Chapter 8: Wedding Plans

Chapter 9: The Wedding

Chapter 10: The 1967 Detroit Riots

Chapter 11: Déjà Vu

Chapter 12: Sneaking Out the Motorcycle

Chapter 13: Double Vision

Chapter 14: The Dancer

Chapter 15: Terry

Chapter 16: The Detroit Dragway

Chapter 17: The Shooting

Afterword

Appendix

Bibliography

Dedication

First and foremost I want to dedicate this book to my phenomenal granddaughter, Savanna, more affectionately known as Savanna Miracle. She was involved in a horrendous car accident with me on July 14, 1997, sustaining a multitude of injuries including a severe traumatic brain in jury.

She was only nine years old when she went from being an A-B Honor Roll student, a beauty pageants winner, a singer in church and a Little League baseball player to being a quadriplegic in a wheelchair. She was pronounced dead on arrival, in a coma and on life support for several months. With God’s healing touch and a team of great doctors and nurses she survived; thus the name Savanna Miracle.

She can’t walk, talk, or do the things most girls her age can. However, she is the most vibrant, giving, and personable young lady you will ever meet. She understands and remembers everyone and everything prior to her accident. She is able to communicate with her family by nodding her head yes or no as they say the alphabet to her out loud. Savanna is very outgoing and loves everyone she meets.

It is my hope and prayer that proceeds from the sale of this book will help provide her with all of her needs so that she may have the best quality, fun-filled life that she deserves. May God continue to bless you, Savanna! You have been an inspiration to so many, but especially to me. I love you very much!

Preface

This book has been 43 years in the making. Sadly not much has changed as far as males dominating, controlling, and abusing females is concerned. If I can save just one girl from the same fate I suffered, then it will be well worth the effort of writing this book. The signs are always there. Unfortunately, sometimes women can’t see them, and in many cases don’t want to see them. We make the mistake of confusing attention with love. If you remember nothing else, remember this: Love is not getting hit, punched, pushed, slapped, kicked, controlled, ordered, verbally and physically abused, used, or mis used.

We women sometimes have a skewed sense of loyalty to our men. We forgive them at the first I’m sorry we hear. We are peace makers, not fighters. We are taught at an early age that we should comply; we are driven to be family oriented. We are caring, nurturing and want to make things better. We are too often willing to take the blame, whether it is our fault or not. We are the calm before the storm.

Men, on the other hand, are taught at an early age to be a driving force. They are taught to be the boss, that what they say goes, that they should be in control and that they should have the last word. They have a need to be listened to. The male species is good at saying, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, or I wouldn’t have done it, but you made me mad. Chances are it not only will happen again, but it will get worse. They make us responsible for their actions. The first time there is an act of violence we may forgive, but we should never forget. If there is a second incident, I advise women to get out of the relationship, because it won’t get better; more likely the abuser’s behavior will escalate into more dangerous bouts of abuse. It is not worth staying with a guy who doesn’t or can’t love, respect, cherish, and hold us in high esteem. Speaking from experience, I urge women in violent situations to get out while they still can and not to be afraid to press charges against the abuser. There are too many nice guys out there to settle for the ones who treat us badly. If I had listened to my father and my friends and got out while the getting was good, I would still be walking today. My children would not have endured some of the things they had to.

Being disabled is no picnic. It is not fun, exciting, or easy. It is at one time or another depressing, sad, stressful, pitiable, causes self-doubt, and even produces times of losing touch with reality.

Love is more than just saying, I love you. It is also soft touches, hugs and kisses, and being shown you come first. God made man, then said, I can do better, so he made woman. We all are worth something, but too often we are told we are worth nothing. Don’t believe it. Again, speaking from experience, I urge women not to stay in a relationship that is one-sided. Relationships need to be equal partnerships. If they are not, if the man sees things only his way, then I recommend getting out before it is too late and you end up like me. I have regrets; but unfortunately, it is too late for me. Don’t be a victim. I hope every woman will find a man who will truly love her, be good to her and will be in a situation where there is no violence. I believe those who read Famous Last Words: If I Can’t Have You, No One Else Can, will get a unique insight into the reality of abuse as it destroys a relationship. If you like the book, please share it with a friend.

Writing this book has been wonderful therapy for me. It has allowed me to reflect back and realize that everything happens for a reason. I now am able to use my test in life as a testimony and to share my experience with others. I am able to find the good in the journey I have been on. I no longer pity myself or my past, but realize the mountains that I have climbed and conquered. I am proud of the things I have accomplished since the traumatic event of getting shot on December 18, 1969.

I have five beautiful children and twelve wonderful grandchildren. I have an Associates’ Degree in Business Administration and a certificate in Child Development. I have owned eight houses, held licenses in real estate and insurance, and currently own a retail business.

I am an independent woman, although I have lost my ability to walk. I have forgiven my ex-husband because I am a Christian, but I will never forget. I have let go of all the hate and bitterness I had been harboring within my heart. It took writing this book, reflecting on and accepting my past, to allow myself to realize I am blessed and that I can use my story to help and encourage others who may be on the same path I once was on.

Thank you to all my friends from my past­--Mitzi, Terry, Diane, Brenda, Arleen--and even those whose names I never knew who have supported and encouraged me to write this book about the true story of my life. I am so glad that friends from my past are also in my present. God bless every one of you and also the ones, the faceless and the nameless, who are hurting. Be strong and don’t be afraid to call upon God.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank my college Creative Writing English teacher, Barbara Bobbie Pell, who gave me the encouragement and the foundation I needed to start this book. I always knew I could do it: I just needed you to tell me. I learned so much from you; your class was unique in the way you presented the topics, like going to the little coffee shop or the art gallery for inspiration. Thanks for the A, though I did work for it. You are one of God’s special pe ople.

I would like to thank Mitzi for all that she has done for me. You are one of the most amazing persons I know, an understanding, caring, and giving friend. You befriended me when I needed you the most. You had a special insight into situations. I wish I had listened to you because I would be walking today, but you know me, headstrong and bullheaded, typically German. I did think of you as my little sister and tried to watch over you. We had some great times inside and outside of work. I’m glad we reconnected and never lost touch after all these years. Thank you for also helping me to remember some pertinent parts of my past to put in this book. Your memories and insights were invaluable. I love you, Little One!

Terry was a rock and an anchor of stability when I needed it desperately. You were there to take my mind off all the things my then-husband was putting me through. I had so much innocent fun with you. I will never forget your GTX and my Road Runner. Those were some fine rides. You came into my life with kindness and gentleness. You made me feel like someone cared for me by not wanting to possess me, own me, physically use, abuse nor change me. It was only meant to be for a season, but I cherish the time we had together. I hope you will never forget me as I shall never forget you. I’m glad we somehow were able to find each other again and thanks for your help on this book with your memories and insights. Thank you, my great protector.

Annemarie, my beloved daughter, is my pride and joy. I thank you for helping me with this book. Between our two pairs of eyes, we sure had our work cut out for us. You have been an inspiration to so many and you have turned out to be such an astonishing young woman. You are a great mother to your three beautiful and intelligent children, a loving wife to Tony for these twenty-four years, a sister your siblings can look up to, a daughter any mother would be proud of, and a granddaughter to my biological mother, who absolutely adores you and who eventually made it over from Germany. Most of all, God is very pleased with you and what you have done in your lifetime. God certainly did His best work when He created you. Great things come from humble beginnings. Thank you. I love you, Anna-Banana.

I would like to thank my dear friend Arleen, an author herself, who read an early manuscript, giving me some insights about words, punctuation and grammar and then reading the final proof. I appreciate the time you and Arlo spent writing a synopsis for me. It helped that she worked at a local press and did proofreading among other things. Thanks again.

I want to thank my granddaughter, Megan Hamlin, who also played a small part in helping me with my first book. Though reading the manuscript was not high on her list of favorite things to do, she was a real trooper and read whenever I asked her to. On that note, I am very appreciative for her help. I love you because you’re a lot like me. Thanks.

I want to thank my copyeditor, Mirra Price, who diligently worked on my first book, Famous Last Words: If I Can’t Have You, No One Else Can, and got it to the finished and polished condition it is. Your Harvard degree certainly was put to good use. I would recommend you to anyone who needs a topnotch editor. Thank you.

Lastly, I want to thank Evelyn Reilly, who so tirelessly and painstakingly worked on the color phots, not to mention the black and white photos which were damaged severely by time and/or water damage from the fire in 2006 that destroyed my home. Her work is like magic, transforming severely damaged photos from unrecognizable to almost picture perfect. She brought life back to pictures which I thought were totally ruined. To say she is the queen of quality restoration is an understatement. I would highly recommend her to anyone who needs her expertise. She is a young woman of many talents. Thanks again.

To contact her go to: www.facebook.com/Evelyn.Reilly.Graphics

In Memory of:

My adopted parents

My adopted brother Tony

Anne, Glenn Lake

Coleman Cobb

Brian Zarbaugh

Victor Robert Golden, Sr.

Terry Petersen

Kathy Budai

Jack Litwin

Albert Bootie Sabaugh

Richard Montanbault

Blake Bradley

Jimmy Radoff

Det./Sgt. William Rushing

Brian Dockerty

Chris Stepchuck

Judy Willyard

Norm Robinson

Doug Henry

David P. Bianco

Jim Brock 3-31-68 Gia Dinh, Vietnam

James Hath 9-5-68 Quang Ngai, Vietnam

Larry Gambotto 9-13-68 Quang Duc, Vietnam

Tom Gentinne 5-12-69 Pleiku, Vietnam

Bob Tarleton

Bill Roehm

Larry Shortridge

Annie May Golden

To all my DHS classmates of 1965

Chapter 1

The Meeting

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12-18-69 Victim shot and bleeding just inside the front door on the 1st floor at 2714 2nd Ave. Detroit, Apt.#108

R un! Move! Get out of the way! the first ambulance attendant yelled as he and his partner tried to push their way through the crowd to make their way to a victim who had just been shot.

The call came in at just after 10:00 a.m. on December 18, 1969. The caller said, Shots fired at 2714 Second Avenue and Cass, Apartment #108. One victim down!

Oh man, there’s so much blood! OK, at the count of three, let’s flip her over and then lift her up onto the gurney. One, two, three! the second attendant yelled.

They picked up the gurney, raced out the front door of the apartment building and down the front stairs. One attendant tripped on the cement steps, but he managed to catch his balance.

Overnight there had been only a light dusting of snow, nothing of any significance. There was no visible snow on the surrounding rooftops. The sky was gray, absent of any clouds or the sun beaming down. The trees and bushes looked naked because of the absence of any green, lush leaves and there were no flowers in bloom. The frozen ground was lifeless, just like the body of the young girl they were carrying. The dead brown grass was peeking through the tiny bit of snow that had fallen on the surface. It seemed all vegetation was dead to the world. They passed all the red flashing lights from the police cars, shoved the gurney into the ambulance, then jumped in and slammed the doors, so as not to waste any precious seconds.

The siren screamed at the traffic jam blocking the ambulance’s way. The lights were flashing as the ambulance raced to Detroit General Hospital, running through red light after red light.

The first attendant placed a handful of cloths on the chest wound, applying direct pressure to stop the bleeding. The other attached an oxygen mask over the shooting victim’s nose and mouth, started an IV to keep her from becoming dehydrated, and took her vital signs. They had little information to go on except what the officer had told them. Since it was the middle of winter, he put a blanket around her, avoiding all the tubes, and covering her light blue nightgown that was soaked in blood.

Her name is Christi Golden. She looks between sixteen and eighteen years old. It appears that the victim has two gunshot wounds. The first seems to have entered into her chest, just missing the heart, and another one has entered in through her back. The entrance wound looks as though it may have entered into her lung. Come on girl, hang in there, don’t give up. You have to fight, come on, don’t give up, the first attendant said.

Her breathing is very shallow and I’m having a hard time finding a pulse. Her blood pressure is 30/20, the second attendant said, as they continued on to the hospital. We’ve lost the readings. She’s stopped breathing! the second attendant yelled.

The first attendant commanded, Start CPR, and don’t stop! while still holding steady pressure on her chest. We’re not going to lose her. Come on man; we’re not going to lose this one. She deserves to live. She’s too young to die. Come on, keep it up, he said, with much determination in his voice as his partner performed CPR on the victim. We’re almost to Detroit General. Keep her alive! he said, trying to stay optimistic.

Hang on; we’re turning the corner fast. We’re almost there. Doctors are waiting for this little lady. God has to step in now to save this one, the second attendant said.

The ambulance screeched to a halt, with doctors and interns waiting with a gurney to take her out of the ambulance and rush her to the emergency room.

One doctor yelled, OR #2 is ready for her! Hurry, we’re losing her! I don’t feel a pulse. Get the paddles now!

A nurse got the paddles ready as an intern tore her nightgown down the front.

She is flatlining. Hurry, give me the paddles! Dr. Asuncion yelled. Clear! as he zapped her. Nothing. Clear! he said, zapping her once more. Then he smiled because he saw her heart rate once again on the monitor.

She was quickly taken to X-ray to find the exact location of the bullets, and then back to the operating room where they transferred her from the gurney onto the operating table. She was found to have a collapsed lung; She was drowning in her own blood. She was lucky the bullet hit her lung and not her heart. They inserted a breathing tube down her throat which they connected to the respirator machine. She was also connected to a machine to monitor her vital signs. Her blood was typed and cross-matched immediately; a bag of life-sustaining blood was placed on the bag hanger and released to flow. The bag of glucose and water, which was attached to her IV, was hung next to the bag of blood. She had lost two to three pints of blood while lying at the feet of her assailant.

Dr. Asuncion operated on her left lung where the bullet had made a gaping hole by making an incision through her left side. He inserted a chest tube into her lung to drain the blood out. After several hours of touch-and-go surgery, he finally finished. Success!

We lost her there for a minute, but we got her back with the help of God, some great nurses, interns, and her own will to live. Now that’s what I call teamwork. Next time, let’s not cut it so close. I don’t like to sweat, Dr. Asuncion said, smiling calmly, addressing all the people in the operating room.

Let me introduce you to the victim of that near fatal shooting. I am Christi Golden. I’d like to take you back exactly four years ago, to 1965, and start from the beginning.

I grew up in a close-knit neighborhood in Dearborn, Michigan, home of Henry Ford, founder of the Ford Motor Company. Thomas Edison’s Greenfield Village is also located there. And of course, the big three, General Motors, Ford Motor Company and Chrysler Corporation located in and around Detroit. I had just graduated from high school; got a job working for the Aetna Life Insurance Company in downtown Detroit making $60 a week; moved into the Fordson Hotel with my best friend, Kathy MacGyver, and then got kicked out of the Fordson Hotel­--all in the span of six months.

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June 17, 1965 My graduation picture,

which Vic kept in his wallet, and

a 5X7 he kept on his bookcase.

We were not allowed to have cooking utensils or a hot plate in the hotel, but we had both. I was making fried potatoes in the electric skillet my mom had given me. Either someone had snitched on us or simply the tantalizing smell of frying potatoes got us busted. In any case, we got kicked out. Kathy was moving back home, but not me. I was determined to make it on my own. We loaded up my pride and joy, a 1961 Chevy Bel Air, cramming as much of my stuff as we could into my trunk and the rest in the backseat.

It was just five days before Christmas, December 20, 1965. I wasn’t sure where I would spend the night, but that wasn’t important right then because it was too early and the night was still young. Hopefully, I would run into one of my girlfriends later and find a place to crash, but first it was time to make the rounds--Daly Drive-In, Blazo’s Big Boy, McDonalds, and Bray’s Hamburgers. The two of us wanted to check out the guys. We went to Blazo’s on Michigan Avenue, followed the line of looping cars, found a parking spot, and pulled in. Kathy spotted George Queen.

I know George is cute and built, but he is no one to mess with. Forget it! He’s trouble with a capital ‘T’, I told Kathy.

Yeah, but he’s so cute.

And so are the guys he hangs with, but they’re all a bunch of bad greasers.

Yeah, but you gotta admit he’s cute, she answered back.

Hey, you want to go somewhere different besides around here? I’ve gone to the Daly Drive-In on Greenfield Road in Detroit. I met some really cool guys and girls there. I met this guy named Jimmy Radoff. He has the finest 1957 Chevy I’ve ever seen. You can spot it a mile away. It’s metallic green with flames across the hood and down each front fender. He named her the Filthy Few. Boy, would I love to own that car! Man, can that car run! I have never seen anyone beat Jimmy.

How did you meet him?

I met Jimmy a few years ago, during one of the times I ran away from home. I met him at Daly’s and got to know the regulars up there. In fact, one of his friends was the one who taught me how to drive a three-speed on the floor in his little Renault, probably a four, maybe a six cylinder. I only ground the gears one time and after that I drove like a pro. We took Southfield Road from 8 Mile Road in Detroit, to Oakwood Boulevard in Dearborn. Once I got the hang of shifting, I didn’t want to stop driving. So, now you know my whole life story on how I learned to drive a stick shift. You want to go up there and see who’s there?

OK, but let’s not stay up there all night. I want to go back to Blazo’s later.

Yeah, we’ll just see who’s there and say ‘Hi’.

We reached Daly’s quickly as it wasn’t far.

I’ve never been here before, Kathy said.

Well, this hangout is full of greasers. No frats here. Only the bad boys come up here.

We ordered a small Coke and said hi to some people I knew.

Hey, there goes Jimmy, I told Kathy.

I yelled my good-byes, started my engine, pulled out onto the street and started to follow him.

I pulled up next to Jimmy and yelled, You wanna run it?

He laughed and blew me a kiss. He knew he was bad.

We drove back to Blazo’s and found a parking spot. I backed in, so we could check out the guys.

We were sitting in my car when a brown 1960 Ford Fairlane 500 with a bad-looking hood scoop pulled in next to us. I noticed the driver checking me out and Kathy was checking out the blond guy in the front seat sitting shotgun.

Hey, baby, wanna go for a ride? the blond asked us. I could still see the driver staring at me. Kathy and I looked at each other, pretending not to be impressed, because we were cool.

I asked, What you got under the hood?

The driver answered back, 427 with a Mickey Thompson High-Rise manifold.

Cool.

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This is Vic’s 1960 Ford Fairlane 500 with the Mickey

Thompson High-rise manifold and hood scoop.

The blonde yelled out, Hey, what’re your names?

I answered back, I’m Chris, and this is my best friend Kathy.

So, you chicks wanna go for a ride or not? the blonde repeated.

We don’t even know your names, I said.

Well, I’m Jessie. This is Vic, pointing to the driver, and in the back are Don and Jack. So now you know our names, Jessie said.

I needed to know more than just their names before I would get in a car with a bunch of guys.

So what school are you from? We’re from Dearborn High, I told him.

Kathy said to Jessie, What school are you from?

Edsel Ford.

OK, guys from the other side of the tracks. I was adopted into a very wealthy family and grew up on the north side of Michigan Avenue and Outer Drive, where the upper-middle to upper class families lived. All brick houses, two cars or more for each family. If you went to Dearborn High, and I did, you were called a cake eater. I didn’t like it, but the name did fit. Just south of Michigan Avenue the railroad tracks literally divided the classes into rich and just average blue-collar workers. I also remember my classmate, Doug Henry, who was killed by a train on those tracks just before graduation. We all grieved at the loss of his young life.

They didn’t look like serial killers, so Kathy and I decided to go with them. I told Vic I wanted him to pose for a picture. I’m sure he thought that was strange, but I took pictures of everyone and everything. I took a black-and-white picture, the first of many, with my Kodak Instamatic, and then got into the front seat.

He said, Since you got a picture of me, let me take a picture of you and I’ll put it in my wallet, so you’ll always be with me. OK?

Kathy just took a photo of me and I took one of her, so when I get them developed, you can have one, I told him.

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12-20-65 This is Kathy M., my best friend from Dearborn High in my ’61 Chevy Bel Air, taken the night I met Vic.

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12-20-65

This is the picture of me taken the night I met Vic which he

kept in his wallet.

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12-20-65 This is the picture I took of Vic the night I met him.

Jack got out and hopped in the front with Vic and me. Jessie got out of the front and he and Kathy joined Don in the back. We