Joy

By Joy Faith Ashley

About the Book
From Chicago to the bright lights of Las Vegas, this memoir tells the tale of a woman who had a tough life but tried to make the most of it. Through the ups and downs her determination helped her pull through to the end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Oct 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886839685

Book preview

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This is a work of fiction. Although its form is that of an autobiography, it is not one. Space and time have been rearranged to suit the convenience of the book, and with the exception of public figures, any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s.

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2023 by Joy Faith Ashley

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted, downloaded, distributed, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying and recording, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without permission in writing from the publisher.

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Baby Girl Joy

I was born in Chicago, Illinois. I remember a lot about my childhood. Most of all, I remember feeling unwanted and like I was always in the way. I was to be seen and not heard. I was alone most of the time, and I cried a lot. I’d wake up, soaked from crying all night and shout, Mama, Mama! She was never there, and I do not remember ever having any babysitters.

My mother had nine abortions by the time she got pregnant with me. She thought I was a tumor. She had a nine-year-old son and did not want any more children. She saved her money to get rid of the tumor, only to find out she had to buy shoes for it. To top it off she had to have me cesarean, and she got breast abscess. The only good thing that came from my birth is my name: Joy Faith. 

My father, William Gladstone, on the other hand, was delighted to have his first child, a girl. I was daddy’s girl! My father showed me more love than my mother and spoiled me rotten. By age five, I was able to get on a bus alone, transfer, go to downtown Chicago, and go to movies or shops. Nobody cared how long I was gone.

The house was always empty, and when Mama and Daddy were home, they fought (mostly about her working, and him wanting her home). The neighbors complained about me being alone. One time Mama took me to work with her at a restaurant. She parked out front and left me in the car, expecting me to stay out there for eight hours. I was okay for a while, and then I cried so loudly that someone told the manager, and Mama took me home.

She got up the next morning to work the early shift at 5 a.m. after dropping me off in the school yard at 4:30 a.m. I was freezing in the Chicago cold waiting for school to open. It was dark out with ice on the steps, as I sat and waited. I was six years old and in the first grade.

It began getting light. I was frozen and crying. I walked home and went to our next-door neighbor, Mrs. Smith’s house. I cried to come in and get warm (boy, did she tell my mother off). My hands and feet were frost-bitten, and she had to soak them in cool water to bring back the feeling. After that, my mother started boarding me out. I never saw her or my dad for lengthy periods of time.

One of the places I was boarded was with a lady called Ma Williams. She was my mother’s sister’s ex-husband’s mother. Ma Williams lived in the basement of a big, old house in River Grove, Illinois. She had lots of flowers in her side yard, a woodpile, a garden, and chickens. She rented all the rooms in the attic to old men, mostly drunks. Even the basement had cots with drunks on them. I was to hide under the table when I was in the house, so I would not be seen or heard.

I used to make mud cakes for hours outside and pick flowers in the field until my hands blistered. My cousin Wayne, who was three days older than me, used to stay there, too, only he was their grandchild, whereas I was only income. Ma Williams was kind, but she just barely tolerated me.

I always wanted to run away, so early one day, I got up, combed my long curls, put a green ribbon in my hair, and turned the bow under the hair, to the back of the neck. I thought it made me look older (I was five or six). I put my doll in a buggy and left home. Come nightfall, I got scared in the dark with no place to go, so I returned to Ma Williams. Nobody even knew I had run away, or that I was even gone all day.

One day Daddy came to see me. He was driving a big moving van for a lady that gave him huge, stuffed toys. He brought them to me at Ma William’s house. He was heartbroken that he had not been able to come to see me for a long time. We both cried. He tried so hard to be a good dad. I knew he loved Mama, so why did they fight?

When I was seven years old, Mama married dad’s best friend, a man named Chuck. They went on a honeymoon, and she left me with friends of Chuck. She promised them a steamer trunk that she had in the basement.  

Mama planned to be gone for two weeks. I cried from early in the morning until night, day in and day out. I did not eat. Finally, they could not take it anymore. They said, Please, keep the trunk, just come get her, we can’t stand the crying anymore! When Mama got home, she got an annulment.

I had a brother nine and a half years older than me. He was a good brother, from what I remember of him. As children, we slept in a double bed together. He hated doing dishes, so he offered me five cents to do them. I still would not do them. If he did not like it, why should I? He took me downstairs in the basement and laid my head on the washing machine and pretended he was going to cut it off if I did not do dishes! Another time, he hung me upside down over the open toilet to let my long hair flush down it.

It took me twenty-five years to sit on a flushing toilet after that scare. He thought it was funny! I guess boys will be boys. Everything was funny to him, and it was what saved him from the hard life we had. I did love him he was my big brother. And then one day, at fifteen years old, he left home and got married.

I always feared that Mama would leave me. One time, she took me to downtown Chicago to meet one of her friends. She asked me to wait on the corner for him and then she disappeared. I was terrified she had left me for good, but she came back for me.

When I was seven, she gave me to Violet and Cliff, her sister and brother-in-law. Violet and Cliff had two girls, three and five years old. Mom paid her $8 a week to keep me. I hardly ever saw her after that.

When I was eight, my mother had to go someplace for a week. She took me to a man’s house in Chicago. I had never met him before. He was much older; I would guess he was about fifty. I could tell that Mama did not know him well, but she needed a place for me to stay while she was out of town.  I had no toys or anyone to play with. My mother was paying him to babysit me. 

 He lived in an apartment building with a small kitchen, one twin bed, old, worn furniture and a table. I was to sleep in a twin bed with this stranger! Come bedtime, I was so frightened! I put on layers of clothes, got into bed next to the wall and tried to be quiet. I would sleep in the crack, between the wall and the bed. I did not like him and feared him. We barely talked, and I cried a lot, worrying about what would happen to me. What was Mama thinking? Would she even come back for me? When would she come?

When I was nine, she married a man named George, an ugly, bald man with a big stomach. That was when she gave me to my dad, and it was a day I will never forget (March 8, 1948). She sent me in a cab, with everything I owned. God, I was happy! It was my dream come true.

Daddy’s Girl

My Dad, William Gladstone, was born April 2, 1912, in Toronto, Canada. He was the first-born son. He was not well-educated because he had to work at an incredibly early age to help his family, as his father was extremely ill. He was small (about five feet, eight inches and 140 pounds), but tough. He loved sports and loved to hang out at the gym when he was off work. He was not a ladies’ man or skirt chaser.

Daddy lived with his mom in a house on 1913 Nelson Street in Chicago. It was a little bitty house with much love and many people, but it was always clean! My Aunt Joan was divorced and lived in one bedroom upstairs with her three children. My dad had another room, and Uncle Fred still another. I slept in the large hall. Grandma slept in the middle bedroom with my Aunt Doris, her youngest, who was not married yet. Later, Aunt Gloria and Uncle Alan with their two children shared the downstairs bedroom.

We had one bathroom in the house. The water was heated by teakettle to take a bath. We never missed a day in the bathtub, and the kids shared the same water. The weather was freezing cold in the winter and ice hung from the roof. My little four-foot, ten-inch Grandma, hair down to her knees (worn in a bun), would get up just before the break of dawn and light the boiler in the basement.

She would wake us kids up, wrap us in blankets, and fix us a hot breakfast and cocoa or Ovaltine. She never complained, even though she had already raised eight children of her own. She was the queen of the house. She had lots of love to give and always seemed to have time for me. While there, I never felt unloved because I was with Daddy and Grandma.

My grandfather’s name was William Willy Gladstone. I called him Grandpa Snazzie. He was born in England, as were his father and grandfather. My great grandfather, William Ewart Gladstone, was the Prime Minister of Great Britain (1868–74, 1880–85, 1886 and 1892–94). 

When my grandfather was a young man, he met my grandma. She was born in Scotland but claimed to be Irish. He would tease her because she was so thrifty, and we called her Scotch. She would say, Just because you are born in a stable, does not make you a horse. They did not get the approval of their love or marriage from King Edward, so they eloped, moved to Canada, and never had any contact with either of their families again.

They never mentioned them, never wrote to my grandparents, or called. It was as if they never existed. They had eight children: Two boys (one was my father) and six girls. Their whole life they surrounded themselves with family and each other. When my grandfather died, my grandmother never looked at another man.

My grandfather died from diabetes when I was three or four. I do not remember a lot about him, but I could feel that he loved me when I was with him. I do not know the reason, but my grandfather was raised and educated by King Edward. His grandfather and father died in battle. I do not know what happened to his mother. He was, however, given the grandest education, and he was an expert in the arts.

We rented the house on Nelson Street and lived there for years. Every wall was filled with my grandfather’s paintings. There were paintings of grand English people, who all looked like my grandmother. The women in the paintings dressed in little or nothing and had long, long hair that covered it all. They were beautiful, every one of them. As a child, I would sit and study his great works, finding myself in each one, feeling a part of the movement or scene.

I remember the piano in the dining room and the wonderful Christmas gatherings around it. The presents were never expensive, just nicely selected. Snow covered the ground, but we were warm inside as all grandma’s children and grandchildren were there. Grandma always made wonderful fruitcakes. She started months before and stored and packed each one. It was home to me, and soon, I got to sleep with Grandma in her twin bed. It was always so clean and warm. I used to sleep in the crack be­ tween the bed and the wall because I did not want her to be uncomfortable or think I took too much room. I was so grateful to be there.

Every Monday, sure as the sun would shine, and even if it did not, Grandma went downstairs to wash and put the stuff in through her ringer washer. I would help her, and we hung everything inside, sometimes outside with clothes pins. I loved being with her in everything she did, and she taught me well.

When she cooked, I would be in the kitchen watching and smelling and sometimes doing my homework. She would turn on the radio and she only played classical music. Sometimes, when a fine waltz was played, she would grab me up, and we would waltz across the floor. The kitchen had a nice sized pantry with a window that looked out to the back yard. It had a big hook on the door, and when I was little and came to visit, they would put me into a cloth shopping bag and hang me there, so I would not get into everything.

There was a classic ice box. It had short legs and a big, round fan on top. The fridge always had lots of cheese. Grandma loved cheese. She used to send me down the alley and across a small street every day for fresh bread at the bakery. The bakery sliced the bread for me while I waited. It was still warm and smelled so good. Sometimes I would eat a piece while I walked back. My cousins did not like the ends, so of course, I would not eat them either. Then Grandma said, If you eat the crusts and ends, you will be able to whistle, so we did and after each of us got our front teeth back, we learned to whistle!

In the kitchen, next to the old stove, was a garbage burner. We burned everything and it warmed our water and helped heat the kitchen. In the front entry, was a hall and our only phone. There were stairs going up and a wooden banister, mostly broken by the kids sliding down it. We were good kids.

The worst thing I ever remember doing was slamming the screen door. How that made Grandma mad! There were both a front and back porch, and a swing for three on the front porch. We had worn out the grass in the front yard, running and playing. There were big, old trees, with what we called Indian Cigars growing on them. Squirrels played in them. The house was gray, and the paint was peeling off. At the end of the street was Hamlin Park. How I loved that park! In the winter, I ice skated and pulled my sled around on it and did belly slides. They would flood the baseball field, turn the lights on it at night and we would play until Grandma came and made us go inside.

In the summertime they had swings, sand boxes and two pools, one for kids and one for adults. They also had acrobatics, tap and ballet dancing lessons. I was there for all of it. How I loved every minute of it! I was always putting together shows with my little cousins and we would make the family watch us. We thought our shows were great!

I wish I could say I felt loved by my father’s sisters, but I felt barely tolerated. Aunt Joan made no bones about it, she did not like me. She hated Mama, so everything I did that she did not like she would say You’re just like your mom. My mother didn’t come to see me for weeks. The weeks turned into years. Once or twice a year, Mama would have a few beers and call in the middle of the night. The phone would ring in the downstairs entry hall, and Grandma would get up and go down to answer it. I would hear her say, Call at a decent hour, she has school in the morning!

After about a year of being there, when I was nine or ten years old, Daddy decided we were going to go to Florida on his Indian motorcycle. It was the dead of winter and cold! He bundled me up and put our few belongings on the back of his seat. Hold on, he said. I did and off we went, heading south. We stayed at old motels along the way. About two-thirds of the way there, a car pulled out fast causing my dad to either hit him or turn onto a gravel road to miss him. Daddy turned sharply on to the gravel road and the bike skidded and flew up into the air and landed, pinning Daddy’s leg between the bike and a telephone pole. He tried to appear tough, but I could tell he was in terrible pain. He had to ask someone to help him up.

Ambulances came, but he refused medical attention. He asked someone to start his motorcycle and help him lift his leg up over the seat and off we went! To say he was hurt was putting it mildly, but he tried not to let on. He hobbled along in great pain.

When we arrived at Fort Pierce, we weren’t exactly welcomed at his oldest sister, Myrtle and her husband’s place. They had a big motel and a bar at the front end. To begin with, she was not good to him, being hurt as badly as he was. She only wanted to know what work he could get. She never had kids and had no desire to be around one. To top it off, she was an alcoholic. They were both alcoholics and, being so far from the rest of the family, it was their secret. They drank in their tavern from early morning until late at night. Years later, when I was married, I visited them and there stood cases of beer stacked up to the ceiling, waiting to be drunk. By then, they no longer had a motel or bar.

 Daddy and I went to see the ocean and the seashells. He was unable to work, which was a first, so I got to spend all my time with him. I did not go to school. Daddy was my friend, my best friend. We played games and he had an enthusiastic sense of humor. We had simple fun doing things that did not cost money.

After a time, we went back to Chicago to Nelson Street, but everyone’s rooms were taken or rearranged, so we got a small efficiency apartment on a third-floor walkup. I loved it. I washed all our clothes by hand. I cleaned and cooked, and I would sing all day! I would listen to records and sing. Never did I think for one moment that anyone would hear me. Next door to us were two, unmarried schoolteachers who I never said more than hello to. One day one of them was sweeping the stairs. Daddy started up the stairs. I had been watching for him by the window and ran to meet him on the landing of the third floor, but I heard him talking to the teacher from the adjoining rooms.

Mr. Gladstone, she chirped, your daughter has the most beautiful voice. We listen to her sing all day! She sings like a nightingale. My father gasped with surprise. I never knew she could sing. I have never heard her. I was embarrassed to tears, so I would wait until I heard them leave to start singing. Soon afterwards, Daddy offered me singing lessons, but money was short, so I was only able to take a couple of lessons.

Because of the neighborhood we were living in, Daddy was worried about me coming and going to school, so he bought a hand-made trailer and parked it near my beloved Hamlin Park. The city did not allow trailers, but housing was impossible to find. When he bought this trailer, he got a great deal. A one-armed carpenter made it. We parked the trailer in the back yard of a three-story apartment building that had a bar on the first floor. Every time we plugged it in, it would short out the bar’s lights, so we had no electricity. We used candles for lighting.

We did not have a toilet or shower, but being two blocks away from Hamlin Park, (the opposite side of where Grandma lived) we walked to the park to use their facilities. We had a sofa with springs that when pushed together, laid flat and that is where we both slept. I never felt uncomfortable about sleeping beside my dad. He was very protective and modest in his undressing. He kept me childlike in every way. Nobody ever talked about sex in front of me. I did not know what it was until I got my period when I turned twelve. I was visiting my brother and his wife. They sat me down and told me about sex. I was shocked and said, You mean Auntie May and Uncle Alex do that? Oh, my God, no, how could that be?

In our trailer, we had a portable radio, which was our only luxury. Batteries were twenty-five cents (a ton of money in those days), so I never listened to it, except when Dad was there. He would come home, and we would listen to it together, by candlelight. To cook, there was a pump-up gas burner stove. Dad would not allow me to use it. In our small living room was a small oil stove. You opened the lid, dropped in a match and it would catch the oil below running in. So, he measured the top and bought an aluminum pan that just fit the opening, and that is how we cooked our food. No phone, no power, no water, no toilet, but we were happy.

On my birthday that year, I got a brand new Roadmaster Bike at Goldblatz. Grandma got all the Green Stamps, so she was happy, too! Dad was always giving Grandma money to help her out, since she never had a job.

Before I was born, Daddy started working out and sparring. He began taking on small fights. He was quick on his feet and had a great left jab. Soon, he began to fight professionally, and he loved it. He was gentle of soul, but it was in his blood to fight. Joe Louis was his idol and he sparred with him once. His manager began to push him too fast, too soon and he took some heavy punches. He won the Tribune Golden Gloves 1936. Also in 1936, he fought Barney Ross in front of the world’s largest crowd at the Chicago Stadium. He knocked Barney Ross down a couple of times, but to take the championship, in those days, you had to knock out the champion. So, he lost by a decision. Uncle Alex was there to watch and support him. Daddy was a great fighter and his desire to fight never went away. What happened to his money? I do not know. He says his managers and Mama got it. He never had money, though he was a great little saver and he worked hard at whatever job he had.

When I was eleven, Daddy and I went to the gym together in downtown Chicago. A man stopped us on the sidewalk. Aren’t you Billy Gladstone? he said. That began their long talk about the fight game. I stood there, first on one foot and then the other. Finally, I said, Daddy, can I have a dollar? He took out his wallet and handed it to me. When I opened it, I not only found a dollar, but I also found a prophylactic, only I did not know what it was. I thought it was a balloon that he had saved as a surprise. I took it out and handed him his wallet. They were so busy talking with people hurrying by, they didn’t notice me blowing up this rubber. The man glanced at me, and Daddy saw him look, along with everybody else, but I was busy blowing. Daddy grabbed it. Give me that, he bellowed. Where did you get it? Well, the fight talk ended in embarrassment on all sides. I really did not understand anything but Dad’s anger. 

There was a secondhand store on the corner of Clark and Belmont. We used to buy new and used clothes there. A nice lady named Marge owned it. She really liked us. One day she introduced Daddy to a lady who lived upstairs. Her name was Hilda Work but liked to be called Francis. I knew Daddy was lonely. He never dated after Mama. He began seeing Francis and soon moved in with her. To me, she was dirty, smelly, and wrinkled. She was thirty-three and a natural redhead, with hair was so straight it never permed right. Her teeth were either missing, or rotten.  I used to look at her and pray to God, to never let me get to be thirty­ three and be so old. Her skin looked like a prune and had a grayness to it. She hated water and never took baths. She cold creamed her face with Ponds and sponged it off. If her looks were horrible, her personality would have been worse. Daddy said he did not want a pretty woman, because they were unfaithful. Daddy had been alone too long, so everything looked good! She pouted over everything. She hated kids, especially me. She did not want me to be with my dad at all.

There was something mentally wrong with her. She had a foul mouth and would accuse Daddy of having sex with me. I struggled to make sense of what was emotionally wrong with her. To accuse my dad of having sex with me was sick, especially because of the way he sheltered me.

When I was fifteen, her father offered me money to have sex with him. I was horrified! I told my father, and never went to visit them again! I started to suspect that her father sexually molested her as a child.

I stayed with Grandma most days and only spent time with Dad and Francis occasionally. Their apartment had a stench and cockroaches ran up the walls. She would lay in bed and squish them with her finger. I could not sleep when I was there. We never had a bug or smell in Grandma’s house. We did not have much, but our home was clean, and our kitchen did not have grease all over the stove.

Francis soon got pregnant, and it made her act more hateful. Dad offered to marry her, but she turned him down. They argued as she grew bigger. Daddy and I shopped for baby clothes, but she would say, Take the clothes back. I wanted a sister, and Daddy wanted a baby. He loved kids. Francis only wanted more money. When the baby was born, we called her Barbara Jean. I bathed her, changed her, and got up to feed her. She slept in a suitcase, on a pillow.

One day, Francis picked up Barbara Jean and walked out the door with her. I could sense that something was wrong. When she came back, there was no more baby sister. She said that she gave her to people that she knew, and she could visit her any time. They were extraordinarily rich, and they changed her name to Kathy. I will always believe she sold my baby sister. There was nothing Daddy could do. A year later, Daddy and Francis married, and moved to West Palm Beach, leaving me with Grandma. Six or seven months later, Daddy sent me a train ticket to join them. They lived in a two-bedroom carriage house behind a home on Okeechobee Road, across the street from Goodwill where we shopped.

I took a bus to junior high. I was thirteen and looked and acted eighteen. They both worked, so I kept house and went to school. Boys were beginning to show interest because I was well developed, and they certainly noticed. I had long, naturally curly hair, blue eyes, dimples, and a fine chest. Daddy allowed me to date on a regular basis because I earned his trust. A young man named Richard, who was nineteen years old, started dating me. Though we saw each other a lot, our dates were very formal. He had a nice new car and a respectable job. He lived with his parents in a lovely home in Palm Beach. Richard treated me fine, took me to church, opened my door, and was always the perfect gentleman. We never necked and barely kissed. 

Francis and I went to Goodwill, and I bought a cute cardigan sweater. I wore it the following Sunday to church and to Richard’s house for dinner. His mom and dad were very snobby. I felt sure that I was not good enough in their eyes and they soon proved my suspicions to be true. His mother looked at my sweater, and said, That is my sweater! Burning with embarrassment, I said, No, I bought it. I was too ashamed to say where I bought it, since I had bought it at Goodwill. Where did you get my sweater? she persisted. It can’t be yours, it’s mine, I argued. She wasn’t letting it go and said, I’ll prove it; the third button down is slightly different because I lost one. Sure enough, it was. She continued to accuse me, Did you take it from here, or did you get it from the back seat of Richard’s car where I might have left it? By this time, I was crying, too proud to tell her where I bought it at, and even if I did tell her, I was sure she would not have believed me. The rest of the evening was very strained and uncomfortable. Richard soon took me home and I quit seeing him.

I began seeing another young man, named Bill. His intentions were not as honorable as Richard’s, but he understood that no meant no. My father would not allow me to stay out past 10 pm on school nights and or past 11 pm on weekends.

One Saturday night there was a special dance at school. I asked if I could be home at twelve. Daddy said No, absolutely not. The night of the prom, Francis said, Go and enjoy the dance. Be home by twelve o’clock. I’ll turn the clocks back to eleven. As I was leaving, she took me aside and showed me a condom. I was so embarrassed. I said Francis, I am not going to be needing that. We do not do that!

I stayed out until twelve. When I got home Daddy was waiting, all riled up, with all the ideas she had put in his head about me being loose and not a virgin.  Daddy beat me so bad that night that the side of my face was bruised, and my ear had a big bump. Daddy changed a lot and was no longer my best friend. I knew Francis did not want me around. Daddy and I had been so close growing up, and now, Francis had pushed us apart, by twisting everything I said and turning Daddy against me. When he was finally asleep, Francis came into my room and said, Why don’t you run away? Go to Chicago or to your mother. Here is $28; it is all I can give you.

What I did not know was that she had somehow located my mother in Lake Villa, Illinois, and had been writing all the same garbage that she had been telling Dad that I was nothing but a tramp and no good. The next morning, Francis had me packed and on my way to the Greyhound Bus. Daddy was crying, but I was both mentally and physically wounded. My best friend had turned on me and no longer trusted me!

Moving in with Mama

I arrived in Chicago and went straight to my brother’s house. They lived on the south side of Chicago. By now they had three kids. My brother’s wife and I never had any love for one another, so they called my aunt. My aunt called my mother. My mother and ugly George, her husband, by now, had a large restaurant and bar on Route 21 in Lake Villa, Illinois. Upstairs were five big bedrooms which they rented out. I was at the perfect age now, thirteen and old enough to work. My mother came to my brother’s house and said, If you will come with me, I’ll buy you a pair of shoes to match every dress and a purse to match every pair of shoes. She told me that she heard my brother’s wife had tuberculosis and for that reason, I was to leave all my clothes, she would buy me all new! I was impressed. I agreed to go home with her. I really did not know her or she me. I did not understand why she kept saying, No boys! I did not know she had the letters from Francis.

On the long drive from the south side of Chicago to northern Illinois, she learned that I could sew. That was my first mistake. Six weeks before I started my first year of high school, she took me to the fabric store. She bought me patterns that I would have worn in third grade with the sashes sewn into the sides. The material cost her thirty-nine cents a yard. I left all my clothes, so I did not even have a bra. Long, tight skirts were the style then, and I had fluffy, short ones. The clothes she made me wear were for a ten-year-old. Was it, I wondered, because she had lost all those years? I felt like a fool and had to sit and make them yet! She bought me two pairs of shoes. One pair of lace-up oxfords and a pair of black patent leather Mary Janes. I cut the strap off the Mary Janes, and she was furious. She said I was a brat who did not appreciate anything.

She gave me an allowance of five dollars a week, for which I worked hard. There was no dishwasher, so I washed every dish by hand with strong chemicals. I scrubbed all the toilets, two in the bar, two in the restaurant, and all the ones upstairs. I cleaned the five bedrooms upstairs, ironed, served food in my spare time, peeled potatoes by the tubful, cleaned and deveined shrimp, prepared salads, cleaned out the coolers, washed floors and swept. I even waited on tables. Mom and George spent all their time in the bar with customers. They did not allow me to be in there, where our only television was! They owned a Doberman that they did not allow me to play with, as she was a guard dog. If the dog came to my room, they would call her from me. They would not allow me to play with her puppies either. They did not allow friends over to our house, and I could not go over to their houses. I had one friend named Mary. We played at school. I never went to school functions. I had to buy my own clothes, school supplies, and miscellaneous things.

One day, George took me to Fox Lake in the car. I was so grateful to get away for a moment, but when we were driving, he reached over and touched my breast. I was shocked!  He tried to cover up by saying, I was just trying to see what size you are because I can see that you need bras.  I agreed, and he said, Your mother doesn’t see you are a woman now, not the little girl that she is trying to keep you. He started taking naps upstairs, so he was in bed when I came home from school. He would call me to his room and say, Give your dad a big kiss and I will buy you something nice when I go into town.  I would try to kiss him on the cheek and run, but he would grab me and say, Not that kind of a kiss. Be nice to your dad. One day he said to me, Why don’t we get rid of your mother? I was shocked. I did not know what he meant. He terrified me! Get rid of? What was he saying? I lived in fear every day trying to stay away from him. George would not leave me alone, so