Yes Jeanie There Are Angels!: The True Story of Love and Understanding

YES JEANIE

THERE ARE

ANGELS!

The True Story of Love and

Understanding

Jeanie Graf

Copyright © 1998 by Jeanie Graf

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a non-fiction story.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

WITH LOVE TO JIMMY AND BILLY, MY SONS,

WHO HAVE NEVER LEFT MY SIDE.

BILL, MY BROTHER, WHO HELD HIS HAND OUT DURING THE WORST OF TIMES.

MY HUSBAND, BOB, WHO CONTINUES TO

LOVE ME FOR THE PERSON I AM.

TO ALL THE WONDERFUL PEOPLE WHO

HAVE TAUGHT ME LIFE’S LESSONS,

I THANK YOU.

CHAPTER 1

As a child, I believed in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy; when I reached adolescence I believed, with hard work, all good things would come my way. Today, I am an adult who is aware life is much like the threads of a spider’s web, filled with irregularities and complicated to a fault. Some threads are strong and others broken by tragedies. The broken threads are of the greatest importance. They must be repaired in order to achieve a full and complete plan to our lives.

The web of my life began in 1936. I made my Grande entrance at 5:30 AM on July 25th. It was the hottest day in July, so my mother would tell me for the next 40 years. Not only was it hot, but I was not anxious to be born; that too, was an inconvenience to her. Mom already had one child, a son, Bill, and had no desire to have a second child. How do I know? She told me often enough. She would continue to remind me of my faults and overlook my accomplishments. This was the weak thread my mother wove between us. It would serve no purpose and would weaken my self worth.

My father didn’t say much, but drank too much. He was one of five children; had an abusive father, and a hard working mother.

My parents were good and moral people. They, like so many Americans, were refugees of a time of chaos. Children during World War 1 (1914 to 1918); young adults, thinking of homes and families of their own, during The Great Depression (1929 through most of the thirties). By the mid thirties most of these people became parents, who again, would be called on to make further sacrifices. World War 2 (1939 to 1945).

Our country called on all its people to help. Men waved good-bye to their families. Women served as nurses on the battlefields, and for those left behind, they did whatever they could to help. Women cooked meals from little of nothing and never complained. The men, who did not pass the physical, or were too old, remained behind to work in factories along with the women. But we, the children, made sacrifices too. We donated our pennies to the war relief. We didn’t ask for extra or special clothes, because the materials were needed by our men overseas.

Children were asked to give up and we did so without question. This war would not exclude anyone, man, woman, or child.

Papa wanted to go to war with his buddies, but he was rejected, because he had flat feet. This would haunt him for many years. For the rest of his life his brother would refer to him as the old man. Problems became more evident between my parents; papa’s drinking increased until they separated in 1942.

When I was about three, I watched a baby tree get planted in front of our house. It had a large stick on each side to give it support until it could stand alone. The tree and I were friends. Yes that’s right! We were friends. I could talk to it, and it listened to my most secret thoughts without saying a word.

Bill and I were like the tree having the support of mom on one side and papa on the other. Now they made the decision to remove one of the supports. How could we grow without both of them?

Mom sold the family home where she had lived with her parents. Her father had a heart attack after the stock market crash of 1929. The home was left to mom, but my grandmother continued to live there with my parents. When we made the move she would go with us.

Our new home was eighteen miles from our village. Mom wanted to be far away from papa. My father drove us to the city and dropped us off. Mom went inside, while Bill and I kissed papa good-bye. We stood at the curb, waving until the car drove out of sight. It was a very sad day.

Things in the city didn’t go well for any of us. Mom’s mother died. Without her help we had to move into a small apartment. Mom got a job as a secretary with a tire company, leaving Bill and me more alone.

I wanted papa to come home and take us back to our village. It was nice there and it was home.

One night I ran away. I went searching for my dad. I went to a bar. If I were to find him, a bar would be the most logical place to begin my search.

A man, inside the bar, asked me, what is a little girl like you doing in here?

I’m looking for my father. My mother said you could always find him in a bar. I thought he might be here.

He asked me some questions about my dad. He went to the phone booth and within a few minutes he beckoned to me with his finger. Someone wants to talk to you, he said. He lifted me up on his lap and handed me the phone.

Hello, I said.

Jeanie, it’s me. It’s papa. Does your mother know where you are?

No! papa, I want you to come home. Bill and I miss you. Please come home. Mom loves you. I hear her crying at night. I don’t think she’s very happy. Papa, please come home.

You hang the phone up and go right home. I bet your mother is worried about you. Don’t say anything about this call to her. I’ll be there tomorrow. I promise.

I did as he asked. Mom never knew about the phone call. Papa was there the next day, just as he promised. No one ever told us what happened, but we all went home to a little house in the village. We were a family again. Most of all Bill and I were happy.

There were still the nights we were awakened by mom’s screams. Papa was drunk and beating her; we would hear her calling for help.

We’d run down the stairs to do whatever we could. Bill would help mom up, while I tried to pull papa off. We were so frightened, so little, and so alone. We learned to live with cruel words and violent acts at a very young age.

Papa bought a restaurant. A place of memories, not only to our family, but to anyone who ate there. It was a place to go for a laugh, a good meal, and a loan if you were broke.

When I was about nine, papa came home for his afternoon break. I heard him say to mom, there’s a bum who came into the store for something to eat. He insisted he repay me for the meal by doing some work at the restaurant, or around the house. He’s really down and out. What would you say if I brought him home for the night? It’s been a long time since he slept in a bed, or had a hot bath.

Mom was a private person who didn’t like people underfoot. It took her awhile to make the decision. OK, he can come here for one night. Do you hear me? Just for the night.

Papa brought our new guest home after giving him dinner at the restaurant. He was a thin man with a large scare on his nose. He told us someone in the orphanage had hit him with a log.

Bill and I were intrigued with this man, who was so different from the other people we knew. We called him Cowboy; he remained in our home, not for one night, but for twelve years.

Bill and I did not appreciate the generosity of our parents at the time. We were too young to fully comprehend how this kindness changed Cowboy’s life. It wasn’t until years later that we understood the impact my parents had on him.

Papa bought a truck and set Cowboy up in business. He had the first garbage route in the village. Collecting rubbish was one thing, but when mom found out I was meeting him around the corner and working on the truck, she had a fit.

It was important to her, we maintain a proper up-bringing. Nice young ladies did not work slinging trash cans from the back of a truck.

During the thirteenth year Cowboy married and had his own home. Two years after his marriage, he and his wife adopted a little girl. All these things happened to him because my parents saw worth in a human being. I remember Cowboy with love and respect.

Please understand, as much as Bill and I loved Cowboy, we did play tricks on him. One day he was laying under his truck, changing the oil. Bill and I couldn’t resist it, we pushed the truck forward; ran and hid. When Cowboy looked up, all he could see was sky. That was one of many practical jokes poor Cowboy endured from us, but he always remained our faithful friend.

Bill and I were close when we were growing up, but as different as day and night. He loved to read, study and be an altar boy. I, on the other hand, liked anything which called for motion. Sliding down the coal shoots at the coal yard, dancing and dreaming.

No one realizes how short childhood is until the time comes for responsibility. My brother and I were no different from the rest of the human race.

After eighth grade Bill made the decision to enter the seminary. He knew, almost from the beginning, he wanted to be a Catholic priest. Entering the seminary meant he would have to be a full time resident in the school.

I felt betrayed when he left. I didn’t want to be alone with mom. She didn’t like me. It wasn’t something I imagined, but something, most people in the village knew. They had seen her when she had lashed out at me.

As for papa, the only way I could be with him was to work in the restaurant. To be funny he would make fun of me by calling me, the stupid one in the family. The customers didn’t know how to react, so they laughed.

I hated the times I was alone with my parents. Oh! there were good times between mom’s wrath and papa’s drinking, but not enough to quench my desire to leave when I turned eighteen.

Right after high school I went to work in a factory located in the village. I got engaged to a very nice young man, but it just didn’t feel right. I had always dreamed of places to go, people to see, and things to do. I broke my engagement which displeased mom. She was angry for a long time and it carried over to a night out with friends.

Papa wanted me to go, because Bob, who worked for him, would be there. I didn’t mind going, because I had a little crush on Bob, anyway. We had a great time until we made our last stop at a neighborhood bar.

My cousin’s ex-husband asked me to dance; I accepted. There was no reason not to dance with him. He was a nice guy whose marriage didn’t work out. Nothing more, and nothing less. It had nothing to do with me, and there was no reason to avoid him.

I didn’t see papa coming across the dance floor, so he took me by surprise. When he was drunk he was mean. He took Neal by the neck and pushed him against the jute-box. He kept punching him in the face. I was so embarrassed I ran outside and waited inside the car.

My parents argued all the way home about Neal. Mom kept telling papa, he was interested in me. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

Mom, I don’t like Neal. He never did anything wrong, but papa was wrong when he hit him. My conversation ended as I walked toward the house.

Mom was the only one who decided when a conversation ended. She kept yelling, I don’t want you to be around him. Do you understand me? She was so angry.

She turned to my father and told him I talked back to her. This was something children were never allowed to do. I was on the front porch trying to unlock the door when papa turned me around and punched me in the face.

I must have fallen backward, cutting my head on the mail-box and was knocked out. When I regained consciousness, I was on the couch. Mom was washing the blood out of my hair; papa was knelling next to me, crying, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you. Forgive your old man. I promise you it will never happen again.

We’ve got to get her to the hospital, he said.

Are you crazy? Do you want everyone in town to know what you did? She’ll be all right by tomorrow.

Yes, it would be another secret. In the beginning if we had talked to each other, maybe we could have found the answers to my parents fighting…papa’s drinking…My mother’s disappointment in me. If we had only learned to talk with each other and listen to what each one was saying, maybe we could have been happy.

My childhood was over. Had it really been that bad? No, it hadn’t been that bad. There had been laughter, good times and opportunities for Bill and me. It was time for me to move on. Childhood memories were mixed and confusing. It was time to fill my life with a more positive attitude.

My family is like so many others. It’s easier to be angry, than to express love. There is less thought in an unkind word, than in a thoughtful conversation. There is less energy in a slap, than a loving hug.

The factory where I was working had a cut back and I was one of the first to be laid off. It wasn’t too bad, because I could draw unemployment benefits until I found something else to do.

It took me one hour on the bus to get to the unemployment office. I arrived earlier than my assigned time. This provoked the interviewer. She went off on me, and I was not going to take this abuse from a stranger. I told her, shove the check up your ass. I don’t need the money that bad. The dust from their dirty floors flew up as I stormed out of the office.

Downstairs there was a small coffee shop where I could breathe fresh air and pull myself together. I lit my cigarette; sipped coffee; opened the want ads, and began the search for the job to fulfill my dreams. There it was, an ad for a dance instructor. I had taken dancing lessons all my life. I knew I had the qualifications. I wouldn’t know if I didn’t try.

I arrived at the studio which was located on the second floor. The stairway was long and narrow. The walk up gave me plenty of time to gather my thoughts.

The owner of the studio was a fine man; he showed me around the studio, introducing me to the entire staff. I was hired the same day I applied. I was on cloud nine.

I went home and broke the news to my parents. They were less than thrilled. I reminded them I was eighteen and it was time for me to be on my own. Without their blessings I left home and moved into the city.

Mr. J., who owned the studio, was a well dressed middle aged man, who was a devoted father and husband, as well as knowledgeable in the business world. My work in the studio would be a happy time. It was the time I met my first love, Al. It would be brief, but memorable. He was the best dancer in the studio. Not a good looking man, and a little on the chubby side. Yet, this man had the charisma of a giant. The way he treated me was beyond a dream.

We would go to exciting places where he would introduce me to the most fascinating people. He would precede me into a room, saying, make way for my princess. I, but for a brief time, was somebody’s princess. I was special to Al.

There were many things against us. He was much older. This was the minor problem. The big issue was religion. He was Jewish and I was Catholic. His family would not accept me. They told him if he continued to see me, he would be considered dead. Al was a devoted son and would do nothing to hurt his mother.

Religion means more to me than who goes to what Church. God spoke to all His people, ignoring none. All of us speak to the same God. We only differ in language. When we understand this, we will respect all people and religions.

It was hard to work everyday with Al, knowing we could no longer be together. It was the first time in my life I felt special and pleasing to someone, only to loose it to bigotry. At least this time I knew why I wasn’t accepted.

Soon after the break-up I moved to a new city one hundred miles from Al. I got a management position with a competitive studio. A new life with a complete renovation of myself. I would put work first, gathering any new knowledge of the business to make me more successful.

One night a few of the teachers went out together. None of us were familiar with the city. We had no idea where to go. Our thoughts were a quiet bar; a few drinks, an early evening, and straight home. After driving around for awhile, we saw what we were looking for.

One of the teachers yelled, slow down Jeanie! pull in here. This place looks OK. I mean it will do in a pinch. What the hell, we don’t know where we are and it’s already after eleven.

I don’t know, this place looks a little shaky.

The entrance into the bar would change my life forever. I would close one door to open another. I was to begin a journey of love and total commitment.

I had traveled many miles from the time of innocence. It was time to step from the darkness into a new and promising light.

CHAPTER 2

We were in the old part of the city. Nothing, but run down structures, showing their age; with a small bar nestled in the center of the buildings. It didn’t look inviting, yet there was something drawing me inside the small door.

Once inside, we couldn’t believe what we saw. The place was packed with people. The smell of smoke and beer filled the room. We searched until we found a booth in a dimly lit corner. Tom, who was Terry’s husband, went to the bar to get the drinks.

You know, I kind of like this place, Terry said with a giggle.

It was a far cry from the places we normally frequented. The music came from a corner jute-box and it echoed with the music of the fifties. The music we danced to in the studio were instrumentals, and the sounds from the jute-box were the sounds we enjoyed the most. It was a happening place and we were having a good time. The search for this place was well worth it.

I’m going to play some music. Any requests?

Yeah, anything by Elvis, they shouted.

I put my quarter in the slot. Remember that? A quarter bought you six songs. What a wonderful time it was.

I was about to make my first selection when I heard a man’s voice saying, if you play Don’t by Elvis, I’ll dance with you.

When I turned around to see who was talking to me, I was pleasantly surprised. There stood a young man with a beautiful face and great eyes. He was about five foot ten, dark hair with a curl that irreverently rested on his forehead; dressed in khaki pants and a flannel shirt. By the time I finished admiring him, he smiled and walked away before I could utter a word.

My friends couldn’t wait to find out who the guy was at jute-box. I don’t know who he is, I said. He walked away without introducing himself. I think he’s crazy.

It was hard for me to think of anyone, but Al. No one could make me laugh like he did. No one could ever make me feel like a princess, again. There was still too much pain to think of anyone else. The healing would take a long time.

It was late, and my friends were ready to leave. As I reached for my purse, I heard Don’t begin to play. I looked around, but the stranger wasn’t there.

He probably met another girl by now. Deep down, I was hoping he cared enough to follow up his offer.

I was headed toward the door when I heard the stranger’s voice. Where are you going? I thought this was our dance.

It is if you really want to dance with me. What a stupid thing to say, I thought. I was so dumfounded, I couldn’t think straight.

He took my hand, gently pulling me behind him, until we reached the dance floor. He held me so close I thought I would break. His body was strong and almost over-powering. The only word I heard him say was, Don’t.

Finally I asked him, do you know how to talk or is Don’t the only word you know?

When he saw me smiling, he knew I was kidding with him.

Sure, I can say a lot of things. How about you giving me your phone number? Maybe some night we could go out, that is if you want to.

I’ll give you my work number. This is where I spend most of my time, I replied nervously. He wrote my number on the back of a matchbook.

I didn’t care if he thought I was a pick-up or not. The only thing I was sure about was how much I wanted him to call me. It was a chance I was taking for myself. What will happen, will happen. Anything was better than the hours I