36 I don't know how someone controlled you They bought and sold you

Before I continue I wanted to tell you about my friend, Margaret. We were best friends through eighth grade. We stayed friends afterwards but went different ways. I've had things going in my head for a few days, but now I don't know what to say. We met each other in Catholic school.

Margaret is on the top row

I was on the bottom shelf

The strange thing is, our fathers knew each other. They were both reporters at the same newspaper a while back. Margaret's father went on to some fancy job and made more money. Back in those days, reporters didn't make a heck of a lot of money, even at big papers. So our parents got a kick out of it that we were friends. I loved visiting their house. It was right next to the creek where I played. They lived in a mod house. It was like a different world to me. I loved the old house I lived in and I loved the funky old style. I just liked to see different things. My house was still holding onto the style of the 40's and 50's. Margaret liked to come over but I wasn't so keen on that. I wasn't sure what state of drunkenness my father would be in.

My old house. My sister has her hair in curlers.

Margaret's house today. They put some kind of siding to make it look "country chic." (Why would you do that?) It was mid century modern. No dumb fake picket fence made in China. Painted black with a red door. Big tree in front making it look even darker.

We were different but we were friends. We went on a lot of adventures. Vacant lots. We found the vacant lot where the naughty boys left their dirty magazines. Long walks to different parts of town. Hanging out at Woolworth's. Watching older teenagers hanging out at the creek wearing their clothes too tight. We went to Pasetti's after school and had a hamburger and french fries.

We heard a rumor that the old man at Smile's five and dime let his weiner hang out. That place was amazing. It was like an old wooden general store. Somehow they had everything. It smelled like old cigars and wet white bread. So groups of us girls would dare each other to go in and see if the old man had his thing hanging out. Aren't kids weird? We just wanted trouble and adventure. I'm afraid that at times I was a bit of an instigator. I really think the guy just had the beginnings of dementia or something. Well, I think it was the late 60's Smiles was knocked down and they put in a new funeral home. I guess Long Island needed more of those.

They had a thing in our town at Halloween where kids painted windows of stores. We entered one year. We got to paint the shoe repair place. I loved that place. The smell of leather and all kinds of polish. It was dark in there. All kinds of old wood. Loved going in there. I think maybe our painting was a little too sick. Just a night scene with a witch, someone hanging from a tree and the full moon. It was purple, black, dark brown and white. The judges just kind of walked past. Think in terms of the mid sixties, not now.

Not me. I guess the guy hanging from the tree got them.

There were some abandoned homes that we explored too. I really liked one place, the living room floor was collapsing. We'd say "Let's go explore." Sometimes we'd see kids "huffing" glue at the creek. Sometimes we'd meet an old character and listen to their story. When we were older we'd listen to music and read magazines. I'd say "I want to do that." Margaret didn't really want to, like I did. We'd wear go go boots to pool parties. I wore mini skirts but Margaret didn't. We were different but friends.

You know what we used to do a lot? Phony phone calls. Those were the days. No caller id or anything. I'd spend the night at her house and her parents went out. A lot of times we'd say something to annoy the person answering and our retort was "COMPOZ. That little gentle, blue pill."

1963 Sedagive

I don't know what was in our heads one night. We were going for hours. I think one of the things that joined us together was our flair for melodrama. We came up with this thing, most of it was improv though. We called the unsuspecting and kept the phone away from us and faked our own kidnapping. We were good, screaming and crying. One person was on the phone with us for a long time. I don't know. I think it took a couple of days but I heard my mother scream my name. Yelling something about Mrs. S calling and saying the police were at her house. We were banned from each other for a while. But we were good Catholic girls and they believed we were born into holiness.

One of our favorite dance songs

Margaret's mom, Mrs. S, was a great Italian cook. I's just go over and say "Could I eat dinner here?" She loved that. Mrs. S was nice but things weren't always great for Margaret. I'll tell you something and some of you will wonder, "Why did that bother her?" Mrs. S was one of the Long Island housewives that liked to shop. Mister S was pretty well not home or not involved, like a lot of the dad's back then. Mrs. S would come home with loads of clothes for Margaret from Lord & Taylor. Well, we were being taught things really in contradiction to that in Catholic School. I'll go into that more in my next blog thing. Every Wednesday was missionary day. We'd either have a true to life priest speak or we'd watch a film. We'd hear about the dreadful poverty and disease across the world. We learned sacrifice and devotion. So instead of going "Ohhh. Look at all this great stuff," Margaret would sit on her bed. Sometimes she threw the stuff across the room. I'm not even sure if Mrs. S. knew how Margaret really felt. I want to add in that Margaret wasn't some poor little rich girl. She was very intelligent and really cared about people. Sometimes she'd ponder things just a little too much.

There was a sadness in the S family's life. I wonder now if Mrs. S. did all that shopping to drown it out. I don't know. Margaret's brother Timmy had Down's Syndrome. It was a very extreme case. I don't know if it was more than that, but our understanding of it at that time was very poor. This was still the age of lobotomies. As a matter of fact, Timmy was "involuntarily sterilized." I don't know if people understand that it was something many families were quite ashamed of at that time. Somehow it reflected on the blood relatives. Even cancer was something that was spoken about in hushed terms. Difficult to understand that now.

Timmy didn't live at home. I'd talk about it with my mom and she explained that they were able to better take care of Timmy elsewhere. Very sad. He'd visit home on occasional weekends but I hate to say he spent most of his time on his bed, rocking back and forth. Margaret really loved him. I felt for all of them. She was so sad when it was time for him to go back to wherever it was that he stayed.

Mrs. S knew Margaret felt a sadness for her brother so she decided to adopt a little sister for her. Little Elizabeth was four years old. She was Korean but had been in foster care for a few years. In the mid sixties, this was a progressive thing to do. Margaret had a lot of fun with her and so did I. Margaret was basically an only child and I was the youngest, so it was fun for both of us. We did crazy dancing with her and I'd try on her clothes. Oh yeah, they were small but that's what was so much fun. It seems as though Elizabeth was with them for a year. I got a call from Margaret. She was crying. "Elizabeth is gone." What? What do you mean? "My mom had them test Elizabeth's brain waves. There were some abnormal brain waves. My mom couldn't handle it with Timmy." "They gave her up. Sent her back." I couldn't help it. I said "What? That is so mean!" "My mom can't handle it." I just have to say now "Fucking doctors!" I didn't use that language then. I don't know... I spent a lot of time over there and never witnessed anything "abnormal" about Elizabeth. I don't know. Margaret was never the same after that.

We shared thoughts together at that age. Not just shared, formed. Thinking back on it, neither of us talked about the future in normal terms. Did we really even think it was coming? I just wanted to be a rock and roll kid or something fun. Margaret liked that idea too but not as much as me. I started listening to different things but she stayed pretty pop. We never talked about a career, but in those days girls were pretty much thinking they had to be a secretary or a housewife. Neither of us dreamt about getting married. I think our main aim in life at that point was to get out of Catholic School, or at least I did.

One of the last things we were supposed to do together was to see "The Graduate." I don't remember if there were ratings back then. I would have been way underage. I really wanted to go. It was condemned by the Catholic Church. When we got there Margaret said she couldn't go in... condemned. So what did I do? I went in by myself. Pretty independent. Oceanside Movie Theater didn't give a crap. Well, if Margaret could have only seen the nuns from the other parish sitting in front of me. I'll talk about nuns in another post but some of them were really interested in social commentary. I think I turned 15 shades of red in the dark theater during the tassel scene, with the nuns sitting in front of me. Thinking back on it now, Mrs. S looked a little like Anne Bancroft just with shorter hair.

Time to graduate from Catholic School. Margaret and I were two of the top 4. We got savings bonds. I immediately cashed it and bought Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Margaret saved hers. But the thing is, it was time to choose what high school we were going to. Our town didn't have a Catholic High School to automatically jump too. So many kids jumped ship to public school. Freedom! But Margaret didn't. It was very surprising, although not. She chose the fancy school in the next town. I think it pleased Mrs. S. Who knows. Maybe she was happy to get Margaret away from me? I don't know. I'm afraid to say it was really for the status.

So we went our separate ways. I was lucky, I met up with ex Catholic School girls from the school Margaret went to. I got involved with lots of things and people. Margaret went to school. It's not like I forgot about her, but she also wasn't at the top of my mind either. Once in a while we'd meet at the Ho King in Lincoln Shopping Center for lunch. I'd tell her stories and we'd laugh. We'd talk about things in the world but she seemed more unhappy each time we met. It was like once every three months or so. I became increasingly adventurous, but Margaret didn't judge me. Must have been junior year I od'd on quaaludes. I was knocked out for three days. That's another story. But Margaret came by the house to visit. People knew everything that was going on in town because of the Marian Society my mother belonged to. After my big trip and I unfortunately came back to NY, Margaret helped with gifts for my new dump.

It was also in junior year that my mother told me that Margaret was in a "hospital." Care for mental health was disastrous back then. Margaret was suffering from depression. I'm not even sure if it was called that then. It certainly was not a day to day conversation. People pretty much called it a nervous breakdown. That was a big joke to some people. When I finally saw her after she got out I couldn't believe how pale she was. As white as chalk. She was so thin too. She told me that it helped her feel better to be in the hospital. In those days it was almost as if the family didn't want you to see their relatives actually in the hospital. Too much of a stigma if word got around. I think that they believed her life would go right back into place and they didn't want to jeopardize that.

After junior year Margaret went back into the hospital. She would come home on the weekends. Wow. Jesus. I went to lunch with her and tried to talk her into making big, big changes in her life. I couldn't convince her. Her Mom called me directly to thank me for going out to lunch with her. She'd be happy for a while afterwards. For Christ sake my whole conversation was talking about getting away. I'm sure she had the same Catholic guilt many of us had and she felt bad for her mom.

Here's the really disgusting thing. Margaret told me she was having sex with one of the orderlies that worked there. What? How healthy is that? She also told me a story that she was home on the weekend and the orderly came by the house while her parents were gone for a bit. Then her mom came home and the dude had to hide in the closet till he could escape. That would be funny in a normal situation, but not in this one. That whole thing of hospital, medication and orderlies was the most damaging thing ever in her life. She begged me not to tell her mom. Of course I wasn't going to. She was my friend and of course I never "told" on anyone in my life.

It just went on like that for her... sad to say. I was living my life and ended up leaving New York in the late 70's. A little while after I moved I got a phone call from my Mom. "Margaret is dead." 

She overdosed on pills. I don't know what was in her head when she did that. I wish she had known that she could have broken free in some way. I had nightmares for quite a while, especially when I was stressed or upset about something. The nightmare was this. I saw her headstone. That's it. I'd wake up in a sweat, jittering. It took at least twenty years for these to subside. They did, slowly. I'd have them less and less. I never actually saw Margaret's headstone. Not even sure if there is one. I talked to a couple of people about it back then but we didn't mention the grave. The only times I went back to New York were if relatives were sick or dead. I haven't been back since 1996 when my Mom passed away, so I never looked. The grave doesn't really matter anyway, it's the other stuff. That's the story.