FORTY YEARS AGO TODAY, I MARRIED YOUR FATHER
May 1, 2019
To my children Emily and Max,
Forty years ago today, I married your father.
I was pregnant with you, Emily, and you were conceived on March 5th, 1979, when I drove back from Tampa, Florida, where my mother had moved to after selling our home, 202 Shadynook Court, fleeing the heritage of debauchery in her life, and seeing the product of my father’s adultery living right across the street: my half-brother, Michael Dayball.
Father had been having an affair with Gail Guinn since I was five years old, he and Mother both ‘swingers’ in the scene in the Sixties. Emily, you ended up accepting their child, conceived through artificial means – Gail always resented that I conceived you naturally, and before she succeeded with in vitro, which cost them a lot – John Rohrer, and are friends with him on Facebook, or were, last I was privy to your fb profile before you chose to shun me.
Mother – Nana to you – sold the house, put her Dodge Dart on a train car and she and “the boys” took a sleeper car to Florida. I drove my Volkswagen there, and met them at the house. It was a rancher, with huge Palmetto cockroaches that leapt at me, and the boys were beside themselves with grief, especially David, who was like an animal more than a child, all anger and confusion. Charlie was crying and Jay was quiet; numb. Mother was on autopilot, I think. I was revolted. I drove around the area, trying to see where I could work, and saw that the city of Tampa was a shithole. It was awful. The boys were out of control, there was no plan: it would not work. She (mother) had already sabotaged my attempts at going to college, more than once (this is why I worked so hard, taking on $8,000.00 in student loans bundle into mine, to let you go to Wilson, so you could have the college experience I was denied by both parents). I had been accepted to University of South Alabama, in Mobile, where my best friend Kathy Park went, and took a Greyhound bus there to begin in the Spring Semester in January 1979, but Mother did not do any of the financial aid paperwork, and did not tell me she ignored it, in fact, she let me think she had done it all. I got there and at registration was told I couldn’t, that neither she nor Father filled anything out. I had to go home. I had spent all I had to get there, paying for the one-way bus ticket myself. I called mother, who said she didn’t have any money to pay for the ticket, and screamed hysterically “Get home and take care of these boys!” I called father, who coldly told me he had no money for a ticket, and I could hear Gail listening on the other extension (her bedroom Bell Princess phone). I had to go door-to-door in my friend Kathy’s dorm, borrowing change, or a few dollars, to get the bus ticket, which was only $33.00. Yet my parents said they didn’t have it. It took me months to pay it back once I got back “home”, working in a sub shop in Security Mall, walking there with only sole less Indian moccasins, mother would not drive me to work, the Volkswagen was uninsured at the time, and it snowed a lot, huge blizzards. I had pneumonia but still worked. And the previous time my college attempt was sabotaged was in high school, when I was trying to get into the University of Colorado to study veterinary medicine. Mother refused to fill out any applications. In twelfth grade I was recruited by the CIA five times. I refused them. I worked at Lexington Market, Westview Mall, Security Mall, and at the Green Earth health food store on Charles Street, from high school until the early 80’s. I worked three part-time jobs in twelfth grade alone. (I worked so much, not getting child support, that I filled the forty work quarters Social Security requires filled in order to retire at age 65 by age 31. If that says anything, i.e. no familial support.)
Then I tried living at Uncle Clarence and Uncle Homer’s farm, and went one semester to Saint Mary’s College. But it was a 70-mile round trip, I became very depressed, and Uncle Clarence wanted me to marry the Baptist preacher’s son to inherit the farm. Jay and Charlie were like lost souls. Mother paid attention only to David. I was driving back and forth to Baltimore on the weekends to try to keep the family glued together. It was awful. Even though I had my horse Sunny, that was not enough. I could not save my family. I left the college, and came back to Catonsville. Charlie had taken over my bedroom. It was January 1979. Mother was preparing to sell the house and move to Tampa. That is how it all unfolded once I graduated in May 1977, and was first with your uncle Jon, but was really in love with your dad Jamie, who I saw from the school bus window at the end of the day in 10th grade, walking my church friend Celeste Reis, who sang like Joni Mitchell and whose mother, a chain smoker, was an organist for the adult choir at my church, Salem Lutheran. Jamie was on her left (of course, because he was deaf in his left ear, and had fifty percent hearing in his right, from ear infections, as Mamaux had told me). Your dad was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his braid down the back past his belted jeans, and combat boots. He held Celeste’s arm deferentially; gently, and seemed to be listening to her with rapt attention. I was fifteen, and my heart leapt in my chest. My life as mother’s slave went on, defending and nurturing my brothers, her Cinderella, and I was in the Forever Family cult. In the fall of twelfth grade, your uncle Jon walked by me as I stood in the doorway of the Don Flowers plant store (I was standing in right side of the doorway waiting for the mall to close), one of three stores I worked at in Westview Mall (the other two were KB Toys and The Gap, all while in twelfth grade, and keeping up my GPA as well as taking care of the boys and the house – and turning the CIA down), and I spoke to him, we went for a drive in my car – an MG Midget I had bought new, I worked so much – and we “dated”, but really, I was in love with your dad Jamie.
And so eventually he fell in love with me. When he was 14, 15, he had been in a relationship with a girl named Paige in Hyattsville, and, also, I know now, was involved with Janet, which is incest. I hate to tell you, but the Littles were in a sex ring of pedophilia, and Pop – your grandfather Jim Little – was run out of his job at Fort Meade as chaplain, and he and a Baptist minister, and then charismatic church christians at Saint Timothy’s in Catonsville traded Janet and Jamie as sex slaves. They were sent to a dungeon house club in Hyattsville and the guy – his name is Ed, and I forget the last name, but it’s not Simoncek (though that Ed, another Catonsvillian, older than me, might know it) – also had one in Florida. During the period of time I described above, when I went to Uncle Homer and Clarence’s farm, Jamie and Janet went to that bondage and domination pedophile’s place in Florida, and that is where Janet got her skin condition and your dad his foot rot. Janet was already sterile, from STD infections as far back as age twelve. She was twelve when Jim took her virginity. She told me that when I was 17, she 18, and I was seeing Jon.
That is how it all transpired. I am writing everything I remember.
Everything needs its backstory for present-day clarification, and that is why I begin with this. I did not know about the pedophilia ring until this past December (2018), when I ran into one of the participants who wife-swapped with Pop, Larry Frank. He thought I knew about all of this. I didn’t. I do now. Now you both do. No wonder the Littles never wanted me to have you, Emily, and when I did, never wanted Jamie and I to be married. No wonder they aided and abetted him not paying for your child support. And no wonder they were more accepting of Levigh and Madison. Levigh and her mother were prostitutes. Julie, David and then Brenda believed the lies they were told, the whitewashing of facts. Janet went into an abusive relationship and married Bill Jamison, an alcoholic Vietnam vet point man who survived three tours of duty and beat her senselessly. She always had a black eye and lost many teeth because of him. Jamie was half crazy, and so was Jon, because of all they knew, did, or witnessed (I think Jon witnessed more than did, being younger).
Christianity was a front for child sex trade, and the Littles and their friends; the Meischeid’s, the Wicker’s (who bought the 4 acres of 100 Bishops Lane and developed it, the last agriculturally zoned farmland in Catonsville – THEY SHOULD HAVE GIVEN IT TO JAMIE AND I, WE WORKED SO HARD ON IT, but no, Janet ensured the house was condemned, angry that I kept Big there, after Jamie and I cleared the entire woods to become pasture. There were other people as well, the Roloff’s, and at least four other couples whose names I forget. There was Gavin and Lynette, who slept with Pop and Jamie and Larry Frank all in the same span of time (before Jamie went to Florida to work for Ed the B & D pedo sexring guy). I know that Jamie and Janet went to Florida with Charlie Watt of the Rolling Stones, as “toys”, when Jamie was 12 and Janet 13. That connection helped Janet and Jamie become acid and pot dealers in Hyattsville, and they sold to the University of Maryland crowd. One of your aunt Janet’s – her nickname was “Chicken Little” – ‘lovers’ was the author (Bonfire of the Vanities) Tom Wolfe’s son, who dressed in white suits like his father, and looked exactly like him, I was in his company with her at least two or three times in 1977-1978. She also had a much-older black boyfriend named Mark Puryear, who lived in Washington DC too, and traveled with Tom Wolfe Jr.
I did not know the impact or meaning of any of this when your dad and I became two young people who loved each other.
I was a hard-working, overly idealistic devoutly christian girl who was seeking stability after being treated like crap and sabotaged by both of her parents. I had an eating disorder and distorted body image, and a great deal of shaming and rejection internalized by parents who actively hurt me since birth. I believed that I could make a better life for myself – and you, Emily, and Jamie, you and I as a family, because I saw the good in him and responded to it – I fell in love with Jamie as if a spell was cast on me – and maybe it was. And because I felt such strong convictions, which incidentally had kept me and my brothers alive, surviving my parents, my mother and Mr. John, saving her from suicide soon after she began her relationship with Mr. John (the suicide attempt – I averted her success – was a clairvoyance I had had at 11) and saving myself and my brothers from when Mr. John drugged me and set the house on fire and left it, I realize now, based on what went on then – and I have a perfect memory – that my own mother and Mr. John had planned to kill us and collect life insurance. Mother and Mr. John were into drugs. They “swang’. He was a pimp in Baltimore City with a forged Baltimore City Police Detective Badge, my best friend Susie Cullom’s father, who worked as an engineer at Westinghouse told me after the arson and murder attempt mother and Mr. John did, that he was not really a detective at all, but ran a prostitution ring. He made mother trade the beautiful station wagon inherited when my grandfather Rohrer died in for a pale mint cream green four door Cadillac DeVille (his, which he had when they met, was baby blue, same, both with white leather interiors). As a matter of fact, when Mr. John came over the first time in late September of sixth grade, as soon as I met him I told mother not to go out with him. All I said was “He is a bad man, make him leave here.” They did BAD THINGS, and so did the Littles. But I was too naive to realize this. Because I had such fealty to my role as daughter and sister, then wife (of your dad), I really did not know what reality was. I knew that I had been abused, and when I had tried to tell the pastor, school teachers, the school nurse, even the police the times I called (until I stopped calling, because the punishments for standing up to my mother, father and stepfather were so severe, and being threatened to be sent away and never see my brothers again), nothing was ever done.
Like so many families, our bloodlines are farmed for trauma. You may not know what I am even trying to convey here. It is called MKUltra, satanic ritual abuse. The religious people are all hypocrites, and in on it.
I was demonized, and am demonized by you both still, because of the depth and complexity of the web of lies.
So it’s now forty years to the day, my adult children Emily and Max, residents of the Virginia Commonwealth and slaves of the cabal, that your father and I married. On May Day. How absurdly fitting for the numerology of Pagan ritual human sacrifice (in the guise of fertility).
On the third day of being in Tampa (I almost feel like I am describing raising from the dead, and maybe, in a way, I am), I simply could not see myself staying there, and could not help my brothers, and mother was a screaming banshee, so I got in my Volkswagen and drove non-stop for eighteen hours from Tampa to the Bishops Lane house, and went with your dad to Tiffany’s Sub Shop (where I then worked until visibly pregnant with you), and back to his room, called “the library room”, which was at the western end on the third floor, had a working fireplace, and six huge windows, some of which were missing glass. Your dad had a mattress on the floor covered with old wool (many were Harris Tweed) coats, and it was like a nest. I sat in the rocking chair, and he sat on a trunk, and we talked. At some point, Jamie stood up, pushed the rocking chair backwards onto the bed, and it broke under us, and we made you, Emily. March 5, 1979.
Jim and Mary (a Dann – read If you are one of the elect, you have purer genes – the Tribe Of Dann / DaNaan, restored blogpost copy before she married Jim), who you call Mamaux and Pop, didn’t want me there, but my father wouldn’t let me live at his house. Gail wanted us four children he had with Mother to disappear. I did not know then that Gail (and he) had been trying to get pregnant – not his problem, as my father sired at least five children, including my half-brother Michael Dayball) – and I quickly started working at Tiffany’s Sub Shop, but then got a day position at Lexington Market, downtown. Your dad worked under the table with Pop for all the other pedo names I mentioned, and so my working days downtown as opposed to evenings at Tiffany’s was better for us. One morning a few weeks later, while brushing my teeth before work, the toothpaste made me nauseated, and I threw up. It was weird, because I had brushed my teeth, pulled out of the semi-circular driveway, and at the stop sign there at the corner to turn left toward the elementary school and Frederick Road, suddenly bile came up into my throat and I had to open the car door and vomit. I immediately realized that I should have begun my period, and that this was morning sickness, when it happened the next day, which was a Saturday, Jamie and I went and bought a pregnancy test, and it was positive. Like the fool I was, trusting everyone I thought was a friend, I told your aunt Julie, asking her to promise not to tell her parents. Jamie and I wanted to tell them after they came home from church on Sunday. We wanted to get married. We loved each other, and wanted our baby. We wanted to move to West Virginia and have a homestead. Jamie read Soldier of Fortune magazine, and I did too, and I also read the early issues of Rodale’s Organic Gardening that Mamaux had. There was a company called United Realty, and we saw places we thought we could afford.
Your father descended from the fallen angel lineage of the Tribe of Dann.
So that sunday when your to-be-grandparents came back from church, they took Jamie and I to Dunkin Donuts. We all got coffee and doughnuts, and drove back to the Bishops Lane house in Pop’s old white Suburban. Jamie was sitting on the left of the back seat, behind Pop, and I was on his right behind Mamaux. After Pop turned the engine off, he turned back toward me, looked into my face and said, “We know you are pregnant, Julie told us.” Your dad looked at me with a look of fear or dread. “What are you going to do with it?” Jamie and I looked at each other, and I said, and he seconded verbally, “We’re going to get married.” Jamie said, “We love each other”. Pop looked at Mamaux (who was silent) and then at me, and Jamie sort-of, since he was directly behind his line of sight, and said “We want you to have an abortion.” Jamie stiffened visibly, and I began to cry silently. Jamie got out of the truck, and I followed, and we went upstairs to the library room. He was white in the face-pale with anger. We were scared and felt deserted. All I could think about and say was that “Jim (your grandfather) is a Methodist minister and a christian and this is wrong! Why don’t they want us to have a baby!” I sobbed up there. It was a very bad day.
Pop (Jim the hypocrite pedophile) told us I couldn’t stay in the house anymore. There was a concrete pad in the woods where Jamie had begun building a log cabin – why? Because he could, he loved things like that, you know that. He was amazing. So we began building this log cabin for me to live in since Pop wouldn’t let me stay in the house! I was pregnant with you, Emily!
Some nights I did stay with Jamie in his room up on the third floor. There was a second-floor screened-in sleeping porch (as Janet and Jamie called it) that I stayed in a few times, when Janet (Chicken) wasn’t in DC. (It was always very formal, her coming and going to Washington. She dressed in her best vintage clothes, wore pearl or gold earrings, makeup, and always came back with money and pot. Janet always had a lot of both of those. She was very generous with both with me, as well. Jamie transitioned, it seemed, from her solicitous partner walking and going places to mine. He walked Janet with the tenderness and watchfulness that I saw he had my friend Celeste from the bus window in 10th grade. It became me.
We went to see my great uncles at the farm for their help in getting married. I did not know yet that Uncle Homer had been diagnosed with cancer. Both of them refused to help us. We had hoped to have one or both of them come to our wedding, which we thought we could get at the Saint Mary’s County MD courthouse. (My mother was in Tampa, and my father… I don’t even remember a reaction from him, so I think it was so painful that I blocked it out.) They told us it took three days wait after a blood test. We went to the courthouse and filed the application and each had blood drawn (the government keeps a DNA database for scurrilous reasons beyond ensuring same-family genotypes do not marry). We had no money left, and if we drove back to Catonsville for the weekend (it was a Friday), could not afford to drive back down to get married.
Uncle Clarence had a large, undeveloped parcel of farmland up the road, closer to Mechanicsville, and so we drove there to ‘camp’ until we could get married. We called your uncle Jon and asked him to come down and be our witness. He said he would. We had ten dollars left, and went to the Amish market and got a small bag of potatoes and a small slab of salt pork, a bag of coffee (either the kind with chicory – Luzianne, or Bustelo, I forget) and your dad got cigarettes, and I think that he got Marlboro, since tobacco was cheaper in that tobacco-growing county. We filled bottles of water. We had a camping mess kit, a frying pan, and an old tin ware percolator.
We cooked on a fire, and slept in a pup tent. We read, your dad smoked, we talked, and I had terrible, never-ending morning sickness. It was awful. We loved each other, though. We were hurt, and Jamie was angry with a conflicted anger he turned inward as he smoked, with a bitterness developing. I cried.
Jon came on the third day, and we met him at the courthouse. I had on embroidered overalls, which I eventually threw out after your dad got Levigh pregnant. Even though they were really pretty and very vintage, and I had embroidered them all over, they made me sad at all we lost and how lost we were. Why did no one want us to be a couple? Why would they want us to abort our child? Why O why would every set of parents always hurt me? Why? Why would Jamie not work? Why did the Littles hate my desire to become a doctor? (I am skipping forward here a few years, sorry.)
We were married and I remember laughing, looking down at my soiled overalls. We were relieved and happy that we were able to get married without it being stopped finally. Jon seemed happy, too, and I believe that is because his older brother was.
We drove home to Catonsville in my navy blue Volkswagen Beetle. Jim could no longer forbid us to sleep together. All those times he let Janet have her boyfriends over, and Jon had his now-wife Mary over, yet I wasn’t allowed to be there with Jamie, even though I was pregnant and we wanted to marry? Jim couldn’t stop us from being together anymore. (But he wasted no time finding other ways to hurt our marriage.)
We continued working on the cabin, but someone burned it down. It had to have been soaked with a flammable fluid, since the logs were locust and black walnut: very hard. I think Pop did it. I had just finished using an adze and draw shave that your dad taught me how to use, and finished the inner log surfaces and was readying to chink them, while your dad had finished framing the roof and put plywood sheeting on it and was making hand-split shingles and making windows for under the eaves. It was a beautiful, solid chalet and had to have taken effort to set fire.
So that is how we married forty years ago today, and what preceded and followed that May 1st.
This is only a beginning to put our marriage in a frame of understanding in light of knowing the truth about the Littles, and their children, and my own parents. I think about Jamie every day, and wish I could go back in time, and not have made some of the choices I did. I wish I had understood that, although it was hard for him to work every day with his father and those people – BECAUSE OF THE ABUSE HE ENDURED THROUGH THEM, WHICH I DID NOT KNOW THEN, BUT KNOW NOW – that your dad’s not working did not mean that he didn’t love me. I wish I had been faithful. I was 21, 22, 23 and stupid, ignorant, and I was sabotaged by my own parents. Thus I thought Jamie didn’t love me enough to provide for us (myself and you, Emily, and then Max too). When my mother and Kathy Troutman each encouraged me to leave Jamie, by that time he was very much an alcoholic, and I was often visibly bruised from his beating me, like Janet was by Bill. It was all just a mess.
When your dad and I found out we were pregnant with you, we wanted you. We wanted to get a house of our own. If not land in West Virginia, we next looked into that house on Frederick Road in Ellicott City. Pop influenced your dad not to buy it with me. I had gotten back my tax refund and had the $3,000.00 to make a down payment (the total cost was only $11,000.00 in 1982). Pop actually blocked me physically at the door of the Bishops Lane house and demanded my tax refund. I am sure he had looked into my refund check envelope. I was just getting home from picking you up from the babysitter after getting off work at the restaurant I worked at. This was June of 1982. When your dad finally was eroded by Pop to the point that he was convinced not to buy the house in Ellicott City with me, I moved to the “post office house” on the 4th of July. By August, your dad moved in. He came to the door in the middle of the night and knocked on it. This was the third floor apartment there, where we lived before moving to the first floor (I had become the manager of the building). I asked who was there through the closed, locked door, and Jamie said “It’s me, Jamie.” I said “Why are you here?” I was afraid of him being drunk. He said “I had to come back, I can’t live without you.”
We conceived you, Max, intentionally and with love. Emily was unplanned, but wanted. You were planned and wanted.
In my glass-topped jewelry box that I got with you, Emily, at the Goodwill on Cary Street the Thanksgiving weekend after Nana died I have the paper – a bulletin from my church, Salem Lutheran – on which I had written a premonition I had woken up with, and a note from your dad, under a drawing of a cloud with God rays, as he/we called them. The premonition is “Not for a constant moment but the world will be obliterated”, which is happening now. (Then, Three Mile Island nearly melted down, and I had my VW packed up ready to drive west with your dad if it did, pregnant with you, Emily.) Your dad’s words, in his neat print: “Wake me up when you get home, Jamie”. I look at it every night, and say back “I will”.
I love you all. I am sorry for my wrongs.
Mom
