After about three weeks, the whole family went down to London. I stayed in their club, the Farmers Club. It was also an incredible place. Hanging on the walls in place of the ordinary pictures, were oil paintings of prize farm animals dating back three and four hundred years! There were pigs and bulls and roosters, all done in oil color with huge ornate guilded frames. It was an extraordinary sight. The rooms were simple and the baths were down the hall. You had to “book” (that meant to reserve) time for your bath. At the appointed hour an attendant would meet you in the huge bathroom bringing towels and soap. She stayed with you while you took your bath and cleaned the room up when you were finished.
We’d been in London about three days when I had a very peculiar experience one night. I was sound asleep in the small single bed next to a wall. For no apparent reason I woke up with a start. As I opened my eyes, I saw a strange object lying on the bed between my body and the wall. As I focused my eyes on it, I realized it was the lamp shade! I turned over to reach for the lamp on the little nightstand next to the bed but in the darkness, I couldn’t find it. My eyes were now becoming accustomed to the darkness and I got out of bed. To my surprise, there on the floor was the lamp. It was on the opposite side of the night stand lying on its side, but it was not damaged in any way. Several feet away nearly in the middle of the small room I found the ashtray perfectly turned upside down with its contents neatly contained underneath as though someone had deliberately, but carefully put it there.
I went over to the door and turned on the overhead light switch. I didn’t know what to think about the state of my room. There was the lamp shade beside the wall on top of my bed, the lamp on the oppose side of the night stand on the floor and the ashtray neatly turned upside down on the carpet. It didn’t make any sense. I tried the door to my room to see if it was still locked from the inside as I’d left it, and it was still securely closed and double locked from the inside. I checked the window, but it was still closed as well. I couldn’t figure out what could have caused this upheaval. If I’d bumped the nightstand in my sleep causing the lamp and ashtray to fall to the floor, how did the lamp shade end up between me and the wall? If I’d somehow pulled on the lamp, why didn’t it hit me in the head? None of this made any sense at all. I was totally mystified, but cleaned up the mess and determined to go back to sleep.
The entire next day I had an uncomfortable, uneasy feeling for no good reason. I was having a wonderful time with all my friends. We were sightseeing and going to charming, quaint pubs … there was absolutely no good reason for my strange mood. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer and I decided that I had to tell them what had happened the night before, even if they thought I was weird. Being thought weird was better than having them think I was just sullen.
After my story was finished we sat in total silence. One of the woman, Marty, spoke first. She started telling me that in England there were many people who had very strong beliefs about the supernatural. She said that there were many beautiful old houses that could not be sold because they were believed haunted and no English person would touch them. She also said that because England was such an old country, and had such a long history going way back past the Druids who were believed to be a truly mystical people, that belief in spirits, ghosts, ESP and other paranormal phenomena was quite common. As I looked from her face to the others, I realized that they were quite seriously nodding their heads in total agreement with her. I got goose bumps all over my arms. She continued by saying that it sounded to her as though someone was trying to contact me, that someone was trying to get a message to me. I couldn’t imagine who in the world that might have been. I’d never had any experience with this sort of thing and I didn’t even know where to look for an acceptable answer. The conversation turned to the other’s experiences with haunted houses or ESP and I listened quietly. I just didn’t realize all this existed. It was quite unsettling for me, even though my group of friends had been most supportive and understanding, I felt weird about it.
About six o’clock the next morning Mr. Bennett called to say the news had been on the radio the night before that my father had died of a heart attack in New York City.
I sat on the edge of my little bed with my hand covering my mouth. My very first thought was, “My God … she killed him!” Then I got the goosebumps all over again. Was it my daddy who was trying to get a message through to me? Was that the explanation for the weird things that happened two nights ago? I had no information on the time of death until the next day when the papers carried a small story. When I read the story, I got those damn goosebumps again. The time of his death and the time of the chaos in my room were only one hour different! I had to take a long walk by myself to calm down and think all this through. Then, as now, I believe the circumstances of Al Steele’s death were suspicious and a cover-up took place.
Mother had no way of knowing where I was, so I spent about six hours trying to get a transatlantic call through to her in New York. I decided that I could turn in my boat ticket for an airplane ticket and be back the next day. I’d already made the reservations by the time my call finally got through.
She was absolutely horrible to me on the phone. Her voice had ice dripping from every syllable. Nevertheless, I told her how sorry I was, and said I was planning to return right away. She said she didn’t want me anywhere near the funeral! She said daddy’s funeral was for friends and family only and that since I was neither, I could stay put right where I was. I said I could understand that she was terribly upset, but that I thought I should be there and would do anything I could to help. She repeated that she didn’t want me, that I didn’t belong there and that she’d see to it I wasn’t admitted if I tried to attend.
I was crying. My feelings hadn’t just been hurt, they’d been shattered. After all, he was supposed to be my father … how could she be so cruel?
I hung up the phone. Neither of us had said goodbye. I went to my room and cried for about an hour. Then I decided there was nothing more I could do about any of it except continue to try and live my own life. Daddy would have understood that and probably would have wanted it as well. So that’s what I would do.
I stayed in England another month. We went to the races away out in the country and I won a long-shot that paid 20 to 1. I’d bet the entire amount I’d won so far during the day on that last race and won! It nearly paid for my entire trip. I bought some nice presents for my generous and kind friends, knowing I’d vastly overstayed my welcome. I did a little more traveling, went back to London and took the boat train down to Southampton to catch the Maretania, sailing for New York.
Even though it was now May, the North Atlantic was still rough. We had a lot of Irish immigrants on board this trip and a lot of them were sick. The ones that weren’t were a wonderful group with whom I drank beer and played cards most of the way home. We ate like Trojans because again the dining room became nearly empty after the first day at sea. I cried a lot during those five days. I didn’t want to leave England and my friends. I didn’t have anything to come home to. I didn’t have any money left and I had to get a job immediately. My daddy was dead and I didn’t even know where he was buried. I couldn’t even go visit his grave. Mother was being a total pig and I didn’t care if I never spoke to her again in my whole life.
The day we landed in New York city, I spent my last pound notes on tips for the crew members who had served us. To my great surprise, Lotte and some of her friends were at the ship to meet me! I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t even remember writing her about my return. What good fortune it was … I didn’t even have taxi fare home.
CHAPTER 24
It was a good thing for me that I’d had such a wonderful trip because what I found waiting for me upon my return was a disaster. My brother had gotten in some trouble before I’d left for England. He and some other boys had taken a teacher’s car from school and gone on a joy ride. Chris was only a passenger and not the driver, but all the boys were picked up because they’d b
een dumb enough to cross a state line from Connecticut to New York. I’d gone up to visit my brother in the Westchester County jail where he was being held and talked to all the authorities involved. There was nothing I could do to help him. I was only nineteen years old, I had no money for lawyers and I had no personal influence. The boy who had driven the car was released in his parent’s custody within 48 hours, the other boys released on probation shortly afterwards.
When I returned from England I was horrified to find out that my brother was still in jail. He was the only one of the boys originally involved still being held. I went up to White Plains immediately and tried to get some information from the head probation officer. What I found out horrified me even more. The reason my brother was still in jail was that there was no place suitable to send him. The school didn’t want to take him back, mother didn’t want him, the foster homes had been turned down for one reason or another and there was as yet no place to take custody of him. It was several months now that he’d been sitting there, without a lawyer, without a hearing, without anything. As I delved further into the mess, I was told that mother and the company lawyers were trying to get the judge to send my brother to Elmira! The very name sent chills through me. Elmira was where they sent juveniles who had committed a criminal offense. My brother had been in his share of trouble, but he was certainly no criminal. If he went to Elmira, that would all change. He’d have nothing to look forward to then. He probably would be a criminal, certainly he’d have ample opportunity to learn from the Elmira experts!
In that awful moment, I decided that I had to do something. I had to find a lawyer to help me and I had to somehow stop this terrible, unfair, totally unjust punishment that was about to befall my brother.
I returned to New York and began my search for help. I had no money. I was typing scripts at home for $75 a finished copy and working half the night to complete the jobs faster. I went to every existing agency seeking help. There was none available to us. I went to every law firm I heard of that did either legal aid work or handled child abuse cases. I told my story from beginning to end in one office after another until I was so discouraged I’d come home and weep with helpless frustration. After almost a month of this, I got a lead on a partnership with a young lawyer who’d handled some unpopular cases and might be interested in helping me. I called immediately and went to see them the next afternoon. I always had to tell them out front that I had no money, but begged them to hear me out. When I’d finished my story for what seemed like the hundredth time, the younger lawyer said that he’d go with me to White Plains and at least talk to the people about trying to get more information. I was so grateful I nearly forgot myself and hugged him. I nicknamed the young lawyer “Mr. S.” and that’s what I’ll call him from here on through.
A few days later he drove me up to White Plains and we talked to each and every person involved with the case, including my brother. Most of the people were willing to be helpful since this situation was turning into an injustice even in their opinion. My brother had now been in jail without so much as a formal hearing before a judge for over three months.
As the summer droned on, Mr. S. and I made trips to White Plains every two weeks. Since the boy who had actually driven the car had been released on probation in the custody of his parents and no charges were being brought by the teacher after the car was safely returned, that meant there were no charges being brought against my brother. He should have been released months ago, but the problem was: where?
In my opinion, the judge who was supposed to be handling the case was dragging his feet unjustifiably. He was in line for a State Supreme Court nomination and understandably didn’t want his last days in Juvenile Court marred by a scandal. I understood that the company lawyers, on specific orders from mother, were pressuring the Judge to send my brother to Elmira and be finished with the whole thing. I asked for and received an appointment with that judge. Where I found the nerve I’ll never know, but I told him in no uncertain terms that if he sent my brother to Elmira, I’d go to every newspaper and television station in New York and tell them the entire story. I would not rest until I totally discredited him and he’d never get his appointment. I told him that in his heart he knew full well that my brother didn’t deserve this severe treatment. Maybe he did deserve to be punished for what he’d participated in with those other boys, but he’d already served a three-month sentence for God’s sakes and the driver was out in 48 hours. Was that fair treatment under any law?
The next thing we knew, that judge had removed himself from the case and we had to start all over again with a new judge. The hearing that had been scheduled was now postponed. Another month went by before anything further happened.
Mr. S. was wonderful. He did everything he possibly could for the two of us and never took one single penny in return for his efforts.
It was an enormously frustrating time, during which I tried to keep busy. I met some people doing charity work for an organization called Boys Town of Italy and volunteered my services. I still had the family name and if it could be put to some good use, so much the better. Mostly I helped with fund raising events and modeled dresses and jewelry at charity balls in New York and Washington, D.C.
The only correspondence I received from mother that summer was a handwritten note on “Mrs. Alfred N, Steele” stationary in response to a letter I’d sent her. It was dated July 29, 1959.
Tina dear -
I’m delighted you met such nice people thru “Boys Town of Italy”. Its a wonderful organization with lovely people –
Yes the Journal American article was very good - thank you
All this week I will be working with the Nigerian Delegation then I’m off – for two weeks – on business – back for one day then off for more business –
Knowing you I know you will do a good job – with the public relations people – just remember to always make it dignified – that’s the secret of all good relations – public or personal –
Love
There was no signature on this letter. Mother had been made an honorary board member of Pepsi in memory of her husband. She had also been put on the official Pepsi payroll. She continued to do the same work she’d done with Daddy only now she made the appearances alone. The Journal American article was all about how she was caring on her husband’s work now that he was gone and she was a widow. It was quite touching and had some lovely photographs. I heard that his will had been offered for probate and that his former wife was contesting on behalf of their son. Beyond that I was totally uninvolved and uninformed. I simply assumed that I’d been left nothing and that everything had gone to mother. No one contacted me to the contrary.
The first week of August I received a letter from the probation officer in White Plains. The letter was an urgent request for assistance. The judge and mother’s lawyers had explored the possibility of my brother signing on with the Merchant Marines, since the school didn’t want him to return. As a result, an opening was found on a ship sailing immediately for the Orient. In the meantime, the school was re-approached and finally agreed to take him back. My brother had his heart set on taking the job offer and when he was told that the judge had ordered him back into the school, he was extremely distressed. If my brother didn’t obey the court order, the probation officer’s letter stated that he would be committed to a maximum security institution. Elmira. The closing paragraph said: “You are perhaps the one person in the world who had the full confidence of the boy and it is for that reason only that I write you this letter, which you are free to show him if you consider it advisable.”
I immediately called Mr. S. and read him the letter. We both called the probation officer and asked him to tell Chris we’d be up the next morning.
It was with a feeling of impending doom that we drove the now familiar road to White Plains. We met with everyone we could get in to see. While Mr. S. was with the probation officer, I tried to talk to my brother. It was a dreadful situation because he wa
s so upset and disappointed. He had been sitting in jail five months now and things seemed to be getting worse for him, not better. He didn’t want to go back to the school. He couldn’t understand why the judge had ruled against his joining the Merchant Marines and neither could I. But all that didn’t matter any more. What mattered was trying to find yet another solution and it didn’t look very hopeful. The judge was running out of patience and we were running out of time. I begged my brother to try and hold on a little longer, assuring him that I was doing everything humanly possible. He knew that but it didn’t seem to be getting any of us very far at the moment. I went and talked to the new judge at some length. He told me that mother and her lawyers had told him that mother was afraid my brother would harm her. I told the judge to just look at his history. He’d always tried to run away from her, not toward her. He did agree that was true. I begged him to simply make my brother a ward of the court. It was the only decent solution now. I couldn’t take custody of him because I was under 21 years old and didn’t even have a permanent job. But as a ward of the court at least he wouldn’t be under mother’s domination any more. I told him I thought she might welcome having the responsibility she complained so bitterly about taken away from her, that she might just find it a relief. I begged him to at least consider it a viable possibility.
The formal and final hearing of this case was scheduled. I again drove up to the court house with Mr. S. We were allowed a final interview with the Judge. When I entered the chambers, I could smell mother’s perfume still in the room. She and the Pepsi lawyers had just left their interview. I was scared to death. It was finally dawning on me what an enormous amount of power I’d been single-handedly fighting. Mother never spoke to me and I never spoke to her. Mother sat with her lawyers and the other men she brought with her in the first two rows; I had to get special permission to sit in the last row alone. Mr. S. was not allowed inside the court room with me. It was hot and still in that big room and I felt my heart beating the whole time. I had no idea what would happen and it was now too late to change the decision. I prayed to God for help as I had so many times before. I had tried every way I knew to buck the system, to turn the tide of money and power and influence. All I had was the truth and a fighting spirit.
Mommie Dearest Page 43