by David Crow
When I arrived at her house, Wally’s car was gone again. Mom came to the door and gave me a weak smile that sagged into a frown.
I told myself not to let it bother me. “Can we move beyond what has happened to you and to us?” I asked.
“If you’ll listen to my side of the story for once.”
“I promise to listen this time, and I won’t interrupt.”
Mom sighed and waved me inside. I followed her down a short hallway into the kitchen. John was home from school watching TV in the living room.
“My mother didn’t love me, and my daddy didn’t protect me from my cruel older brothers,” she said, sitting at her wooden kitchen table. “I loved your daddy and waited for him to get out of prison, but he was different when he got home. He got meaner and meaner and beat me, and after we had four kids together, he abandoned me. I’m weak and tired. You all left me behind. You, my oldest boy!”
I sat at the table opposite her, grateful for the space between us. Nothing had changed. I wanted to appeal to the good things in her life, without alienating her. I tried agreeing with everything she said, hoping it would soften her. But it didn’t work. She continued complaining about every member of her family back to her earliest memory.
I used a different tack. “What about Wally and your son? They love you. It’s obvious. I hope to be as lucky someday.”
“Wally’s not much to look at, though, is he?”
My eyes widened before I could catch myself. “Why does that matter? He really loves you. Isn’t that the most important thing? Surely you love Wally for reasons other than his looks.”
We sat in silence before she started talking again. “Your daddy took the best years of my life. He got me when I was young and beautiful. He gave back nothing.” She tossed up a hand. “And then he had to take you guys away from me too.”
“Mom, if he hadn’t left, you wouldn’t be with Wally and your son now. You lucked out and don’t even know it. Dad certainly would have killed you. He nearly did.”
She shook her head. “Why didn’t you stay with me?”
“I’ve always blamed myself for not staying, for not standing up to Dad, and for not being a better son. All that happened to you haunts me. But you act like you were my child, and I was a bad parent. That’s not fair either.”
She didn’t answer. Her lips quivered. “I loved your daddy. I needed him to take care of me, to take care of you guys, to make everything right, but you all used me up and dumped me like a stray dog. And that includes you.”
Her words stung, almost worse than the belt buckle. “Dad was terrible to you. He’s terrible to everyone. The best thing that could have happened is for you to be away from him. Every time I try to make it up to you, you blame me for what he did—and for what I did as a child. How can we ever start over?”
She stared at me, speechless, from across the table.
I’d come to apologize, but anger swelled inside me. “Did it ever occur to you that you let us down too?”
“Don’t you ever talk that way to me again,” she snapped. “You’re the one who testified I was unfit. You told the judge about the knife. How could you? The knife accidentally flew out of my hand. You’re my oldest boy, and you did me dirty. You’re just like your daddy. You could have changed his mind, but you didn’t even try. Too bad if you feel guilty, because you should. It’s time for you to leave—and don’t come back. Wally will be mad at you for upsetting me.”
There was nothing left to say. Our conversation was over, and we had no basis to begin another one.
Within a year, I had sabotaged two more relationships.
CHAPTER 51
IN EARLY 1977, OVER A YEAR after I started working for Congressman Coleman, I became a lobbyist for an agricultural trade association. Not only did I get my own office, but I also got help with graduate school. I couldn’t have afforded George Washington University otherwise. And as much as my eyes hurt to read for endless hours, I knew having an advanced degree would make up for my academic weakness, even if I had been admitted on probation.
Three and sometimes four nights a week, I went to class to learn more about the political process. My classmates were congressional staffers from all over the country, and my professors were staff directors and counsels for senior members of Congress. I made it a point to get to know them all.
Then on November 4, 1980, Ronald Reagan won the presidency, and two months later, I received a call that would change my life.
Since my niche was agriculture, I wanted to work on the legislative staff of the new secretary of agriculture, John Block. Having a powerful ally on the White House legislative staff gave me an inside track on a position, and I feverishly collected letters of support from members of the House Committee on Agriculture. But the competition was fierce.
By New Year’s, I still hadn’t heard anything and assumed applicants with better political connections and superior academic credentials had beaten me out. Early the next week, I was writing a strategy memo explaining how to influence Congress when the phone rang. “Mr. Crow,” a woman’s soft voice said, “I’m pleased to inform you that the Secretary of Agriculture and the White House Office of Personnel have selected you to join the administration at the US Department of Agriculture.”
I almost asked her to repeat what she said, not sure I’d heard her correctly. But she went on about the next steps, about where I needed to go for interviews and paperwork, so I knew I wasn’t mistaken.
After hanging up, I jumped from my chair and flew out the door. It was bitterly cold, but I didn’t care. I walked for miles around the mall leading to the Capitol and thought about Evelyn, Rex Kontz, Chauncey Ford, Herm Davis, and Tom Coleman. I’d worked hard, but without them, I wouldn’t have stood a chance.
Finally, after more than a decade, I could stop caddying on the weekends. I had learned so much from the country club’s members and made enough money to survive, but I could let it go.
What would that nasty high school counselor say to me now?
By then, my siblings had successful careers too. Lonnie finished her doctorate in education and worked in the Maryland school system. After finishing his tour with the army, Sam received a two-year degree as a medical technician and worked at hospitals and clinics in Montgomery County. Sally earned a bachelor’s degree in education and taught in Buxton, North Carolina, not far from Mona’s parents’ house.
DAD AND MONA HAD BEEN back together almost four years since Caroline’s abrupt departure. Mona continued nursing, and Dad had managed to get a mid-level job with the forestry service, which meant he and I both drew paychecks from the USDA.
After I started working as a lobbyist, Dad would puff up his chest and say, “You’ve had bottom-feeder jobs no one cares about, while I was a top Senate staffer rubbing shoulders with giants. Just how prestigious is it to work for farmers? Not very.”
No matter how hard I tried to ignore his comments, they gnawed at me. Nothing I did would ever make me as smart as Dad, but I was proud of the work I did on behalf of the agricultural community. Farmers fed the world, and that counted for plenty in my mind.
When I called to tell him about my new job for Secretary Block, he sputtered and yelled, “Jesus Christ, how the hell did that happen? You were a peon in Coleman’s office, and he was practically a nobody. After that, you bought lunch for people and gave them money that wasn’t yours. That must have been real hard. Surely, there are legions of assholes who have more going for them than you. Did you bribe somebody or do you have something on them?”
My mind filled with rage. But what had I expected? For him to congratulate me? How absurd.
“With your dipshit party in power, I’m reduced to being a bureaucrat. I’m not in charge of a goddamn thing, and now I’ll be reporting to a bunch of smart-ass, know-it-all kids like you. All you are is a glorified caddy and bullshit artist.”
He far overestimated my authority. Still, my new position was an important stepping-stone for my career, an
d I hated wanting his approval. “Dad, why can’t you be happy for me?”
“Because you failed as a son and you’re not much of a man. How could someone as incompetent as you be in charge of anyone, much less me?”
The next evening, Mona called. “You’ve greatly disappointed your father,” she said, spitting her venom into the phone. “You’re working for his enemies. How dare you? He has many more years before retirement, and now he’s forced to report to his ungrateful son. I’d watch my back if I were you.” She hung up.
I HAD TO FILL OUT what seemed like a million pieces of paperwork, and the White House ran a background check. I kept thinking about Dad’s lies and crimes. Would they all catch up to me now? The sins of the father. A few of my colleagues had to drop out of the process because of exaggerations they’d made. My stomach stayed in a knot until I found out I’d passed.
My official duties began in February. My goals were simply to fit in, jump into the work—and steer clear of Dad. Thousands of people were employed by the USDA and only a few had political jobs, so it seemed we could easily avoid each other.
One afternoon, when I returned from a congressional hearing, Ann, our secretary, took me aside so no one would overhear us. Though my new position was a step-up in status and salary, I no longer had my own office. My desk now sat in a giant, open bull pen, along with a dozen others.
A short, older woman, Ann had kind eyes and a warm smile. “Your father came by today to see you,” she said, her voice low. “When I told him you wouldn’t be back for hours, he bowed several times before the pictures of President Reagan and Secretary Block and then cursed really loud and left. He slammed the door so hard the wall shook. Is everything okay between you?”
Seething inside, I did my best to shrug it off. “Yes, we’re good. He was probably trying to be funny. I’m sorry. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Later that week, I sat at my desk returning phone calls about the upcoming farm bill when his voice blasted across the room, loud enough to make it hard for me to hear the person on the other end of the line. My left hand started shaking immediately.
“He’s in, Mr. Crow, but on the phone,” Ann said in a soothing tone. “Please have a seat in the waiting area. I’m sure he’ll love seeing you.”
“I know the great man has enormous public responsibilities. I’ll just sit here and wait for an audience. Or am I disturbing him as he performs his duties for the almighty Reagan?”
I hung up as quickly as I could and ran to Ann’s desk. My colleagues and I had access to two vacant offices near the reception area if we needed to have a private conversation. I motioned for Dad to follow me into one of them and pulled the door tight behind us. He sat in a plush leather chair facing an empty desk, squeezing his fists and tapping his feet. I stayed standing.
“What do you want, Dad?” I asked.
He got up and bowed. “Mr. Crow, sir, may I have a brief word? I am but a humble bureaucrat honored to have an audience with a man of your supreme intelligence and influence.”
“Keep it down. People are trying to work out there. Please go.”
His eyes narrowed with hatred. “Oh, are you ashamed of your Okie father? The uneducated, uncouth, monkey who raised you and made it possible for you to become a fucking elitist Republican? Is that too much for you? You ungrateful son of a bitch.”
“I’m not ashamed. I’m proud of you,” I said, trying to sound sincere. I needed to placate him enough to get him to leave, but if I went too far, he’d see through it and make things worse. “No one could have come as far as you have. You were born with nothing and did great things. And my new job wouldn’t have been possible without you. I’m very grateful.”
“You’re saying I’m responsible for you?” He was yelling so loud, I wanted to cover my ears. “I’m disgusted and sickened at the sight of you. You’re a sellout. You stand for nothing but ass-kissing. I’m exposing you for what you are. You are a complete fraud. Your office needs to know that.”
He opened the door and stomped into the reception area. I followed close behind as several sets of eyes watched. Everyone would have heard what he said.
Dad turned to face the bull pen. “Look at this group of ass-kissing know-it-alls,” he said, and then poked my chest with his finger. “You’re the greatest disappointment of my life. A complete waste of time.” He disappeared into the hallway.
I stood quietly for a few moments, listening to his fading footsteps, burning with shame. On the way back to my desk, I looked at everyone and said, “I apologize for my father’s behavior.”
When all of them burst out laughing, I wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. I learned quickly that these people were not my friends—they would use Dad’s performance to their advantage. Someone would surely tell Secretary Block in a hurry, and he had far more important things to worry about than me.
How could I explain away Dad’s sickeningly inappropriate behavior? How could I keep my position if he continued?
AT THE END OF FEBRUARY, Dad took an official forestry trip to Alaska. I was relieved he wasn’t around to bother me, but I knew it wouldn’t last. Almost a week after he returned, Mona called. “Your father took a severe fall on a slippery dirt road during his trip. He’s in the hospital now and heavily sedated. He may never walk or work again. They’re sending him home in a few days, and he’ll be confined to bed. You’ve been acting like you’re too important to talk to him at work, but I think you should call when he gets better and apologize for embarrassing him.”
“Embarrassing him?” I yelled into the phone. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
Mona’s voice didn’t sound right. Could he really be that injured?
After Dad got home from the hospital, I called every day, but Mona always answered. “He’s reduced to sitting in his easy chair, hunched over, unable to walk, and he doesn’t want to talk to you.”
On a Saturday in mid-March, my curiosity got the best of me. If Dad was as hurt as Mona said, I wanted to know. I drove to their house and opened the door. They never locked it. Dad was watching television and drinking a beer. He was dressed normally and looked fine. “Why the hell are you here?” he barked. “You don’t give a shit about me. Get the fuck out of my house.”
“I do care, Dad. I’m happy your injuries aren’t as severe as we thought.”
“I’m crippled. My back is broken. I had polio as a child, and my bones are curved. I can walk and do most things I need to do. I’m stronger than wild onions—Cherokees are. But I’m all used up. I began work at four years old in the cotton patch while my mother and father beat me. The government owes me disability.”
Polio? Another lie. Dad continued rambling, making no sense. He’d fallen on purpose, I was sure. It made me sick to my stomach. Deciding that he was fine after all, I excused myself and drove home.
IN THE EARLY AFTERNOON ON MARCH 30, President Reagan was shot. All of us stayed glued to the television, worried he wouldn’t pull through. The entire city went quiet. As I was wrapping up to go home after an extremely tense couple of hours, Ann said, “Your dad is on the phone. He’s anxious to talk to you.”
“Screw Reagan,” he shouted into the phone. “I hope the B movie star son of a bitch dies, and they fire your ass. Reagan got exactly what he deserved. Someone ought to kill every fucking one of you Republicans.”
“You despicable bastard. Leave me alone.” I hung up.
A week later, Mona called. “Your father has officially retired. The government tried to make him go back to work because he can walk, but they don’t understand the stress of his life. At least he won’t be exposed to you anymore.”
But I knew Dad wasn’t finished with me.
CHAPTER 52
THE FOLLOWING WEDNESDAY, DUSK HAD fallen when I returned to the office after several hours of listening to congressional complaints. One congressman yelled at me again for not getting his son appointed to the Federal Farm Credit Board, demanding that Block rectify this slig
ht by the next morning. I loved my new job, even though it often seemed that no one was pleased with our work.
Ann’s wide eyes and furrowed brow told me something was up. My heart sank. I was too tired to deal with Dad.
“Is everything okay, Ann?” I asked.
“Your sister Sally has been waiting on hold for over twenty minutes. She cried so loud, I could barely make out what she said—something about you being the only one who could save her.”
What had Dad done? “It’ll be all right. You can go now. And thank you for everything.” I forced my face to relax for Ann’s sake, the sweat already beading on my forehead.
All my colleagues had gone home, and the large room was eerily dark and quiet. Sitting at my desk, I stared at the blinking yellow light on my phone. Sweat poured down the back of my neck, soaking my undershirt in seconds. My hand trembled as I punched the button and picked up the receiver on the third try. “Hey, Sally, what’s wrong?”
“David, thank God!” she shrieked. “Help me!”
“Okay, okay. Try to calm down.”
She sucked in a ragged breath. “Dad just called . . . He told me I have to take him and Mona to the deserted, swampy part of her property on Saturday. He’s going to tell her it’s time to clear the brush and he wants me to help, like I normally do. When Mona’s back is turned, he’s going to hit her over the head with a shovel and chop her up with an ax—‘deepsix her into pieces,’ he said. David, I can’t believe this is happening!” Her voice pitched higher. “He wants me to help bury her, and then he’ll hide in the back seat of my car and I’m supposed to drive him to my trailer . . . say we were together all day . . . say we never saw Mona.” She became more hysterical as sobs came in spurts. “If I don’t help him . . . he might kill me too!”
A wave of hot anger swept through me. I could handle whatever came my way, but forcing my little sister into helping murder our stepmother was beyond anything I thought he was capable of.