Beaten

By Scott C. Anderson

This is a story about evils. About Murder. And about forgiveness and pain. This is also the story of a woman, so hurt by life that she needed to lash out against anyone showing her kindness or support. This is a story about a young boy growing up in a family where being beaten was a normal occurrence. This is a story of survival and growing up around others who have no idea what it’s like to be degraded in order to satisfy the needs of a woman with a tarnished life. This is a story about growth.
The story contains no profanity or explicit sexual content. None is needed, as simply being beaten is enough.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329288959

Book preview

Beaten

Beaten

By Scott C. Anderson

This is a true story.  That being said, the Characters, places, names, theories, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, alive or dead, along with their events or locations is purely coincidental.  Many names have been changed for the author’s protection.

Disclaimer:  These stories are written in a conversational style.

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 the written permission of the publisher.

Third Edition

© 2015, 2016 by Scott C. Anderson. All rights reserved.

ISBN 978-1-329-28895-9

Beaten

A true story that sounds like fiction.

And honestly, I wish it were.

This is a true story that describes the two definitions of the word Beaten.

The first definition, which some consider to be the most common, are the physical injuries inflicted by a stranger or loved one.

The second definition is longer lasting and ultimately scars the spirit.  Many of the commonly used words are:  Defeated, overpowered, crushed, disillusioned, or bullied.

This is the true story about being physically beaten, having your spirit broken, and living under the roof of someone suffering from depression. 

I believe that my mother suffered from depression, that my father lived with it through her bullying actions, and that the personal experiences detailed in this book are the results of trying to be guided by a parent who suffered until the very end.

Setting the scene

The San Fernando Valley in the 1960’s was a great place and time to grow up.  In 1960, my parents bought a ranch style four bedroom, two bath home in Canoga Park, California.  I was five years old at the time. 

This was a great house to live in when I was five.  The front and back yards had big overhanging shade trees.  The attached two-car garage was filled with a boat and tools for endless play.

At that time my father appeared to be happy.  And, in the early days I believed he was happy with me.  I didn’t know until junior high school that I had been injured at birth.  Born at approximately 12-1/2 pounds, the doctor used my left arm to assist with the delivery.  In the process, he tore muscles and tendons, and for the first six months I was paralyzed on my left side.  My left leg was immobile, my left arm wouldn’t move, and at some point the doctor told mom that I wouldn’t live past 35 years.  The life-expectancy diagnosis may have been due to possible heart or lung development suffered during the injury at birth. 

The biggest negative effect was that my father was told that I would never play baseball or football, and probably wouldn’t be able to walk or use my left arm.  My mother told me that dad gave up on me from birth, but years later, I’m not sure if that was completely true.

Our family consisted of my father, who worked as a bakery foreman for Martino’s Bakery in Burbank, and also performed side jobs in home remodeling.  My mother worked as a telephone operator at Universal Studios.  And, there were their two daughters, my sisters, Anise who was one year younger than me and Deanne, who was two years older.

I was told I had an older brother.  Mom rarely talked about him and dad never did.  He would have been about three years older than me and died of a brain condition shortly after birth.

The best way to understand who I am is to give a few details about where I came from.  My parents were never good at communication and discovered, after they were married and on their honeymoon, that they were both playing each other. 

Mom thought dad had money and was a savvy businessman.  My father believed my mother came from money and listened to her descriptions of a life elevated from anything he knew.  Both were looking for something more than what they had, and believed the fanciful stories that each told.

Then came their honeymoon.  They spent their honeymoon at my grandmother’s house in Ogallala, Nebraska.  Mom would always say that she would have left my father on their honeymoon, if only she had access to the travelers’ checks.  Dad’s mother, my grandmother, talked mom into staying with dad, and give the new marriage some time.

Grandma Anderson was the widow of a railroad worker.  Grandpa Anderson had passed away long before I was able to meet him.  Her two-story house in Ogallala, in the mid to late 1960’s, was warm and comfortable.  During our visits, I would listen to her stories of grandpa’s work and their life in the small rural town.  She was a wonderful woman.

One of the most memorable parts of grandma’s life was her 1939 Chevrolet coupe.  The one-owner black 2-door coupe sat in front of her house and was in perfect running condition.  The faded black paint didn’t give away the fact that in 1970 the car had only 19,000 miles on the odometer. 

Every Saturday night she would hire a local cab to drive her the twenty miles so she could go square dancing.  The driver would always take his wife, and they would have dinner while grandma danced.  She was a happy woman and I only wish I had spent more time with her before she passed.

My grandmother on my mother’s side was the polar opposite.  A socialite, I knew my grandmother as Grandma Walker.  She had remarried to Jim Walker, her chauffeur.  Grandpa Coggeshall, my mother’s father, was Arthur Sterry Coggeshall, one of the founders of the Museum of Natural History in Santa Barbara.  He was well known in the field of anthropology, and worked on the original King Kong movie with Fey Wray.  His job in the production of the movie was to describe how the dinosaurs would move and act during the fight scenes.  A note decades after the production was the fact that they had a plant eater acting as a meat eater; a fact unknown at the time of the film’s production.  My grandfather knew how the dinosaurs moved, but which ones were plant or meat eaters was unknown at the time.

My grandmother, Ethel Coggeshall, literally became a cliché when she ran away with the chauffeur.  Grandma married Jim Walker and moved to Burbank, California.  He went on to work at MGM driving movie stars for the studio.  He was a very kind man, who seemed to love grandma.  They were happy until his death in the late 1970’s. 

Whenever I think of retirement, I base my expectations on this couple, who lived and loved in their later years.  Their home was always warm and hospitable, even though my grandmother was a little cold with our part of the family.  According to mom, my grandmother wanted to keep my aunt Shirley, and give my mother away to my great aunt Hazel.

This is where my mother’s problems seemed to start.  When my mother was about four years old, grandma wanted to keep my Aunt Shirley, because she was blonde and was considered a cute child.  Mom, on the other hand, was heavyset with jet black hair.  She wasn’t considered attractive and grandma wanted to give her to my great aunt Hazel, my grandmother’s sister.

Great Aunt Hazel Pogmore was one of the finest people that ever walked this earth.  Great Uncle Rigby Pogmore at one time worked as an engineer for Pontiac.  He tested new vehicles on the test track and was known as a good engineer and problem solver.  They had a son, who died in a car accident sometime in the late 1930’s.  The accident was minor, but