Be Damned the Consequences

By Patricia Doran

Growing up in Atlanta during the 30s and 40s I was groomed to be a proper Southern Belle but my childhood was full of many secrets and lies. I had a so-called "mother," many "mothers," two "fathers," various brothers and sisters, and I attended thirteen schools. A life filled with absent philandering parents, jealous siblings, hateful stepmother

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Nov 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781649905796

Patricia Doran

PATRICIA DORAN was a fashion editor in the sports industry from the 1950s through the early 2000s for publications such as Women's Wear Daily, Ski Magazine, SportStyle and many more. Born in the early 1930s and raised in the south, she was groomed to marry a proper southern gentleman but instead she defied all odds and moved to New York City as a young adult to start her career and never looked back. Unapologetically living her life to the fullest, she had it all, a career and a family, traveling the world with her friends, all while enjoying a vibrant social life with truly crazy experiences. Today, in her late eighties, she continues of enjoy parties, ladies' luncheons, travel, and of course, dancing. She writes stories and memories for her website www.patriciadoran.com and currently resides in New York with her family.

Book preview

PART ONE

THE SHERIDAN YEARS

THE TRUTH IS DISCOVERED

T

he truth about my birth was kept a secret and was not revealed to anyone, including me, until I was in my eighties. A relative of mine was digging into Ancestry.com to complete her family history and came across an inquiry I had previously posted on one of the message boards in an attempt to find a brother I knew existed. She decided to contact me.

I have now discovered the truth. I am illegitimate. Years of deceit and subterfuge are finally unearthed. Now I have discovered a wonderful half-brother and a passel of relatives I never knew about.

I considered myself to be born Southern! Well, that is up to my readers to decide. Everything about me was kept secret and/or flat out false.

Even though I lived in New York City most of my adult life, I tried to maintain my Southern accent. No one ever seemed to understand what I was saying. I can remember friends and other people in the city asking me to please S-P-E-L-L whatever I was trying to say. Yankee women were very rude! Men, however, thought it was cute. I remember commentating on my first fashion show, and the women turning to each other and saying, I have no idea what she is saying! Very embarrassing.

I regret that my accent disappeared after living so many years in the North. It remains inside me, but I am no longer comfortable speaking with a drawl. It is just too slow for me. Seems I am always in a hurry. Even to this day, I can bring some of this former Southern drawl back to life, especially when recalling childhood memories.

MY BIOLOGICAL MOTHER

M

y biological mother was born and bred Southern. She was a pretty young woman with unblemished white skin and bright-red hair. I only recently found out that her real name was Nellie Mae. She was born and raised in Atlanta. The only advice she ever gave to me was Never let the sun touch your skin! I did let the sun touch my skin! Now at age 89 I can confess that she was right!

Likewise, on her few visits to see me before my eighth birthday, I don’t remember her kissing or hugging me. She did not play hopscotch, ride bikes, or climb trees. She just disrupted my fun life to give me lessons in manners. She was of little interest to me. I’m not even sure why she came to visit me.

MY MOTHER NELLIE MAE, ATLANTA

Nellie Mae reigned for twenty-four years as head of Davison’s credit departments, a group of Macy’s owned department stores that were all over the South. My biological father, James Joseph Doran, a married and much-respected businessman in Atlanta, was the CEO of all of those stores. Both Nellie Mae and my father traveled together throughout the South to visit all the stores and to open new stores. Looks like they did more than travel together.

Nellie Mae was a direct relative of John Tyler from Virginia, the tenth president of the United States, 1841–1845. He kept fourteen slaves on his plantation in Virginia. He had twenty-six children and one of his grandchildren is still alive at this printing. That grandson still gives tours of President Tyler’s plantation, which is open to the public.

Thirteen years after I was born, Nellie Mae married a man named James Sheridan. He was very handsome and personable, but a heavy drinker. The marriage didn’t last very long, but they had a baby named Peter.

It was only recently that I discovered my mother had another child. As soon as I found out, I went to Georgia to meet Peter and my new relatives who are really lovely and accepting people. They had not a clue that I even existed. Peter and I are not sure if we are full or half-siblings. It remains so upsetting to me that we never met until recently, especially since we discovered that we grew up just a few neighborhoods apart in Atlanta.

I also learned from Peter that Nellie Mae later married another man who was a musician. The new husband adopted Peter and they all lived happily ever after.

Nellie Mae died in Atlanta of cancer in her seventies. I had been told by my cruel stepmother number two that she had died at a much earlier age. All the lies!

MOM AND POPS SHERIDAN

I

was born in a hospital in New York City on August 2, 1931. Katherine Sheridan, who I believed was my real mom, was fifty-five when I was born. Age means nothing to a small child. My earliest childhood memory was of her rocking and singing to me. I felt so loved. I can still picture that rocking chair in our living room.

MY FIRST BABY PHOTO, 1931

The Sheridans had several children. Marion, their youngest child, was eleven when I arrived. The other children were married or had moved out. Mom’s husband, Peter, was always Pops to me.

HANGING OUT WITH MY BETSY WETSY DOLL, NEW JERSEY

Rumor has it that one of the Sheridan’s daughters, Kay, was friends with my biological mother. Since I was a bastard child conceived in Atlanta and born in New York, I’m guessing that bringing me back to Atlanta would have been shameful. I’m sure that was why I ended up living in New Jersey with the Sheridans, my unofficial foster parents. My impression has always been that my biological mother never showed me any affection and was not remorseful for giving me up as a child.

My life with the Sheridans was a wonderful experience. Walking to school with all the neighborhood kids and not knowing that I was any different from the other children was an adventure I took for granted. English and spelling were my favorite subjects and proved to be easy for me.

HANGING OUT WITH MY FIRST BOYFRIEND, NEW JERSEY

One of my happiest childhood memories was winning the Shirley Temple Contest and receiving a Shirley Temple doll and her wardrobe. Mom loved fixing my hair in curls to look like Shirley Temple.

HAPPY DAYS WITH BOOTSY MY CAT IN THE SHERIDAN’S BACKYARD, NEW JERSEY

I loved coloring books and paper dolls and used to design the clothes for my dolls. That love continued into my adulthood and led to my career in fashion, retailing, and journalism.

I immersed myself in fairy tales with happy endings.

Life with the Sheridans was wonderful. We were one big happy family.

TRADING MY MOM FOR A BICYCLE AND A HORSE

W

hen I was eight years old, I exchanged my Mom and Pops for a silver bicycle and a horse. In retrospect, it was not such a good deal.

At the age of eight, I, Pattie Sheridan, was put in front of a judge to verify that Yes, I wanted my father to have custody of me, instead of my Mom and Pops.

A BIRTHDAY PARTY, NEW JERSEY 1936 (FRONT ROW, FAR RIGHT IS ME)

Up until age eight, I had an ideal childhood with a wonderful couple, Mom and Pops Sheridan, in New Jersey. They raised me with plenty of love. As a child, I never had any inkling that my circumstances were different from those of the other kids on the block. My life was perfect except for my birthdays. Each year a strange man showed up to ruin my day. I was made to dress up and told to call the man Father. Instead, I called him sir. He took me to fancy restaurants and made me eat strange foods—foods you would never find on a kid’s menu.

My biological parents were remote figures to me. They never visited together, and I have only vague memories of their birthday visits. I was told that they were my parents, but I didn’t know what that meant. Mom and Pops were good enough for me and the only parents I ever loved or needed.

PROUD OF MY FIRST STAR ROLE AS A CHICKEN, NEW JERSEY

I would get the silver bicycle and horse on my fateful eighth birthday if I said yes to everything the judge asked me. The bribe being offered by my father seemed a pretty good deal.

J. J. Doran, my stern father picked me up the day after my eighth birthday. Mom, Pops, and I thought he was taking me out to lunch in New York City, so I had none of my toys or clothes. Instead of lunch, we appeared in a courtroom before an imposing judge. In that room, there was only the judge, J. J. Doran and me. No other adults. The judge asked if I wanted J. J. Doran to have sole custody of me, and I said, Yes. With this reply my happy life ended forever. I had never heard the word custody before and I had no idea what it meant. No one explained what this would mean for me and for the rest of my life. My perfect childhood disappeared along with Mom and Pops.

Without any explanation, my father and I left the courthouse, stepped into a limo and were driven to the airport. He did tell me that I was about to take a ride on an airplane, and that sounded pretty exciting. I expected Mom and Pops would be coming with us. Once we were on the tarmac however, my father announced, that I would be flying alone. Until that moment I had never been allowed to ride a bus or get into a car without Mom, Pops, or one of their daughters accompanying me. He said that I was headed to a wonderful new school where there would be lots of other children to play with, and my horse and bicycle would be waiting there for me.

Why didn’t I protest, cry, scream, or refuse to get on the plane? I will never know except that up until that point, my childhood had been idyllic. I can’t remember crying once during those first eight years of my life. I prefer to think that with all of the confusion I was in a state of shock.

As soon as I landed in Aiken, South Carolina a station wagon with two nuns drove me to a boarding school, St. Angela Academy which was part of St Angela Convent. I had never seen nuns before, and it was kind of scary. I kept asking questions, but they never replied, just scowled at me. Once we reached the boarding school, Mother Superior brought me into her office. Pride is sin, she warned me and promptly picked up a pair of scissors and cut off my long red curls right where the ribbons had been so carefully tied by my mom that morning. I also was given a new, unfamiliar name, Mary Lilyan.

Up until then my religious experience consisted of attending a small Sunday school where I was awarded gold stars every week for singing, Jesus Loves Me with fervor.

Quickly I was brought into a Study Hall and stood before the entire student body. They were informed by the Mother Superior that I was the school’s only non-Catholic child: an infidel and a Yankee. However, it was their job to help ensure that I am converted and saved from hell. The first step to saving my soul was to baptize me. I was now on my way to becoming a saved Catholic Southern girl.

PART TWO

THE DORAN YEARS

J. J. DORAN, MY BIOLOGICAL FATHER

M

y biological father was a remote figure to me. He was fixated on good manners and especially how children should behave in public. My memories of my father centered on his many outfits, outfits for every occasion. He was a very dapper man in his beautiful three-piece suits and straw hats or felt hats. He always had a flower in his buttonhole. Later I was to see him in the appropriate outfits for fly-fishing, pheasant shooting, and golfing, and, of course, in his yachting ensemble for motoring in his own Chris Craft yacht.

MY FATHER J. J. DORAN, ATLANTA

My father was a self-made man as far as I know.

He had taught business and math at Columbia University. He became the president of Arnold Constables Company, the oldest department store in America, founded in New York City in 1825. It was located on 34th Street off of Fifth Avenue in New York City and served the elite of the city. He left Constables to join Macy’s and was made vice president of all Macy’s stores in the South. Macy’s stores in the South were called Davison’s as no Southerner would ever shop at a Yankee-owned store. Their ad stated, Davison’s—Southern Owned and Operated. More and more lies.

MY FATHER THE FISHERMAN

J. J. had also invested in the Casual Corner clothing stores, which were all over the South and had bought The Golden Fleece Toilet Paper Corp. In our attic, there were always hundreds of boxes of this toilet paper, which turned out not to be a big seller, I guess.

He was rumored to have a piece of the Boston Celtics. While I attended Oglethorpe University in Atlanta, my college boyfriends were always asking me if they could spend time with my father. They would go off to his den to chat about basketball.

My father also owned one floor of an office building across from Davison’s on Peachtree in Atlanta. He owned many of these business suites around the South, in which he rented small spaces with a shared secretary. These were offered to small companies that could not afford their own office.

MY FATHER AT HOME ON HABERSHAM ROAD, ATLANTA

J. J. Doran had his own railroad car. It had two bunk beds that folded up to make a comfy couch plus a toilet and sink. It was parked down at the railroad yard. He was known to take it from Atlanta to New York City or down to Florida. He took us on his railcar every year to attend the Master’s Golf Tournament. The car was always full of his friends. One time, Jimmy Demaret, a top pro golfer in the 1940s, had to sit on the toilet as there were many friends aboard.

J. J. Doran didn’t eat junk food. I never even saw him eat a hot dog, popcorn, a popsicle, or barbecue. In fact, the only time I saw him eat was at formal, expensive restaurants, where most of us had no idea what we were eating. He loved his Jack Daniels, and every morning in the Kings Point, Long Island, home, he would be given a raw egg with Worcestershire sauce. For hangovers perhaps?

He never played games with any of his children. I do remember that once he bought us a small sailboat for the lake at East Lake Country Club. As it turned out, we had no idea how to sail, and neither did he. We had to be rescued on our first outing.

He bought each of his children their own horse and built stables for us. He bought us a chimpanzee. We had beautiful clothes! We had exotic trips! But he never gave his children any love or attention.

MY FATHER AT HIS HOME ON HABERSHAM ROAD, ATLANTA

He changed into a smoking jacket as soon as he came home, unless he was going to re-dress to go out somewhere. He always looked immaculate. He had a shave and facial daily as well as a manicure and pedicure every week at the barber in the St. Regis or Carlyle Hotel in New York City or at the Biltmore in Atlanta.

We heard that when he got drunk, he would sing Irish songs robustly with