The Water Ball: A Story of Faith and Enduring Love

By J. David Butler

A keen observer of those about him, in The Water Ball David captures some of the flavor of the times and places in which he has lived, observed, and experienced life s realities: the good and evil that each person inevitably must face as they travel life s road

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 18, 2010
• ISBN: 9781469100951

J. David Butler

The Author James D. Butler, a twenty-four-year veteran of the air force (fourteen in which he served overseas in Asia and the Middle East), holds four academic degrees (history/political science) from universities in the United States and abroad. Dr. B. or Dave, as he is often addressed, resides with his wife in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, where he is employed at the Air Armament Center, Eglin AFB. In 1951, David enlisted in the military, after which in 1953 he married his teenage sweetheart, the former Patricia Ann Keavney of Brooklyn, New York, who along with their growing family, accompanied him on his assignments, with the exception of his months in Southeast Asia. During their last overseas adventure (Tehran, Iran) David retired from active service and moved to York, England, where he attended the University. On return to the United States, they resided for a short while in Pittsfield, Massachusetts before settling in Northwest Florida. While in York, David’s faith journey led him in 1976 to be welcomed into the Anglican church. Since that time, his religion has been a positive force in his life. A keen observer of those about him and a fair storyteller (Pat will vouch for that, but not always in a positive vein), in The Water Ball, he has recaptured some of the flavors of the times and places of which he has written and in which he himself lived and experienced life’s realities—the good and evil, suffering and death that each person inevitably must face.

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The Water Ball

A Story of Faith and Enduring Love

J. David Butler

Copyright © 2010 by J. David Butler.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

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This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

Dedication

Preface

Introduction

Chapter 1

Genesis 1

Chapter 2

Genesis 2

Chapter 3

The Awakening

Chapter 4

The Prodigal Son

Chapter 5

Redemption

Chapter 6

Renewal

Chapter 7

Revelations

Chapter 8

Archangel

Chapter 9

Bittersweet

Chapter 10

The Reformation

Chapter 11

Restitution and Retribution

Chapter 12

Genesis 3

Epilogue

Dedication

To the attractive red-haired Irish American girl who captured my heart at Claire Renee’s Saint Valentine’s party so many short years ago.

To the young woman from East Thirty-eighth Street who chose to cast her lot in life with the broker’s son.

To my beloved, Patricia Ann Kearney-Butler, whose tenderness, understanding, and encouragement has been beyond measure.

To my Pats, I dedicate this novel.

Preface

The characters and events in this story are fictitious, and any similarities to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. To bring a sense of reality to this story, specific commercial names, locations, and addresses were included which in no way were related to the fictitious events recounted herein.

To those in the Flatlands area, on East Thirty-eighth Street and along the Avenue, who may feel bothered should one or two who have read this novel, inquire as to their house or business establishment should have any connection with Patricia Kinney or the Baretts, I offer my sincerest apology.

Introduction

Call it what you wish, whether you are a deist or an atheist, very few would deny that somewhere, beyond man’s ability to grasp, there is a reason, a force, something that causes the inevitable to occur. In the story of David Barett and Patricia Kinney, we refer to their inevitable meeting and spiritual joining as kismet credited to the mysterious ways of the Lord God, maker of the universe.

James David Barett, Dave as his peers referred to him, was the eldest of three children, born to Jim and May Barett, an upper-middle-class business couple. Dave spent most of his youth in the Flatlands section of Brooklyn before going off to the military.

David, brought up a Roman Catholic, was influenced by the Republican political views of his parents and, while a young patriotic American, was an Anglophile, proud of his family’s Anglo-Irish roots. From an early age, after he became aware of his family’s standing in the community, David took pride in knowing that the Baretts were propertied, moneyed, liked, and respected by many, and envied by some. Later, he took additional pride in having parents who were independent thinkers when it came to religion and politics.

As young Dave grew in stature and understanding, so too did he grow in love and respect for his parents, adopting some of his father’s traits—friendly, mild-mannered, and a bit of a tease. He was initially embarrassed by his dad’s emotional tenderness; he would tear-up when he took the family to the Traymore or Marine Theater to watch a tearjerker, such as the film, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. In his later years he would accept his father’s tenderness as an admirable trait.

May Barett, David’s mother, was the stronger willed in the family, opinionated, and not without bias. As the youngest child in her parent’s home, she was somewhat spoiled, but grew to be an educated, refined woman, a churchgoer, and the force within the Barett household.

Young David—well studied, respectful, and perhaps more refined than his peers—was nonetheless all boy, often at the receiving end of his mother’s wrath. By age fourteen, he held a part-time job after school, received good to excellent grades in classes, was well educated in the basics of the Christian faith, Catholic beliefs, and Protestant ethics, which formed his core values. For the young lad, respect for elders, honesty, and the importance of one’s integrity were paramount in how he conducted himself. Additionally, he possessed a strong sense of responsibility for upholding family honor, maintaining one’s integrity, and living up to doing what was right and expected of a man, that being duty, honor, country, obligations, and responsibilities.

As an adolescent, the differences between the attitudes and values of his peers contrasted with his own, setting him a notch above in the eyes of his teachers, neighbors, and parents of his friends. Thus, by the age of seventeen, he appeared to most as a young man rather than a boy in his middle teens.

Unbeknownst to the Baretts of 1834 East Thirty-eighth Street was the presence of John and Marge Kinney, a young couple who were renting the ground floor apartment of a two-story residential property at 1527 East Thirty-eighth Street. Mr. Kinney was a police officer with ten years on the force when he and his bride of five years moved into Saint Thomas’s parish with their firstborn, little Patricia. Jack and Marge were devout Roman Catholics, the offspring of Irish immigrants who would eventually raise three other children—Richard, Meghan, and Elizabeth.

In the early years, life in the Kinney household was economically stressful and physically draining for Jack’s loving wife. At the time, a policeman’s salary was not attractive, unfortunately, due to the department’s demands for shift-work hours. For Jack to hold a part-time job to augment family finances was out of the question.

Marge, herself trying to make do on a limited budget, overburdened with raising four children in cramped accommodations in the days before household appliances became commonly available and affordable, was doubly distressed by her husband’s shift work hours and his affliction with that for which Irishmen were noted—the overindulgence in alcoholic beverages. Ultimately, even with the help of her eldest daughter (the big sister and mother’s helper), Marge’s nerves began to crack. Eventually, when young Pat was nearing her mid-teens, Marge suffered a series of breakdowns over a three-year period.

Young Patsy was forced to grow up quickly in order to assist her ailing mother. She was devoted in her faith, a loving and respectful daughter and no stranger to household chores. In spite of the burdens set upon her young shoulders, she was able to graduate near the top of her class at Saint Thomas’s and go on to high school, where she successfully balanced her academic and social life with family responsibilities.

Young Pat was viewed as being more levelheaded than her teenaged friends by her aunts, uncles and neighbors. Speaking amongst themselves, several noted she possessed a potential which they believed was overlooked by her parents. Perhaps that was why one of her aunts funded Pat’s piano lessons while another took her to Broadway shows and guided her on how a young lady must conduct herself—deportment, manners, dress, and speech. Their interest in her training and exposure, along with her early maturity and budding attractiveness, would make her most desirable to young men.

The problems Pat observed in her parent’s relationship would determine in her mind what it was she would seek in a husband when she was of an age to marry and fulfill her romantic dreams. She would find a young man—cheerful, sober, God-fearing—a man with potential who would give her a home, a house of their own, and children, too. By century’s end, such values she sought in a man would be outdated. But in the early years of the cold war, the older values of the previous decades were still highly cherished; a home and a two-parent household was recognized as the keystone of American society.

By 1955, Patricia Ann Kinney was growing into an attractive, intelligent young woman, a nice girl, and a good daughter who would lead the neighborhood men to raise an eyebrow and remark: One day she’ll make some lucky fellow a good wife.

On Valentine’s evening of 1956, Pat attended a party at Renee’s house attended by school chums and seven boys that Renee had invited. When the dancing started, David Barett took the lead over the bashful group of fellows standing about and went directly to Pat to ask for a dance. By the time they finished their third dance, they were giggling and smiling at one another—their attraction obvious. From that point, they became a couple whenever the ole gang went to Riis Park or Coney Island or Rockaway Playland or when they took Day-Line rides up the Hudson to Indian Point, or Saint Thomas’s boat ride to Rye Beach, house parties, dances, or getting together at Ernie’s Ice Cream Parlor.

In the three years that followed their meeting, the attraction that drew them together quickly moved from puppy love to one reserved for those prepared to carry through with a lifetime commitment. On the night when passions swept aside their moral principles and religious beliefs, they rose from her bed with hearts and minds overwhelmed by love’s emotions, yet conscious of the significance of their actions and the seriousness of their commitment to each other.

For young Patricia, her bonding with him was the start of the culmination of her dream. For David, cognizant of all that was embodied in their new relationship, found himself only partially fulfilled, for he was a young fellow with several dreams and a gnawing within his mind, which he was unable to identify.

*     *     *

By year’s end, David was called to fulfill his military obligation. He chose to enlist in the Air Force and use that avenue in which to establish his independence and to seek meaning to his life while his devoted sweetheart remained behind awaiting his return.

However, in God’s plan, his return would take nine long unhappy years—years in which David, frustrated in his search for his purpose in life and in the belief that he was doing what was best for Pat, broke off their secret engagement without fully understanding the consequences of his gallant action.

Patricia, devastated by his abrupt departure, was devastated, ridden with guilt and overcome with anguish, until with determination, encouragement, and advice from family and friends, she restarted her life. Vulnerable, after seeing herself seemingly rejected by the one to whom she had given her heart, she allowed herself to be led into a tragic, brutal relationship that ended in divorce. From that point, convinced that she was no longer able to marry and find her dream, Patricia focused on her self-development and business career and, with difficulty, struggled between her desires and her perceived realities. Meanwhile, David, having found what he had been called to do, buried his loneliness in his work.

Then in 1968, the lives of James David Barett and Patricia Ann Kinney start anew during Eastertide when the Lord, God of us all, intervened to initiate the second phase in HIS plan for the two young lovers long since forgiven for their transgressions.

Chapter 1

Genesis 1

On Tuesday morning, a cold front swept over the Northeastern seaboard to dispel the illusion that spring had finally arrived. The previous Sunday, Easter Sunday, had been a warm, sunny, beautiful day that brought the populace out in colorful finery. However, by Tuesday, all had changed as overcast skies, dampness, and chilly gusts greeted those who had to venture out to go to work.

Patricia Kinney, with her mother, Marge, had journeyed from their home on East Thirty-eighth Street in Brooklyn to celebrate the holy day with her sister Meghan and family at Meghan’s home in Franklin Square, Long Island. Over the past five years, dinner at Meghan and Bill Allan’s had become the tradition, along with baked ham (symbolic of the new covenant) and the spoiling of the children’s appetites with candy-filled Easter baskets.

Pat and Marge had risen early that morning and attended the 8:00 a.m. Mass at Saint Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church before driving out to the Island, arriving at Meghan’s at ten-thirtyish. By eleven-thirty, after the three finished their coffee and Danish, the sisters set about preparing for dinner—peeling potatoes, cloving the ham—the women’s work—while Marge sat in the living room enjoying her grandchildren and talking with her son-in-law.

All in all, it had been a most pleasant visit, but by late afternoon, Pat was anxious to head for home. Monday was, after all, the start of another busy workweek.

Mother, as prearranged, would stay over with Meghan until the next Friday when Bill would drive her home before heading on to his place of employment in Queens. Thus, while Marge spent the next several days interfacing with her other daughter, Pat was at home in Brooklyn busying her days at the Borough Hall offices of the American Natural Insurance Company where she supervised the Claims Department. While there, she spent time with friends Renee and Martha or attended evening classes.

Monday’s weather was a repeat of the previous day, and most people were believed that spring was about to arrive. However, by nightfall, there was an extreme change as Old Man Winter returned with a dying shot that hit the New York metropolitan area.

All through Tuesday, gusting winds and rain battered the city, dampening the already chilled spirits of those who had to spend their hours at work on a day when business was extraordinarily slow. When it reached five o’clock, Pat, feeling bored and somewhat depressed, lost no time in leaving work to head to the comforts of her lonely home.

After changing into comfortable slacks and a heavy sweater, she took her dinner—tomato soup and toast—in front of the TV where she spent a half-hour catching up on events in the world. On finishing her meal, Pat rose from her chair to tune to another channel in hopes of finding a lively, entertaining program. As she slowly turned the channel selector, she found it necessary to vent her irritation by speaking to the TV set, All right already, stop with the talk about Vietnam, all you Cronkites and Brinkleys. Her search seemed in vain, for with each click of the dial came disappointment. Brinkley, more news, advertising, sports, idiot quiz show—what a waste, she commented aloud before turning off the TV in disgust.

Now what? she asked herself as she returned to her armchair to sit and sip her iced tea. Except for the hissing sounds from the radiator valves, the house was silent, lonely without her mother’s presence—the noise of her moving about, coming in from the kitchen to start a conversation. Her empty house made her feel uneasy, in dread of being alone with her thoughts about her life and how she envied the happiness others had—Meghan with a loving husband and wonderful children, a family the likes of which she would never be able to have. As each minute passed, Pat’s thoughts became more negative, worsening her mood until sensing panic moving over her, she moved to regain control over her emotions.

Enough! she shouted aloud toward the empty dining room as she pushed herself up and out of the cushioned chair and went directly over to retrieve her pocketbook and coat before turning and going out of her front door, securing it behind her.

Sheltered from the chill of the evening, Pat drove to Hendrickson Street where she parked her recently acquired 1968 Toyota Camry directly across from the front steps of Saint Thomas Aquinas Church.

While unbuttoning her coat, Pat crossed the flagstone floor of the lobby to enter via the right set of double doors into the cathedral-sized nave, dimly lit by the large fixtures suspended by long chains that were secured to the high-vaulted ceilings. As her right middle and index fingers dipped into the font mounted on the wall to her right, she glanced quickly about, noting one other soul was in the Church. Before she blessed herself, she made the sign of the cross while genuflecting, before proceeding towards the brightly lit, white marbled altar, beyond an exquisite, flickering sanctuary light suspended on a brass chain, down from the high arched ceiling above the Sanctuary.

Saint Thomas Church was of contemporary Gothic design—high-vaulted ceilings, massive columns and arches, marbled altars, and a long altar rail broken by a brass gate at the center, and numerous large stained glass windows that at night stood darkened. The choir benches and organ were positioned high up in the tower above the lobby, dwarfed beneath the large array of organ pipes that were set below and up along the sides of an impressive floral-shaped stained glass window.

Upon reaching the front of the nave, Pat went to the small altar, set off to the right of the main altar, dedicated to the Blessed Mother of Jesus. There, she lit three votive candles after dropping three silver coins into the deposit box set in the center of the candle table. As each coin fell to the bottom of the empty metal box, it made a clunking sound which resonated back from the church’s high-vaulted ceilings.

Patricia Kinney had often visited Mary since she was a schoolgirl, when she was troubled by family problems and particularly later when her personal life caused her stress and pain. On this night, Pat felt a need for spiritual comforting which she knew could only be obtained through a visit with her good friend and spiritual mother. Thus, she knelt to ask the Blessed Mother to lift the feelings of uneasiness from her and to help her find the continued strength to face all that life had set upon her.

The long wooden pew kneelers had always been uncomfortable for the users, thus deterring many of the faithful to visit the church other than attending scheduled services. However, Pat never let the discomfort of the hard benches or the kneelers keep her from stepping into church several times each month to offer a prayer or sit quietly to communicate with her God, the maker of us all.

As she knelt in prayer, she asked the Blessed Mother to intercede for her and bring her peace of mind.

Remember, O most gracious Virgin Mary, she prayed, that never was it known that anyone who fled to your protection, implored thy help or sought your intercession was left unaided. Inspired by that confidence, I fly unto thee O Virgin of virgins, my Mother. To you I come, before you I kneel, sinful and sorrowful. O Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in your mercy, hear and answer me. Amen.

When she had finished reciting the Memorare, she knelt in quiet meditation and prayer, until after a while, feeling her pain ease, she slid back onto the bench to continue praying, as a sense of peace settled upon her.

What was it that brought back those memories? she asked herself as she sat staring at the flickering blue glass candles.

The weather, she reasoned, along with being alone without Mom. Then, too, perhaps because Meghan has what I will never have—a home and children, and a loving husband. Pat’s envy of Meghan’s happiness disturbed her for she knew envy was a sin, so she silently prayed, asking God’s forgiveness before going back to her thoughts. Merciful Father, cleanse my heart and mind. Make me a better, more appreciative person. Keep me free from sin and temptations. Guide me through life while holding me close to your heart, O Lord. In Jesus’s name I pray. Amen.

St. Thomas Aquinas had always been a focal point in Pat’s life. Until school age, her mother would take her to Sunday Mass, and after that, she would attend Mass with her classmates. Later still, she would go with friends or her boyfriend, and then after her marriage, she either went alone or with her mother. Since her divorce, it was usually her and Mother who attended the 11:00 a.m. Sunday Mass in the new church building.

Memories of her and Mother attending Mass together were cherished mother-daughter moments in the forties and early fifties during which they would have private chats in which Mother would discuss with her such matters as family values and honesty in relationships. It was in that period when the love and trust between them was firmly established, and she solemnly promised her mother she would never do anything to dishonor her family or disobey God. And Marge knew then that she could trust her eldest daughter to never bring shame upon her family, unlike the children of others in the neighborhood whose carryings-on were whispered about by the righteous biddies and those who considered themselves pillars of the church.

Patricia’s teen years were generally happy ones, aside from those times when her mother was hospitalized. At those times, the burdens of the household fell to her. Then, her hopes and dreams came crashing down when her true love cast her aside, and for what reason, she could never comprehend.

Resting back on the cold, hard pew in church, immersed in thought, she began to recall happier times with her young man. David Barett would forever be in that part of her life’s story—a time in which she experienced the most happiness. He had brought her love, passion, and the promise of the fulfillment of her girlhood dreams. And when he left her to venture far off in the world, she was left brokenhearted, in anguish, near despair, and smothered in guilt.

It was to him that she had pledged her undying love and commitment, with full understanding of what she was doing and the consequences her actions would bring. For him, she willingly severed the bond of trust between her and her mother and turned her back on the law of God and the church.

A little more than two years her senior, James David Barett, the son of a successful local business couple, was a respectful, honest, hardworking young man who, as a youngster, resided on Schenectady Avenue (East Forty-seventh Street), attended St. Thomas’s Parochial School, and Midwood High School, and in the months prior to their meeting, moved with his family to the eighteen hundred blocks of East Thirty-eighth Street.

Until their meeting at a Valentine’s Day party, neither had been cognizant of the other although they had attended the same church and grade school, and Marge Kinney had been a regular customer in the grocery store where young David had been the delivery boy for several years.

What it was that sparked their immediate attraction to one and the other would be difficult to discern. At the time, Pat liked tall, light-haired boys of Irish heritage while David Barett was of medium height with brown hair and hazel eyes. David never felt an attraction to red-haired Irish types with specklings of freckles across the bridge of their noses. The Baretts were Anglo-Irish with mixed Roman Catholic and Church of Ireland views on politics in the Republic and were predominantly conservative in politics in the United States. The best guess as to the factors in their attraction would be her warm personality, indications of having a maturity beyond her years, and a nice figure for a girl her age.

For Pat, she found David’s polite, open friendliness appealing, his athletic build, stylish dress, and gentlemanly ways several steps above the other boys she had observed. Through the weeks immediately following their meeting, as they learned more about each other, their strengths, and weaknesses, a deep love took root and blossomed.

The evening before he left his home to fulfill his military obligation, they stood before the side altar dedicated to Saint Joseph; and there, hand-in-hand in the empty church, they whispered their promises to remain faithful to the other.

Through their first months of separation, their long-distance relationship held firm. However, as he traveled abroad participating in sometimes dangerous activities, she sensed from his correspondence that she was losing him for reasons she never knew. Finally, in a letter she received written from somewhere in Asia, he wrote of there being a void in his life and though he would forever cherish her love, it was necessary for their sakes that she be free from him in order for her to pursue her dreams. In near shock and panic, she wrote pleading for him not to forsake her, for him to tell her what it was that she might have done to cause the rift that had come between them, and to try again to build that which had given them happiness.

Receiving no reply to her letters, she fell into anguish, burdened with self-doubt and guilt, her pain and hurt buffered by the loving concern of her parents and the comfort of her prayers.

Time, and the resiliency of youth, salved her emotional wounds, not healing, but lessening the pain. Ultimately, her recall of David and their happy times became memories, and all that remained of her memorabilia was boxed and set far back on the top shelf in the closet she shared with Meghan. There, her memories would remain—a photo album with one picture (she had torn up the rest), some letters, the dried remains of a corsage wrapped in waxed paper, an odd assortment of trinkets and ticket stubs and the water ball music box with its bear figures he had purchased for her while on the Parish Club outing to Rye Beach.

At this moment, to have thoughts of David Barett coming to mind was a sweet surprise to Pat for she had not thought of him in a number of years. Moved, she withdrew a crumpled Kleenex from her pocket to dab her eyes while chokingly admitting to herself that some wounds had yet to fully heal. Feeling a need to say more, she whispered, I forgive you again for what you did and wish only for your happiness wherever you are. With that said, she reached into her pocketbook for her rosary beads.

Holding her beads tightly with both hands in her lap, Pat awaited the memories she knew instinctively must follow.

Pat had been determined to start anew once her anguish over David’s departure had subsided. To do so, she felt it necessary to kneel before her Lord, to beg forgiveness for her sins and transgressions, which until their relationship ended, did not cause her to harbor strong feelings of guilt. In the darkened confessional, she unburdened her mind and soul of all those moments of transgression (willingly entered into and long cherished) and vowed to God to amend her life and sin no more. And this, thereafter she had done—avoiding all temptations, thoughts, and situations which might be causes for breaking her vows to her Lord and Savior and his most Beloved Mother.

Following graduation from Madison High School, Pat entered into the business world at the bottom of the ladder—the mailroom at the Brooklyn offices of the American National Insurance Company on Montague Street near Borough Hall. It was there in the mailroom where, in her first week in her job, she met a girl of her own age, Martha Baumgartner. Out of their meeting would grow a lifelong friendship. Nearer her home, Pat’s friendship with Renee, her childhood playmate and teenage chum, had grown to a closeness normally reserved for that of twin sisters. Through the months after graduation, Pat busied herself with her job, socializing with her female friends and acquaintances, and self-improvement via matriculation at the Brooklyn College during the evenings. By early 1960, she started occasional dating; however, she showed little interest in male companionship until the spring of 1961.

As her mind drifted back over the events following her breakup with David, an uncomfortable rigidity took hold of her body, and she shifted and slightly squirmed on the pew as if preparing herself for the thoughts that she knew must surely follow.

In retrospect, she could credit her mother and her elderly neighbor from diagonally across the street, Grandma Driscoll, a widow who lived alone in a pretty single-family brick house, 1584 East Thirty-eighth Street, for pairing herself and Grandma’s boy, George Sean Driscoll.

Marge Kinney had been distressed over her daughter’s plight caused by the departure of that Barett from her beautiful daughter’s life. For what he had done and caused, he would, in her mind, forever be anathema. As Pat was slowly coming back to her old self, Marge Kinney and Grandma Driscoll, in neighborly conversation, found a common interest, Marge in finding a husband for her lovely, intelligent daughter, and Grandma in finding a good wife, a stable influence for her wonderful grandson, George, a recent graduate of Fordham University, School of Law, (who at the time was awaiting results from the New York State Bar Exam).

Pat, unattached for some time, was at the point in life when her friends had begun to marry, while she herself began to wonder if she could ever find the love and romance she had previously experienced. Although never discussing her personal thoughts with others, others took it upon themselves, through encouraging words and suggestions, to influence Pat’s thoughts on the subject of her being able to find a new lasting relationship in which love would come in time. And when Marge believed that Pat was open to moving forward with her life, it was then that she and Mrs. Driscoll hatched a plan.

Grandma Driscoll was proud of her family’s accomplishments. Her deceased husband had been a policeman who had left her well-off. Her son, Joseph, a member of the NYFD had risen in the ranks by 1954 to become a deputy in the city Fire Marshall’s office, and his son, George, now, was about to become an attorney. George Driscoll was the apple of his father’s eye, as well as that of his grandmother. A rambunctious youth, he had been held in check by the Jesuits at Saint Augustine’s High School.

After graduation, George went off to Saint John’s University. While there, problems arose involving his heavy use of alcohol. After a drying-out period, his dad pulled some strings to get him into Fordham where he completed his studies. Joe never cared for George’s choice in friends and female companions and would only speak in confidence about them with his mother. But whatever the boy’s faults, his smart, good-looking son—a bit soft about the middle—he oft remarked to his wife—will one day be a mayor or a senator and do the Driscoll family proud!

The positive results of his bar exam called for a celebration at Grandma’s with family, cousins, and his parent’s friends. Grandma had sent an invitation to her neighbor, Mrs. Kinney, in which she suggested she bring along her beautiful daughter. When the invitees gathered to celebrate George’s success, Marge, Grandma, and Joseph found every opportunity to pair them together during the evening. Toward the end of the party, it was arranged for Pat to accompany the Driscoll family upstate to Lake George for several days of sun and fun at the family’s summerhouse.

Pat was never to know much about George (Dris as she would call him), for his family mentioned little of his past other than his academic accomplishments or early childhood years. George himself spoke mostly of his plans for his future law practice and all he expected that to bring, boasted of his fishing accomplishments, and made brief references to his friends, a few of the better ones whom she would meet toward the end of their courtship.

Pressured by his family, his father in particular, to find a respectable woman, marry, settle down, and establish himself, George gave some thought to what an attractive, articulate wife could bring—to complement himself and his career. Joe liked Pat from the first, noting that she was a decent conversationalist, read the front pages and the editorials, attractive, a good Irish Catholic who, by the shape of her, would give him a couple of grandsons. Thus, he told his son, months after the celebration of his passing the bar, to think seriously on marrying the Kinney girl who possessed all the attributes to enhance his legal and political career.

Look, my boy, he told his son, the right kind of woman is an asset. If you are not head over heels about her, give it time and love will, in all probability, come along.

George dutifully weighed the pros and cons of his father’s suggestion, agreeing to marry (at least for a while), after convincing himself that in obeying his dad’s wishes, he would be repaying the old man for whatever he felt owed, and keep himself in good stead to draw on Dad whose influence in the Democratic Party might prove useful in the years ahead. Then, too, he consoled himself, Pat was well-spoken, clean-cut, a good Catholic, and by observation (and his imagination), a pretty, passionate flower waiting to be plucked. That last thought stirred George, for in all the affairs he had had with women, he had never taken a virgin.

In the Kinney household, Marge quickly, after Pat’s first weeks of acquaintanceship with Dris, pressed to convince her daughter that young George Driscoll was her opportunity to make a whole life for herself, arguing that he was a good-looking young man with excellent potential, able to provide her a beautiful home, all the affection of a loving husband, and the children she had dreamed of having.

And to counter Pat’s telling her that she liked George, but did not love him and didn’t know if she could ever find real love again, Marge kept reiterating that love, the warm, comfortable closeness of love, always followed the marriage when as husband and wife, the couple built a home and created a family.

On one occasion, Marge invited Grandma over to join with her in speaking to Pat. Grandma brought up the subject of a marriage, suggesting her family favored such a possibility. Then she told Patricia, If you don’t like him, then don’t marry him. But if you like him, then marry and love will follow.

Little did Pat realize at that time that she was being rushed into preparing for a proposal of marriage that was soon to come.

Several evenings before George proposed marriage, he sought to take his amorous actions beyond what would be considered proper by a virtuous woman. His attempt to grope her as he held her tight against his body with his left arm was immediately blocked by Pat as she withdrew her mouth from his and forcefully pushed her way out of his embrace.

Highly upset by his unwelcomed moves, she told him in a strong manner that she neither cared for his uncalled-for attention, nor would she ever allow anyone to take such disgusting liberties with her body. Caught off-guard by her reaction, Dris haltingly apologized for his actions, soothing her with expressions of regret and professions of love, blaming his ungentlemanly actions on a loss of self-control brought on by her closeness and beauty.

With his apology accepted, both of them would end their evening feeling a modicum of satisfaction for their relationship remained intact; Pat, by word and action, had been able to say aloud, even if it were just to Dris, what she wanted to tell the world—that she was a good woman, a virtuous woman, even if in the past she had allowed someone to touch her body—while George came away from the embarrassing incident convinced that she was pure—a virgin.

George Sean Driscoll, after a short, rushed courtship, proposed marriage to Patricia Ann Kinney on the front steps of Grandma Driscoll’s house on East Thirty-eighth Street in early February 1962. There, after an unhurried silence, Pat gave one last thought to his question before she accepted his proposal, sealing it with a kiss that gave hint to him of her desire to return his affection.

Acceptance of his proposal did not come without prior thought and consideration since Grandma had pretty much made known its coming. As she awaited the expected proposal, she gave long thought as to the answer she would give him. Before coming to a decision, she prayed for guidance, which, unfortunately, she mistook from the voices of those about her, anxious for her to find happiness.

The well-meant advice from her family and friends filled her mind with hopes and visions of wedded bliss, distracting her from looking more closely at the character and the history of the man who sought her hand.

On the surface, Dris had the dress, looks, and charm most appealing to young women. As the courtship progressed, he reawakened her dreams while lulling her into naiveté, giving her to believe any discrepancies in Dris’s makeup she would help him to correct once they were husband and wife.

Although the telltale signs were known to her before she accepted his proposal, Pat naively accepted his explanations or chose to ignore the obvious. For instance, after several visits to Joe and Sandy Driscoll’s home, where George still resided, Pat noted to herself the absence of alcoholic beverages whenever refreshments were served. This fact seemed odd to her since outside of their home, they were social drinkers. She knew that Dris drank some because on two occasions she smelled alcohol on his breath, which he attributed to not wishing to refuse a drink with a client he had met with prior to arriving for their date. Otherwise, his breath most often smelled of mints and Sen-Sen.

Then, too, the time she first detected the scent of a woman’s perfume on his suit jacket, she accepted what he told her of there being a common clothes rack at his office and that the jackets of the guys and gals at work were together on the hangers. Or his never dating on Saturdays because every weekend he went fishing with the guys and he could never guarantee on getting back in on time.

Thus, the weekend events with her family, she always went alone or with her mother. And as far as his attending Mass, throughout their courtship he never accompanied her to church on Sundays. This fact bothered her somewhat, but she eased her concern by assuring herself that after they married, they would be a good Catholic family.

*     *     *

Pat and George were wed in Saint Thomas Aquinas Church on the first Saturday in June 1962 by the pastor, the Reverend Father Michael Joseph Keeley. The months prior to the event allowed sufficient time for both families, along with the happy bride-to-be, to make the arrangements for the florist, caterer, and all the self-inflicted problems that seem to ultimately end in a gala reception and then the wedding bed.

The months of winter seemed to rush by, and on entering spring, the tempo of preparations sped up and until the days of May were upon them. Her bridal shower was hosted by Marge and Grandma at 1584 East Thirty-eighth Street where family and local friends gathered for an evening of enjoyment in which women laughed and shrieked as Pat opened each of her gifts and at the innuendos that some of the ladies threw out to those gathered. Her shower was so successful that it made an impression on Pat, who afterward felt that she would always remember Grandma’s living room and the warmth she felt there that happy evening. Afterward, several of the husbands, who stopped by to retrieve their wives, helped Marge and Pat carry the many gifts to their home across the street. Dris was busy that evening and could not be there to stop in after the party was over.

At American National, where she and Martha had moved up to become policy readers, the girls in her office held a small shower and luncheon for Pat on the Friday preceding her wedding week. After the luncheon, the husband of one of the girls, Maryanne Zuricker, by prearrangement, stopped by to pick up the shower gift packages, which he would hold in his car and deliver to Pat’s house while he was on his way to ANG training at Floyd Bennett Airport the following day.

After Barry Zuricker left with the packages, a half-dozen girls stayed behind at the restaurant for one more alcoholic beverage and to continue letting their hair down to give the young perspective bride the real skinny as what to expect after she said, I do.

Eventually relaxed by their drinks and the air of female comradeship, the gals got into a spirited conversation as to what each of the couple expected on their wedding night. When the subject on what it was that the man expected to be awaiting him, a passionate mink, one of them contributed, and another adding, a virgin echoed out, the four of them broke into laughter.

It was Martha who inquired about the humor in a bridegroom expecting a virgin, and Helen Atkinson who explained, Because if the bride hasn’t slept with the groom before the wedding, he expects what may be near impossible.

Yes, Anita Capadanno added. So, if she wants a happy marriage, she’d better be one or give him one. Anita’s words struck a chord with Pat for she had given thought to her own situation and what she might have to explain to Dris if he looked too closely.

How can a woman who has lost her virginity be something she is not? Pat asked with an innocent look.

It is impossible to fool people about such a thing, Martha added.

Heck no, I’ve known gals who have pulled it off. It’s like this, Anita went on. Don’t do anything to stretch it, use the narrowest top of your douche. Alum powder in warm water works best and it’s cheap. Then when the big night comes, in the dark, find a way to prick your finger and squeeze some blood on the sheets. Don’t have to be much to be convincing.

I can’t believe that would work, Martha said seriously.

Don’t kid yourself. Guys know little to nothing about women’s bodies except where the openings are. A few moans and groans, a tight one and a little blood, and he is duped. There is only one thing on a guy’s mind that night. All the woman has to do is prepare herself and put on a convincing performance, and the marriage is off and running, Anita told Martha with a laugh just as the others were indicating it was time to go.

Anita’s words, though spoken jestingly, were viewed by Pat as a godsend, and she committed to memory all her fellow worker had said. Later that afternoon, she visited a pharmacy to purchase the items that would help in preparing the items that would help in preparing her body for her wedding night.

*     *     *

A loud, sharp BANG reverberated throughout the nave, resulting from a kneeler being accidentally dropped onto the terrazzo floor. The sound startled Pat, making her aware of the presence of at least one other in the dimly lit church. Then all became quiet again, and she returned to her meditations.

With her eyes fixed on the flickering blue candle cups, her thoughts went back to her wedding day and with some difficulty, she recalled standing inside the sanctuary rail where, before Father Keeley, she made her vows—reciting them back as he read them slowly to her from his prayer book. For many years, she had struggled to wash away the memory of that moment as well as the events that followed in the nine months after, made her wedding covenant with God.

The wedding reception had been a major social event graciously arranged by the Driscolls. The Knights of Columbus Hall, decorated in white, with its cloth-covered round tables beautifully set, a five-tier cake, an open bar, a seven-piece orchestra, an array of appetizers, and the served prime rib dinner was enough to please friends and family on both sides and impress the personages from city hall and the Democrat Party Joe had included on the invitation list. It was a gala event in which the young woman from East Thirty-eighth Street enjoyed being the star attraction—except when Joe Driscoll would insist that she leave her family members and friends so that he could show her off, boastfully introducing her to his friends and associates and others he sought to impress.

After being led about for numerous introductions and small talk, she grew tired of hearing him refer to her as his Irish beauty who had married his up-and-coming son and how she surely will be a credit to him and all the Driscolls when his son enters politics. Her father-in-law’s complimentary words, she soon understood, were meant solely for moving any conversation toward his George. In his father, George had a most eager and talented public relations man.

She saw little of Dris after dinner, and by cake-cutting time when Dris appeared wobbly, in lieu of the traditional bride and groom cutting the cake, the five of them stood behind the cake—Sandy, Joe, then Dris, followed by the bride and her mother. Later, Pat thrilled the unwedded females with the traditional tossing of the bouquet, but Joe informed the MC and best man to quietly leave off the remaining parts of the program involving the groom as he was under the weather. Then Joe went quietly about to mention in his friendly chatting that the bride and groom wanted to sneak off quietly, but hoped that the festivities would continue.

As Pat, Renee, and Marge stood in the lobby away from the movement of revelers between the restrooms and the hall, Joe and Sandy came out to wish Pat, their daughter, a fond good-bye.

Two of George’s friends are with him in the car, Joe told her before turning to Marge with a smile. This has to be one of the happiest, proudest days in my life. My son has won his prize—the loveliest rose of Sharon that has ever existed, a virtuous woman who will keep him in rein and make a success out of him, a leader in whom we can all take pride.

The meaning behind Joe Driscoll’s complimentary words would not begin to fully make sense until Pat settled into her permanent home on East Thirty-eighth Street.

*     *     *

Clack came the sound from an elderly woman’s cane as it struck the terrazzo floor after falling from a pew bench across the aisle back to her right of where Pat was sitting.

Another troubled soul, she thought to herself while unconsciously glancing at her wristwatch that indicated the hour was eight ten, twenty minutes until closing.

Well, she would remember her long-anticipated wedding night—for the pain and disappointment she experienced that night and the short number of days which followed carried with them a message, a warning which in her naiveté she refused to heed until greater pain and grief would finally awaken her to life’s realities.

Quickly stopping to change into their travel clothing at her mother’s and at Grandma’s, his friends were able to get them to Kennedy Airport and onto the six-fifty Eastern jet flight to San Juan.

By late evening, they arrived at their hotel and after check-in, he suggested she go up to their room and freshen up while he stopped for a nightcap.

This will give us time to prepare for our evening, he had whispered in a suggestive tone. It would be several nightcaps and an hour and a half before the intoxicated groom went up to his bride, the rose of Sharon.

That she had been able to lead Dris into believing she was a virgin on their wedding night would be the only good thing to be remembered of their short honeymoon in Puerto Rico. Otherwise, the whole unhappy episode at the start of her marriage had been one of disillusionment, disappointment, and physical pain.

No sooner had he slammed shut the hotel room door than Dris staggered directly to the bathroom and there, stay locked inside for almost a half hour. After his wave of nausea subsided and he was able to get up off his knees from in front of the commode, Dris splashed cold water on his face, dried, and proceeded to partially undress down to his undershirt and socks. Thereupon, he went into the dimly lit bedroom where his patient, seductively dressed bride was asleep on the turned-down bedding.

There would be no lovemaking or foreplay that night, no tender words and impassioned kisses before he consummated their union. She awakened slowly as he mounted the bed but immediately became aware of what was happening and about to happen when he violently opened her legs, tore at her gown, and quickly entered her.

Dris’s overindulgence that evening somewhat tarnished his male performance so that it took longer for him to climax. Thus, Pat had to endure many more seconds of painful irritation caused by the dry friction that came from his thrusts into her body. When at last he emitted a loud, growling sound and he dropped his panting, sweat-drenched body down on top of her, she gave a sigh of relief after turning her head to avoid the stench of his breath.

For a long moment, he lay heavy, motionless upon her before rolling off to lie on his back beside her. Once his heavy breathing subsided and he began to snore, she left the bed to cleanse herself in the bathroom and to wash her face and change into a pair of white panties and a slip. Then stealthily, she returned to the bedroom where with the pin from her corsage she pricked several fingertips of her left hand, allowing drops of her blood to fall onto the semen-dampened spot on her bed sheet. Gently wiping the droplets into the stain to give the appearance of their having resulted from his movements, she then laid a dry face towel over the sheet so that she would have a dry bed beneath her while she slept through the night.

When all was ready, she returned to the bathroom to wipe off the remaining blood on her fingers with the washcloth she had first used in cleansing herself. This she dropped conspicuously on the carpeted floor outside of the door to the toilet.

In bed, in the darkened room, she lay near the edge of the mattress to avoid having bodily contact with him. With mixed thoughts, she lay quietly on her right side until sleep came to bring on an end to her first day of wedded bliss.

*     *     *

Disillusioning and painful were but two of the many words Pat used in describing her honeymoon to her closest friend, Renee, in private conversations many months after moving into her own home on East Thirty-eighth Street.

Thank God for his inattentiveness, she expressed at those times, explaining, while it didn’t make for happy days after that encounter, it gave me time to heal before returning back from San Juan.

On Sunday morning, awakening fully rested, Pat had given herself a few minutes to lie back, stare up at the ceiling of their honeymoon suite while recalling what had occurred in the early hours of the morning, and questioning her feelings for the man who slept beside her. Though painfully disappointed earlier on, now well rested with her naiveté still intact, she reasoned the blame for what occurred had to be shared with those friends who started him drinking at the reception and Dris’s understandable anxieties; after all, he loved his bride and probably due to inexperience, the thought of failing on the first night drove him to overindulge.

Yes, I forgive him, she had told herself before slipping out of bed to go into the bathroom where, as she dressed and prepared to go down for breakfast alone, her thoughts were positive, focused on their future when they were home and she healed and she could help him with his problems and guide him in their intimacies.

From that Sunday morning on until they departed for New York—with only one exception the following Thursday afternoon when they left the hotel by taxi to shop for souvenirs and snack on a few local specialties, which she found too spicy or greasy—did they do anything together away from the hotel. Thus, her recollection of her honeymoon days would be summed up as rising, picking up his dropped garments, brunch alone, and reading at the poolside until after lunch.

By mid-afternoon, he would come down, stop to chat and have a drink poolside, and perhaps something light on which to nibble, then head off to other nearby hotels to test their bars. At dinnertime, they would meet and dine, and later he would excuse himself, saying he needed to walk off his meal or, since the hotel’s prices were high, he was off to a nearby store to purchase cigarettes or some other reason that sounded reasonable. Whatever excuse he would use, his act would be the same—he would walk her into the lobby, and in a public display of affection, kiss her cheek and then take a cab to the nearby town to a place called by the natives, the Barra Carmen. There he would spend perhaps six hours savoring the beverages and find pleasure between the dark hairs of the painted bar girls who reeked of strong floral scented perfume.

Meanwhile, Pat, Dris’s cherished beauty, spent her fine evenings in the shower tending to her body before watching television or writing postcards in which she extolled the beauty of the surrounding countryside, making mention of the wonderful time she and Dris were having. Before they left, she kept the last card for her memory book. It pictured their hotel, its palms, and the pool. On the back, she wrote, Our honeymoon, will cherish the hours, D&P, June, 1962.

On Sunday afternoon, his first day as a married man, George staggered flat-footed in his socks into the bathroom, there to stand beneath the shower still in the garments he wore to bed, with his throbbing head faced upward and into the lukewarm spray.

When finally washed, shaved, and dressed in the clothes she had set out for him on the easy chair, he called down to the front desk and ordered two Bloody Marys for himself before going over to the unmade bed to lift a wrinkled hand towel from the spot where he had clipped his Irish rose.

For a long while, he sat on the edge of the mattress, studying the large grayish beige stain with a pinkish hue to its center and several pinhead-sized spots on its fringe. As he sipped his drinks, surveying the evidence of his manly accomplishment, he experienced a wave of egotistical satisfaction that brought a movement in his penis and instant pain for he had painfully irritated himself when he copped her dry cherry. Unfortunately, the hope for relief of his friction burns lasted only as long as it took for her Jergen’s Lotion to dry. Before he would leave the room, he made it a point to cut the section of sheet he had stained, for he planned to keep it as a trophy to look back upon, even in the future when perhaps she would be gone.

Send up the chambermaid to change my bed. I’ve accidentally spilled my drink on the sheets, he told the clerk over the phone. Then, before leaving the room, he pulled the bottom sheet from the bed, crumbled it to a heap, and emptied the last of his Bloody Mary on it.

When he reached the lobby, Dris stopped in the men’s room before going out to the poolside bar. In the men’s room, he went directly to the vending machine mounted on the tiled wall from which he purchased four of the best lubricated condoms—lambskins—and one other advertised as The French Exciter for his friend Jo, a gal back at his office who enjoyed a good tickler.

*     *     *

Upon return from their honeymoon, Dris and Pat moved in with his parents while they looked for a place of their own. George’s dad had offered to put up the down payment if George agreed to buy in the neighborhood, and Pat favored that proposal since she would be close to her mother should her mom need help. And when I become pregnant and have a baby, Mom will be near for me, she rationalized.

Neither wishing to cause a family fuss, especially with his father, whose connections could prove lucrative, George accepted his dad’s offer. Although Pat’s dream envisioned a large beautiful home on Long Island, she saw the potential in Joe’s benevolent offer and convinced herself that for a few years, living nearby was a good move for Dris’s career and family peace. Besides, at the time, she felt the need to be near her friends and her mom.

Residing with Dris’s parents did little to halt the deterioration in her marital relationship. The only bright side was the positive effect it had on Dris’s drinking problem. While under the Driscoll roof, George held his drinking problem in check, giving the appearance when he was occasionally at home that all was well between Pat and himself. However, Pat found the living arrangement to her disliking more such as a household wherein resided the busy son with his parents and a visiting niece.

Through the hot weeks of midsummer, she held her disappointment and unhappiness inside herself, masking her true feelings behind a pretense of being a happy newlywed. Eventually, she would come to the realization her marriage was floundering and the only way to salvage what remained was to get out from under Joe and Sandy where in the privacy of their own home she might try and make a fresh start in their marriage.

The Tuesday following their return to Brooklyn, George returned to his work and thereafter followed his prenuptial pattern every weekday at his job—several evenings of moonlighting with a small law office specializing in divorce cases, Saturdays out fishing with the boys, and Sundays over at friends’ houses to play cards, watch the game, or other guy stuff.

To his friends, when they inquired about his wife, he’d promise to bring her along one day, then add the excuse that for the moment his albatross had commitments with her family and friends.

There was a ring of truth in what Dris would tell his friends, for Pat found little warmth and love under the Driscoll’s roof. In her free hours, she shared her time between Renee and Mother and occasionally with Martha, sister Meghan, and her small circle of friends. The only times she shared with Dris were in passing conversation, usually over breakfast before either one of them left for the day, or when people stopped by unexpectedly and he would make a show of affection toward her, or when they slept upstairs in the small stuffy bedroom where they each slept in a twin-sized bed, she being asleep when he would arrive home late from his second job or after his boys’ time out.

Grandma was sick during the last week of August, and by Labor Day she was gone. She had suffered from a congestive heart, and when she came down with pneumonia, her doctors predicted her end was near. All in her family were saddened by her passing, and even Pat was moved since she had known Grandma for many years as the kindly neighbor across the way and later as a family friend until she became a relative through marriage.

Out of the sadness, Pat felt from her loss came the happiness she felt when Grandma’s will was read. To