Thelma and Lou: A Circular Love Story

By Lynn S. Rosenberg

30 years of marriage. 10 years divorced. Have Thelma and Lou changed enough to reconcile with each other and reunite their family? Accompany this mismatched couple on their journey of rediscovery which takes them through Italy, the Hamptons, Los Angeles, New York City and several family make-or break events on Long Island. That is until an out-o

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: May 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885902335

Lynn S. Rosenberg

Lynn Rosenberg and her husband, Ron, have lived in Las Vegas, NV for over 20 years. Originally from New York, Lynn taught elementary school then followed her career path to become an assistant principal, honing her organizational and managerial skills through education. She wrote and published a collection of true stories entitled 50 States 50 Stories...I Never Thought I' d Live Here, which was published in 2020. Writing became a new avocation, one that encouraged her to facilitate a class that can be found on YouTube entitled, "So You Wanna be a Writer?" helping both aspiring and experienced writers to develop their craft.Thelma & Lou: A Circular Love Story is Lynn's first novel, loosely based on her parents' marriage and divorce, and is an attempt to rewrite history. The Rosenbergs have enjoyed traveling throughout Europe, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand, as well as hiking through most of America's national parks. Visiting the couple's three children and six grandkids in both Nashville and Los Angeles rounds out their busy lives.lynnsrosenberg.com

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PROLOGUE

Thelma

I

did not expect to hear from my son, Ben, on the morning of June 8, 1990. He called to tell me a strange thing that happened. He said, I opened my dresser drawer to get a shirt when your wedding picture fell from my dresser, and I thought that was really karmic. Today would have been your forty-third wedding anniversary—guess you are both trying to say you’re still around and kicking, maybe even each other…

Even though I was quite content in my life with my job, friends, social life, and health, that phone call got me thinking about my thirty year marriage to Lou, and our very acrimonious divorce over ten years ago. Sure, there were good times, but those times were usually peppered with anger and unhappiness. I allowed my mind to reflect on the good, the bad, and the ugly…

The 1940s

This is the story of Thelma and Lou Gordon (not quite Thelma and Louise, but those were our names). We came together more than 45 years ago, in what Lou told me was a burning love on his part, and a skeptical love on my part. We met before World War II on a blind date, then Lou served in the Army for four years, and when he returned, we met up by chance and started dating. He told me that he was quite taken with me, telling me I had both brains and beauty and was clearly above his class, which I liked to hear, seeing as I was not the most secure person at that time. I remember being attracted to him, yet felt a pull back because I thought his friends were raucous and loud, and he was not as educated as I was. During the years when Lou was away in the Army, I almost married my college sweetheart, Manny, but there were circumstances which interfered. At that time, I was impressed with my college degree from New York University in Business Administration, which was a rare commodity for a woman in 1945. More significant than the education and friend disparity, I felt that even though Lou was clearly a motivated and energetic young man with promise of success, he was not entirely truthful. I always felt I had great integrity, and an unwavering allegiance to the truth—that was our big disconnect.

Love prevailed, and during our short courtship he said to me, I know I can have anything I want, but I’m not sure I can win you over. He would deny the depth of these words years later, but that is truly what he said. He used the words to Frank Sinatra's song, "All or Nothing at All," to emphasize his feelings. I’ll admit I was smitten. However, a fortune teller could have foretold that my initial instincts became a crucial component of how our marriage went off a cliff…

We were married at the Hotel McAlpin in New York City when the cost of a wedding for 148 people was a mere $8.50 per person, totaling $1500—not like the outrageous prices today. We honeymooned at a hotel called the Lesser Lodge in the Catskills, where a picture of each of us was among our collection: Lou standing on a deck looking out at the world, smoking a pipe, and me in a bathing suit sitting in an Adirondack chair smiling and sporting sunglasses, looking as though our whole lives lay ahead of us. And they did—just not in the way we imagined.

During our early years, we lived with my parents, Bea and Murray Berk, in a lovely apartment in the Flatbush section of Brooklyn. Looking back at the parts of the marriage which didn’t work, it started with this. Even though we were grateful for the support and shelter through those lean years, I realized that it kind of set the foundation for stress between Lou and my mother.

Life was good for us through the birth of our first child, a daughter we named Debra. Living with my parents during this time was calm and safe, and it gave Lou a chance to look for the best business opportunity for him to support our family. Even at the onset of his working life, Lou knew that he was a boss and could not work for anybody. Knowing this about himself would be the formula for the next 50 years of work and the manner in which he lived his life. He met two men he thought could be his partners and founded a machine and metal company, basically a tool and die shop. This company supported our family for the next thirty years.

When life is good, any couple can ride out the vicissitudes of life; however, when tragedy happens, that separates those marriages that succeed from those that fail. We had such a fate. We went on to have another baby in 1953, a son we named Bobby. Unfortunately, we lost Bobby at nine months old from complications from whooping cough. Under the strongest circumstances, any marriage would suffer. The pain of loss and failure was tragic and stayed with us, manifesting itself in many ways throughout our marriage. The memory of walking into the empty nursery after Bobby had passed was unimaginable. To carry a baby for nine months, then love and care for him for another nine months, made the loss unbearable for us both. Even though we had Debra, who was five years old, to cherish and love, the loss was omnipresent. I was an anxious mother by nature and fearful of any desire to try again to increase the family. In retrospect, Lou and I did not grieve together. While I needed to talk about our loss, he needed to be alone. Therefore, our loss wasn’t really processed in any meaningful way. We just moved through the motions of life for a long time.

As I thought about this, I mused that what Lou didn’t know was that it was not about fixing a situation necessarily, but rather being in it together. My mother, Bea, also bearing her own grief for the loss of her baby grandson, became too involved in our life, thinking that I needed her support more than I did, and started a pattern of conflict between Lou and herself, all the while forcing me to choose my loyalties. Instead of both my mother and Lou working together and appreciating the conflict I recall feeling all those years, they pulled in opposite directions. This caused much pain, tears, and sorrow for me.

The 1950s

The 1950s seems so long ago, both in time and the way the world was. It is hard to recall how easily women assumed the role of housewives, never imaging holding down a job and being a mother and wife then, which is not uncommon in the 1990s.

In 1955, as many post WWII couples did, we moved to the suburbs on Long Island. We agreed that a change was needed for us to move on from the death of our son, Bobby. Time did heal the sadness in some ways, when we purchased a small, three-bedroom ranch home on a well-manicured street with a mixture of Jewish and Italian neighbors. We felt it was a new beginning for our family, and I was happy to be a housewife. I learned to drive, as many women of that generation did, in order to become independent. Lou worked hard at his business, making a decent living and taking his recreational pleasures in golf, boating, bowling, and poker. Thinking back on Lou's activities now, what always started out as a fun pastime with Lou gradually became an obsession—usually excluding me from the sport. After the first few years, I felt that these outlets were more about running away than about the activity itself, and that became hurtful.

In 1956, we had a healthy son who completed the family that had been broken with the death of our baby boy. Actually, Lou was the one who persuaded me to try again, as I was terrified of experiencing the agony of losing another child. But all was well, and our boy, Benji, brought us much joy. Both sets of our parents, Rosie and Ben Goldstein and Bea and Murray Berk, would visit often. They took the Long Island Railroad from Brooklyn to the suburbs of Long Island to spend a Sunday afternoon enjoying the expanse of our ranch house in Valley Stream, compared to each of their typical, cramped Brooklyn apartments. Those were good times, as we were on our own and acting like grownups.

The 1960s

During this decade, life was pretty normal and routinized for the Gordon family. Debra was a teenager, and Benji was old enough to start exploring the world. I was little freer from taking care of a household and a baby, so I ventured into the community with activities such as volunteer work, bowling, mahjong, and lunches with the ladies. I found my niche by working with the National Council of Jewish Women (NCJW), an advocacy organization for human rights and justice. I became study group chairperson and planned book talks and cultural events for the Tri-Town Section of NCJW. I felt maybe I could use some of my college degree of which I was so proud to research and organize meaningful programs for the members.

Lou continued to work hard at his business, always looking around the corner for the deal of the century to catapult him to richness. During these years, he had his own cadre of relaxation activities. He bought a boat named The Pip with a friend for weekend fishing trips and occasional family outings. The boat was cool, even though it required lots of maintenance. During these years he bowled, fished, and played poker on Friday nights for entertainment. I knew that playing poker was entertainment for him, but I think back on these weekly Friday night card games which lasted for years, and am angry at myself for putting up with his absences and escapades. I should have made him more accountable to me and the family. Was I afraid of pushing him too far?

The secretarial job I have now, working at Starrett City, a housing development in Brooklyn, actually came about because of my friendship with one of Lou's cousins, Dotty. I’ve maintained the job since our divorce, and initially I resented having to work after thirty years of marriage, but as time went on, I grew in the job and it became a source of pride for me.

Thinking about Dotty makes me think about the annual family picnics at a state park in Valley Stream. Lou had a large family of cousins as his mother, Rose, was one of eight Ripps children. They named the group The Lena Ripps Cousins’ Club, after the matriarch. Each one of Lena's children had two or three kids, and they all had children of their own, so at these picnics, around 50-60 people would show up armed with typical picnic homemade dishes and the requisite burgers and franks. It was a yearly event with food, ball playing, and schmoozing to catch everyone up on events of the year. Family stories about parents and grandparents would be passed around such as: Tell us how you came to America, how was the boat trip across the ocean, how old were you when you married, tell us about when Daddy was a little boy… Stories like these were treasures to the grandchildren, and held their place in Ripps family history.

I liked these gatherings because I only had a few cousins on my side and we weren’t close, so being with a big family was fun. They all made me feel special, and we laughed a lot. Of course, remembering those ten years of picnics also brought some angst.

I’m going to ask my mother to join us, I’d say to Lou each year.

"She's not really a member of my side of the family, was Lou's answer, which was code for him saying, I don’t really want to be with her." It seemed every action had a reaction with us.

Even though the Catskills are not popular nowadays, during the summers we went on yearly vacations. As most Jewish families during this time period, the Catskills were a bit of a draw—plenty of good food, nightly entertainment, swimming, and golf and tennis all on the premises. It was an opportunity for families to vacation together without being on top of each other. Featured in the movie Dirty Dancing, the mountains was the flavor of the decade until its demise years later. Families really dressed for dinner, then the kids had their own teen events while the adults danced, drank, and enjoyed prime entertainment. We saw many comedians, singers, and magicians who all got their start in the Catskills. Names like Alan King, Don Rickles, and Connie Francis were annual entertainers. It became an opportunity to meet other couples with whom we socialized after the summer months ended.

Winters brought ski trips for the kids, which I didn’t enjoy. I tried it once or twice but was afraid of getting hurt; however, I remember liking the après-ski part. The way this started was Deb went skiing with her school ski club when she was 15, and came home all black and blue and soaking wet one Saturday. It was then that Lou decided this was a sport he hadn’t yet tried—remember that Lou was the athlete. Therefore, at 40 years old, he took up skiing, complete with great outfits and equipment. The kids and Lou went on many short ski trips out on the east end of Long Island, or upstate New York for the day. Once again, what started out as an admirably protective dad, soon became a typical Lou obsession, to the point that he would go away with the guys for weekends in Vermont. Guess who was left behind? Dopey me who allowed that to happen.

If I’m really honest with myself, maybe part of my gravitating to my mother and her needs was because I felt needed when I was with her, unlike with my husband who was always running in another direction—away from me. Thinking back, our marriage was far from a partnership. Today couples share responsibilities of finances, child-rearing, and decisions. We did not. In all fairness, from the time our kids were old enough, Lou wanted me to get a job to help with money shortfall, and I resisted because I was lazy about working and enjoyed my suburban freedom. I made mistakes, too. I should have helped bring in some income to make bill paying less of a frustration for us. I felt that was Lou's job. In retrospect, I was wrong. Remember, though, wives working in the 1950s and 1960s was not common.

The late sixties had many ups and downs in the Gordon household. I was happy to be a suburban housewife with the activity perks in addition to my household chores. After Deb's high school years, she went off to college which helped her to separate a little from us and become an independent young lady. Benji was growing up and setting his interests not on athletics (much to Lou's chagrin), but rather books and movies. This was not really understood at that time, but that early interest parlayed itself into a career of writing screenplays and reviewing movies for him many years later.

Lou continued to search for the next deal hoping to strike it rich, but kept busy with his many forms of entertainment. Years later, thinking about all his time he spent away from the family, I wondered if he had been a faithful husband; that was never proven or disproven to me, so it will go unanswered. Only Lou knows the truth.

We continued having marital issues during this time. Never having had a solid foundation upon which to build, we decided maybe it was time to call it quits. Deb was about 17 and Benji around 10 years old at the time. We hired a divorce lawyer, and I remember, on the drive to his office, Lou said, We have history, a family, a pretty comfortable life, and we should try to salvage our marriage, don’t you think? Being afraid of the future and how my life would be completely altered with a divorce, I agreed to try again.

Lou bought himself his first Cadillac, and a huge diamond ring for me to kind of start over. Even then, all I wanted was a small stone because we never had the money when we were engaged for a ring, but Lou brought home a seven-carat ring! Why did I accept something I really didn’t want? Truth be told, the size of that ring always embarrassed me, yet flashy things always made Lou feel good about himself. As the next five years progressed, this was a time in our lives where we had some good reasons to stay together: Benji's Bar Mitzvah, Deb's wedding, and in the early 1970s, the birth of our first grandson, Jeremy.

The 1970s

But by the mid-1970s, we fell into our old pattern of arguing, blaming, and not seeing eye to eye on most issues. A good example of this was our vacation house in the Poconos. Lou wanted a vacation home, so he scouted out sites to build.

The Hamptons would be a great location because it is hip, close to home, and up and coming, with beautiful beaches, great shopping, and many upscale restaurants, I suggested.

I heard that gambling is coming to the Poconos and purchasing property there would be a lucrative investment, Lou countered.

Without taking my desires seriously, he purchased four acres on a lake and proceeded to have a house built. This started out as an A frame chalet type, but ended up looking like a resort! So not only didn’t I get my way with location, but when we would drive every other weekend to the house, it became another house for me to shop for, cook in, and clean. Often we would invite friends to share the weekend, which was pleasant, and it kept the arguing at bay between us, but at the same time, it increased my workload.

The final straw for our marriage came when I broke my wrist playing golf in the fall of 1977. I remember being in a lot of pain, breaking my right wrist on a Thursday. Due to the discomfort, a full cast, and pain, I was quite limited in my motions and my ability to function. Undaunted by this obstacle, Lou announced, I’m going to the Poconos house. Are you coming?

Shocked, I said, There is no way that I could think about making the trip considering how uncomfortable I am. What are you thinking, Lou? But Lou decided he would go anyway, and at that moment, it was over for me. I could not believe that he would leave me in my incapacitated state. I knew at that watershed moment I could not be married to a man who cared only about himself. I was done putting up with his activities, dishonesty, and selfish ways.

Don’t come home after the weekend, I called out after him. I want a divorce!

Lou agreed without much fanfare, and this time we were really over.

In the Spring of 1978, Lou and I were embroiled in bitter divorce proceedings. We each had our attorneys, and the attorneys had their respective responsibilities to create the best deal for their own clients. Of course, anyone who has been down this road knows that money is always the linchpin, and it was especially so in this case.

Money was the great disparity between us, and even though we both had competent attorneys, Lou was able to settle a small amount in alimony for me, hiding and misrepresenting his assets as many businessmen do. His idea of an equalizer was to give me the house. These proceedings went on for about a year until finally we signed the divorce papers. Then it was really over. I learned that Lou seamlessly adjusted to the single life, while I had to be mindful of finances and fend for myself for the first time in my life. I have to admit that I was angry and resentful toward Lou.

On the other hand, I was very happy not to be bothered with Lou and all the fighting, and glad that we finally decided to end our thirty-year marriage. The fact that I had to work so that I could maintain and retain the security and comfort of my house in Valley Stream initially worried me, but once I established a routine, I found I liked getting out, dressing professionally, and enjoying the camaraderie of the people with whom I worked. Socially, it enabled me to meet a few eligible men and develop wonderful friendships with other single ladies. Surprisingly, there was a younger man at the office—probably twenty years my junior—who had a crush on me. Maybe it was a mother thing, but I didn’t view it that way. He would flirt with me, tell me how nice I looked, and bring me coffee and a bagel each morning. I was very flattered, and even though I knew it would never go anywhere, it boosted my ego. The people in my office were friendly, patient, and fun to be around. Lou's cousin, Dotty, was the manager of my department, and really paved the way for me to have a good work experience.

Debra

Immediately upon my parents’ separation, the disparities in their lives would become apparent. My dad found an apartment in Manhattan and, in no time, he had an impressive number of women to date, from all walks of life: a business tycoon, a model, and a wealthy widow, just to name a few. He had plenty of arm candy which enhanced his role as a conqueror, and which fed his ego. My brother and I got stuck in the middle feeling obligated to accept dinner invites to see him, so he could show off his female companions. Ben didn’t seem to mind all that much, and took these dinners in stride, but for me it was a different sort of experience.

I hated seeing my father so happy and settled into his new life, all the while being obligated to maintain polite dinner conversations with women who were close to my own age. On one occasion, Dad said to me, Don’t mention that you are thirty; she kind of thinks I’m younger than I am. I asked my dad why this woman would think that, to which he replied, Because I told her I was in my forties! In reality, Dad was in his mid-fifties! The other problem I had was that my mom quizzed me on these dinners, and I was put in an awkward position of telling her the truth and hurting her, or lying, which I was never comfortable doing. My dad was eating filet mignon and drinking expensive scotch, while my mother ate roasted chicken in her kitchen! For my whole life, my mother had been protective of me, which made me feel as though I needed to protect her. The roles were reversed from all the years I had spent growing up.

When I was in college, my mother wrote me letters several times a week, dispensing motherly advice throughout each letter. Topics such as grades, boys, allowance, eating properly, acne, and dressing warmly peppered all of her letters. I hope you are eating sensibly. If you are short of cash you need to manage your allowance better. If your skin is broken out, eliminate chocolate, if you’re not warm enough, I’ll send your ski underwear… were some of the directives throughout these letters to me during those four years. Both Mom and I looked forward to those letters and our Sunday phone calls. These letters were a way of us not losing our day-to-day relationship, enabling us to remain close, and giving her the opportunity to watch out for me, even from 250 miles away.

SPRING 1991

CHAPTER 1

Thelma

O

n an ordinary evening during the week, I was eating dinner in my kitchen after an unusually satisfying day at work, relaxing with a glass of wine and a healthy meal. I learned a new tracking technique for the accounts I had to monitor in the office, and was proud of myself thinking about my day, happy to be utilizing my brain to continue to learn new things. My job responsibilities had grown in the twelve years I had been working at Starrett. From being hired as a secretary, I added bookkeeping to my job description, and more recently, because I was good with people, as well as articulate and well-organized, I handled the records and intake interviews for new renters. With each new