The Moment That Changed My Life

How could I be so stupid? How could I have believed all his lies again? But this time he had gone on for weeks about us needing a new start, away from all our family and friends. We would get new jobs, make new friends and be even closer to each other this way. Now I sat on a log in the woods along a highway in Georgia, reflecting on my marriage and how I got to be here, scared for my life and trying to think of some way to save myself.

We were on our way to Florida. There was a lot of construction going on and he had been promised a job as soon as we could get there and find a place to stay. We only brought the clothes and personal items that would fit in the trunk of the 1958 Thunderbird we were driving. A complete new start, he had said. I couldn't bring my books and other belongings, which would only hold us back from our new beginning.

Jerry and I got married when I was 17 and he was 23. My parents were very much against the whole thing but signed the permission form when I insisted that we would just go to another state if they withheld permission. Dad knew I had to learn everything by personal experience and, even though he would have liked to save me some bad experiences, he usually gave me my head and let me learn the hard way. My parents had a lot on their plate anyway. My mother had Multiple Sclerosis and Dad was disabled from a bad accident in a coal mine when he was younger. They loved me but I was old enough to take care of myself--according to me anyway.

We started off okay, nothing to brag about. We had a third-floor furnished apartment in town, on the bus line. We both had good jobs and everything seemed to be good. I worked 8:00 to 4:30 and he worked 3:00 to 11:00. We didn't have much time together except on weekends. He was very controlling, kept track of my every move. I was so much in love and believed this proved how much he loved me.

A year came and went and I did everything I could think of to keep him happy. The first time I resisted his controlling and he hit me with his fist, I was shocked out of my mind. Of course he got his way and he sat me down on his lap and hugged and kissed me and told me how sorry he was that he had hurt me. He said he was so used to dealing with his brother and his rough friends that striking out was just a reflex and would never happen again. He loved me and he would never intentionally hurt me. Oh, how many times I was to hear this promise.

Why didn't I know that this was an impossible situation? Well, this was the Sixties and domestic violence was a dirty little secret that society preferred to ignore. Of course there were more scenes like the one I described above, him hitting, me crying, then apologies and lovemaking. He told me once he would rather kiss me when I was crying than eat when he was hungry. How crazy is that?

The beatings got worse. He was insanely jealous and imagined all kinds of situations where I was cheating on him. Of course I lied to everyone. I was very clumsy, fell down stairs, hit my head on cabinet doors, and many more excuses I made up to explain black eyes, split lips, and bruises. I really didn't want my parents to know. After all, I was old enough and tough enough to take care of myself, wasn't I? No need to worry them. Besides, that would be admitting that they had been right and I was wrong. I realized that was true but I still could not admit it, even to myself.

I told myself that he really did love me and that everything he did was for my own good. I learned to modify my behavior to keep him from getting jealous or flying into a rage at the slightest provocation. When he did hit me, he convinced me that it was my fault. I was making him mad and he couldn't help it. I tiptoed around him, so afraid of causing another confrontation. I felt it was my responsibility to make my marriage work. Hadn't I vowed "for better or for worse?" Didn't marriages last forever, "till death do us part?"

The police were called a number of times, by concerned neighbors who overheard the fighting. He would just answer the door and tell the police officers that everything was okay and they would go away. Some of them did ask me personally if everything was okay but I said it was, what else was I going to do? The laws and police procedures didn't protect abused women in those days the way they do now. He had guns and knives, and of course, his fists. I was mortally afraid. By this time, I feared that he was mentally ill but didn't know how to get help for him without risking a fight and a beating.

We moved around a lot so I didn't really get to know any of our neighbors. Some close friends talked me into filing charges against him because they were really concerned for my safety. When he found out about it, he took me down to the police station, and stood behind me, with my arm bent up behind my back, while I dropped the charges. Another time, when a court appearance was scheduled, he simply drove me out of town to a truck stop and kept me there until court was over. Since I was a "no show," the charges against him were dropped.

This was the pattern when he decided that all we needed was a new start, away from all our friends and family in Ohio and West Virginia. I was so young and naive that I believed him when he said it would be like when were first married and we would be so close because we would only have each other. So, the next thing I knew, Florida, here we come. At this stage of our marriage we had a daughter, an accidental pregnancy even though I took birth control pills. He arranged for his parents to keep her for us while we went off to "start a new Life." He told them we would send for her shortly.

I don't even remember what set him off while we were driving to Florida. I think he imagined I was flirting with a truck driver who passed us on the highway and gave a little toot on his horn. Jerry was saying all kinds of crazy stuff like where was I supposed to meet the truck driver.

He suddenly stopped the car on the side of the road. We were somewhere in Georgia. There was red clay mud and scrub pine all along the road. He dragged me off into a little stand of trees and sat me on a fallen log. He beat me and held a knife on me while he berated me and told me what a poor ignorant fool I was. His face was truly frightening when he leaned close to me, with the knife held under my chin, and said, "Little girl, I think I'll kill you right here. I can hide your body so that no one will ever know what happened to you. What do you think about that?"

As I sat there on the log listening to his ranting and raving, I began to see how impossible the situation was and that I would probably not live to see another day. I recognized that he meant it when he said he would have no problem killing me and hiding my body. Suddenly I realized that I had let this go too far. I had thought I could help him. Now I knew I had to help myself.

This was a moment that I would remember forever. I like to think the light finally came on. I began planning, then and there. I prayed, and bargained with God. If He would let me escape alive, I promised Him I would do everything I could to get back to my family as soon as I could.

I cried and begged Jerry for my life. I promised him I would be good and would do everything he told me. I assured him I loved only him and we could start over and make it work for us in Florida. I told him everything I thought he wanted to hear. He pulled me back to the car and we got on the road to our new life.

Thus began a time of complete and abject fear. I knew I had to get away but I had to bide my time until I could figure out how to do it. He kept me completely cut off from my family, no letters or phone calls allowed. He was running a small gas station in Cocoa Beach. I had to go to work with him every day so he could keep watch on me. I fetched our lunches and spent a little time on the beach. These were the only times I was away from his constant supervision.

His parents, in Ohio, were caring for our daughter while we got settled in Florida. Lora was almost two and had Down's syndrome. His family returned her to us after a few weeks, relying on his stories of how well we were doing in Florida. I was concerned for my daughter's safety, as well as my own. One day I told him I had an intense headache and I had to stay in our apartment with Lora instead of going to work with him.

This was the day I finally got an opportunity to call a close family member. I still could not bear to tell my parents what was going on. My aunt and uncle wired me some money. It was December and I knew it was bitterly cold back in Ohio. Jerry had thrown away our suitcases, so I packed a few clothes, diapers, and our winter coats in a shopping bag that I could carry with us. Lora and I got on the first Greyhound Bus leaving Cocoa, Florida, going north, to Atlanta. From there, we caught a bus to Columbus, Ohio. It took two days and I counted my loose change to keep Lora fed from my meager funds.

I thanked God all the way home that I had been able to carry out my escape. Jerry had me paged at every bus station on the way. I answered the page once when the announcer said it was a "family emergency." He had asked that I be given a message that he was hospitalized, badly burned with a work-related injury and I had to come back to Cocoa Beach. I hung up the phone and climbed back on the bus with my baby. For the rest of the trip, I ignored the pages. When we got to Columbus, I barely had enough change to call someone to pick us up and take us home.

Jerry followed us back home, arriving first because he flew. My family protected me and hid me while I filed for a divorce.

In the Sixties, Legal Aid took on divorces for indigent clients. A wonderful young woman attorney supported me and helped me though the legal tangle he made for me when he filed for custody of Lora Lee. By this tactic he was able to stretch out the procedings for over a year. Twenty-some years later, that young woman attorney became a popular, celebrated judge in our county. Legal Aid had assigned me one of the best attorneys I could have ever had.

Jerry was eventually diagnosed with Schizophrenia and committed suicide about ten years after our divorce. He was a very tortured soul, but I thank God that I saw the light that day in a Georgia woods and realized that I had to save myself. No one could save him.