As I pointed out in the last year, 1970, this was the year that everything changed. I was five years old, going on 6 and I was living in two places. I lived in Pennsauken, NJ. With my mother and her girlfriend, and I lived in Holly Tree Acres, a trailer park in New Jersey, with Dad and Margaret. But Dad had his plans in place, and the fruits of his efforts started to bear fruit in January. The infamous custody hearing. I was taken to court to answer the questions of a judge and seal Mom's fate, forever changing her life, and mine as well. I did not understand what was happening and I just had to roll with the day. Dad dressed me in my finest clothing and took me to the courthouse. We got there just as my Mother exited the judge's chambers and Dad was ushered in. I was scared because I did not know what was going to happen. I sat in the hallway with Mom while Dad was in with the judge. I could feel that she was defeated, but did not understand it at the time. Dad came out, looked at Mom with serious distain, and a pretty young lady with long blond hair asked me to come with her. My mom told me to just Tell the truth and that was my downfall. Why? Because a five-year-old does not understand the perspective of truth.

The Chambers

I was taken into the judges chambers and I was put in a chair much too big for me. The judge was a roly-poly man with small tufts of grey hair around a balding head. He was in a white shirt with black tie, and smelled of cigarettes and peppermints. He asked me if I wanted a Coke and how I was feeling. He offered to put on his robe if it would make me comfortable. I don't think that anything would make me comfortable at that point. So I just stared at him. Then the questions began. He asked me about my life with both Mom and Dad, and pressed the issues of Mom's girlfriends. Obviously Dad had told him about her actions. He asked how I ate and where I slept. And he asked if I was happy. I told him that I wasn't, but that did not seem to matter. But the anvil of the conversation was when he asked me where I wanted to live. I said, without hesitation, that I wanted to live with my mother. Then the trap fell and I know now, that it was all a setup. When he asked me why I wanted to live with my mother, I blurted out that it was because Dad beats me. My Dad was a master manipulator. He had been laying his hands on me for over a year, and each time, he would point out that he was not beating me out of anger (which he was), but because I was being punished. It was in the bible, the rod and the child. If I had looked around the Judge's chambers, and had a few more years of life, I would have seen the trap. The picture of Christ, the picture of the Pope, the cross AND crucifix. The bibles in multiple languages on the shelves. Dad was not abusing me, he was punishing a child that was corrupted by a Witch! I overheard this after I left the chambers, but it was too late to try an explain. Dad received custody. And the last thing that I remember was seeing Kathy, Mom's friend, kneeling beside Mom who had collapsed into a fetal position after the judge talked to them both. My life was given to Dad and the horrors to come were the blame of a judge that had no clue what he had done. Many, many years later, I tracked down this judge and let him know what he had done and the cost to that broken little boy. It was my hope at the time that he went home and ate a revolver. Of course, now that I am more enlightened, I hope that he learned something instead.

A Death in the Family

The ignorance of youth is an amazing thing. For the first couple months things were OK. With the court case behind us and dad with custody, his iron fists took a break. They were more often used on Margaret than on me. It probably did not hurt that much of my time was spent with my grandmother and my grandfather who lived right down the street in another trailer. Grandma was old at the time, but I really don't think she would have any problem taking on my mountain of a father and beating him into shape if she knew what was going on. But that's not what happened. About halfway through the year, my father dropped me off for the weekend with my mother and he was coming back on Sunday evening. Even more than 50 years later I remember that drive like it was today. I was playing with some of my friends in our apartment complex in Pennsauken and trying to gain the attention of a cute little blonde. Dad got there, and he was in a rush. I was raced to the car and barely even had time to wave to Mom. We were on our way back to the trailer. And this is where it gets hinky. And it could not happen in the 2020's because kids are smarter than I was back then. Just as we turned into the trailer park, Dad pulled to the side of the road and told me that Mom had been killed in an automobile accident. Keep in mind, no cellular phones, no way to contact someone driving, it would not have made sense if I thought about it. But he said it with conviction and a lack of emotion. This, of course, explained why when we got to our trailer, I found it hooked to a tractor and being pulled off its' pad. Everything was tied down, the cat was in a box, and even my grandparents did not know we were leaving. Margaret explained that we were moving to Louisville, KY because the thoughts of Mom were just to painful for my Dad. But to help ME, I could call her (Margaret) Mommy. I was stunned, broken, and cried the whole way to Kentucky. Dad and Margaret, did not give a damn and just let me cry myself to sleep. When I woke up, the trailer was being pulled onto a pad in a half-finished trailer park. There was not even grass. Just dusty lots spread out all around us. The beginning of life without a mother, unless I were to count Margaret.