See that pretty little girl clutching her favorite book? It was an Uncle Wiggily Golden Book. I well remember the day. She needed to hold her book and no amount of pleading from the adults could get her to pose without the book. They took the book away and she flung herself down on the floor weeping inconsolably. Her attachment was strong and eventually the wisdom of holding the book prevailed. The adults gave up and the photo session was completed.
She was just on the brink of her second birthday.
Here she is, age 3, sitting bravely in the arms of a rather degenerate and clearly intoxicated Santa. We were all disturbed by the guy and we were forced to smile in order to get away.
She died 38 years ago today.
She was sitting at the kitchen table, all alone in the house. The last sad meal she had was a partial bowl of Spaghetti-O's and a glass of Pepsi-Cola. She was reading a newspaper article about the capture of Patti Hearst.
My little sister.
Life was different then. We all started baby-sitting when we were about 11. The youngest children of the baby-boom needed baby-sitters. One night she was baby-sitting for a toddler. His father was a professor and his mother was vastly pregnant with a second child. The professor drove my sister home. She was 13. But he stopped by a park. He had one of those old VW buses.
It was blue.
He told her that because his wife was pregnant, he really needed her so do something for him. She knew nothing about life. We had always been told to obey adults without question. Obedience was the highest virtue.
She came home with very bloody undergarments. My parents were furious. My father beat her for trying to ruin a good man's marriage. My mother mocked her.
She was 13. Didn't I say she was 13? The professor? He was old enough to be her father. And yet she was the EVIL one.
She killed herself. And he? He went on to become a respected Professor Emeritus famous in his field.
He is credited with pioneering Feminist interpretations of Art History.
How many people betrayed her? How many people blamed her? She broke up his marriage! And she was 13.
It's the 38th anniversary of her suicide.
I've never had the money to try to persecute him. And she was 13. You can read all about his pioneering achievements in Art History on the Internet. And see an impressive array of books at amazon.com that he wrote. I've called the police. It's too late. I've called and written to his universities. No response.
She gave her life because he could not contain his lust.
And she was 13.