When I was 12 and 13 when our friends, the Smiths down the block from my house at 501 North Spring Street in LaGrange Park, Illinois became a big part of my childhood development, to say the least. The Smiths went to the same Saint Francis Xavier Catholic church I did, but the kids went to Ogden Elementary and I went to Saint Francis Elementary across the street.
Attorney, Mr. Smith cheated on Mrs. Smith when he had an affair with Mrs. Smith’s best friend from early childhood, and the marriage broke up, leaving Mrs. Smith at home with the three kids. I adored Mrs. Smith and cried for her broken heart. Mrs. Smith’s pain made an indelible impression on me.
Mr. Smith graduated from Annapolis after Mrs. Smith’s wealthy father fixed his teeth to get him into Annapolis, the United States Naval Academy in Maryland, and then paid his way into law school later. Mrs. Smith never worked. She drove a yellow Mustang convertible after they divorced though, and liked a good time. She only drank coke before her divorce, but after she became an alcoholic.
My parents had fighting and alcohol nights. One weekend after we moved away from Spring Street to Lafayette, Indiana the Smiths visited us in Lafayette. We lived in beautiful Meadowbrook, a subdivision in the country home they bought. That night Mom threw a steak at Mrs. Smith. Mom was jealous of Mrs. Smith. Things were hard then on Mom. We had just moved out of LaGrange. She was dealing with my narcissistic dad, the walk-on-egg-shells-kind-of-guy, and emotional worries brought home by dad, his clients, and everything he hated. Dad’s clients were all wealthy Jews. He hated Jews. He hated blacks. Everyone was trash but us according to Dad, the hater.
I was playing that night in Lafayette with all the kids when we heard my mom screaming upstairs. Terrible! Alcohol is a scary drink when your a kid and see and hear parents loud fighting. It’s even scary when I watch people on YouTube going completely animalistic and uncivilized from alcohol, even to the point of getting arrested. There are three kinds of drunks. Another story for later.
One sunny weekend morning, back in LaGrange Park, I was babysitting the three Smith kids, when Mrs. Smith unexpectedly drove up in the driveway in her yellow Mustang. We all ran out screaming at her, so excited to see Mrs. Smith when she said, “I just came to pick up my curlers.” That was Mrs. Smith, glamorous. She was so much fun and crazy. We were all crazy on Spring Avenue. It was the decade of the civil rights movements, sexual revolution, the Vietnam War, marriages ending, and drug and alcohol abuse; the Age of Aquarius. And my dad screaming, “what did you goddamn kids break now, dammit !” There was never a dull moment on the news or at home. My bedroom was the hangout for all the kids because I spun my 45’s nonstop, Bob Dylan, my escape from the devil.
Daniel Springhorn down the block on Spring blew his eye out after he dropped a firework in his bathroom sink and came to my back door at 501 to show me his eye. A little boy down the other side of Spring was a twin, and his grandfather had a loaded gun when one of the twins was killed accidentally. Divorced, Jane Flannigan lived next door to the Smiths and Mrs. Flannigan and Mrs. Smith would often be tanning in their bikinis having cocktails and eating pizza. Preteen, Kevin Flannigan was hanging animals from ropes outside his window. A psychopath ? He poured gasoline on his sister Jane one day, and lit it and Jane ended up in a wheel chair with extensive burns. I wonder what ever happened to Kevin. All of this and more drama on Spring Street. Oh, I can’t fail to mention the other childhood trauma I witnessed at the train station in LaGrange one foggy dark day when an old lady walked in front of the train and her mangled body parts were laying on the train tracks in puddles of water before me. The Twilight Zone music would send me from the downstairs den to my upstairs bedroom in seconds, terrified. Dion recorded “Abraham, Martin and John,” that year and I escaped into my records. My eighth grade dedicated song from Saint Francis Xavier Elementary was “Light My Fire” the Doors. Then we moved to Lafayette, Indiana.
I was Mrs. Smith’s babysitter every weekend and I loved my job. I even dusted her house too. My dad designed her house. At my house we had roast beef, beef stew, baked chicken and gourmet, but at the Smiths, we ate out and ordered pizza and burgers, Kentucky Fried and Hostess Twinkies and goodies imaginable. We could do anything we wanted because, I was their sitter, in charge, and having so much fun. NO ONE HAS TO GO TO BED ! We’re staying up all night. That was my marketing strategy. The kids loved me. I had all the babysitting jobs on Spring Street. There was no staying up all night at my house. I cleaned Mrs. Smith’s house because my dad designed it. It looked better than the Trumps when you walked in. It smelled like cat though which took away from the ambience. Stanley and Stella sprayed. I always dusted at my house too. I was a domesticated little girl child. Keep dad happy. Maybe he’ll love me one day. Dad never loved anyone. I’m a domesticated woman now too. A perfectionist.
Mrs. Smith would be with her boyfriends after the divorce, and I babysat the kids from Friday to Sunday for $5. When she drove up in her yellow Mustang convertible, she always jumped out with a can of Tab and lit up a cigarette. She was beautiful, she was Mrs. Smith, the wife of a bastard attorney, and called us kids her “little shits.” “What are my “little shits” up to now,” she’s say. She was a tall bleached blonde with a deep fun loving smile. Her deep gargle voice and big smile made me so excited to see her. She loved me a lot, hell yes, I ran her entire home. She was down to earth and nothing but real. What a sense of humor she had. Did I tell you I was 13 ? When I was 12, she told me I was like an adult. She trusted me with everything. Donna Smith was so fun. How could you have done what you did to Mrs. Smith, Mr. Smith ? Hurting her byway of her best friend ?
Did I tell you she called us her “little shits” and it was great? You meant a lot to me Mrs. Donna Smith. Everything ! Mrs. Smith died of breast cancer in her late 50’s. The good, they sometimes die young. Mr. Smith lived into his 90’s.
RIP IN PEACE MY MOST BELOVED MRS. DONNA SMITH. I’LL NEVER FORGET YOU. I LOVE YOU.
ALEXA ! Play “Light My Fire” then play “Abraham, Martin and John.”