As I write this, I’m listening to the following:
I tell Alexa play Barry White, Temptations, Dianna Ross, Gladys Knight and the Pips, Four Tops, Commodores, Al Green….and Marvin Gaye, Mercy Mercy Me! Sing to me.
When I became black for a minute, I was 17 years old. I was in my fourth high school on the Northside of Chicago, attending Sullivan High School playing my vinyl 45’s all day: Mony Mony, I’m a Believer and Mr. Tambourine Man, Have You Ever Seen the Rain, Bridge Over Troubled Water, James Taylor; you know what I’m talking about. I started my senior year at age 16 being born in the month of November on All Saints Day, a Catholic kid having started school at age 4. I was always the youngest in my class. I was always more of a social child than an academic. I had a hard time comprehending what I read in books. Maybe I had ADHD? Who knows. I got through it. Didn’t I?
I had previously been the pied piper of my neighborhood living at 501 North Spring Street in LaGrange Park, Illinois attending Saint Francis Xavier Elementary School from first to eighth grade. I was the go-to-babysitter at age 12. Mrs. Smith would pay me $5.00 to watch her three kids from Friday to Sunday while she went away. I had developed marketing skills. I was the most highly rated babysitter on the block. Nobody had to go to bed. The kids loved me. We had so much fun. I even had a childcare center in my white picketed backyard at age 12 and put on plays charging 50 cents to get into my backyard during the summer. Candy bars were 5 cents back then. I sold candy for a dime. I was an entrepreneur; I was 12 years old. When I look at 12-year-olds now I wonder about me.
Then we moved. I was 13. By age 14 I was a skilled nurse’s aide up to age 16 in Lafayette, Indiana taking care of an entire wing of bedridden elderly with an R.N. after school. The R.N. only passed meds, I recall. I’m sure my parents never complimented me for my hard work, nor did anyone else. My mother was a housewife and never worked throughout her marriage. I was 14 now. I often remember the conditions of the bedridden elderly; bed sores were bad. I don’t remember the nurse taking care of the sores either. When I turned 15, I worked at Home Hospital in Lafayette on the general surgery wing first and then requested to transfer to the pediatrics wing. I love kids. I was just a kid too.
I didn’t have to work. I wanted to. I’m driven. Always have been. I wanted to get out of the house. My father, a temperamental narcissistic artist never loved me. I loathed him. I had an experience one night coming home from work from Home Hospital my parents had just picked me up from and drove to our beautiful home in the country in Meadowbrook subdivision. They kept me up late that night. I had just worked the 3-11 shift after school at Jefferson High School. I was very happy, then before what they did to me.
I was emotionally crushed by my parents at age 15. I’m going to write about it one day. My entire heart was shifted. My personality made a swift change into rebellion against my dad. I was not going to put up with his abuse one more minute. My mom never stood up to my dad’s abuse unless it was about her and she was drinking Scotch. I wasn’t going to stand for his abuse one more minute. He broke my nose when I had a fit in the kitchen. I was a quiet child at home taking it all in. Since the time I was a toddler, I kept away from dad. He’d go off at any moment. He threw my clothes from my upstairs bedroom down the stairs to the downstair basement bedroom that day.
Good riddance Daddio! Bye! They weren’t allowing me to be friends with my best friends Janet or Davi or Karla. We always wrote long letters to each other in class. My entire bottom dresser drawer was full to the brim with the letters. One day, Mom read them and found a letter where Karla had drawn a penis and said it was Mike’s penis. I never saw a penis in my life, ever. Mike was my best friend Janet’s brother, my age. We would make out! Mike was my first kiss. We would roll in the grass and kiss. We never once touched each other in any way. We only kissed and held each other passionately.
I always sat on the bus by Janet to school. Dad told me I couldn’t be friends with my best friends because of the penis on paper. Karla wrote that letter. It was Karla that was the bad influence. She was hanging out with blacks too. They drilled me that night. My dad even mentioned something about me being lesbian. What the hell? I had a lot of friends. Each of us were very different. I sure was. I don’t I even think I knew what a lesbian was. Turned out my father was bisexual. He ended up dying in Florida when he was 70 of heart failure. He was living with a man named Alvin who was of the religion Christian Scientist established in 1926 by Ernest Holmes which is a metaphysical philosophy rather than a traditional religion which teaches that sickness and pain are not real, but rather illusions that can be overcome through prayer and a correct understanding of God. Really? I don’t think so Alvin. They don’t see doctors or take medicine. Their main text is Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures. Shortly after my father passed Alvin stabbed himself in the gut and died. Persons that are homosexual think everyone is too. My mother never caught on to the fact my father was visiting “bath houses” in Chicago where gay men meet. He would come home often and say he had been soaking at a bath house. Dad was a very talented designer. That I will give him. He was also an abusive racist hateful terrible father too.
The next morning, I obeyed my parents. I got on the bus the next morning and didn’t sit by my best friend, Janet. She never knew what was going on. I dealt with it all in solitary confinement; alone within my intelligent self. Janet, Mike and Davi and me were really good, respectful of our parents,’ . We were well-bred and obeyed our parents. This is what we are supposed to do.
After my sophomore year at Jefferson, Dad picked up the family and we moved to Chicago, the big windy city by Lake Michigan; not in the suburbs like before, but right smack in the city. It was 1972. Chicago is the melting pot of America; diverse races and nationalities at every turn walking down streets and I was living in it without supervision. Mom and Dad were clueless.
Then a sexually sophisticated “ward-of-the-state” girl a year older named Cathy Frisbee who was also a senior had an adult black boyfriend who together brought me to Nu Life Health Food Store on Morse Avenue not far from my home, and introduced me to Jesse Rock Stonewall, the owner and body builder since age 16. He was Mr. Universe, Mr. America, Mr. Chicago, 33 years old. Years later I research him (google) and come to find out he was married to a black woman named Dorothy and had two sons. Dorothy divorced him. Hey, my dad was a bigot. A racist. He hated everybody. I had no problem with anyone; especially colored as blacks were called back then. I loved everyone. Still do. I’m a free-spirited inquisitive kind of person. Nothing has changed.
Rock as he was called was now “grooming” me. Telling me about the sporting life. What the hell did I know? I was just a kid. I was a virgin minor. I felt sorry for him. He was black. This was the times of the civil rights protests. Martin Luther King and all that. Martin Luther King was a rapist, by the way. Research it. When an adult has sexual relations of any kind with a minor child it is called ‘statutory rape.’ Statutory rape is an act of sexual intercourse with a person under the age of consent, which constitutes rape under the law, whether the minor is willing or not. In statutory rape there is is usually no overt force or threat. In my case when I arrived home, I felt completely traumatized. I was entirely mortified. I wanted to shrivel up and disappear. Catholic girls are virgins when they marry. What am I? I went to school the next morning. No one in my family knew what was happening with me. My mom didn’t interact with her children much. She nagged at dad that now she had to walk up three flights of stairs to do the laundry. We were renting for the first time in their marriage. Parents didn’t have a care in the world what was happening in their children’s lives. Never even dawned on them there were predators on every block in the city of Chicago their 5’9″ daughter with strawberry blonde hair was walking on. Mom just read her newspapers and sat. Dad came home from the Merchandise Mart and the bath house complaining about the ‘god damn Jews.’ Dad would hire me out to his millionaire Jewish clients in their fancy high rise condos on Michigan Avenue to babysit their children. Never spoke to me about any of it. Not a word. I was on my own. All the while I’m being preyed on by Mr. Universe, a Chicago pimp. A pimp? What’s that?
I was being set up to be sold into sexual slavery by a pimp at 16 just about to turn 17. When he told me he was a pimp; I asked him, “what’s a pimp.” I rarely read books. Had no idea. He would let me drive his GTO. I had no permit. I almost ran into the Levi store at Devon and Sheridan one night when he was teaching me how to drive. He would park in front of my home on Columbus Avenue or by the lake and prey on me. My parents were in the house while Rock or Easy as he called himself was preying on me. Grooming me. Giving me attention. He even told me once that he did not love me which brought me to tears sobbing.
I finished high school short 2 credits to graduate because of all the moving and having been now to 4 high schools which Mom tells me and really upset me. I ran away. I was done with the mess my parents put me through. At age 17 I had worked jobs more than my privileged mother had and she had a Bachelor of Art degree while she sat all day reading the newspapers. I was always the one who dusted and took care of Dad’s house too. Mom simply did laundry and cooked beef stew for dinner.
That summer Rock “the pimp” set me up in a fancy apartment sending politicians, Chief of Police, businessmen, all kinds of men to me. It was an out of body experience. I cannot recall the face or what happened with any of them. Teens turning tricks worldwide are not emotionally or physically involved with the adult raping their bodies. They do not even think about them. A prostitute is programmed by adults to work for the money. Unless they are kidnapped and swept away. All children are kidnapped when injured in sex trafficking. I recall the pimp telling me that women give it away a sporting lady gets paid and it’s a profession you can always fall back on. I reasoned in my mind, “for now, I’ll do this,” I thought. Never realizing the harm to my heart and soul. What the hell did I know? I was just a kid escaping abuse. A child that has gone through this grows up with feelings of shame they carry. I don’t. I was a sexually exploited innocent virgin minor child who ran into hell for a minute and survived through it all and came out stronger from it. I overcame it all and found my Savior who strengthened and taught me “the Way” to walk and “Saved” me.
This is how I escaped out of my father’s home and now I was “black” in Chicago caused by a pimp for about 4 months until I neatly packed a suitcase, never said a word or left a note and boarded a Greyhound bus. I got into a NYC cab and it went so fast down West End Avenue’s hilly roller coaster road my head was hitting the ceiling. “Wow! this is fun”, I thought. I had made my way to New York City where I checked into the Hotel Paris. I had a reservation on West End Avenue in Manhattan, only God knows why, where a black security guard named Ric, hit on me immediately, a man preaching the Jehovah’s Witness propaganda and carried my bags up the elevator to a room. That same evening Ric walked me down Broadway with people jumping monkeys, transvestites walking toward me and every nationality walking before my eyes. The traffic so loud I felt I made it to the best circus in America.
I entirely, at this point, having seen and been through enough tragedy and heartache now age 18 wanted only “God in my life” more than anything. I never had anyone teach me from a Bible in all my years in Catholic school. I am a spiritual soul thinking, this is “the Truth,” as the mind control cult and Ponzi schemes of Watchtower Bible and Tract preyed on me too. Men are pathetic, these evil idiots. There were never two classes of prophets or Christians written about ever.
About three months there in NYC, Ric the black predator “nigger” security guard preaching the “truth” he called it holding a green New World Translation of the Bible, gave me a blue book entitled “The Truth that Leads To Eternal Life.” I fell for the “mind control cult” Watchtower Bible and Tract Society, the Ponzi real estate scheming empire of these false prophets and stuck with it. I’m loyal.
If I knew then what I know now. Ric wasn’t a Jehovah’s Witness. He was studying and very zealous. He was a predator. He took me to his apartment in Harlem and my impression of it was that it had a darkness about every inch of it. As we walked into the apartment building the walls were full of graffiti. Everything appeared to be trashed. His one-bedroom apartment was dim with no style or a thing of note.
One evening, I’m sitting in my bright pink walled room at the Hotel Paris overlooking Manhattan from my balcony when I hear a knock. I open the door; Ric walked in the room and while I’m sitting on the edge of the bed Ric, without a word or reason except he was jealous of a man telling him I was beautiful and a jewel suddenly throws me back on the twin bed; jumps on my chest and starts beating my face will full force. He was a solid built over 200-pound animal. I could hear my bones in my head crack. When he was finished I got up and sat at in the only chair in the room at the foot of the bed sobbing softly while Ric lays on the bed and asks me, “Do you want to get some Chinese food.” This was the security guard at the Hotel Paris. A psychopath. “No”, I say. He leaves.
The next morning, I wake up and see there is blood from my chest to my knees; from one side of the twin bed to the other. I must have had a miscarriage. I’m sure I didn’t realize this then. I never went to the hospital or asked for help or called the police. This is common when women are beat up. It comes totally unexpected. Look at Nicole Brown Simpson’s life of abuse. My face was black and blue. My eyes were completely shut. I never told anyone. I never called the police. I never even thought to. Shortly thereafter, I neatly packed my suitcase. Boarded a Greyhound bus back to Chicago to my parents newly rented Frank Lloyd Wright home by Lake Michigan where they fought constantly. My mother was going to be divorcing my dad shortly after 24 years of marriage. My dad wanted me to pay rent now. I wasn’t going to give him a dime. I recall lying in bed at home many nights absolutely dumbstruck. Paralyzed. I’ll never forget those feelings. Never. I was suffering from post-trauma. I felt as though my mind and soul had been obliterated. I was in a complete state of shock anxiety and depression; emptied of myself, my heart crushed. I was 18. My parents never knew that I had just been sexually exploited and beat up brutally, except when they came to NYC to visit and I was bruised everywhere. They never asked. Dad said nothing. Mom said nothing. I can’t even bring myself to tell you what my father said to me the day I packed my clothes out of his house and was standing at the top of the stairs leaving when he kicked my virgin body at the top of the stairs as I sobbed.
By the age of 18, I had my face beaten now by 2 black males, one adult named Ric and a 15-year-old teenager on the Chicago subway on my way to work at Dennys in subzero weather. I worked at Dennys now before I took a job at Lakeshore Nursing Home on Sheridan Road where the owner Mr. Goldburg, a Jew talked to the staff like we were his slaves; entirely disrespectful, you lousy bastard.
I had found an apartment of my own. Since those days, I’ve had more Christian black friends and acquaintances than most blacks have, both in Chicago and Phoenix. Mostly from church. Blacks in America are the absolute most racist population in the U.S.A. Everything boils down to race with most of them; except my best friend Marlene Nettles (RIP) who never even mentioned race because we respected and loved each other so much. We were Jehovah’s Witnesses. We knew God and God knew us. After all, he had a plan for us, God did.
Islamic demon driven Barack and Michelle Obama and their demon-crate cohorts make sure of promoting racism in every speech. In fact, come to think of it. I worked at Children’s Home & Aide Society on Drexel Place in Chicago way back when as a social worker in the only locked setting outside the Department of Corrections with emotionally disturbed children ages 12 to 18. Drexel Place was down the road from the Obama’s on the Southside of Chicago. One day when my Audi 100 LS was totaled by a social worker on the Eisenhower Expressway, I had to take the subway from my Northshore home to the southside and as I walked from the subway to Drexel Place a black kid on a bicycle was cycling around me calling me a honkey up to the door where I was met by several of the children some of whom were black. After this job I took a job closer to home as the House Supervisor at Misericordia Home for mentally retarded, autistic, blind and deaf children. I was very young in my early twenties. People used to ask me how I got all these good jobs. I applied, that’s how. One black employee I found when I opened the door to the wing was parading Peggy a beautiful high functioning mentally retarded girl, an 18-year-old running naked through the hall of her wing. When I caught her. I handled it. The black women were in the lunchroom soon thereafter arguing with me trying to cause a ruckus. I could see one motioning to punch me in the mirror.
Beware! Today, it’s like the Planet of the Apes watching the ghetto blacks on social media beating on each other in restaurants, on cruise ships, in shopping malls, everywhere. Look at the murder statistics of black people in America, a minority. See how many blacks are in prison after killing whites. It was not at all like this back then; or at least not to level of crime like today. Ghetto blacks have absolutely zero emotional intelligence or self-control or any kind of morals. They will kill you in an instant a lot of them. Ghetto blacks will assault you if they feel you’ve disrespected them. They film it on their phones. They will steal the shirt off your back; rob stores, steal cars and make it their daily life criminal course and feel they are entitled to. No accountability whatsoever. What else can they do? Most can’t even read or write, have zero education and are entirely ill bred. These are defined as niggers. Nigger! Nigger! Nigger! That’s what they call themselves all day long, nigger, nigger. The majority are products of unwed mothers living on welfare dressed like whores half naked on the street causing violence nonstop in every city in the U.S.A. Dangerous! Their foul language and entitled attitude; no words can describe them except ungodly.
The two male blacks that attacked me for no cause should both be in prison for life; so dangerous. Judges let these criminal type thugs out of jail and on their way even after 100 acts of violence and sexual assault against women and children. They just let them out to prey on the next woman. Prey on these judges next time and see how fast they let them out of jail or prison.
I just listened to “Neither One of Us” by Dianna Ross and was teary eyed. The tears were automatically pouring from my eyes. It’s called triggered. Old wounds we tuck away. Every day during that time of my life “being black” I listened to soul music constantly. I’m sure music was my comfort. It always has been and always will be. Soul music is sensational. The music today is awful.
The pimp, Jesee “Rock” Stonewall, street name Easy ended up years later in a New York prison. After he was out, he ended up at the YMCA in Albany, New York. There’s an article about him one employee of the Y wrote. Rock ended up sick in a wheelchair due to having injected steroid into himself to pump up his pimp ass. He was a beggar in front of the Y in a wheelchair begging’ for donations. Po ass pimp man, as blacks say. The article said he was in jail for drug trafficking. I doubt it. The last time I saw Rock years and years later. I can’t recall where I first saw him, but he ended up parked in front of my Sheridan Road Chicago apartment building, and in the back of his car were two beautiful white females one on each side of him sitting. Again, I didn’t call the police. Damn! Never thought. I never thought about him again. Can’t barely remember what he looked like.
We move forward. We survive. I only ever wanted to be loved, Lord. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Jesus. That’s all we all ever want Lord. Save us Lord. Protect us, Lord. Protect women and children from harm, Lord. Teach parents and children to protect themselves, Lord. There are no black leaders I know of speaking out against the demise of their violent ungodly race. You are the God of Love. Come now Father. Isn’t it Your time to crush and put an end to all of this and Satan? Let Your Kingdom Come Lord. I’ve been waiting so long.
People I’ve talked about this all happening when “I was just a kid,” ask me why I then became a Jehovah’s Witness after all this. I tell them no one and nobody can take me away from my Lord, God in whatever way I find Him. I only want You Lord, my Creator God of LOVE and your name is not Jehovah. When I was a Jehovah’s Witness for over 40 years; no one but my husband knew all this. How many women, until lately with the Epstein Files have you heard of that talk about it? Not many at all if any. I will. It’s a shame you carry the wounds and put it in the back of your mind, and you move on and hopefully, if its’s the will of God, you move up and succeed.
“No one who puts a hand to a plow and looks back is fit for service in the Kingdom of God,” it says in the Book of Luke 9:62. All of these years of studying the Bible, I now know the Bible well and am happy to say, “I am “BORN AGAIN.” I am a Christian woman. I know God and God knows me. My name is Anne. It is Anne with an e at the end. My name means “beloved by God” in Hebrew and “GRACE” in English come to find out. I am Anne Fisher-of-Men. I am a Christian woman and always will be. Thank you, Lord Jesus. All these evil men then would have kicked me to the curb or killed me given the chance, but God had a plan for me. God has a plan for all of His disciples. He promised. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)
And one more thing. I never even thought that blacks were prejudice and hated my guts because of my white skin. It never even occurred to me until years and years later. I have absolutely no hate for anyone of any race or nationality. What I hate is the same thing God hates; and that’s hate. I’m a fourth generation Irish American and the Irish were slaves in America long before the Africans were sold by Africans to Arab slave traders and brought to America. The difference is one thing. The Irish were farmers. They learned that they had to put the plow in the ground and move forward to succeed and they did. They were civilized. It’s in our DNA. I highly suggest the black ghetto community living 200 years back in slavery realize the only slave they are to now is Satan. Jesus turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan!” You are an offense to Me; for you savor the things not of God, but those of men.” (Matthew 16:23) Jesus rebuked Peter because Jesus was going to suffer and die for our sins. Yes, He did. Our sins have been bought by the ransom sacrifice of Jesus. So, REPENT NOW. Bow your head to our Creator. His name is Jesus and Jesus SAVES. Amen!
Always Christian with LOVE at Anne Fisher Foundation. Women Protecting Women & Children.
Amen! Amen!