To Answer your Question . . .

Mrs. G. asked, in of her question posts, about if/when you’ve ever feared for your life. I felt my answer deserved its own post. Here it is.

Our home was a one-bedroom duplex in the sketchiest section of Venice Beach, California. This was in 1968 or 69, and the difference between Venice now and Venice then was like Times Square today and in the seventies. That is to say, not Disneyland.

Outside was peeling stucco, cracked pavement and grass that was at once dying and overgrown (I plagiarized the last half of that sentence from a book, I’m reading; review coming soon).  It was homeless men; we called them winos. It was not a place my single mother planned on staying very long, but when you’re on welfare, with your kids in Head Start while you take secretarial classes, it’s what you can afford.

Inside were an Indian bedspread, a few throw pillows, and lots of Mexican pottery. The furniture, like our clothes, came from Goodwill. It was sparse, but homey and always clean.  My sister and I were asleep in our bunk bed, while my mom slumbered in her bed next to ours the night it happened.

I woke to the sound of pounding and the sight of my mother, with a butcher knife in one hand and the telephone in the other. My sister and I ran to her and, with the third hand that mothers seem to acquire when the need arises, she held us tight and smoothed our hair to comfort us.

“I don’t KNOW who it is. There are two men—they’re trying to break down the door. You need to get here NOW. I have two little girls!”

She was on the phone with a police dispatcher, screaming, pleading for help. We could see the shadow of one of the men as he rattled the window. My sister and I sobbed hysterically.

As the minutes—agonizingly long, a lifetime in each one--ticked by, my mother’s fear turned to rage as the police still did not arrive.

“If I was calling from F***KING Beverly Hills the police would be here by now! If anything happens to us, the Los Angeles Police Department is to blame. I cannot believe this!”

The men gave up before the police got there. It took them twenty minutes. The police were very apologetic to the beautiful white woman with the blonde, blue-eyed daughters. We weren’t what they were expecting.

Comments

[Ms. Jayne]

So...I came by way of Hollywood. Not the actual star-studded city of lights that doubles as the underbelly of scourge should you care to lift the rug; but the Hollywood Where Hot Comes to Die. Two things. I'm glad you bought a shirt or else I might have never stumbled upon you- and I'm thankful for you sharing this harrowing experience. You officially have a new reader.

[lanes]

So glad that you and your fam weren't harmed; so sorry that your safety mattered more because you and your fam weren't who they were expecting to see.

[Busy Bee Suz]

That is really frightening; your Mom was so brave! I know where you get the good stuff from.

[Tammy]

So scary.

[Green Girl In Wisconsin]

That would be terrifying.
And you describe exactly the kind of neighborhood I imagine all over the west coast.

[Aunt Snow]

Ah, the bad old days of Venice Beach - and Times Square, too. The '70s were really pretty grim, although at the time we thought it was normal. Your mom was brave.

I didn't have time to answer Mrs. G's questions, but I don't think I actually have been afraid for my life.

[cardinal]

You weren't kidding when you said that deserved a post of its own. Kudos to your mom.

[Susan @ A Slice of my Life]

It's so sad that it matters who/what someone thinks you are than just that you need help. I'm really glad it turned out ok.

[Karen (formerly kcinnova)]

Jenn, I think I might have nightmares just from reading this.

[Jocelyn]

Can't believe I never before had an image of your younger life in my mind. Now I want to know if you read Pearl's blog...must find you a link. She has a post about her mom dealing with a night like this, and it sticks with me...Arghghgh. Will go hunt around.

[kaylen]

Wow, this sounds horrifying. 20 minutes for police to show up???
One time my ex and I were having a pretty intense fight, in which I was yelling at the top of my lungs (cause that's how I best felt I needed to communicate with his drunk ass at the time) and within a few minutes of the fight beginning, the cops were there-courtesy of a friendly neighbor (who prob just wanted me to shut up so he could sleep).
How very lucky that the bad guys couldn't get in!!!

[She Curmudgeon]

This is a really haunting, powerful piece of writing, Jenn, for all that it's short. Whenever you share something of your childhood with us I just am so thankful that you're here and writing and raising your wonderful kids and putting your lovely positive self out there in the world-- and occasionally sharing these thought-provoking and intense recollections, despite how personal and painful those recollections might be. Thank you.