dottieriley

One-hundred years after the death of Anna E. Riley (nee Nix) and I finally have the closure denied to my father. Anna at long last has a tombstone, and I finally know what happened to her baby daughter, Grace E. Riley.

My father never knew more than myths and rumors about his mother. He could not talk about her to his family and from childhood built a myth around the little information that he had.  He knew that she was murdered by a lover who then killed himself. That much was accurate, but in my father’s myth, his mother was a Cherokee princess killed by a brave to whom she had been promised in marriage after she married my grandfather instead.

Anna was not Cherokee. She was of Irish descent, and then there is the ‘princess’ part. How is it that all white people of his generation who had Indian heritage insisted that his native American ancestor was a chief or a princess? At any rate, nineteen-year-old Anna was killed by a man much her senior who was enamored of her. She may or may not have committed adultery with him. She met him at the Grand Hotel in Cincinnati in February 1918 and told him that she would not leave behind her family to be with him. Overwhelmed with grief, he killed her, wrote a seven-page suicide letter explaining all of this, then killed himself. In the hotel room with them was Anna’s eight-month-old daughter, Grace Riley.

After Anna’s death, my grandfather, Wilford, and his three-year-old son, Henry (my father), moved in with Wilford’s parents. Baby Grace was immediately placed in one of several children’s homes in Cincinnati. After that, she disappeared. No trace of Grace appeared in any of my genealogy searches. I never knew what happened to her.  I always mourned her. How could her family care so little about her?  Neither Anna nor Wilford’s parents were willing (or able?) to take her in. What kind of people voluntarily relinquished their child, their grandchild?

One hundred years later, I finally learned what happened to Grace. She was adopted by a couple that according to the account of one of her daughters, loved, even ‘doted’ on her. (Out of respect to her family’s right to privacy, I will not use their surnames.) Grace was renamed Kalya. She had a happy childhood, grew up, married and had five children of her own.  I am so happy to know that she was dearly loved by her parents and her children and I no longer pity her. Through adoption, she escaped the lies and the secrets that shaped my father who grew up feeling a deep sense of shame and inadequacy.

While some of the shame was of his own making, I do not doubt that my father’s family played a role in his sense of inadequacy. Henry became Harry, and he left his family at the age of sixteen. He assumed Grace Riley’s birthdate which made him old enough to join the Army without parental consent. That is why he had two birthdates in his military records. His correct date of birth was not a part of his military records until he had to receive a top-secret security clearance from the Army for his role in the Nurnberg trials. My father divorced himself from his family so completely that he told me that he had no living relatives, no aunts, cousins or uncles. That too was a lie. After my father died, I learned that his aunts lived just a few blocks from us when we lived in Newport, Kentucky 1961-1962.

Grace, a/k/a Kalya escaped whatever drove Harry’s demons. I am happy for her and her children. They grew up feeling loved and cherished. They likely did not experience physical or sexual abuse or have their family torn apart by alcoholism. I inherited enough of my father’s shame that I don’t want them to know what it was like to grow up in Harry’s household. His inadequacies colored all of his children’s lives. It is enough for me to know that Grace escaped that family history and experienced something better. Bless her and her descendants!

The final part, and that which with I started this. Anna Riley was buried without a tombstone or anything to mark her life or her passing. Her affair made her an anathema to my father’s family, and my father never knew where his mother was buried. It took some searching for me to learn where. I tried to visit her grave last year, but there was no stone, and even the plot marker was deeply buried beneath the soil and grass. This year, I bought her a headstone. Anna deserves this much. Through her son and her daughter, she is the ancestor of two completely different families tied together only through her DNA. I cannot despise my grandmother for her possible infidelities. By the time that she died, she had lost two children and knew nothing except poverty and want. What nineteen-year-old does not wish for more? In the end, she chose her family and died for that decision. Rest in peace, Anna. Your life was not in vain.

You left too soon. I will miss you always. You did not just rip a hole in my heart. You changed the landscape of my life like the eruption of a volcano that alters the land forever. And yes, it burns just as much.

The part of me that understands you dying is human. You were always in pain, and no one knew. They saw the charismatic young man with the attractive dimpled smile. They laughed at the jokes of a man who coped with life’s tragedies with humor. They admired the person who lived on the edge whether it was surfing on the ocean or defying social mores through the company you kept. Your friends were gay, black and white, male and female, rich and poor, long before society accepted people who were different. You drew no class distinctions, and in many ways, you were a true Renaissance Man. You were so much fun that others sought out your company and loved you, and your only distractors were those who envied you or expected someone with so many gifts to accomplish so much more. It was not enough that you simply wanted to enjoy your life and the people in it. Unfortunately, your detractors were those whom you most loved; those whose approval you most needed.

The part of me that does not understand you taking your own life is your mother. I loved you so deeply and needed you in my life. I needed your love. I needed your laughter. I needed those many times when you took a walk along the beach and called me for no reason other than to tell me that you loved me. I needed the long talks we had about everything; about nothing in particular. I regret that despite the many times that I told you that I loved you, you feared that you were a disappointment to me. You were not successful like your brother. You gave me no grandchildren. I think that last hurt you most of all. Yes, it was a disappointment, but I took it in stride. You were living the life you chose; the one that made you happy.

How did your death change the landscape of my life? It impacted nearly every relationship with my friends and family members. Many blamed me. Had I been a good mother you could not have committed suicide.  It mattered not that you were thirty years old, married and living miles away. I don’t know why I keep the letters from family and friends who cruelly spelled out why your death was my fault; that I did not love you enough or cared too little. They shut me out of their lives when I most needed the words from those who loved you to sustain me.

One of the unintended consequences of your death was the estrangement from your brother. His wife disdains me, and he has not called me once in many years to simply say, “Hello Mom.” They call you my “Golden Boy.” They tell me that I was a terrible mother who deserves no respect or affection from them. While you were alive, they were not like this. We visited. We exchanged warm phone calls. That is how the volcano of your loss separated me from him as well. Not surprising. Traumatic events tear apart many families. I am left with mountains of smoking lava separating me from those whom I most love and need.

June 11, 2018, marks ten years since you were gone. I miss you, son! I miss your love and your laughter. I miss you and will love you always.

Politics has become an important part of my everyday life. I think that it is more than simply a function of age. I truly fear and despise Trump, his administration and the current political scene wherein Republicans/conservatives hold all three branches of government and refuse to reign in corruption. I believe that Trump may be more corrupt than Warren G. Harding whose policies were the precursor to the Great Depression.

Many of the regulations to protect our air and water have been wiped off the books and corporations are no longer obligated to pay to clean up when they pollute our water. We have abandoned the Paris Climate accord and now produce more waste than any other nation on earth.

Oh, the stock market is doing great, but 10% of Americans own 90% of the market so that is no help to the average citizen. Poverty is worsening. Over half a million people are homeless and this administration is pulling all of the safety nets out from under the poor. *

The cost of a college education has skyrocketed and programs that help students achieve a college education have been slashed. Without an education, there is no upward social mobility. I sincerely worry for my grandchildren. The middle class is shrinking while the number of poor increase, and many of our policies are cruel and inhumane- like separating the children of illegal immigrants from their parents when they cross our borders.

The cost of health care is shameful, and millions of Americans cannot afford health insurance and go without medical care. This is making America great? What is wrong with people that they do not see the destruction we are wreaking?

I weep for the country I love.

*Note: By some estimates, nearly four million people are homeless, but this figure includes those temporarily homeless due to evictions,  etc.

The 1960-70s were years of protest. Like now, most of the protestors were America’s youth. Nixon was president 1969-1974. We believed the government was corrupt and labeled it “The Establishment” long before Nixon was sworn in, and after his inauguration we thought our government had moved from bad to worse.

Before Nixon, we protested for civil rights and racial equality during the Kennedy/Johnson years. These rights were hard-won and protestors were often killed by either police or lynch mobs. Even the movement’s leader, Martin Luther King Jr., was gunned down, but we persevered. I remember being suspended from school for a few days for dancing with a black football player at a homecoming dance. Supporting racial equality was not popular and “The Establishment” lashed back. Ultimately, the laws changed. It took a while longer for hearts and heads to catch up.

We protested the war in Viet Nam, which in 1969 was the largest protest in Washington D.C. until recent years. It was not easy and certainly not bloodless. The National Guard fired upon protestors at Kent State killing four students. Protestors were labelled radicals and extremists. I participated in many anti-war demonstrations in Philadelphia, yet strangely enough, made newspaper headlines along with my new husband and his sister the day after the 1969 rally in Washington, D.C., when we were caught in traffic. We were not part of the protest and yet were struck by police. A Washington Post reporter photographed us and wrote an article about us that headlined the paper the next day. (I must admit to being a bit melodramatic and a tad less than honest- not about what happened, but about my citizenship.)

At any rate, our protests were heard. The war in Viet Nam ended and Nixon resigned. Nixon was a crook, make no mistake about that!

We protested for women’s rights. We burned bras to signify our wish for freedom. Why? Women of today do not realize what was at stake or what freedoms they are so willing to give up. Women were beholden to their husbands to the degree that they could not get a credit card without their husband’s expressed and written consent. In 1972 the Equal Rights Amendment was passed and sent to the states for ratification.

Protests do work! That is why I am so proud of this generation of students willing to take up the challenge and protest for legislative changes. I also hope Donald Trump is paying attention. In their youthful idealism, young voters are less likely to tolerate the corruption to which our Congress has turned a blind eye. Their days are numbered.

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I spend too much time reading news and posts on Facebook and too little time expressing my feelings and thoughts. Once in a while, I express myself on Facebook like this post:

“Although I am a Democrat, I thought it stunk of partisanship that disregarded the welfare of citizens when Clinton’s impeachment ended in acquittal. I loved Bill Clinton but knew in my heart that he 1.) lied to Congress and 2.) was guilty of obstruction of justice in the allegations of sexual misconduct against him. I loved him dearly- as much as I loved Al Franken but thought Clinton should have resigned just as Franken did for far less offensive behavior.

“We are now faced with a president who lies incessantly and attempts to obstruct justice at every turn- and that is without considering his long history of alleged sexual misconduct. This is about so much more than fondling and receiving sexual favors. This is about a foreign power attempting to undermine our democratic process. This is a matter of national security and our president prefers to call it a hoax and do nothing to protect our nation. Even his hand-picked National Security Advisor told Congress that the president has not directed or authorized strong countermeasures to Russia’s interference since our 2016 election. Trump has gone so far as to refuse to implement the sanctions voted upon by Congress in unprecedented bipartisan support.

“Will we as Americans allow this to continue? What can we do? What are we willing to do? 1.) Call your elected leaders in both the House and Senate and demand that they confront Trump over his refusal to impose sanctions. 2.) Register to vote and go to the polls this November to vote the GOP out of office.

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”― Edmund Burke”

These are dark days. Special Counsel Robert Mueller is investigating possible collusion between Trump’s campaign committee and to determine if Trump attempted to obstruct justice by interfering in the investigation. Over forty appointed national officers including cabinet secretaries have been let go and nearly every federal prosecutor. He appointed federal judges with zero trial experience and secretaries that have long histories of litigating against the departments they now lead. Our nationally protected lands have been slashed and opened to mining and development. Measures enacted to preserve our environment are gone as are the laws protecting consumers from corporate greed.

Last night, Jeff Sessions, Attorney General, fired Andrew McCabe, former director of the FBI. He was fired at 10 p.m. Friday, within 48 hours of retiring, both to deny him his pension and to discredit him as a witness against Trump. Trump repeatedly called for his firing so how is it not political?

As of today, there have been 63 mass shootings including one in a south Florida high school that left 17 teens dead. The survivors are busy campaigning for reasonable gun legislation. God bless them! Maybe they will be the generation that saves us from ourselves.

Today is St. Patrick’s Day, a day that always makes me think about my son, Tod. He always celebrated this day.

Not everything is dark and foreboding. I am painting again. I am determined to learn how to watercolor. Most pieces are mediocre at best but a few came out decent.