Authors: Donna Mabry
Betty Sue had a healthy little boy, pretty and blond like
Ellis. The delivery was fast. The cab barely made it to
the hospital on time. I was so grateful they were both
safe. I thanked God and hoped that things would be all
right for Betty Sue from then on.
No baby was ever more loved by his mother than
little Tommy. As we always seemed to do with
children, all of the Foleys, including Donna, adored
him. I thought that maybe, now that he had a baby to
think about, Ellis would stop going to bars, and for a
while, he did.
Eleven months later, Betty Sue had another
perfect little boy and named him Terry. A year after
that, she had a little girl named Patricia, and a few
years later, another girl she named Linda. She asked
the doctor how to turn off the machinery that had taken
so long to get started. He gave her a thing called a
diaphragm.
Betty Sue finally had the family she always
wanted. She had a nice apartment, and her husband
had a good job. She should have been happy, but she
wasn’t. She’d gained weight with each pregnancy, and
didn’t like that now her body was like mine, what they
call matronly in ladies’ dress shops.
She also didn’t like that Ellis had taken to going
on drinking jags every few months. He always sobered
up in time to go back to work on Monday and never
lost his job over it.
He would take Paul with him from time to time.
Paul wasn’t working, so I thought George must have
given him money for beer. God knows, he would never
get it from me. I never gave him a cent.
Paul knew better than to come home drunk, so he
would sleep it off on Betty Sue’s sofa. When Ellis
stayed out late, Betty Sue would wait until midnight
and then go looking for him. I stayed with the children
while she was out.
We were hanging out the laundry one morning
when I asked Betty Sue, “Do you hit Ellis every time
he goes drinking?”
She blushed. “Not so much. I try not to hit him
at all, Mom, I really do, but sometimes it just comes
over me. I get so mad at him when he stays out late, I
just can’t seem to stop myself.”
I tried to sound unconcerned when I asked the
question I really wanted to have an answer to. “I’ve
never seen him hit you back. Does he?”
“No, and I’m glad of it. He’s so big, he could
probably hurt me if he wanted. He just holds me away
from him until I get over it. He says he’s safe as long
as his reach is longer than mine. He’s glad I don’t use
a bat or something.”
I finished pinning up the shirt I was holding and
put my hand on Betty Sue’s arm. “I want you to stop
that, Betty Sue. It isn’t Christian, and it isn’t good for
the children to see. You won’t change him. The only
harm you’ll do is to them.”
She looked hard in my eyes. “It’s going to be
hard not to, Mom. When I get mad, I almost don’t
know what I’m doing. That ugly feeling comes over
me, and it’s like I could almost kill him.”
“You have children to think of now. What if you
did hurt him bad someday and got sent to prison? What
would happen to them? I’m getting too old to be able
to raise three babies.”
Her eyes got big. “I won’t hit him anymore,
Mom. If I get mad I’ll come here and tell you
everything I feel, and I won’t go home until that
feeling passes.”
Bessie and John bought a house in St. Clair Shores,
about ten miles away from us. She and I talked on the
phone every once in a while, but it wasn’t the same as
seeing her all the time. The little storefront services we
attended in the old neighborhood were too far away
from the big house on Lycaste for me to walk to, and
it was too expensive to take a cab.
One week I took a bus. The Sunday bus schedule
was slow, and it took me over four hours to make the
round trip and attend the services. I would have to find
somewhere closer to home.
I’d made friends with Stella, the woman who
lived around the corner, and asked her where she went
to church. She said she wasn’t a church-going person
and had no idea where I could find a Holiness
Assembly. I looked in the big yellow telephone
directory the phone company left me but didn’t find
one.
The next Sunday I decided to go to the little
Ebenezer Baptist church a few blocks away. I got
dressed and stood in front of the mirror to pin on my
hat. I stood there every day to comb my hair, but that
day, I looked at myself and was surprised to see how
old I’d become.
I kept my hair-chin length ever since that first
time I’d cut it on the trip to Detroit from Missouri.
When I was young, it was a deep brown. Now, it was
a tired looking combination of different shades of gray
and a little brown at the back. My waist was thick, my
shoulders stooped, and the wrinkles on my face had
deepened to crevices. I put on my hat and walked away
from my reflection.
Donna went to church with me. Having spent her
entire life between Baptist and Holiness, Donna was
comfortable in both denominations. On Sunday and
Wednesday night, she attended the Baptist Church
with her grandmother Mayse.
I couldn’t help watching the service with a
critical eye. Compared to my own church, the Baptists
were so serious. The preacher delivered his message
as if it were a school lesson and didn’t even raise his
voice with any feeling. I was accustomed to a dramatic
sermon, with the preacher pacing the floor and
pounding on the pulpit.
I missed music that made a joyful noise. The
congregation at the Baptist church sang slow and
quiet, as if they were afraid they would wake someone
up.
No one stood and testified, no one repented
hidden sins, and, as far as I could tell, no one enjoyed
himself. After the service, only a few people smiled at
me and shook my hand as Donna and I walked out. Not
one of them made an attempt to talk to me or invite me
to come again.
I prayed day and night about the way things were at
home. Paul kept getting jobs and quitting them after a
few days, then going out with Ellis for a night on the
town with the few dollars he earned. When they
weren’t back by midnight, Betty Sue went from bar to
bar, looking for Ellis until she found him.
George didn’t see the problem.
One Friday afternoon in 1957, Ellis showed up
at the house. I could tell he hadn’t been home yet
because he was still carrying his lunch pail. He said.
“I’d like to talk to Paul, please.”
I went back to the kitchen and sent Paul to the
door. Ellis said a few words to Paul, who opened the
door and went out, and as the two of them trotted down
the steps, Ellis tucked his lunch bucket beside the
porch bannister.
They didn’t come home by midnight, and Betty
Sue came over and asked me to come stay with the
children while she looked for Ellis. I knew it was
useless to argue with her. I went down to their
apartment and fell asleep on the sofa. Betty Sue came
home an hour later, pushing Ellis and Paul through the
doorway. I didn’t say anything, just gave the sofa to
my youngest son and went home.
Paul still wasn’t home the next day. Betty Sue
came over with the children to help me fix dinner.
“Is Paul at your place?” I asked her.
“No. Ellis is off work for re-tooling at the plant
and they left around ten this morning. I heard them
whispering together. I don’t know what they’re up to.”
She came back later in the day. Ellis hadn’t come
home and neither had Paul.
Gene went to the basement to play checkers with
George. Donna and I settled down to watch the
afternoon movie with Bill Kennedy, a Hollywood
actor who moved to Detroit and told his audience all
about the stars in the movies he showed. Donna, now
fifteen years old, loved the movies, and sat by me.
Paul came staggering in the front door around
four o’clock. I could see Ellis standing outside on the
sidewalk.
“Give me some money!” he demanded. “Me and
Ellis want to go have a beer.”
I crossed my arms and kept my eyes on the
television. “Get out of here. I’m not giving you
anything.”
Paul held one hand against the wall to steady
himself and went in my bedroom at the end of the hall.
He came out carrying my purse and dropped it in my
lap. “I only want a couple of dollars.”
I clutched the purse. “I said get out of here.”
Paul snatched the bag from me and started
pawing through it. He had my wallet in his hand. I tried
to take it back from him. He shoved me and I fell back
in my seat, the wind knocked the out of me.
Donna jumped up from the sofa, grabbed the
wallet away from him, and handed it to me. She turned
on him. “Paul, you know she’ll never give you money
to drink. Why don’t you and Ellis just go back to his
house and sleep it off?”
Paul’s face turned red. “I just want a few
dollars!”
He knocked one of my pretty figurines off the
table. I reached out to catch it but it shattered on the
floor. Then he jerked the pillows off the chairs and sofa
and threw them around the room. I grabbed his right
arm and held it as tight as I could, but he picked up a
small metal wastepaper basket that sat next to my chair
with his left hand and threw it.
It hit Donna right between the eyes. Stunned, she
looked at Paul, then at me. Blood spurted over the
three of us. Paul’s face went white, and he turned and
ran out of the house, slamming the door behind him.
In the basement, Gene and George had heard the
shouting. It was something new in a house where no
one ever raised their voice. They hurried upstairs to see
what the racket was about. Gene was the first one in
the room. When he saw the mess and his daughter
standing there with her hand over her nose, blood
running out between her fingers, he reeled as if
someone had punched him.
“What happened?” he shouted.
“Paul came in and wanted money. When I
wouldn’t give it to him, he had a fit.”
Gene’s fists clenched. “He hit her?”
“No, he threw the trash can, and it hit her in the
face. He didn’t mean to do it. It just happened.”
Gene ran out of the house. I jumped up and
pulled at George’s arm. “You better stop him, George.
He’ll kill Paul.”
For an old man, George moved faster than he had
in years with me hurrying right after him. Halfway
down the block, Gene caught up with Paul and Ellis.
He grabbed Paul’s shoulder, spun him around, and
landed a punch on his jaw. Paul staggered back against
a telephone pole.
Ellis tried to pull Gene away and Gene hit Ellis
hard, knocking him backward onto a patch of grass.
He had the good sense not to get up.
Gene turned back to his brother, hitting him again
and again, holding him up with his left hand as he
punched him with his right.
George reached them and caught Gene’s arm. It
took all of his strength to hold it back. He hollered into
Gene’s ear, “
Gene, stop it! It won’t do anyone any good
if you kill him.”
Gene quieted down, but George still held onto
him.
“Ellis, you better get Paul out of here.” George
said. “And don’t let him come home for a few days.”
Ellis stood, keeping his eyes on Gene, and pulled
a bleeding Paul away from the telephone pole. He had
to wrap one arm around Paul to keep him from falling
down. As they walked away toward his apartment,
Ellis glanced back over his shoulder several times to
make sure Gene wasn’t coming after them.
Gene and George stood for a minute, with Gene
glaring after Paul and Ellis. His breathing finally
slowed, and his face returned to its natural color.
George pulled him toward the house. “We better go see
how bad Donna got hit. She may need to see a doctor.”
The statement shocked Gene. He ran back to the
house, leaving his father to follow with us right behind
him. He charged into the living room.
I gave Donna a cold towel to hold against her face
and tried to clean up the room.
Gene wrapped his arms around her. “Let’s take a
look and see how bad that is.”
Donna lowered the towel and blood started
running out of a cut on the bridge of her nose. Gene
took her hand and pressed the towel back up to her
face. “Call a cab, Mom, I’m going to take her to the
hospital.”
I made the call, and while we waited, I helped
Donna get out of her bloody clothes and into clean
ones. Then I pulled a fresh dress on myself. The taxi
was there in about twenty minutes. Before we left, I
told George to stay at the house. “If Paul shows up here
tell him to get out. I mean it. I don’t want him here.
There’s no telling what Gene will do if he sees him.”
We went to the emergency room and signed in.
The receptionist told us to take a seat and wait until we
were called.
We sat there, Gene and I, with Donna, still
pressing the towel against her face We sat there for
over three hours. There was no one else waiting.
Gene got up several times and went to the desk,
asking how much longer it would be before Donna
could see a doctor. The receptionist told him that the
first doctor who became available would see her.
By midnight, Donna was getting bored. We went
to the ladies’room and stood in front of the mirror. She
took the towel away and looked at herself. The
bleeding had stopped, and the cut seemed to have
closed itself. Both of her eyes were black and purple.
Her left eye was almost swollen shut.
She stood there for a few minutes, but the
bleeding didn’t start again. We went back out to the
reception area and she told Gene, “I’m tired of this
place. Let’s just go home.”
Gene asked again at the desk if the doctor was
coming. The receptionist smirked. “I have no way of
knowing when he can get here. You’ll just have to
wait.”
“Never mind,” Gene said.
We walked outside and hailed a cab. Totally
exhausted, the three of us returned home.