New Haven Story
I worked with this woman in New Haven named Rosemary Hernandez. She was a pudgy little person, fifteen years older than me with a booming voice that cut the air like an SST. She wore her hair up with a lot of hairspray, and had eyes that seemed to bug out of her head. She’d been brought up in West Haven: her maiden name was Kelly. Hernandez was her second husband’s name, “…and to this day Brendan, even though my father likes Jose, I still think he’s prejudiced a little. Cus he’s Puerto Rican, y’know?”
Rosemary was a good egg: she was brassy and upfront with people, and if she talked too much sometimes, at least she was entertaining. I loved working with her: we saw eye to eye on most things, especially our wretched employer. Rosemary was part of a large family: two sisters, two brothers, and a seemingly infinite amount of neighbors and cousins. We worked in a kitchen together, and I’d hear stories about all of them. The best ones were inevitably the fights.
Rosemary’s older brother Tommy, already a drunk, married an alcoholic. They had two kids, their addiction ran its course, and ka-blooey, they split up and the court won’t give the kids to either parent. Rosemary, at the age of 28 and just married, steps up to the plate and agrees to take the two kids. Around this time, the mom disappears, and Tommy, who’s never been quite right anyway, decides he has a vendetta against Rosemary, for the cardinal sin of picking up where he couldn’t.
And so began more than a year of harassment. Nasty phone calls; scenes at family events; refusal to pay child support. Rosemary’s husband Dickie, a giant of a man, a carpenter who liked to drink and fight (and truth be told knocked her around once or twice) seethed at his wife’s multiple humiliations, getting angrier and angrier: but he already had a run in with the law from a few years back for beating the crap out of someone, and she’d talk him out of it. Finally it happened: Rosemary wasn’t around, and Dickie’d had enough. He walked over to Tommy’s apartment, knocked on the door, dragged Tommy out on the street and beat the crap out of him. And as you’d expect, the police arrived in short order, cuffed the two, and hauled them off to jail.
Rosemary was worried and pissed off at the same time: Dickie was looking at five years if the judge really wanted to be a hardass, because he’d been in trouble for fighting before. So when he finally got to the stand and the judge asked him for his plea, she slapped her head when he looked the justice in the eye and said matter-of-factly, “Oh I did it, your honor. I beat the hell out of that man.”
The defense lawyer’s jaw dropped, and he began making slashing motions in the air. Rosemary started muttering “shut up shut up shut up” under her breath, shaking her head, staring at the floor.
“Oh yeah, I beat him up,” Dickie continued. “You wanna know why?”
The judge peered down over his glasses at Dickie, who I’ve never seen but can only imagine looked uncomfortable and awkward, yet indignant in an ill-fitting suit he owned solely for trials and funerals. I can only imagine the judge, bemused by this West Haven lunk casual admission to assault and battery. “Well… well, yes, I suppose I would like to hear why,” the judge said after a moment.
And so Dickie went on about the phone calls. And the scenes. And the refusal to pay child support. And the rumor mongering. And the threats. And the two restraining orders, not one but two. “And y’know your honor, it’s my wife. It’s my fuckin wife, and she’s takin’ his kids, and… well, what can I say?”
The judge looked down at Dickie, sighed and said, “You know, if it was my wife? I’d beat the crap out of the guy too. You’re lucky,” he said turning to Tommy. “The way you’ve been acting you deserve a beating far worse than the one this obviously patient gentleman doled out to you. Case dismissed.”
“And whaddya think of that!” Rosemary laughed. “I’ll give that asshole credit, he stood up for me. It was the one good thing Dickie really did. The one good thing, other than signing the divorce papers. HAH!”
true story: I changed the names and location.
