The chaos continued at home with our parents on the weekends. It was understandable that Ziggy and Father Paul picked my family to victimize since my parents were alcoholics and too drunk to see what was really going on.
Trips to the supermarket in the station wagon with dad were always an experience. Janie and I sat in the seat that faced backwards, out towards the street, facing the front of the cars behind us. Janie and I learned to give the finger to people but we mostly received it due to our father’s drunk driving. He recklessly wove in and out of traffic while cutting everyone off. The people on the crosswalk were far from safe. One time when we arrived at the store in one miraculous piece, my father parallel parked in a spot behind a single car.
When we finished shopping, we noticed our car had been blocked in and there was no way out. My dad told us to get in the car and I was sure we would wait for the other car’s driver to come out of the store. That wasn’t exactly what happened. My dad put the car in drive and bulldozed the other car out of the way with the station wagon. When he pressed the gas we felt the tires spin and saw the smoke rise. Then he put it in drive and in reverse again and again until the other cars were gone. When people saw this, they looked the other way, not wanting to get involved with a crazy man. They simply shook their heads in disbelief.
The following week my father had just arrived home from a business trip and my parents were on another drinking binge. My father accused my mother without reason of cheating on him while he was away. With seven kids and a job, my mother did not have any time for adultery. Huffing and puffing in fury, he wound up and hit her right in the face. My mom’s face instantly began to swell and my sister Peggy called the police. They arrived quickly. The cops knew my father well and they asked, “Joe, what did you do? You know the routine Joe. Get in the car. You are sleeping downtown tonight.”
As the police showed up the next morning with my dad, Jason went outside. “Why is the drunk home? You know he beat my mom last night, right?” he asked the cops.
“Sorry kid. I know it’s not a good situation, but he supports you guys. Without him, how would you eat?” one cop replied.
As soon as my mother saw the car pull into the driveway, she geared for us all to pack our bags up. “Come on kids. We’re going to Mea Mea’s house for a little while.”
When we came home a week later, we found him passed out on the floor and covered in his own piss and vomit. After that he volunteered to go away for thirty days. Alcohol had got a hold of him and he genuinely needed help.
On the weekend that my father came home from rehab, Jason shouted, “old man’s getting out of the drunk tank again!” I believe he really wanted to stop drinking, but he couldn’t. Before he came home, we cleared the house of all liquor. We found bottles of booze hidden everywhere from behind the couches and even the stove. The best hiding spot we found was in the bathroom. Behind the washing machine there was a four-inch space where he had cleverly tied a piece of string to a bottle, so he could pull it up and have a secret drink. No one knew he was doing this in the bathroom, but come to think of it, he did spend a lot of time in there.
My father returned to work that week with a new lease on life. He was very positive and actually pleasant to be around, which was big departure from his usual grumpy self. When he returned home that night, he asked me if I would like to take off school and go fishing with him at the dock the following day.
My mother had told him to spend quality time with me because he had never really done that without the other six siblings in tow. The next day he got me up early and we headed down to Plymouth harbor. We did do some fishing but we had no poles, so we used a couple of drop lines off the dock. He had given the fishing rods away since he gave everything away for no apparent reason when he was drunk. We didn’t have much luck but I did pull in an eel. It was a nasty thing and I never cared much for those so I took the fishing knife and chopped its head off. We finished up on the docks and went into the shops.
My dad said to me, “I have been gone a long time so I want you to pick out something you like to remember that we spent this today together.” I found a little cedar box that looked like a miniature treasure chest and I thought someday I would fill it with real gold. I had that damn thing for twenty years, thinking somehow it would make me rich. It did remind me that not every day of my childhood was a nightmare and there were times we hung out and things were cool.
After my father beat my mom and since the cops and courts did nothing, my brother Jason decided to take matters into his own hands.
Janie and I got home from school early on a half day. We realized water wasn't coming out of the faucet and the lights were out. I went to the basement to find Jason down there with a friend I really didn’t know too well. He had an athletic frame and was a big guy, maybe 6’5” and about 225 plus pounds.
Jason turned off the water and electricity and said to me, “Hey Sean, call dad! Something is wrong with the water. Tell him to come fix it. Do it now!”
They just sat there in the dark and waited. I called my father at his office and told him, “Jason turned the water and lights off and he won’t fix them.” My father said, “For Christ's sake! I'll be right home.”
My father entered the basement through the garage. From upstairs, I walked downstairs and saw my father go into the room where the water was turned off. Suddenly Jason and his friend came out of the dark and started beating my dad. Furniture was breaking and my father was screaming and then the room went silent. He was unconscious. Jason's friend looked at me on the way out and apologized. “Sorry kid, but it had to be done,” he said and he left the same way he came in.
I ran to my dad and found him bleeding in the dark but he was still breathing. “Dad, wake up before they come back,” I cried.
He stumbled to his feet and fell again. Eventually he got up and shuffled to the water and turned it on. My brother left the house. “This was low, even for him,” I thought. After my father turned the water and electricity back on, he wobbled upstairs and grabbed a bottle of booze he kept under the kitchen cabinet, drank a big slug, and then put a steak on his own swollen face. Defeated, he just sat and stared at the floor. Janie was crying, but I couldn’t cry anymore. This was how it was. I had become numb to violence and abuse.
My father cleaned up after the incident and was better for a while but started up again a few months later on a hot summer night. Jason came in and made scrambled eggs and sat in the den. I had a broomstick and was twirling it around like a marine spins a gun in a parade. My sister Peggy taught us this since she was in the drum and bugle corps. Mid spin the broom handle hit the plate of eggs, knocking it to the floor. Jason flipped out, chasing me into the kitchen.
Terrified, I hide behind my father and the two of them began to battle. Screaming and cursing at each other, my father thought it was a great idea to take out his three-foot, steel Knights of Columbus sword and swing it at Jason. He was quite drunk, so Jason picked up a large steak knife and attempted to duel with him. It was actually a little funny, but I think my father in his state of mind really thought he was dueling. They both made it outside and the police came again and took my father. They said, “Joe, you have to come with us now, but the sword has to stay here.”
He refused to give it up, so they put him in the back seat and let him keep it. No cuffs, nothing. The cop said, “We’re going to have to put that sword in the trunk. When we get to the station I will give it back.”
Drunk and easily manipulated, my dad said, “Okay but don’t give it to my son Jason, okay?” “Okay Joe, no problem,” replied the cop.
My father was subjected to the drunk tank for ninety days this time. This entire summer I stayed at my sister Colleen’s house with her husband and my nephew Mickey. It was peaceful, for once, to be out of the mad house, but unfortunately Janie had to stay behind. They couldn’t handle both of us together since we fought a lot, being so close in age. I was very concerned for Janie, but I couldn’t tell anyone what I had seen because they might end up dead too. I knew what some people were capable of.
I felt guilty for not staying with Janie, but there was no doubt I could have done anything to stop them at this point in time. After the summer was over, my sister Colleen took me home. She asked if I wanted to move in with them permanently, under the condition I could never go back. I said “no” since I couldn’t leave Janie again. I could only imagine what she went through that summer without me.