Papa And Community
Made Sure
Denise
Never Had A Chance
Authored By: Bradley Chapline
Contact
BradChapline@hotmail.com
BradChapline@hotmail.com
!!! WARNING !!!
Adult language and situations.
NOTE: The racist language used in this true story in no way reflects the opinions of the author. Derogatory comments are a direct quote taken from the individual named.
Adult language and situations.
NOTE: The racist language used in this true story in no way reflects the opinions of the author. Derogatory comments are a direct quote taken from the individual named.
I grew up in a town named Perry Hall. Now, in more modern days, renamed Nottingham, it is a small suburb outside of Baltimore City.
During my high school years, in the late 1960's and very early 1970's, this many times snobbish township liked to act as if the very unpopular and protested Vietnam war would be the end of world communism.
There were never any doubts in the visions of Perry Hall residents believing in the likes of the ultra-conservative "Goldwater Political Klan". In their eyes, America's elitist society would and should dominate above all others.
So, mainstream Perry Hall lived under a dome of "brainwashing".
But, the real truth was, the "hippie scene" was spreading like wildfire across America. And, like it or not, Perry Hall was no exception. But, while all this was not completely on public display, the drugs, sex and political liberalism did exist in Perry Hall. And, Denise Spellman was proof of this. But, in reality, Denise was one of the "exceptions to the rule".
So, quite disgustingly, most of my Perry Hall Senior High School classmates of 1971 were still fitting quite well into our township's "phony politically conservative and religious profiles".
While their hair may have been longer than normal, when looking back at the 1950's, they were surely not labeled as any type of radical hippies.
So, if people were not to quite believe what they read here, the proof would be in both those young and old residents that personally and politically supported the likes of a Spiro T. Agnew. For, Spiro T. Agnew was their hero. He was a staunch ultra-conservative Republican and was certainly corrupt as both the Baltimore County Executive, and the Governor of Maryland.
So finally, in later years, as Richard Nixon's Vice President, Spiro T. Agnew would be convicted on multiple counts of conspiracy, bribery, and tax fraud. Agnew resigned, in disgrace.
Now, besides politics, there were other deep dark sides to Perry Hall and its people. For, their cons and perversions were all safely buried under the spells of secrecy. Yes, that political conservatism and Christian fellowship were still "flying high" in Perry Hall.
In my senior year at the Perry Hall High School in 1971, I spent the majority of the school year on the work / study program. That meant that I was supposed to go to classes in the morning hours, and then go to work at my job in the afternoon and early evening hours. I was a janitor at the Perry Hall bowling alley.
It is true I had the second lowest grade point average of any student ever enrolled in the Baltimore County School District. It was a dismal, 0.98. But, somehow, I was still on course to graduate. I was well-aware that I had been written off. I no longer mattered.
So, where academics were concerned, there was no disputes when it came to my lack of both attention and attendance in the classroom. For, I rarely showed up. And when I did arrive for classes, I either slept through lectures or got into some type of mischief.
Now, on a bitter cold winter morning, surprisingly, I showed up for classes. Even my teachers appeared shocked to see me. And, I even stayed awake! But, I had realized during this day just how far behind I was in my school work. I was truly glad when the school day, for me, was over. I wanted in the worst way, to just get the hell out of there.
Now, it was during my walk on Ebenezer Road from school to the bowling alley that I recognized Denise as one of my classmates. In the freezing air, I saw Denise sitting by herself on an old rotted out log with no winter coat on. In fact, she had the left sleeve of her blouse rolled halfway up her arm.
I turned, and began walking towards her. Denise paid no attention to me while I was approaching her. And then moments later, I was stunned. Denise was shooting up by way of a syringe, what I presumed to be illicit drugs into the veins of her arm. It was then that Denise looked up at me with glazed, blood shot eyes.
I reached my hand down to Denise. She took hold. I helped her get to her feet. I took my coat off and wrapped it around Denise's shoulders. She was shivering. But, before I did this, I did see a tremendous amount of track marks on her arm. I then took for granted Denise was a hardcore heroin addict.
During our entire walk up Ebenezer Road, Denise staggered. I definitely had to brace every step she took. Finally, we reached the bowling alley. I took Denise to the backside of Perry Hall Lanes, and had her sit down on an empty parking lot. I then entered the bowling alley from the main entrance, and took the walkway on the side of "lane one". This took me behind the Brunswick A-2 pinsetters. I then opened the door to the alleyway and brought Denise inside.
I walked her down to a rarely used storage room. With boxes of equipment, unused towels and rags, I quickly built a makeshift bed for her. I then went to the snack bar in the main bowling alley, and bought her a cheeseburger, fries, and a soda. I wanted her to have something to eat and drink when she would come down from her high.
This is when Denise and I became trusted friends. She began telling me all about her young life. It was of horrific proportions.
She lived quite close to the bowling alley. In fact, there was a tiny zone of old broken down houses that were tucked away from mainstream Perry Hall. Located at the base of a hill near the intersection of Joppa and Belair roads, there wasn't one house there that had been properly maintained. In this enclave, there was only a combination of gun-toting hillbillies, and outdated greasers from the 1950's.
Denise Spellman lived there with her father. Nicknamed "Papa", he was definitely one of those bully type 1950 greasers. Denise's mother had died six years before of a drug overdose.
So, Denise's father took it upon himself to begin using his daughter for his own sexual pleasures. And when he ran short of money, Papa brought in "Ghetto Blacks" from the inner city of Baltimore to pay to have their way with Denise.
Apparently Denise was quite a "hot ticket". She was young, pretty and Caucasian. This apparently made her extremely popular with more than a few of the black men from the inner-city.
I was very curious just how in the hell a seventeen year old white girl from the suburbs could be in the midst of all these vices, and no one was saying or doing anything about this.
But, in this "low-class turf ", where Denise lived, these yokels were in their own little world. There were no laws that were enforced. Seemingly, they were exempt from anything and everything that would be considered moral. And there was no mixing of social classes.
So, the friendship between Denise and I was surely not welcomed, by anyone.
But, I had finally convinced Denise to let me meet her father. I really wanted to see this son-of-a-bitch up close.
Denise and I usually met every day. We had talks on the issue quite frequently, concerning when I would meet her father. So, it took me over a month for Denise to finally agree to setup a meeting between us. I think she knew nothing good would come of this get-together.
Just as I figured, the inside of the house was a pig-pen. Denise's father was staring me down. He was a scary individual. But, I stood tall. However, I remained silent.
Denise's father broke the ice. "So, you little bastard. What the fuck are you doing here? Is it you're having a problem fucking my daughter after niggers have had their way with her? Or, do you think you are going to save this little drug craving whore of mine? Well, you can forget it, if you do. I own her!"
I replied, "Sir, what if I called the authorities?" Denise's father laughed. He then said, "The police will never come down here. We both have one thing in common. We don't want the pigs down here, and the pigs don't want to be here. What else do you want you little shit?"
I said, "Denise is my friend and I'm not leaving her." The father shot back, "Oh, you'll leave her alone or I'll kill your little ass. She is my money-maker. You try to break this up, and I promise you the consequences will have you laid out in a casket. You got that mother-fucker!"
Denise was scared. She grabbed my hand and walked me out of the house. Outside, in the front yard, Denise said, "We can never see each other again. I'm so sorry, Brad. Goodbye."
Denise then turned and walked away from me. At the front door of their house, I saw Denise out of the corner of my eye go back into the arms of her father. I felt like I was going to vomit.
So, in the coming months, I had graduated from high school. I went to work, temporarily, as an iron worker until I would leave for Marine Corps recruit training at Parris Island, South Carolina.
One of the first things I did after returning home on leave from boot camp was to look up Denise Spellman. She had passed away while I was becoming a U.S. Marine. Her death was listed as a drug overdose. Just like her mother's death, I didn't believe drugs were the only factor leading to their demise. But, I wasn't about to dispute these findings.
During my high school years, in the late 1960's and very early 1970's, this many times snobbish township liked to act as if the very unpopular and protested Vietnam war would be the end of world communism.
There were never any doubts in the visions of Perry Hall residents believing in the likes of the ultra-conservative "Goldwater Political Klan". In their eyes, America's elitist society would and should dominate above all others.
So, mainstream Perry Hall lived under a dome of "brainwashing".
But, the real truth was, the "hippie scene" was spreading like wildfire across America. And, like it or not, Perry Hall was no exception. But, while all this was not completely on public display, the drugs, sex and political liberalism did exist in Perry Hall. And, Denise Spellman was proof of this. But, in reality, Denise was one of the "exceptions to the rule".
So, quite disgustingly, most of my Perry Hall Senior High School classmates of 1971 were still fitting quite well into our township's "phony politically conservative and religious profiles".
While their hair may have been longer than normal, when looking back at the 1950's, they were surely not labeled as any type of radical hippies.
So, if people were not to quite believe what they read here, the proof would be in both those young and old residents that personally and politically supported the likes of a Spiro T. Agnew. For, Spiro T. Agnew was their hero. He was a staunch ultra-conservative Republican and was certainly corrupt as both the Baltimore County Executive, and the Governor of Maryland.
So finally, in later years, as Richard Nixon's Vice President, Spiro T. Agnew would be convicted on multiple counts of conspiracy, bribery, and tax fraud. Agnew resigned, in disgrace.
Now, besides politics, there were other deep dark sides to Perry Hall and its people. For, their cons and perversions were all safely buried under the spells of secrecy. Yes, that political conservatism and Christian fellowship were still "flying high" in Perry Hall.
In my senior year at the Perry Hall High School in 1971, I spent the majority of the school year on the work / study program. That meant that I was supposed to go to classes in the morning hours, and then go to work at my job in the afternoon and early evening hours. I was a janitor at the Perry Hall bowling alley.
It is true I had the second lowest grade point average of any student ever enrolled in the Baltimore County School District. It was a dismal, 0.98. But, somehow, I was still on course to graduate. I was well-aware that I had been written off. I no longer mattered.
So, where academics were concerned, there was no disputes when it came to my lack of both attention and attendance in the classroom. For, I rarely showed up. And when I did arrive for classes, I either slept through lectures or got into some type of mischief.
Now, on a bitter cold winter morning, surprisingly, I showed up for classes. Even my teachers appeared shocked to see me. And, I even stayed awake! But, I had realized during this day just how far behind I was in my school work. I was truly glad when the school day, for me, was over. I wanted in the worst way, to just get the hell out of there.
Now, it was during my walk on Ebenezer Road from school to the bowling alley that I recognized Denise as one of my classmates. In the freezing air, I saw Denise sitting by herself on an old rotted out log with no winter coat on. In fact, she had the left sleeve of her blouse rolled halfway up her arm.
I turned, and began walking towards her. Denise paid no attention to me while I was approaching her. And then moments later, I was stunned. Denise was shooting up by way of a syringe, what I presumed to be illicit drugs into the veins of her arm. It was then that Denise looked up at me with glazed, blood shot eyes.
I reached my hand down to Denise. She took hold. I helped her get to her feet. I took my coat off and wrapped it around Denise's shoulders. She was shivering. But, before I did this, I did see a tremendous amount of track marks on her arm. I then took for granted Denise was a hardcore heroin addict.
During our entire walk up Ebenezer Road, Denise staggered. I definitely had to brace every step she took. Finally, we reached the bowling alley. I took Denise to the backside of Perry Hall Lanes, and had her sit down on an empty parking lot. I then entered the bowling alley from the main entrance, and took the walkway on the side of "lane one". This took me behind the Brunswick A-2 pinsetters. I then opened the door to the alleyway and brought Denise inside.
I walked her down to a rarely used storage room. With boxes of equipment, unused towels and rags, I quickly built a makeshift bed for her. I then went to the snack bar in the main bowling alley, and bought her a cheeseburger, fries, and a soda. I wanted her to have something to eat and drink when she would come down from her high.
This is when Denise and I became trusted friends. She began telling me all about her young life. It was of horrific proportions.
She lived quite close to the bowling alley. In fact, there was a tiny zone of old broken down houses that were tucked away from mainstream Perry Hall. Located at the base of a hill near the intersection of Joppa and Belair roads, there wasn't one house there that had been properly maintained. In this enclave, there was only a combination of gun-toting hillbillies, and outdated greasers from the 1950's.
Denise Spellman lived there with her father. Nicknamed "Papa", he was definitely one of those bully type 1950 greasers. Denise's mother had died six years before of a drug overdose.
So, Denise's father took it upon himself to begin using his daughter for his own sexual pleasures. And when he ran short of money, Papa brought in "Ghetto Blacks" from the inner city of Baltimore to pay to have their way with Denise.
Apparently Denise was quite a "hot ticket". She was young, pretty and Caucasian. This apparently made her extremely popular with more than a few of the black men from the inner-city.
I was very curious just how in the hell a seventeen year old white girl from the suburbs could be in the midst of all these vices, and no one was saying or doing anything about this.
But, in this "low-class turf ", where Denise lived, these yokels were in their own little world. There were no laws that were enforced. Seemingly, they were exempt from anything and everything that would be considered moral. And there was no mixing of social classes.
So, the friendship between Denise and I was surely not welcomed, by anyone.
But, I had finally convinced Denise to let me meet her father. I really wanted to see this son-of-a-bitch up close.
Denise and I usually met every day. We had talks on the issue quite frequently, concerning when I would meet her father. So, it took me over a month for Denise to finally agree to setup a meeting between us. I think she knew nothing good would come of this get-together.
Just as I figured, the inside of the house was a pig-pen. Denise's father was staring me down. He was a scary individual. But, I stood tall. However, I remained silent.
Denise's father broke the ice. "So, you little bastard. What the fuck are you doing here? Is it you're having a problem fucking my daughter after niggers have had their way with her? Or, do you think you are going to save this little drug craving whore of mine? Well, you can forget it, if you do. I own her!"
I replied, "Sir, what if I called the authorities?" Denise's father laughed. He then said, "The police will never come down here. We both have one thing in common. We don't want the pigs down here, and the pigs don't want to be here. What else do you want you little shit?"
I said, "Denise is my friend and I'm not leaving her." The father shot back, "Oh, you'll leave her alone or I'll kill your little ass. She is my money-maker. You try to break this up, and I promise you the consequences will have you laid out in a casket. You got that mother-fucker!"
Denise was scared. She grabbed my hand and walked me out of the house. Outside, in the front yard, Denise said, "We can never see each other again. I'm so sorry, Brad. Goodbye."
Denise then turned and walked away from me. At the front door of their house, I saw Denise out of the corner of my eye go back into the arms of her father. I felt like I was going to vomit.
So, in the coming months, I had graduated from high school. I went to work, temporarily, as an iron worker until I would leave for Marine Corps recruit training at Parris Island, South Carolina.
One of the first things I did after returning home on leave from boot camp was to look up Denise Spellman. She had passed away while I was becoming a U.S. Marine. Her death was listed as a drug overdose. Just like her mother's death, I didn't believe drugs were the only factor leading to their demise. But, I wasn't about to dispute these findings.