Papa And Community
Made Sure
Denise
Never Had A Chance
Authored By: Bradley Chapline
2018
!!! WARNING !!!
Adult language and situations.
NOTE:
All names in this story are correct with the exception of Denise's last name. This was intentionally changed.
The racist language used in this true story in no way reflects the opinions of the author. Derogatory and racist comments are a direct quote taken from the individual(s) named.
Adult language and situations.
NOTE:
All names in this story are correct with the exception of Denise's last name. This was intentionally changed.
The racist language used in this true story in no way reflects the opinions of the author. Derogatory and racist comments are a direct quote taken from the individual(s) named.
The Front-Matter Of The Story
No one of decency should ever be comfortable in reading this tragic story of a young teenage girl who was used by not only a perverted father, but, as well, was both used and neglected by suburban America. But, the fact is, this story across America is not that rare for many of America's teenage girls who are on their own.
Denise was my classmate since the second grade in elementary school. But, in those early years, I didn't know her very well. Denise had a natural beauty about herself. But, the downside was, she attracted both the young and aged bulls and big-shots.
But, in our senior year, there was a huge sex scandal that rocked our school. There was an outbreak of syphilis. It was not just students who were infected, but, there were also several male teachers and even a female educator who came down with an STD.
So, Denise became center stage in being blamed for this eruption of social infections. She was expelled from school.
No one would help Denise get clean. As her health continued deteriorating, Denise then, as the beginning to her final stage of life, picked up injecting hardcore drugs into her veins.
This is when I came along. The story continues.
No one of decency should ever be comfortable in reading this tragic story of a young teenage girl who was used by not only a perverted father, but, as well, was both used and neglected by suburban America. But, the fact is, this story across America is not that rare for many of America's teenage girls who are on their own.
Denise was my classmate since the second grade in elementary school. But, in those early years, I didn't know her very well. Denise had a natural beauty about herself. But, the downside was, she attracted both the young and aged bulls and big-shots.
But, in our senior year, there was a huge sex scandal that rocked our school. There was an outbreak of syphilis. It was not just students who were infected, but, there were also several male teachers and even a female educator who came down with an STD.
So, Denise became center stage in being blamed for this eruption of social infections. She was expelled from school.
No one would help Denise get clean. As her health continued deteriorating, Denise then, as the beginning to her final stage of life, picked up injecting hardcore drugs into her veins.
This is when I came along. The story continues.
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 "wannabe" 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 many Perry Hall residents believing in the likes of the ultra-conservative "Spiro T. Agnew Political Klan". In their eyes, America's elitist society would and should dominate above all other ethnic groups.
So, in mainstream Perry Hall, the majority willingly lived under this conservative dome of "brainwashing".
Nevertheless, the "hippie scene" was still spreading like wildfire across America. And, like it or not, Perry Hall was no exception. But, while most of this was not on public display, meaning the illicit drugs, sex, and political liberalism, it all did in fact exist in Perry Hall. And, Denise Spellman was proof of this.
But, also of disgrace was the fact that many of my Perry Hall Senior High School classmates of 1971 were fitting quite well into the 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 still not labeled by the Perry Hall elites as any type of radicals.
The proof would be in both of those young and old residents that personally and politically supported the likes of a corrupt Vice-President Spiro T. Agnew. For, former Baltimore County Executive and Maryland Governor Spiro T. Agnew was their hero. Agnew was a staunch ultra-conservative Republican and was certainly a white-collar criminal.
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 as Vice-President of the United States, in disgrace. Still, Perry Hall was unchanged in their political beliefs.
Besides politics, there were other deep dark sides to Perry Hall and its people. For, their sexual cons and perversions were all safely buried under the spells of religious secrecy. Yes, by all means, that political cover of conservatism and Christian fellowship were still "flying high" in Perry Hall.
In my senior year at the Perry Hall Senior High School in 1971, I spent the majority of the 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. It made no difference, whether at school, work or home, I did not matter. In fact, in the eyes of my own mother, as I vividly recall, I had never mattered since turning seven years of age.
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 even showed up. And when I did arrive for classes, I either slept through lectures or got into some type of mischief.
Now, on this one particular bitter cold winter morning, surprisingly, I showed up for classes. Even my teachers appeared shocked to see my presence in the classroom. And, during this time I stayed awake and listened to the course lecture! 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.
So, it was during my walk from school on Ebenezer Road to the bowling alley that I recognized Denise. She was one of my classmates. In the freezing air, I saw Denise sitting by herself on a 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, of what I presumed to be illicit drugs into the veins of her arm. Denise then 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 had good reason to assume Denise was a hardcore heroin addict.
During our entire walk up Ebenezer Road, Denise staggered. I definitely had to brace nearly 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 went around front and entered the bowling alley from the main entrance. I clocked in. Just to the left of lane one, I took the employee walkway to the rear of the bowling alley. 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 helped her lay down in a comfortable position. Next, I went to the snack bar in the front area of the bowling alley, and bought her a cheeseburger, fries, and a soda. I wanted her to have something to eat and drink when she would wake up from her drug-induced sleep.
This is when Denise and I became good friends. She wanted to talk. I listened as 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. It was 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 had taken 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 his daughter, 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 so-called suburbs of Perry Hall could be in the midst of all these vices. I was stunned that no one was saying or doing anything about Denise's situation. It wasn't like it was a secret. I mean, besides being under-aged, Denise was still, just a child.
But, in this "low-class turf " where Denise lived, these yokels were in essence in their own little world. There were no laws that were enforced in this neighborhood. Seemingly, they were exempt from anything and everything that would be considered immoral. With the exception of profit, there was absolutely no mixing of social classes. Meaning, Denise's father saw the typical Christian Conservatives of Perry Hall as both unacceptable and certainly taboo in establishing any type of a friendship.
So, I came to learn that even school authorities at Perry Hall Senior High were aware of Denise's drug addiction. But again, she didn't matter.
People who knew Denise and I were friends, certainly looked at both of us with contempt.
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 met quite often when school was in session. We had talks on the issue quite frequently, concerning when I would meet her father. So, it took me every bit of several months for Denise to finally agree to setup a meeting between me and her dad. I think Denise knew nothing good would come of this get-together. She was right.
Just as I figured, the inside of the house that Denise lived in 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. I have one thing in common with the cops. 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. I was too. 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, next to last in my class of 1971. In the aftermath 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 "wannabe" 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 many Perry Hall residents believing in the likes of the ultra-conservative "Spiro T. Agnew Political Klan". In their eyes, America's elitist society would and should dominate above all other ethnic groups.
So, in mainstream Perry Hall, the majority willingly lived under this conservative dome of "brainwashing".
Nevertheless, the "hippie scene" was still spreading like wildfire across America. And, like it or not, Perry Hall was no exception. But, while most of this was not on public display, meaning the illicit drugs, sex, and political liberalism, it all did in fact exist in Perry Hall. And, Denise Spellman was proof of this.
But, also of disgrace was the fact that many of my Perry Hall Senior High School classmates of 1971 were fitting quite well into the 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 still not labeled by the Perry Hall elites as any type of radicals.
The proof would be in both of those young and old residents that personally and politically supported the likes of a corrupt Vice-President Spiro T. Agnew. For, former Baltimore County Executive and Maryland Governor Spiro T. Agnew was their hero. Agnew was a staunch ultra-conservative Republican and was certainly a white-collar criminal.
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 as Vice-President of the United States, in disgrace. Still, Perry Hall was unchanged in their political beliefs.
Besides politics, there were other deep dark sides to Perry Hall and its people. For, their sexual cons and perversions were all safely buried under the spells of religious secrecy. Yes, by all means, that political cover of conservatism and Christian fellowship were still "flying high" in Perry Hall.
In my senior year at the Perry Hall Senior High School in 1971, I spent the majority of the 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. It made no difference, whether at school, work or home, I did not matter. In fact, in the eyes of my own mother, as I vividly recall, I had never mattered since turning seven years of age.
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 even showed up. And when I did arrive for classes, I either slept through lectures or got into some type of mischief.
Now, on this one particular bitter cold winter morning, surprisingly, I showed up for classes. Even my teachers appeared shocked to see my presence in the classroom. And, during this time I stayed awake and listened to the course lecture! 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.
So, it was during my walk from school on Ebenezer Road to the bowling alley that I recognized Denise. She was one of my classmates. In the freezing air, I saw Denise sitting by herself on a 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, of what I presumed to be illicit drugs into the veins of her arm. Denise then 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 had good reason to assume Denise was a hardcore heroin addict.
During our entire walk up Ebenezer Road, Denise staggered. I definitely had to brace nearly 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 went around front and entered the bowling alley from the main entrance. I clocked in. Just to the left of lane one, I took the employee walkway to the rear of the bowling alley. 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 helped her lay down in a comfortable position. Next, I went to the snack bar in the front area of the bowling alley, and bought her a cheeseburger, fries, and a soda. I wanted her to have something to eat and drink when she would wake up from her drug-induced sleep.
This is when Denise and I became good friends. She wanted to talk. I listened as 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. It was 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 had taken 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 his daughter, 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 so-called suburbs of Perry Hall could be in the midst of all these vices. I was stunned that no one was saying or doing anything about Denise's situation. It wasn't like it was a secret. I mean, besides being under-aged, Denise was still, just a child.
But, in this "low-class turf " where Denise lived, these yokels were in essence in their own little world. There were no laws that were enforced in this neighborhood. Seemingly, they were exempt from anything and everything that would be considered immoral. With the exception of profit, there was absolutely no mixing of social classes. Meaning, Denise's father saw the typical Christian Conservatives of Perry Hall as both unacceptable and certainly taboo in establishing any type of a friendship.
So, I came to learn that even school authorities at Perry Hall Senior High were aware of Denise's drug addiction. But again, she didn't matter.
People who knew Denise and I were friends, certainly looked at both of us with contempt.
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 met quite often when school was in session. We had talks on the issue quite frequently, concerning when I would meet her father. So, it took me every bit of several months for Denise to finally agree to setup a meeting between me and her dad. I think Denise knew nothing good would come of this get-together. She was right.
Just as I figured, the inside of the house that Denise lived in 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. I have one thing in common with the cops. 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. I was too. 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, next to last in my class of 1971. In the aftermath 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.