She Never Had A Chance
Authored By: Bradley Chapline
Autumn of 2018
Authored By: Bradley Chapline
Autumn of 2018
The Preface
No one of decency should ever be comfortable in reading this tragic story of a young teenage girl. Denise was used for sex and money by her biological father. But, the cold hard fact is, this story about Denise is not that rare for a growing number of America's teenage girls.
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. The downside was, Denise sexually attracted both the young and aged bulls.
But, in our senior year of high school, there was a huge sex scandal that rocked our school (Perry Hall Senior High). 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 that particular STD.
So, Denise became center stage in being blamed for this eruption of social infections. She was then 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. Denise was used for sex and money by her biological father. But, the cold hard fact is, this story about Denise is not that rare for a growing number of America's teenage girls.
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. The downside was, Denise sexually attracted both the young and aged bulls.
But, in our senior year of high school, there was a huge sex scandal that rocked our school (Perry Hall Senior High). 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 that particular STD.
So, Denise became center stage in being blamed for this eruption of social infections. She was then 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, this township was renamed Nottingham. It is a small suburb outside of Baltimore City.
During my high school years, in the late 1960's and early 1970's, this "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 most 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, there were the majority who willingly lived under this dome of "brainwashing".
On the flip side, the "hippie scene" was still spreading like wildfire across America. And, like it or not, Perry Hall had its bohemians. But, while most of this was not on public display, meaning the long hair, illicit drug use, sex, and political liberalism, it all did in fact exist in Perry Hall. Denise, while an outcast from the norm in Perry Hall, was proof of this counterculture.
But, also of disgrace was the fact that a good many of my Perry Hall Senior High School classmates of 1971 were fitting quite well into the township's politicallly conservative and religious profiles.
While their hair may have been a bit longer than a typical conservative, they were not labeled by the Perry Hall elites as any type of radical.
Besides politics, there were other deep dark sides to Perry Hall and its people. For some, their sexual cons and perversions were all safely buried under the spells of religious secrecy. By all means, political conservatism and religous covers not only operated together, but remained "flying high" in Perry Hall.
In my senior year 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.
The rumor was true that 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 to her since turning seven years of age.
So, where academics were concerned, there was no dispute when it came to my lack of both attention and attendance in the classroom. For, I rarely ever showed up for classes. And when I did, I either slept through lectures or got into some type of classroom mischief.
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 lectures! 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. I did remember her as one of my former classmates back in past school years. In the freezing air, I saw Denise sitting by herself on a rotted out log with no winter coat. In fact, she had the left sleeve of her dirtied thin white blouse that was rolled up a bit more than 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, bloodshot 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 syringe track marks on her arm. I then had good reason to assume Denise had become a 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 Bowling Lanes, and had her sit down on a piece of cardboard. The alleyway parking lot was frozen, but at least it was empty of vehicles. I then went around front and entered the bowling alley from the main entrance. I clocked in to work. 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 A2 pinsetter machines. I then opened the door to the alleyway and brought Denise inside.
I walked her down to a lightly 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, a hot pretzel with mustard, 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 friends. She wanted to talk. I listened as she began telling me all about her young life. But, there was a frequency in her voice that was becoming both slurred and garbled. Nevertheless, I understood her story 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 a busy 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.
It was of no surprise to me that Denise lived there with her father. Nicknamed "Papa", he was definitely one of those bully type greasers. Denise's mother had supposedly died six years before of a suspected 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.
Apparently Denise was quite a "hot ticket". Despite her drug usage, she was, to the blacks, still young, pretty and white. This apparently made her extremely popular with more than a few of the black men from the Baltimore inner-city. I'm quite sure this is where Denise contracted syphilis.
I was very curious just how in the hell a sixteen year old white girl from the so-called suburbs of Perry Hall could be in the midst of these vices. I was stunned that no one was saying or doing anything about Denise's situation. It wasn't like her situation was a secret. I mean, besides being under-aged, Denise was still, just a child.
But, in this "low-class turf " where Denise lived, the 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 both the typical Christian Conservatives and hippie element 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 venereal disease and heroin addiction. But again, she didn't matter.
People in mainstream Perry Hall who knew Denise and I were friends, certainly looked at me with total contempt. With the exception of an elderly black man who was the night time janitor at the bowling alley, everybody else assumed that I too had contracted syphilis from Denise. But, the truth was, even though I was Denise's friend, I had never had any type of sex with her. But, this did not stop school authorities from repeatedly testing me for STD's, even though every test that was administered to me came up negative.
I had finally convinced Denise to let me meet her father. I really wanted to see this no good son-of-a-bitch up close.
Denise and I met quite often off campus when classes at the high school were 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 set up 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 a group of black bastards 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 was so sick to my stomach that I started 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 a laborer for a construction company 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. But, 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 those findings.
During my high school years, in the late 1960's and early 1970's, this "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 most 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, there were the majority who willingly lived under this dome of "brainwashing".
On the flip side, the "hippie scene" was still spreading like wildfire across America. And, like it or not, Perry Hall had its bohemians. But, while most of this was not on public display, meaning the long hair, illicit drug use, sex, and political liberalism, it all did in fact exist in Perry Hall. Denise, while an outcast from the norm in Perry Hall, was proof of this counterculture.
But, also of disgrace was the fact that a good many of my Perry Hall Senior High School classmates of 1971 were fitting quite well into the township's politicallly conservative and religious profiles.
While their hair may have been a bit longer than a typical conservative, they were not labeled by the Perry Hall elites as any type of radical.
Besides politics, there were other deep dark sides to Perry Hall and its people. For some, their sexual cons and perversions were all safely buried under the spells of religious secrecy. By all means, political conservatism and religous covers not only operated together, but remained "flying high" in Perry Hall.
In my senior year 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.
The rumor was true that 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 to her since turning seven years of age.
So, where academics were concerned, there was no dispute when it came to my lack of both attention and attendance in the classroom. For, I rarely ever showed up for classes. And when I did, I either slept through lectures or got into some type of classroom mischief.
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 lectures! 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. I did remember her as one of my former classmates back in past school years. In the freezing air, I saw Denise sitting by herself on a rotted out log with no winter coat. In fact, she had the left sleeve of her dirtied thin white blouse that was rolled up a bit more than 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, bloodshot 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 syringe track marks on her arm. I then had good reason to assume Denise had become a 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 Bowling Lanes, and had her sit down on a piece of cardboard. The alleyway parking lot was frozen, but at least it was empty of vehicles. I then went around front and entered the bowling alley from the main entrance. I clocked in to work. 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 A2 pinsetter machines. I then opened the door to the alleyway and brought Denise inside.
I walked her down to a lightly 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, a hot pretzel with mustard, 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 friends. She wanted to talk. I listened as she began telling me all about her young life. But, there was a frequency in her voice that was becoming both slurred and garbled. Nevertheless, I understood her story 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 a busy 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.
It was of no surprise to me that Denise lived there with her father. Nicknamed "Papa", he was definitely one of those bully type greasers. Denise's mother had supposedly died six years before of a suspected 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.
Apparently Denise was quite a "hot ticket". Despite her drug usage, she was, to the blacks, still young, pretty and white. This apparently made her extremely popular with more than a few of the black men from the Baltimore inner-city. I'm quite sure this is where Denise contracted syphilis.
I was very curious just how in the hell a sixteen year old white girl from the so-called suburbs of Perry Hall could be in the midst of these vices. I was stunned that no one was saying or doing anything about Denise's situation. It wasn't like her situation was a secret. I mean, besides being under-aged, Denise was still, just a child.
But, in this "low-class turf " where Denise lived, the 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 both the typical Christian Conservatives and hippie element 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 venereal disease and heroin addiction. But again, she didn't matter.
People in mainstream Perry Hall who knew Denise and I were friends, certainly looked at me with total contempt. With the exception of an elderly black man who was the night time janitor at the bowling alley, everybody else assumed that I too had contracted syphilis from Denise. But, the truth was, even though I was Denise's friend, I had never had any type of sex with her. But, this did not stop school authorities from repeatedly testing me for STD's, even though every test that was administered to me came up negative.
I had finally convinced Denise to let me meet her father. I really wanted to see this no good son-of-a-bitch up close.
Denise and I met quite often off campus when classes at the high school were 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 set up 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 a group of black bastards 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 was so sick to my stomach that I started 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 a laborer for a construction company 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. But, 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 those findings.