- Aug. 19, 2019
- She Writes…….
August 19, 2019
I haven’t blogged my usual blog today because I read the article below in the New York Times this morning. I hope you can get it. I subscribe to the NY Times so therefore I am allowed to Comment re their news. In this blog I am commenting on comments from other New York Times readers …………
Contributing Opinion Writer
What Part of ‘Thou Shalt Not Kill’ Don’t We Understand?
Here in Tennessee, the hypocrisy of execution day is almost too much to bear……….. go to the NY Times for the rest of the article ... over 500 comments
Betty in Toronto
@VMG - You say - "I don't see the death penalty as killing a human being"
then you must be blind. My stomach turns ...
BettyInToronto | Canada
I find executing human beings totally disgusting! Watching someone be executed is unfathomable and every bit as disgusting - unless the victim is a relative and wants the victim to know they care. I had relatives in the jailing business and I can assure you they had some nasty faults - an uncle who was a sheriff delighted in taking my brother and I through "his" jail when we were less than 12 years old. I will never forget the look on the barred inmates faces as we walked by. They were sad men. Life hadn't given them the breaks it gave my uncle!
BettyInToronto | Canada
@Douglas McNeill -you say "I believe life without parole is actually a harsher sentence than death by any means." which I totally agree with ... and then "For the most heinous crimes, I for one do not wish to grant the release of an execution." which I totally disagree with - I find it mean and cruel ... In my opinion - "there but for the grace of god go I"? ps - I am agnostic.
BettyInToronto | Canada
@Mark Marks - for those who don't know, Canada no longer has the death penalty. Yeah for us! For the little it costs to keep a person in jail for life we can say we are somewhat thinking caring intelligent human beings. I expect there are persons given life sentences who wish for the death penalty - let them commit suicide like your own Jeffery Epstein. In general I believe a person who becomes a criminal has simply not had the breaks you and I have had - often genetically.
65 years ago my 17 year old brother was boarded and killed during a Junior A hockey game. The young man who killed him [I am sure he only meant to hurt him badly - he actually hit him so hard, from behind, that he broke my brothers spinal cord and brought spectators to the ice] was tried for manslaughter. His teammates lied for him and he got off. I was, and am, very proud to say neither of my parents hoped he would go to jail. He may have legally deserved it but what good would it have done? Karma got him. He died of natural causes before he was 60. Karma is like that.
Canada | Pending Approval
Do people not know, or not care to know, that most criminals have been physically abused - slap a child's face and that child will grow up and slap someone else's face, especially their own child's face ... if they have been sexually abused or simply neglected and uncared for they may raise their kids the same way. They well may have inherited wicked traits through no fault of their own. If your aunt or uncle was a child molester there is a good chance you will be or be tempted to be a child molester etc. I believe Fate has much to do with who we are! There but for the grace of god go I.
Posted by Betty Bishop at 5:10 pm
August 18, 2019
My idea was to offer a daily light housekeeping service to working people. There were no services like that at the time. Of course there was no internet in1968 or 9 and I have forgotten how we advertised but we did and we got customers. However most of them wanted weekly cleaning which we also offered. That was okay too [anything was actually OK!]. Marg supplied the car and I believe she also brought her vacuum cleaner.
I had it all timed down to the minute - enter the apartment, set the timer on the customers stove and have at it for, if I remember correctly 1.5 hours. Then a dash to the car and on to the next apartment. Marg and I didn’t last long but it was long enough and profitable enough for me to rent and move into the very nice town house next door to my rented room. Marg quit because “you don’t need me for anything, you have all the answers” something like that. She also wasn’t fond of housework [I kind of do]. I felt it was enough that we were sharing the profit. Marg had the car so Metro Apartment Services died on the vine.
Posted by Betty Bishop at 12:21 pm
August 17, 2019
After I was discharged from Whitby, while living in that room, I drew this picture of the experience and the decision I felt I had to make. Join the many very sick people I had met there or go back to the bricks and mortar of the world? I chose the real world. I got a telephone and invented Metro Cleaning Services on a piece of paper. Marg and I would be partners - she told me a co worker at my previous job had told her to “stick with Betty, that girl is going places!” He was right Marg - I have been to so many places since that time!
Posted by Betty Bishop at 11:33 am
August 16, 2019
I had $11.00 in my purse [or was it my bank account?] when I hit the road. I can’t recall how I physically left Whitby. I do remember sad goodbyes with my new friends in Admissions One. We promised to meet again but never did. I rented a furnished room on Belmont Street in Toronto. It was a nice little room in a very nice area and had a sweet sunroom at the back. $10.00 a week. I got a waitress job at Frans Restaurant on Yonge Street. 11PM until 7AM. My daughter’s social worker came to see me and convinced me to apply for Welfare. “but Betty you have no money!” The thought of it made me sick but I did it. I passed and was given a cheque which I took to the nearest bank. I think it was for $134.00. The teller looked down her nose at it and said something
like “we don’t take Those cheques”. I was to go to another branch which would cost me a streetcar fare. I took a streetcar to the main branch of the bank, cashed the cheque, went across the street and bought myself a pair of shoes swearing I would never take another welfare cheque. I wonder if it is still like that for people on welfare?
Thank god I was never that broke again and I actually live very well by the end of this tale.
Posted by Betty Bishop at 11:20 am
August 15, 2019
I am not saying there was nothing wrong with me. You may have noticed there was not a single family member, aside from my kids, who even sent me a get well card let alone paid me a visit during the 6 weeks I was in Whitby.
To say the least we were not and still are not close which I believe in itself is a sign of mental illness. My 2 brothers, 2 sisters and I all had wicked childhoods and we have each paid the price, in our various ways, for those abusive childhoods. I partially write these words for others who may be suffering, or know others who are suffering, as we did and not know it.
Learn all you can about mental illness as soon as possible. It should be taught in public schools from ages 10 or so on.
Posted by Betty Bishop at 10:07 am
August 14, 2019
I can’t recall exactly how I left. After all, it was 50+ years ago - and I am now 85 plus ;-)!
I expect and think my friend Marg came and picked me up. She later told me that after our ambulance ride to Whitby she had burst into tears telling her mother “they have locked Betty up and there is nothing wrong with her!!”
I actually wonder if the whole thing wasn’t a bit of a farce?How did it happen? First and worst by far was the doc at CAMH! Then the 4 seconnal at Women’s College which actually lessened any strength I had left. Then the Emerg doctor at WCH who could/should/might have taken a bit more time to at least let the seconnals wear off before having me sentenced to 30 days in a mental hospital.
I may send a link to this blog to some of those people. My case happened 50 years ago but I am sure things like this still happen.
Posted by Betty Bishop at 11:46 am
August 13, 2019
A Bad Dream
Somewhere before my 30 days were up I was taken to Family Court with the Children’s Aid workers. My children were formally turned over to the CAS.
My oldest daughter was allowed to stay with the family of a friend of mine.
My youngest, who had been with other friends was not so lucky. She was transferred from friends to a foster home which wasn’t ideal.
Posted by Betty Bishop at 11:24 am
August 12, 2019
I forgot to tell you another very interesting Admissions One One Flew Over The Cukoo’s Nest story before I was sent to “The Cottage”. We had what I believe was our every Friday afternoon meeting in the Common room. The head nurse [we can call her Rachet] led the meeting. The patients were allowed to make suggestions. I suggested new patients should be allowed to sleep in on their first morning in the hospital. It is such a shock for anyone to realize they are in an Insane Asylum. She stared at me with cold nurse Rachet eyes and said “Mrs Bishop,,,I believe you will be leaving this unit next week….” no comment re my suggestion.
I wonder if any of the other nurses gave a late night admission a break the next morning. Most of the staff were very nice and one nurse said “my heart went out to you the night you were admitted Betty. There are some patients you just take a liking to and you were one for me, you with your torn up sweater!” I hope she is the same nurse who asked for my collage and if so I expect she would think of me once in a while as I think of her with tears in my eyes at this moment. People and a few words can make such a difference in our lives!
Posted by Betty Bishop at 11:00 am
August 11, 2019
At a picnic table under a large tree
An attractive fairly young woman and I are having a chat. She is a long term patient in The Cottage for long term patients. Read forever.
I particularly remember an ex nun who ate her food greedily - as if it was both her first and last meal. I remember no one else even though I lived in that “cottage” for at least 2 weeks. I well remember the woman under the tree though. As fellow patients we had a wee bit of chit chat and then she started warning me that we were being listened to. Did I not know there were listening devices hovering above us at all times? In the clouds, in the tree. Can’t I see them? She knows they are there, they are hired by the hospital. There were also people in the far away bushes watching our every move.
My god! she was so convincing! I suspect that is the day I asked my doc to discharge me. Or was it the next day? I also suspect he knew it wouldn’t take long before I would ask to be discharged! Do you suppose that patient was actually a nurse planted there to scare the bejeeus out of me? ;-) …
Posted by Betty Bishop at 1:14 pm
August 10, 2019
Long Term Care
I imagine my Whitby fate was decided after the conference. I was assigned to a very nice psychiatrist who I saw once a week. I hardly remember him but I remember our talks as pleasant and fun. At some point I expect I had had my 30 days in Admission One and I believe he said I could be discharged. I believe I said I would just as soon not be discharged. I had no children, I had no home to be discharged to and I had no money.
My doc said he had no choice but to send me to Long Term Care. I probably said “thats ok by me!” Long Term Care people lived in a large “cottage” and slept in a massive upstairs room. At least 20 of us, probably more. I remember our beds as being less than 3 feet apart with a small bedside table dividing us from our neighbour.
August 09, 2019
One day a nurse came up to me in the common room. She asked me to help her bring a patient in. The woman had been allowed to go home for the weekend. Her husband brought her back to the hospital and dropped her off. Instead of coming in she was now standing on the front steps staring a the doors but unable to walk through them. No wonder - she was to have a shock treatment the following day. I stood in front of the doors and crooked my index finger in a “come on in dear” way for a few minutes. She came in! I visited her in her cubicle after her shock treatment and I felt so sorry for that woman. Mental illness is so unfair and so nasty. That nurse did me a great favour as I believe this incident had a great affect on me for the rest of my life. I thought maybe I was good at something. For the rest of my life I did a lot of volunteer work. At the Distress Centre, at the Queen Street Hospital for Mentally Ilness etc etc. Ironic isn’t it?
Posted by Betty Bishop at 10:26 am
August 07, 2019
I don’t know when or why but one day I decided to run away. I vaguely remember walking through farm fields on my way to Whitby and then deciding I may as well return to the hospital and sit on the front steps. Actually as I write this I DO remember why I decided to run away. I had talked to my new friend Wayne about an idea I had. Said I wanted to start a house cleaning business when I go out. Wayne said something like “Oh you will never be allowed to do that, your reputation of having been here will follow you”. I believed him. Wayne knew the ropes - he had been to Whitby several times. Thinking my idea was only to be an idea led me to run away. When I got out I did start a cleaning business! Called it Metro Cleaning Services.
Posted by Betty Bishop at 10:09 am
August 06, 2019
At some point they had a “conference” starring Betty Bishop! I was told they would be having it and we [by this time I had become friends with other patients] would not be allowed to use the common room on the morning of the conference. I suppose it was only one or two long tables placed end to end but when I looked through the glass doors it seemed it must be a mile long. All the staff seemed to have been invited but there was one empty chair at the end of the table. My chair. All these people would be, and soon were, staring at me - the nurses, the doctors, the social workers, the physiotherapists,etc. [God I hope this is now done via some kind of video arrangement where the patient can be seen speaking with one or two people at a time?]
Eventually I was summoned and sat. The head psychiatrist asked the first question which was “So, Mrs Bishop, why do you feel you landed here?” and I answered “Because I didn’t have OHIP?” OHIP was the Ontario Hospital Insurance Plan which, at that time, we paid for individually. I can only image the nasty social worker giving him the eye - “I told you so doctor, I told you so, she is a nasty one!”. The next thing I remember is bawling my head off in a toilet cubical with a a patient/friend banging on the door until I let her in. I am not sure if I stayed and answered all their questions or if I just got up and ran out of the room. Sitting at that table is still a horrible memory.
Posted by Betty Bishop at 11:52 am
August 05, 2019
I should tell you how we lived in “Admissions #1”
We were 4 women to a room which wasn’t a room - it was a cubicle. No walls. No privacy! My guess is there were 6 or so cubicles housing somewhere around 24 patients although this is only a guess.
The patients did the cleaning. On my first morning when the nurse was trying to get me up around 7AM she said “come on Mrs Bishop, get up - the patients can’t smoke until everyone is up and their chores are done!” I asked if this was “a jail or a hospital?”. I soon learned the patients took turns cleaning the bathrooms, scrubbing hall floors etc. In retrospect this is not a bad system. I find cleaning to be good therapy.
After our chores we could go to the common room and smoke [everyone smoked at that time, no one seemed to be bothered by it], watch TV [Robert Kennedy was shot while I was there-June 6/68], and eat at long tables. I remember throwing a dinner roll at a woman across the table. That was before another patient told me she was there because she had killed her mother with an axe!
I very quickly found myself a card table and a quiet corner in the Common Room. I also found lots of good magazines and I was allowed scissors and glue. I made collages.
Posted by Betty Bishop at 12:17 pm
August 04, 2019
A few days later Wayne called Admissions One [that is where I was living] and requested I be allowed to go to a function in the Alcoholics Cottage [that is where he was living]. I was allowed to go but the memory is vague - dancing with a very ill man who smelled of hospital drugs. Soon I was allowed to leave the hospital on my own and Wayne led me to a single bed hidden in some bushes down by the lake. We were preparing to use this bed when he spotted a guy watching us with binoculars! We got out of there fast. Did the hospital plant this bed to see what their patients were up to? I will never know and neither will you. In any case I reported the bed to my psychiatrist the next time I saw him. He didn’t seem surprised.
Posted by Betty Bishop at 11:49 am
August 03, 2019
I went to a Dance and started calling Whitby Phsyciatric Hospital a Nuthouse! I think I had been there for 10 or days when, along with 4 other women and a nurse, I was allowed/chosen to go to a dance in what I suppose was called a recreation centre. Oh my my! We were all excited. Rummaging through clothes that visitors had donated to the hospital, doing each others hair and applying makeup. Anyone who has ever been in a nuthouse will know the feeling. I don’t remember a lot about it and I hardly remember the man from the Alcoholics ward who came down from the ??? seats and asked me to dance. Wayne was from New Brunswick and he worked for General Motors. General Motors had sent him too Whitby to dry out. He was good looking and a good dancer.
August 02, 2019
Some days later that same social worker approached me in the common room to tell me the CAS had investigated my sister’s home and “your children won’t be going there” I probably said something like “I told you so!” and she replied with “I have also been on the other end of your nasty tongue Mrs Bishop!” to which I replied [for all those patients in the common room to hear] “and you will be again if you try telling my 16 year old daughter that she is smarter than I am when I will have to go home and live with her!” That was a sweet moment! Some time ago my youngest daughter accused me of having a “ ?? personality”. I like to think I don’t have an ?? [I can never think of the exact word she used, it was too nasty] ?? personality but I do think I have a nasty tongue at times! I sometimes [most times?] speak before I think….
Posted by Betty Bishop at 3:07 pm
August 01, 2019
There was a meeting with 2 women from the Children’s Aid. I consider that to be the worst day of my life. They wanted custody of my kids and I had no choice but to agree to it. I had been “sentenced” to 30 days in the nuthouse. I am not sure if it was before or after the CAS that my sister [she was bipolar and is now deceased] brought my kids out and we had a meeting with a very large, very nasty social worker. All of us crammed into a very small office. My kids were both staying with separate friends of theirs and mine. However, my sister wanted custody of them. I did not want them to go to my sisters for various reasons. The Social worker was determined they should live with my sister and at some point along the way she said “well if you ask me, this person [pointing at my 16 year old daughter] is the smartest person in the room”. I don’t remember what I said to her but it certainly wasn’t nice. Her last words to me were “your kids are going to your sisters and I don’t care if you like it or not!!”
Posted by Betty Bishop at 10:29 am
July 31, 2019
The next thing I remember was a nurse shaking my leg somewhere around the ankle. “Mrs Bishop, Mrs Bishop, wake up, it is time to get up.” Later I told her how much I wanted to punch her in the face and she said she knew that and that was why she stayed at the end of the bed. Before I was discharged there was a sort of general meeting where the patients were invited to make suggestions. I suggested new patients be allowed to sleep in on the morning they arrived. The head nurse said “I believe you are being discharged Mrs Bishop!” Right out of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. There were lots more One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest happenings. I don’t remember and I don’t think I was on any medication while I was there.
Posted by Betty Bishop at 3:11 pm
July 30, 2019
They were sending me in an ambulance and insisted I had to find someone to ride with me. Eventually I called [or asked them to call] a co worker I had become friends with. So it was me tied on a stretcher and Marg beside me. It was well after dark when we got there. If I remember correctly my kids still didn’t know where I was and my sister had come and, until stopped by management, was removing my furniture from our apartment! I was wheeled into the Head Doctor’s office. I told Marg and him that he was a very good looking guy! I guess the seconal had worn off by then. Marg later told me she called her mother in tears - “they are putting Betty in the hospital and there is nothing wrong with her!” A nurse took me into a small room and gently took off my torn sweater and got me into a hospital gown and then into a bed. I think she was the same nurse who later said “my heart just went out to you that night and I think she later asked me if she could have a collage I had made. I like to imagine she still has it.
Posted by Betty Bishop at 2:55 pm
July 29, 2019
I woke up around 7.30, wobbled to the pay phone and called my kids. I don’t remember which daughter answered but I let them know where I was and that I was OK. It made no difference as I think they spent most of the day looking for me anyway. I hadn’t been admitted to WCH so, of course they had no record of me. The next thing I remember is being in a cubicle on a stretcher. I believe I was belted down on the stretcher. It could have been because I wrote on the wall of the room or it could have been because I kept wrapping myself around the toilet bowl as soon as they left me alone. A woman doctor was standing beside me - holding up and displaying my torn sweater. “we can’t have this Mrs Bishop” I remember her saying “I am sending you to the Psychiatric Hospital on Queen Street”. I begged her not to send me there - “my children know that hospital is for mentally ill people”. Instead she sent me to Whitby. I was so glad - actually I am still glad - I have often seen Queen Street patients mulling about on the grounds of the hospital. No privacy at all. I later did volunteer work at that hospital [I forget its new politically correct name] and I think Whitby was probably better. There were no healthy pedestrian gawkers wandering around Whitby Psychiatric, it was in the country.
Posted by Betty Bishop at 10:21 am
July 28, 2019
That nurse was right on my tail. “I ask you again to please stay here until the clinic opens….Mrs Bishop I believe you intend to leave here and commit suicide. You are not being fair! I told you I did not have a psychiatrist on duty, the doctor has done the best he could and I am asking you to stay here until the clinic opens in the morning. You have refused to stay. Do you realize what happens when someone commits suicide in Toronto? Every hospital is contacted to see if the person came there for help. Did the hospital turn the patient away? Your suicide will harm the reputation of Womens College Hospital and I don’t think we deserve that. I ask you again to stay.” These may not be the exact words that nurse spoke but they are close enough. She will also be 50 years older now and I once again thank her very much for saving my life and saving my daughters the grief of having a mother who committed suicide. Needless to say I chose to wait for the clinic to open. Who was I to ruin the reputation of Women’s College Hospital?! I remember looking at the clock. It was somewhere around 4 AM …. my kids would be getting up around 8AM. I took all 4 seconnal and lay down on a pew like bench in the waiting room.....
Posted by Betty Bishop at 4:08 pm
July 27, 2019
It was between 2 and 3 AM when I walked into Women’s College. The nurse at the desk told me they didn’t have an emergency department but she would call the resident doctor and he would see me. The doctor was very young, very caring, very nice. I suspect I repeated what I had said to the doctor at CAMH. I do remember the young doctor saying “Oh we can’t have that Mrs Bishop!”. He would give me seconal… I should go home, sleep and come back to the clinic in the morning. I agreed. I wasn’t about to argue or plead any more. The nurse was very clever. If not for her I might not be writing these words 50 years later! Re the seconal she gently suggested “I think 4 might be enough doctor”. He agreed. Damn! Time to leave and that nurse is right on my tail. “Can I suggest you stay here and wait for the clinic to open in the morning?” No thanks. We walked down the hall and I was looking at those huge double doors and the very black night outside. I knew if I walked through the doors I would never again walk to anywhere but the Bloor Viaduct. Even as I write this I know if I had walked through those doors it would have been my last walk.
Posted by Betty Bishop at 11:26 am
July 25, 2019
I have tried to separate the paragraphs in these entries but it seems Blogger won’t allow it. Sorry about that! At the front of the building was a double set of curved steps. I went up there and sat in one of the curves. There was a fair amount of traffic on College Street and I didn’t want people to see me. I made myself as small as possible. The first thing I did was smash my watch beneath my heel - the second thing was rip open the seams on both sides of my sweater - then I thought “oh come on, get right to it, pull your eyeballs out!” That scared me enough to send me back into CAMH. There was a young man at the desk - I asked if I could see the doctor again. He phoned him but the doctor would not see me again. Nothing to do but leave. When I got to Whitby I was told patients do sometimes gouge their eyes out. I walk down the curved steps and out onto College Street, walking East, wondering if I should go to Women’s College Hospital. Yes, I decided, I should - I will try one more time which makes three times. Three times and no more. If I don’t get help I will go to the Bloor Viaduct and hopefully have the guts to throw myself over.
Posted by Betty Bishop at 11:04 am
July 22, 2019
Somehow I got myself downtown and to what is now July22/19 called CAMH - Canadian Association of Mental Health. I don’t think kindly of the doctor who interviewed me. He doesn’t deserve my kind thoughts. “what seems to be your problem Mrs Bishop?” or possibly he called me Betty? “I am afraid [or was it I want to - or was it I think I might] I will jump off my 12th floor balcony…” “and what do you think brought this on?” “Well, my rent was due on the first of the month and I don’t have enough money to pay it.” “Seems to me you are just trying to cop out. Come back in the morning - ask to see Mrs Grayson and she will give you the money to pay your rent!” “I don’t believe you. I won’t be coming back in the morning.” “You may leave now. Go home, come back in the morning”.
Posted by Betty Bishop at 11:14 am
July 20, 2019
On May 13/68 the kids were asleep in the bedroom and I was about to watch Johnny Carson when I started to fall off the cliff. I would rather not describe my fantasies to you except to say they were mean and nasty culminating in an urge to throw myself off our balcony. That got my attention because along with it came this realization “I can’t do that - I am on the 12th floor, my kids would see me looking like a couple of fried eggs in the morning”. No, that won’t work. I remember so well asking myself “Now, what would or should a person do in a situation like this?” and then answering myself with “they would go to a for psychiatrist for help!” So that is what I did. I think I took a cab. As I closed the door I thought “I will never see this apartment again” and I never did see it again. Somehow I got myself downtown and to what is now called CAMH - Canadian Association of Mental Health. I don’t think kindly of the doctor who interviewed me. He doesn’t deserve my kind thoughts. “what seems to be your problem Mrs Bishop?” or possibly he called me Betty? “I am afraid [or was it I want to - or was it I think I might] I will jump off my 12th floor balcony…” “and what do you think brought this on?” “Well, my rent was due on the first of the month and I don’t have enough money to pay it.” “Seems to me you are just trying to cop out. Come back in the morning - ask to see Mrs Grayson and she will give you the money to pay your rent!” “I don’t believe you. I won’t be coming back in the morning.” “You may leave now. Go home, come back in the morning”. I could see nothing to do but leave so I left. I was around 1 AM. A very dark night - I don’t remember seeing a moon. There was construction going on at CAMH - I walked around to the back of the building and got my shoes nice and muddy. to be continued ....
Posted by Betty Bishop at 10:01 am
July 19, 2019
Wow! It is 50 years since my kids and I watched a man walk on the moon. We were living on Belmont Street in Toronto . I was 35 years old and not long out of Whitby Psychiatric Hospital. How did I land in a psych ward and live there for 6 or so weeks? It started when, I believe, through no fault of my own, I got fired. I was working for a car dealership and my boss had given me a lot of responsibility. I was a hard worker and a rather smart cookie. He seemed fond of me. I had been there for some months when for some unknown reason he was fired. The following day the Big Boss called me into his office and said something like “I’m sorry Betty but we no longer have a place for you.” That was the kickoff to my landing in the psych ward. I don’t remember the next sequence of events aside from knowing I wouldn’t be able to pay the rent on the rather nice one bedroom apartment where my kids and I lived. I didn’t see myself as a fragile person although I now recognize I had been walking on a mental tightrope for most of my life. As the doctors later wrote on my chart “the patient lacks insight”. Boy, did I lack insight! My daughters were at an awkward age,14 and 16. Questioning me and holding my feet to the fire at every turn. The days when I was their everything were fast fading. I come from a mentally unwell family [better understood and acknowledged now than 50 years ago] which meant my kids, through no fault of their own, were still my everything. My rent was due on the first of the upcoming month, May 1/68. Soon it was the eleventh day of May. At least one notice had been slipped under my door. I hadn’t yet paid my rent and had no idea how I was going to pay it! PS- if I had this to do over again and if it was 2019 I would simply have gone back to the company and said give me proper notice and rent money or else - things were much different 49 years ago! I was also much different 49 years ago. to be continued .... tomorrow or the next day ... or maybe the next...
Posted by Betty Bishop at 8:53 pm