My wife, Sue, and I have disagreed to this day that we would never have met if I had not moved next door to her when I was seventeen. During my early teens I was brought up on a gentleman farm near Fairview Village, twenty five miles from Philadelphia, and Sue lived in the suburbs of Philadelphia known as the Main Line on the South side of the Schuylkill River. She insisted that because of the distance and living on opposite sides of the river, we would never have met. I say it was destiny!

By the mid ‘40s, my family moved from the farm to the suburb of Merion. My sister Alice, two years older than myself, was to begin her first semester at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia, and was in the midst of her debutante year. My parents felt the move closer to Philadelphia would help benefit her escorts not to have so far to travel. I too was attending some of the social events because I was considered one of Philadelphia’s eligible bachelors, and had gained the reputation for appearing at them with beautiful girls. So my argument with Sue was that I would have spotted her at one of the balls because of her vivaciousness and beauty, but to this day I have never been able to convince her of that.

Father subjected me to physical and mental abuse from early childhood, and it still continued even after the move from the farm. Mother had little time for me because she was totally engrossed in Alice’s life, designing and making many of her outfits she would need for college and upcoming debutante parties. Papa, who was living with us on the farm suddenly became ill, and passed away in the hospital at the time of the move. He was my grandfather on father’s side who always showed his love for me and made me feel special during childhood. Now, being totally ignored at home and without Papa’s love and encouragement, I suffered such loneliness and despair that I really didn’t care if I lived or died.

Father never explained why my grandfather was in the hospital, nor would he allow me to visit him. And to this day it grieves me that I never had a chance to tell Papa how much I missed him and loved him. Father also made it quite clear that I was not allowed to take part in the funeral proceedings because I was too young. That seemed strange to me since I was seventeen and had my driver’s license, but I was raised to obey my parents without question, and I constantly lived in fear of father’s wrath.

I had been attending a private school for boys, but after the move father announced that I would now be attending the local public high school, and “Go take care of the registration yourself!” I was terrified to do this without a parent, but managed to get enrolled for the fall term. On day one I soon discovered the change in schools was certainly different! There were girls in my classes and I noticed that some of the guys drove to school in their own cars. During my early teens I had learned a good deal about engines while working part time with the owner of a grocery store in Fairview Village. His interest was building racing cars, so it was only natural that I found myself gravitating toward friends with souped up cars called hot rods.

After finding a ’35 Ford convertible for sale, I went to father to see if Papa had left me any money in his will. I told him I needed $350 and he snickered as he answered that I had been left that much. That smile made me a bit uneasy wondering what it might cost me, but I was willing to pay the consequences to get the car. With my new interest in girls and cars, and without Papa’s encouragement to always do my best, my studies went out the window.

Fall meant the task of raking leaves, which was assigned to me. What a far cry from the responsibilities I had on the farm, but at least it was working outdoors. While raking, I began to notice the comings and goings of the teenagers next door. I was interested to meet the cute blonde and her older brother who owned a canary yellow ’34 Ford convertible with duel exhausts sticking up each side of the rumble seat. The blonde caught my eye because she was not only pretty, but appeared to be on the tomboy side. She would play along with her brother and his friends either touch football on the front lawn, or basketball in the back driveway. As I raked and watched, the thought never occurred to me that I would soon be falling in love!

I was formally introduced to the girl next door on an occasion that was prearranged by our mothers, who had become good friends. Her name was Suzanne, although she preferred to be called Sue. After getting to know her, and our seriously dating for three years, she finally disclosed to me that she was enduring sexual abuse from her father. That incensed me with such hatred toward him that I felt I had to rescue Sue from her house before I might do physical harm to him. For once, my parents realizing how upset I was declared, “We know you love this girl. If you feel you should marry her, we will help you.”

We were married in December of ‘48 with the help of relatives from my mother’s side of the family. Also, mother and father offered us the opportunity to live on the third floor of their home until we could get our feet on the ground. That worked out fine until one night while I was finishing up a few dishes in the kitchen sink, father, in one of his abusive spells, hit me on the back of the head so hard with his fist that I saw stars. I spun around and threatened, “If you ever lay a hand on me again I will flatten you to the ground!” He growled back, “You don’t threaten me in my house!” As my head cleared, I realized then how wrong I was to assume that since I was a married man abuse from father would end. I had no alternative but to go upstairs and tell Sue, “We are out of here!”