Do you think psychopathy is not inherited? Think again.
Marriage Record
Gender -
Male
Marriage
Date - Dec 9, 1982
Marriage Location - Clark, NV Map
Recorded
Date - Dec 13, 1982
Recorded
County - Clark
The wedding took place in Las Vegas, Nevada.
Bride's Information
The Wikipedia is fairly useful on the growing understanding of psychopathy during the 20th Century. Unfortunately, nothing I could find mentioned the more recent work of Dr. Kent Kiehl, who finally took the suppositions on the issue into actually providing the first neurological tool for measuring the condition.
From the wiki History of Psychopathy
In 1967, the understanding of psychopathy was still evolving. The term "psychopath" was first introduced by Emil Kraepelin in 1888, highlighting antisocial behavior and moral insanity. The concept of psychopathy as a psychiatric term was established, and it was used to describe individuals exhibiting antisocial behavior. The early 20th century saw the term 'psychopathic inferiority' referred to mental disorders that might now be termed personality disorders. The term 'sociopathy' was popularized in 1929/30 by George E. Partridge, indicating a failure to adhere to societal norms in a way that could harm others. The term psychopathy gradually narrowed to the latter sense, based on interpretations of the work of a Scottish psychiatrist and checklists popularized by an American psychiatrist and later a Canadian psychologist. We strongly suggest, if this issue interests you, purchasing his book, which encapsulates his study of identified psychopaths, incarcerated due to the crimes for which they were in prison, with little likelihood of their being released.
Dr. Kiehl's book, The Psychopathy Whisperer - The Science of Those Without Conscience, is available on Amazon and from other booksellers.
We did not consider the potential popularity of a show on the subject of psychopathic individuals until recently, but during our last meeting determined this went well with the 2-Way Interface we will be providing for ongoing dialog on the subject.
A book on the events in the life of our CEO, Melinda Pillsbury-Foster brought the subject to our attention, and a book on her own experiences will also soon be available as part of our promotional campaign for our launching platform. These begin with a multi-decades history on the impact of one psychopathic individual, Richard Lee Barteaux, original name before adoption by Walter Dean and Betty Mae Barteaux, who named the infant, Richard Lee Barteaux
Born Name: Joseph Aloysius MANGOLD (Latin spelling)
Mother
gave the baby up for adoption immediately after birth. Reports indicate she was a student at UCLA.
Mother: Audrey J. Saville
Siblings:
Found: In 1950 Census in Santa Monica, where the family was then living. Alden was employed as a termite exterminator for a local company. The family had relocated from Nebraska. All of their three children, Aubrey J., was age 4 at the time of the census, Joy, was age 3, and Beverly was age 1, but turned 2 a few months later.
Looking for the explanation of the name Roth in some records. In no case does this seem to be a family member.
Marriages:
Marriage to Richard Lee Barteaux
by Melinda Pillsbury-Foster
It is easy to assume when new acquaintances speak the same language you do they share the same values.
Reflecting on my painful and shocking experience with the Barteaux family gave me much to reflect on in its aftermath.
I barely knew Richard Barteaux. We had been casually introduced by Tom Buckley, who I had known casually through a mutual friend on Colby Avenue, Shelly Wandzera. Tom had a crush on Shelly, mooning after her for some time. Shelly was about a year younger than myself. The first time I saw Tommy he was sitting on his bicycle and holding his school notebook. It had SHELLY written across the front. I was amused, and one can be when when you see emotions, that you know will likely be of short duration, displayed in this way.
My conversation with Tommy was only a smile and "Hello", as I remember. I was still readjusting to being back in America, having spent the previous year in Rome, Italy because my dad, Dr. Arthur F. Pillsbury was taking his sabbatical year from UCLA.
When I had learned we were going to Rome for a whole year I was beside myself with delight, having spent years studying every aspect of the history of Rome and its neighboring city states since I was about 7, along with every thing I could find on Egyptology.
I knew from experience these interests were not shared by most of my friends from the neighborhood, and therefore had learned not to bore them with these. From the time I was three I had worn glasses, necessitated by eye problems. But while we were in Rome, Dad had me fitted with contact lenses because I could not keep the glasses straight on my face.
The year at Saint Stephen's Episcopal School in Rome had been a life-altering experience for me. Suddenly, I was with people who also read volumes of books for pleasure. Wow. The fact that the school was located an hour from our apartment in l'EUR mattered not a bit. This was a bonus because the school mandated we spend 2 half-days a week, Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, studying Rome by visiting the ancient sites while informing ourselves on these wonders.
The combination of lots of exercise and the glasses radically changed my appearance. Before I looked like exactly what I was, a nerd. Toward the end of our year there this had changed, though it took time for anyone to notice because St. Stephen's had a dress code and my mother went to some trouble to absolutely adhere to these standards.
White shirts, with either a modest skirt, meaning below the knees or a one-piece shirt-dress with long sleeved shirt. No particular colors were required. I was supplied with a minimum number of these garments, mostly in green and blue.
Going to school required me to first walk to the Metropolitana di Roma, the central transportation system. I took this to Termini, where I walked through the crowds to find Autobus No. 39, which I took to the Piazza Euclide. From there, it was uphill to the school.
At St. Stephens, no one thought my writing poetry was odd, not the way it was viewed back home. My reading habits were also unexceptional similar to those of my school friends. Amazing.
I felt like I had died and gone to heaven, and was very sad when the year ended. However, Dad had arranged for us to spend the summer of 1965 touring Europe, which tempered my regret that I would not be allowed to stay at St. Stephen's as a boarding student.
At the party given the students before school ended I danced once, my very first dance. I had to fake it, as I did not know how to dance, but it was still a thrilling experience.
I will not bore you with our travels through Europe. It was unforgettable, however, with mild moments of amusement, which the family all enjoyed.
And so this happy time ended and we returned to our home on Colby Avenue where I shared my experiences with friends, such as Shelly, who introduced me to Tommy, who had gone to primary school with Richard Barteaux.
I had already gone to one prom, the Christmas Prom, in December.
I might not have gone to that dance, instead trying to get over my sudden fixation on the glorious dress, except that Vicky, a friend of mine who was going, had asked me to help her choose her dress, so I did.
It was in the May Company where I saw what I thought had to be the most beautiful dress that had ever been made. Vicky, watching me look at the dress, asked if I remembered the boy who kept looking at me while we ate lunch together. No, I did not, I said, still looking at the dress.
Then Vicky mentioned that a few of her friends, including her own date, were going out to Orange Julius that weekend. Pausing, she said this young man, whose name I admit I do not remember, would be one of the group. I immediately agreed to go with them, asking again what his name was. Sorry I do not remember now.
It was pink, a color I normally disliked, but the skirt was embroidered with flowers. I was in love with the dress. But to justify asking Dad to buy it for me I would have to have a date to the prom, which was next week. I went to Orange Julius. The boy asked me to the prom. I told Dad, who took me to May Company, bought the dress, pointed out I needed shoes to match, a suitable garment to keep me warm, long gloves, nylons, and a clutch purse. These items had not occurred to me but if Dad said I needed them, I knew I did, and after buying the dress, we went to find them. He picked them. All I did was try on the shoes, my first heels, to make sure they fit.
I wish I still had the photo of me in the dress with my date. If it shows up, I will share it here.
I did not go out on another date, but I did go to Disneyland, and a boy in the group I went with kissed me. I was surprised, but kind of enjoyed it. The next day, at school, he gave me a ring. I kept it for a while but would not go out with him, and he asked for it back. I cheerfully returned it. Someone later told me that receiving a ring like this was 'going steady', which I took to mean that you were not to go out with anyone else.
Richard called me, the family phone (EX-7-2815) number provided by Tommy, and we went out four times, starting in late April, 1966. Richard would be spending most of the summer with his parents, who it seems spent two months in Hawaii every year.
I had surmised that Richard thought we were dating. I was pretty sure this would not last, as we had very little in common from what I had seen, but I also knew one was supposed to go out of dates with members of the opposite gender when you reached the age to go to proms.
These 'dates', if you can call them that, included going out to an Italian Restaurant, going to the school prom for Richard's school, Black Fox Military Academy, a tour of the park, close to Richard's parents home, and the last one before he left, which was a real shock. He handed me a small box. I opened it, and there was a ring. "Oh, I said, thanks!" I thought this was unusual but knew other girls occasionally got these things from boys they were dating and remembered the previous loan of a ring.
It was after this I learned this was an engagement ring.
The end of school at Venice was approaching and I was looking forward to spending most of the summer helping to build the cabin we for which we had spent four years leveling a building space, large enough for both the cabin the the required leeching field. Dad had promises to let me design the leeching field, and I was looking forward to this and going fishing. I generally brought home my limit in trout. To be allowed to go fishing Dad required we clean our own fish. I had been doing this since I caught my first trout at five years old.
Trout was my favorite breakfast, and I liked my fish very fresh, sauteed in butter with a touch salt and lemon.
I should also mention I did not watch television, though my younger brother Stephen Martin Pillsbury, two years younger than myself, did so. He always had; I never changed in this regard. The available content bored me, and my growing library and the projects which I kept in the cabinet Dad had gifted me with on my 9th birthday, that included more space for books, were always in process.
It was very early in my life that I realized my pleasures varied from those of others. But that did not matter to me very much, though I was always delighted to find someone who enjoyed the same kind of activities.
These realizations came to me early on in life, partly because of my thankfully short association with the Barteauxs, Walter Dean, Betty Lou, born Stevens, and their adopted son, Richard Lee. Richard had been adopted at birth. Later, my research could reveal more on his genetic background, which it turned out, mattered.
But while they were soon out of my life, dangling complications remained. One of these was the child I was carrying when I finally called my parents, Dr. and Mrs. Arthur Francis Pillsbury, and told them about my injuries from Richard's multiple abuses. These were obvious, since Richard had slashed my arms with a knife before falling into a stupor from the drugs he had been taking, outside our bathroom door.
If I had not managed to slam the door before Richard could finish his knife assault on me, I would likely have been dead.
This assault began when he told me that if the baby I was carrying was a girl, he would have sex with her.
That threat broke me. The first serious assault, except for when he raped me, had taken place in Richard's GTO after we left the home of his friend, Monty, in early November 1966.
Richard had smashed me in the face while driving. My face hit the window on the passenger side, and my mouth was bleeding from the impact of my braces. Sobbing, I demanded Richard take me home to my parents. Instead, he took me to his parent's home.
Instead of any sympathy whatsoever, Betty told me I must have done something to make him angry. Hysterical, I denied this. Richard just stood there. Betty tried to tell me it must have been an accident. It was not. Richard, I had already learned, could erupt into rages for no reason at all. And Betty knew this, she had on one occasion shared with me violent incidents she had experienced with her son. But he had never assaulted her. Her saga was long, however, and included smashing a large window with his arm, destroying whatever got in his way, and screaming threats at her.
Betty also began explaining to me the responsibilities expected of a wife. These were nothing like I had ever seem my mother or others do. In my experience, everyone did this things in the way that seemed to work for them. Mother, for instance, had majoring in Theoretical Mathematics during her years at the University of California, Berkeley. Dad's major at Stanford, which he pursued to an Engineer's Degree, an equivalent of a PHD, was Engineering, with a special focus on Water Resources.
I Had begged Betty to let me call my parents that terrible night. Betty refused to let me use the phone, telling me I was married now and needed to learn not to upset my husband.
Her husband, Dean was present, but said nothing, though he was listening to every word, it appeared, from his chair near Betty. I was trapped, and not allowed to see my parents. My body began shaking, tears welling in my eyes. Betty told me I was not to try to call them, either. It felt like I was wrapped in an insane maelstrom. I was not allowed to see my parents that Christmas, either.
The assaults increased, ending in the one I first mentioned above.
Nothing about Richard was normal.
Eventually, I realized Betty just wanted him to be someone else's problem, and wanted me there so she would not have to deal with him herself.
The first time I managed to get home, I had walked, I was trying to explain to my mother why I had not called or seen them when Richard broke into my parent's home and dragged me away. Again, I was battered.
A short time later, Dad came and got me, horrified when he saw my injuries. He took me home and they arranged for me to go to a hospital. The invasion of our home on Colby Avenue had persuaded Dad I needed to be hidden. I was in the hospital for about 2 weeks, as I remember. I had been supplied with a pile of books, some of these novels. I read them all.
Then, Dad came to check me out. In some ways, this was almost like a vacation. The steady supply of books supplied ensured I was never bored.
Dad had arranged for me to stay with my sister Anne, in Santa Barbara. Instead of driving me up, he put me on a plane to the small airport in Santa Barbara. Anne was waiting when we landed.
Anne was more like a mother to me than my own mother. I was the fourth of five children, Anne AEtheline and Carol Sylvia had been born much earlier and each was nearly old enough to have been my mother. They were followed by my older brother, Charles Arthur. My younger brother, Stephen Martin, followed me two years after I came along.
I was with Anne in Santa Barbara for several weeks, then Dad drove up to get me.
Back home, I found out Richard had continued speeding down the quiet street we lived on, Colby Avenue, and endangering the children, who were often playing there. I was horrified.
Mother had made an appointment for me with our family doctor, who in his practice also delivered babies. Mother had already shared what had happened with the doctor, I could tell. And he knew about Richard, as he had also been Richard's pediatrician, I was surprised to learn. Confirming that I was pregnant, he immediately asked if I wanted to have an abortion, his face very serious.
My reading on obstetrics and early childhood had been very enlightening.
This was not a subject I had ever considered before being raped by Richard. My life plan was to finish high school and go on to college. Dad wanted me to follow his career in engineering but my interests were then focused on other subjects, including ancient history, poetry, philosophy, science fiction, and American History.
I knew I would be ending the life of a defenseless person if I chose to abort.
Later, I would learn my doctor knew about the entire history of the Barteaux's attempts to find a son. An earlier attempted adoption had ended when the birth mother reclaimed her child just weeks before the adoption would have been final.
The Barteauxs were very different from my own family. Dad had graduated from Stanford, majoring in Engineering, in 1928 and gone on to his Engineer's Degree, a PhD, immediately, though he had to take some semesters off to work to pay his tuition and board. Dad finished college in 1932 and went on to become a professor at UCLA, eventually being named Director of the Water Resources Center for the UC System in California.
My parents had married in 1933 from the home of Dad's father, Arthur C. Pillsbury, whose own senior project from college at Stanford University was the first Servo-mechanism Panorama Camera. Grandfather invented multiple cameras that changed the direction of science during his career. In 1937 his book, "Picturing Miracles of Plant and Animal Life", was published. Mother was just entering her 4th year of college at the University of California, Berkeley, majoring in Theoretical Math, when she married Dad. They had met six weeks before at the wedding of a mutual acquaintance.
To ensure all of his inventions would be widely available, Grandfather did not patent any of these inventions, one of these being the first microscopic motion picture camera, which he built himself in a borrowed basement room at UC Berkeley, which was near his home. In 1926 he was asked to show the film to a group assembled for President Calvin Coolidge.
Grandfather was lecturing on his inventions widely across the US, Canada, England, and elsewhere, by 1919, the same year his films were licensed for distribution by Pathe, Paramount, and Universal for foreign distribution.
My life would have been entirely different if I had either accepted the doctors suggestion, or, which was also suggested to me by my mother, let my sister, Carol, adopt the baby. Carol was married and was working as the executive assistant for the Western Head of Pan-American, and had realized it was unlikely she and her husband could have children. I was not actually sure Carol would be a good mother, as she had adopted a little boy and she did not treat the little boy like I thought a mother should. Her job was demanding and she had little time at home. A caretaker had been hired to watch her son when she was at work.
I did not accept her offer. Dad had mentioned putting an addition on our home, but I was still torn. I had finished high school in home study, which was mildly entertaining, since the required classes required little work, and I enjoyed nearly any kind of studies and read copiously, including science fiction.
I had read Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand at age 12 in one sitting, though mother tried to remove it from my hands at dinner time. I held on to the book more tightly when she tried to take it from my hands, as she told me to let go of it. Dad called from the hallway, "Let her read her book, she will stop when she is hungry." This was true. When I closed the back cover, having read all night, dawn was breaking.
I ate two helpings of breakfast. Dad looked amused; Mother did not.
In parallel with home study, I had also began sewing and knitting what would be needed for the baby, who was now beginning to kick me, fluttering around in my uterus. Dad brought home books on obstetrics for me and on lactation and methods of childbirth. I decided I definitely wanted the birth to be as natural as possible.
Richard was far from my mind. I started college in the Autumn of 1967, but had kept breast feeding little Carolyn until then. Actually, breastfeeding a baby was not encouraged during this period of time, but having read every possible book on the alternatives, decided I would do so. All of my later children were also breastfed.
Carolyn Anne was born July 5, 1967, I sang "Happy Birthday" to her immediately.
I would not hear anything about Richard for some months, for which I was thankful.
Starting college was a little frightening because I did not know anyone I saw, but the library was ready at hand. Unfortunately, the aftermath of my marriage was to haunt me. I had discovered I could not keep Richard from enforcing visits with little Carolyn, and given his threats, this caused me nightmares.
The advice from my divorce attorney was to get married and get my new husband to adopt Carolyn. This was not what I wanted at all. By which I mean, marriage had proven to be too close to a very uncomfortable form of slavery for me to view the possibility with anything but terror.
But I decided it was necessary to protect my beautiful baby. Unfortunately, I would begin to have uneasy feelings about her behavior when she was about 8. The only thing she inherited from her biological father, Richard Lee Barteaux was his psychopathy, meaning she also entirely lacked a conscience. She was more intelligent than he, but what she cost me and my family ran into Meghan-Sized disasters.
All of the pages on this site are available from the Page Outline, which includes a chronology of events and other useful information as well.
They saw each other across the rink, simultaneously, they realized they had met the person they were to marry, and with whom they would have children and live out all of the wonders of life.
They married. No babies were forthcoming. Their first attempt for adoption, a baby they named Richard Lee Barteaux, was stymied when the mother, acting on her rights before the date the adoption was finalized, reclaimed her child.
Their sorrow was deep, but they persevered and tried again. This time, the mother did not intervene and, filled with joy, they took a new Richard Lee Barteaux home with them to fill the waiting cradle and warm their hearts.
That lasted until little Richard was about 3 years old, and his impulses for bad behavior became obvious.
But what were they to do? How could the child for whom they had wished, and for whom they had been willing to do anything, be brought to understand appropriate behavior when at three years of age he rapidly alienated most of the other children, and their parents, who encountered him?
It is possible that neither Walter or Betty Lou had ever heard the term coined in Europe in the first decade of the 20th Century, 'psychopath'. Certainly, they could not imagine this could apply to their small son, Richard.
Previous to the slow advances in psychiatry the word applied to individuals exhibiting this kind of behavior was, 'demon', 'satanic', and others that bring to our minds, even today, what behavior was being exhibited. But they did not know, and continued to support Richard, Jr., and also fail to consider this issue of his lack not only of conscience but his lack of intelligence. An I.Q. of 110, which they now had revealed to them, also failed to penetrate the reality of their hopes.
The tragic story of Walter Dean Barteaux and Betty Lou Stevens begins. 
By Melinda Pillsbury-Foster
My thankfully short marriage to Richard Lee Barteaux had a profound impact on the course my life would take.
The direction for my life had always
been college, with a major in Geology and Ancient Studies, though I was also
interested in Water Resources and related, associated subjects. These areas had
fascinated me for years; I did not watch television, I read books, many of
these brought home, at my request, by my father, Dr. Arthur F. Pillsbury from
UCLA. Mother's major in college at UC Berkeley was Theoretical Math, with a
specific interest in Pure Projective Geometry.
The family had, for generations, committed to looking to equality for all people, this based on encouraging inquiry in all fields of endeavor so individuals could see through the fallacies that, all too often, lock us into untrue paradigms.
My grandfather, Arthur C. Pillsbury, was an example of this. AC, as we call him, challenged multiple locked paradigms over his life time, changing how people saw the world. You can read about him on our Foundation sites. (There are several because it was difficult to get all of the materials on one site.) Start at ACPillsburyFoundation.com
My usual preference for wearing
apparel as a child was for blue corduroy overalls - unless I was to wear a
dress or skirt to school or some other occasion, for instance when my sisters,
who were much older than myself, married, A flower girl dress was provided
for these occasions. I wore these with a sense of duty.
Our trip to Rome in 1964 began
with a visit to New York to see the World's Fair there, then on to Ireland,
where we took a bus tour around the entire island. From there, we boarded a hop
to England to visit a list of historic places there, and then on to Rome.
While we were living in l'EUR, the western section of Rome that had hosted national events, I attended Saint Stephen's Episcopal School in the Parioli District of Rome.
Mother was informed of the need to
conform to the dress code. No pants allowed for girls; the code came close
to a uniform, but this did not bother me. Mother took me to an Italian clothing
store and some input was allowed for my
preferences. But all the garments were sturdy and simple, and I wore them
without complaint. Being in Rome had fulfilled a long wish to explore the city
with its diverse historic locations. Roman history, along with Egyptian, and
others, had been a consuming interest of mine since I was about 7 years old.
Returning to Los Angeles after
spending about 12 months in Rome and the rest of our time travelling by car
around Europe, including a flight to East Berlin, with Dad, and my mother Mary
Alice Reasoner Pillsbury, and my two brothers, Charles Arthur Pillsbury, 4
years older than myself, and my younger brother, Stephen Martin Pillsbury. It was a wonderful trip, each destination
providing an understanding of the people, their history, customs – and their diverse cuisines.
I took notes in my diary on these and
collected small metals from each destination. I reasoned these were small,
would remind me of these sites, and took up very little space in my
luggage.
Our trip to Rome had begun with
a visit to New York to see the World's Fair there, then on to Ireland, where we
took a bus tour around the entire island; their history fascinated me since it
included a thousand years of oppression by the English. From there, we boarded
a plane to England, to see a list of historic places there, and then on to
Rome.
While we were living in Rome I
attended Saint Stephen's Episcopal School in the Parioli District of Rome. Reaching
the school from L’EUR, where we were living in a flat routinely rented to
professors or other professionals on sabbatical. The trip to school required walking
to the Metro, a local train, which delivered me to Termini, where I caught the
39 Bus to the Piazza Euclide. From there, I began walking up one of those hills
of Rome.
Conforming to the dress code did
not bother me in the least, even though no pants were permitted for girls. At
home, getting me to wear anything but pants had been a problem for Mother, but
now I was in Rome and readily, cheerfully, accepted this.
Dad bought me a card so I could
visit all historical sites, museums, including art galleries for free. I was in
heaven. Being in Rome had fulfilled a long wish to explore the city.
Roman history, along with
Egyptian, and others, had been a consuming interest of mine since I was about 7
years old. Making replicas of buildings and scarabs occupied a significant part
of my time.
Returning to Los Angeles after
spending about 18 months in Rome, visiting multiple sites with my family, and
then touring Europe with Father, Dr. Arthur F. Pillsbury, my mother Mary Alice
Reasoner Pillsbury, and my two brothers, Charles Arthur Pillsbury, older than
myself by four years, and Stephen Martin Pillsbury, two years younger, had been
a time to remember. I took notes in my diary on these and collected small
metals from each destination. I reasoned these were small, would remind me of
these sites, and took up little space in my luggage.
Back at Venice High School was
not a joy. No one appeared to share my interests. I had hoped this would have changed, but was
not surprised. I spent considerable time in the library, as I had at Webster
Junior High School. But I did have my poetry as a continuing interest and made
one or two friends. I also renewed my acquaintances with friends from the
street where we lived. I had been born while we lived there, which was a change
for my parents, as until then they had rented homes from sabbatical families,
also from UCLA. They were, I knew, happy not to have to move every few years.
When I was a senior at Venice
High School the worst thing which would ever happen to me in my entire life took
place.
Tommy introduced me to Richard
Lee Barteaux.
I had already been on my very first date at Christmas time. I had not been interested in dating because I had not met even one young man who was willing to talk about subjects that interested me. This was not their fault, I understood that. Interests will vary, as does everything else with people.
Then, I discovered from my
friend Vicky Kerfoot, who was excited about social events, there would be a
Christmas Formal at Venice High School. This, did not interest me, but Vicky,
told me with glee her boyfriend had asked her to the Christmas dance, and
enthusiastically asked me to accompany her on her search for a formal dress.
That sounded like fun, certainly
it would be a change. I had grown accustomed to being out six days of the week
in Rome, visiting museums, art museums, and the array of historic destinations that
living in Rome provided. Returning to Venice High School held few attractions.
Nothing about Vicky's dress
remains with me. But while she was perusing the racks of dresses, I saw the
most beautiful dress I had ever seen. I have no idea why it impacted me as it
did, but suddenly I saw myself wearing it, wrapped in its pink satin with
delicate flowers embroidered on a faintly gleaming, thinly sheer overskirt. At
the waist there was a pink satin band. I wanted that dress. This seemed
completely irrational to me, but there it was, I hungered for it.
I was surprised at myself, but
the dress haunted me, and to justify buying it I knew I had to have a use for it.
Somehow. This sudden desire for a dress struck me as irrational, but I could
not argue myself out of wanting it.
Vicky noticed my sudden silence,
as I stared at the glorious gown – then she mentioned that a boy from school,
whose name I cannot remember, had said he wanted to ask me to the Christmas
dance but was afraid to do so. This riveted my attention immediately. Without
any use for the dress there was no reason to waste money on its purchase. If I
had a use for it, Dad would be happy to pay for the dress, I had no doubt.
Vicky mentioned this to him the
next day, and the shy young man asked me to attend the Christmas Formal with
him. I now had a reason to need that beautiful dress.
It was Dad who took me to the
store to purchase it. Once there, and having viewed the dress, he also pointed
out to me I would need several other items, chosen to match the dress, to
attend the event. This included a suitable evening wrap, long sleeved
gloves, shoes, which he would have dyed to match the dress, and an appropriate
clutch purse. Prior to this, my purses were, well, sturdy, meeting the criteria
I had, myself, adopted.
The only other gloves I had were
for winter in the snow; I could see these would not be appropriate.
The dress itself, now in my
possession, Dad took me in search of the other items required. Dad picked ones
that, he said, would work well and I made my choices.
It was also Dad who pointed out
to me my hair would need to be styled for the occasion and took me to the
hairdresser on the day of the dance, leaving work to do so. Mother refused
adamantly to learn to drive.
Because my escort did not yet
have a driver's license, his older brother drove the car used to pick me up for
the dance. It was my date who came to the door to fetch me and meet my parents,
and he was cordially welcomed.
I sat in the front seat and my
date sat in the back. My date's brother and I had a wonderful, broadly ranging
discussion on an assortment of subjects.
Since I had always been able to
dance the fact this was the first dance I had ever been invited to attend did
not concern me. The Christmas Formal included dancing, and my date and I may
not have missed a single dance. I quite liked dancing.
My earlier experiences with
dancing came about because from the time I was young Mother would play the
Irish songs she enjoyed and, moved by the sounds, I had begun moving to the
music when I was very young. It was while the Irish songs rang out that Mother
confided in me that her family background was Irish.
As it turned out, I would only discover Mother had no Irish background whatsoever after promising to research her family history, about six weeks before she died on September 15, 1987. In fact, her genealogical background, which I carried out, as time allowed over the ensuing years, revealed she was mostly Scottish, and was a direct descendant of Robert the Bruce.
Soon after the Christmas dance, a recent
acquaintance of mine, Tommy Buckley, introduced me to a friend of his. And this
is how I met Richard. I stopped holding this against Tommy, a very nice person himself, some time ago.
Richard called me; these
conversations were always about possible, unexceptional outings, eating out,
mostly, though once he took me to see a park where he had played when he was a
child. Then, he asked me to attend the yearly dance for the students at his
school, Black-Fox Academy. I immediately accepted and acquired another formal,
this one white lace.
It did not occur to me during
this extremely fleeting period that he was strikingly dull. But the dance was
fun and the corsage he presented to me was made up of roses and was pungent
with aroma.
The Black-Fox dance had taken
place as summer was beginning. Our next date was a tour of his childhood park;
he told me he loved me. I was astonished. At this point, we had known each other for about 2
months, and his parents were taking him to Hawaii with them in a week or so. On
this occasion, after a walk around the park where he had played as a child,
Richard took me to a jewelry store and bought me a ring.
A boy I had known at school had given me a ring after we went to Disneyland together about this same time. I had accepted it, not realizing it meant we were 'going together'. When I was informed of this, I returned it to him.
I was startled but thought this was something like the earlier ring. The subject of marriage had never been raised, and I was both startled and embarrassed. But I realized the ring could
be returned, and it seemed churlish to just say ‘No.’ Richard had said he would
be away in Hawaii for about two months and would write to me. He did. I also
gave him our address at our cabin in the Sierras at Cedar Slope, as Dad always
took us there for as long as possible during the summer. We had been busy
building a cabin for ourselves, next door to my Uncle Chuck's cabin about 6,200
feet in elevation.
It was the next day when
Richard took me to his home and introduced me to his mother, Betty Barteaux.
Mrs. Barteaux began sending me presents, and dropped these off herself. One of these was a portable iron,
another was a set of cooking pots. She then gave me a set of very ornate
silverware. I did not know what to say, though I did send her thank you notes
using my informals, as was proper. I did mention the major I would be taking in
college; this she also ignored - and when I shared stories of the cabin with
her, she just stared at me.
These trips to Cedar Slope were
always a delight. Along with clearing the building space for our own cabin, I always
looked forward to fishing. Dad had taught me to fish when I was five, and that
year I caught my first fish and was, hooked on fishing. I rarely failed to
bring back my limit, which I always gutted and cleaned myself. Trout was one of
our usual breakfasts at the cabin. Mother never came, so we cooked on the wood
stove in Uncle Chuck's cabin and took showers in the minimal bathroom on the
porch there. Showers had to be fast, because hot water came out of the tank on the
back of the wood stove and was in short supply.
Uncle Chuck also had lots of
projects for us. These routinely included some which were heavy work, including
the repair and maintenance of the sewage system for his cabin. I generally
returned to school in September with callouses and a tan.
One year, our project had been
building out an area we used for sitting in the evening under the trees on one
side of our cabin. Every summer included more projects, and they were always
interesting.
While we worked, Uncle Chuck
would tell us stories about his earlier life. Just out of college from UC Berkeley
with a degree in engineering, Uncle Chuck had joined the U. S. Army and been
assigned to the ongoing work on the Burma Road. Uncle Chuck returned from the
service weighing 125 lbs. It was tough work, but essential to the war effort.
Uncle Chuck also had lots of
projects for us, which I also enjoyed. We built out an area that we used
sitting in the evening under the trees on one side of Uncle Chuck's cabin. We had spent
years, moving wheelbarrows full of rocks and dirt to build up the area where our own cabin would be situated, while
not neglecting the need to dig out the steep slope so a pad for construction
could be secured and given time to compact so there would be a solid base for
the construction for the Pillsbury cabin.
I did wonder how Richard would
like the cabin if he visited me there. We had been there for several weeks and
were well advanced with laying out the leaching field for the sewage system
when Richard returned from Hawaii. Later, I would be deeply sorry I had told
him where the cabin was located.
Richard was not interested in
any of our ongoing projects. He had arrived in his greenish GTO and thought it
was more interesting to either drive up and down the mountain or take very
short walks. My walks were never short, so this was annoying. He was also
uninterested in assisting in putting in the leaching field for the sewage
system, which was my own project that year.
And it was obvious, after our
first meal at the cabin, that he knew nothing about cooking or washing up
afterwards.
I had wondered how Richard
would like the cabin if he visited me there, but assumed he would just join in,
as other guests had done. That did not happen.
We had been there for several weeks by the
time he arrived and were well advanced on laying out the leaching field for the
sewage system. Later, I would be deeply sorry I had told him where the cabin
was located.
Richard was not interested in
any of our ongoing projects. He had arrived in his greenish GTO and thought it
was more interesting to either drive up and down the mountain or take very
short walks. My walks were never short, so this was annoying. He was also
uninterested in assisting in putting in the leaching field for the sewage
system, which was my own project that year.
It was obvious Richard was uninterested
in every single activity taking place. He did not even know how to wash dishes.
Since my entire family very much
enjoyed our summers at the cabin, I assumed he would soon go home. But instead,
he drove me up to see Dome Rock and began insisting we get married right away.
The next part of the story I will leave for another time, as it was the most horrible experience of my life to that point.
The wedding, which took place in
Starkville, Mississippi, was ghastly. I have always wished I had never met
Richard, never talked to him, and could erase every part of what I could only
view as a tragic, life-shattering misadventure.
To say we had nothing in common
understates the case.
The Life of Angel Barteaux
|
She
had been attending high school, but was not doing well, from what I was told by Jillkster, who first contacted me in 2012, having wondered what happened with Richard's first marriage.
During
a domestic dispute over her staying out with her boyfriend at night a physical
argument erupted. I was told Angel called the police and had her mother jailed. This shocked me. Jillkster and I had many very informative conversations and I jotted down notes afterwards.
Back to Angel, who appears to have anything but angelic. Jillkster told me her grandparents, Walter Dean and Betty Mae Barteaux, and her brother and sister-in-law, Richard Lee Barteaux, Jr. and herself, were entirely fed up with her.
Her mother was no longer willing to have Angel living with her either, when
she turned to them for help. Angel had lived with her grandparents, Dean
and Betty Barteaux, on and off over the years. They also could not deal with her. It occurred to me that the behavior she was exhibiting was very much like that of her grandfather, Richard Lee Barteaux, Senior, who had died of alcoholism in 1993.
It
was decided, probably by Dean, she should just move into Richard Senior's home,
vacant since his death two months earlier had left the place in Cheyenne, Wyoming vacant. They evidently believed that, left in a house, everything paid for and with a car to drive, she would attend high school and be fine. Therefore, she was shipped off with
a girl friend, Brandy, to live at the house in Cheyenne, Wyoming, which had
been purchased for Richard Lee Barteaux, Senior some years before.
Richard,
Jr’s wife, Jillkster, accompanied the two girls and got them settled in, ensuring
they had all they needed. Jillkster, was also the one handling the allowance and
paying the bills. Angel had to do nothing but go to school. A new Ford Escort
was purchased for her. Angel complained because it was not what she wanted.
Not surprisingly, all was not well. Angel did not attend school regularly and was not behaving, otherwise. See photos of that time HERE
Brandy
only lasted for 24 hours. She called Jillkster from the home of Richard Senior's old
girlfriend, Peggy, begging to come home because Angel was being entirely
unreasonable about everything.
Jillkster told me Angel was a pathological liar and refused to cooperate on anything. Angel
signed up to go to high school, attended for a month, then dropped out. The
partying had began immediately.
She
was outraged to discover her allowance was cut in half because Brandy was no
longer there. “Tough,” said Jillkster commented.
Shortly
thereafter, just a little later in 1993, Jill received a letter from Chayla Rae
Brown, a connection of Peggy's , telling them Angel was using drugs, not going
to school, and hanging out with a druggy guy, Jason. Disgusted, the Barteauxs
stopped sending Angel any money.
The
house was in the names of Angel and her brother, Richard, Junior as
tenants-in-common. Ignoring the fact she did not actually own the house, Angel
sold it, taking the entire proceeds of around $76,000.
The
following year there was a shot gun wedding because she was pregnant by Jason.
Married October 14, 1994, giving birth on January 9th of 1995.
Jason
was working as a cook at Denny's in Cheyenne. Angel was staying home. The
couple was receiving food stamps. Shortly thereafter she became pregnant again
with Sarah. The new baby was born May 31st, 1996.
While
she was pregnant with Sarah, Angel began calling the Barteauxs for help. Her
mom, Beverly, went down to help when Sarah was born. The Barteauxs spent
$86,000 for a house trailer so she and her kids and husband would have a place
to live.
After
Sarah was born Jason began battering her. Angel sent pictures of her bruises.
By
October 1996 Angel reported the abuse from Jason was too much for her to take.
She decided she wanted a divorce and to return to California and get a trailer
home there.
The
trailer was sold at a huge loss. Angel returned to California in the same Ford
Escort which had been purchased for her when she relocated to Cheyenne.
The
Barteauxs again dipped into Angel's trust fund and bought her another trailer
home, this one in Modesto. The divorce was finalized. Jason paid nothing.
Angel
was sold a used Jeep Grand Cherokee, which had been owned by Jill and Richard,
Jr.
An
attempt to allow her to have credit cards ended after one month. Angel had
blown through $20,000 on trinkets and junk.
Right
after she moved to Modesto she met Daman Rogers and, again, fell in love.
Rogers adopted her kids. They lived in the trailer home purchased for Angel
until they got the inheritance after Betty died and then bought a house, where
they still live.
The
Barteauxs paid for Daman to go to school to repair copiers.
Today Angel does passion parties, selling sex toys, to make money and receives a monthly stipend from her trust fund.
About Angel's Life Interests
