My thankfully short marriage to Richard Lee Barteaux had a profound impact on the course my life would take.
My life direction had always
been college, with a major in Geology and Ancient Studies, though I was also
interested in Water Resources and related subjects. These subjects 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.
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 see a list of historic places there, and then on to Rome.
While we were living in Rome
and 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, included 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 cuisine.
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 was not interested in dating because I had not
met even one young man who was willing to talking about subjects that
interested me. This was not their fault, I understood that. Interests will vary,
as does everything else with people.
I turned seventeen on October 26
of that year.
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
I wanted that dress, 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 revealed she was mostly
Scottish, and was a direct descendant of Robert the Bruce.
The Christmas Formal was
continuous dancing, and my date and I may not have missed a single dance. I
quite liked dancing.
Soon after this, a recent
acquaintance of mine, Tommy Buckley, introduced me to a friend of his. And this
is how I met Richard.
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 asked me to marry him. 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 an engagement ring.
This was a shock. I had not
said yes, and 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. 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.
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 our cabin. We had spent
years, moving wheelbarrows full of rocks and dirt to build up the area 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 our own 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.
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 misadventure.
To say we had nothing in common
understates the case.
