Melinda prior to Richard

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.