The Reason this Site is Here

 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.  

 

 

 

Walter Barteaux meets Betty Mae Stevens

 They met and fell in love

Walter Dean Barteaux and Betty Mae Stevens met one evening at the local roller skating rink in West Los Angeles.  

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.   

Melinda prior to Richard - Early History

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.

Angel Barteaux, Richard's third child

The Life of Angel Barteaux

When Angel was 17 in 1993 she was getting into serious trouble. At the time she was living with her mother, Beverly (Saville) Barteaux, in Modesto and going to high school, but not doing well. She had been caught for shop lifting, crashed her car, purchased for her by her grandfather Barteaux entirely wrecking it. She was also dating an older guy, the manager at the local Taco Bell there in Modesto was and unwilling to accept her mother's rules.  

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 9^th 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 31^st, 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

                                                                    Angel's Home Today

Richard's schools K- To Beverly Saville

Richard Lee Barteaux's Educational History

Redeemer Baptist Academy

Richard's doting parents began his formal education at Redeemer Baptist, which was located at 10792 National Blvd., in  West Los Angeles, CA 90064.  The school was offering classes from Kindergarten through 6th grade.  It appears that Betty Barteaux did not immediately place Richard in a school, as Tommy remembers,  Tommy, himself  started in the 3rd grade, and Richard starting in the 2nd grade. 

In Los Angeles, where I also grew up, school started in Kindergarten and classes were available from that year through the 6th grade.  I started, age 5, in Kindergarten at Mar Vista Elementary School at 3330 Granville Ave, Los Angeles, CA 90066.

Tommy recalled that Richard, who was not in his class, was active on the play equipment provided by the school, but was inclined to efforts to encourage other children into conflict.  

During this time, Richard's mother regularly invited him, Tommy, to come to their house in Cheviot Hills to swim with Richard.  No other children appeared to have accepted these invitations. Richard's expressed interest in swimming, Tommy said, appeared to be focused on building up waves that could then be used to splash out of the pool. Tommy did not remember attending a birthday party for Richard.  

Richard graduated the year before Tommy, who did not know to where Richard was gone on to continue his education for some time. 

From Redeemer Baptist Richard moved on to Black-Fox

A Brief History

From a page only available on the WayBack Machine

Black-Foxe opened its doors in the Fall of 1928 when Charles E. Toberman, a prominent Hollywood developer and financier, was joined by Majors Earle Fox and Harry Black to found the school on the site that had formerly been occupied by Urban Military Academy. Foxe became its president and Black commandant of cadets. Both Black and Foxe had served with distinction in the First World War.  Major Harry Gaver, whose title was honorary, joined them as Headmaster. It was Harry Gaver that was the intellectual force behind the founding and the rise to prominence of Black-Foxe as a first-rate college preparatory school.

From it’s earliest years Black-Foxe attracted a number of the sons of Hollywood luminaries, due in part to the fact that Earle Foxe had been a silent movie actor who continued to take an occasional part in sound films. By the end of the thirties Harry Black had gone on to other interests.  Earle Foxe remained as president until 1960.

Although it was founded only a year before the beginning of the great depression, those who could afford to send their son’s to the school were minimally affected by that ongoing event. In the thirties both the football and polo teams enjoyed sterling reputations playing and, more often than not, defeating college and university freshman teams. Football players were highly recruited during that period. By the 1940s the polo team was history and the football team, sans scholarship athletes, had settled into playing in the private prep school league. From that time on it was the swimming team that took the laurels. Many future All-American swimmers swam for the BF ‘Mermen.’

 During World War II many former Black-Foxe cadets and faculty members served with distinction. Five gave their lives, including the son of Headmaster Harry H. Gaver.  Harry junior, who was aboard the USS Oklahoma at Pearl Harbor, was the first Black-Foxe alumnus to die in the war.

The 1950’s at Black-Foxe, as well as elsewhere in the country, were years of stability and, except for Korea and the ongoing cold war, years of optimism. However, in 1954 Black-Foxe suffered what was undoubtedly its greatest loss when the headmaster, the firm but gentle Major Harry Gaver, died of a heart attack at age sixty-eight. English teacher Caleb deCou put it best when he said “Black-Foxe was written in the hand of Major Gaver.”  In  1959 the school was sold by Charles Toberman to Raymond Rosendahl, father of Cadet Ray Rosendahl.

The turbulent sixties with their social protests and raging anti-war sentiment, especially by the young , did not bode well for a military school.  In the early 1960s the name was changed from Black-Foxe Military Institute to The Black-Foxe School. Earle Foxe, the founding President had resigned and finally, in the last year, Army ROTC gave way to Air Force ROTC, the Air Force apparently being more benign than the infantry in the eyes American society of the 1960s. In 1965 Rosendahl sold the school to a non-profit group which included parents of cadets then in attendance. This group for reasons known and unknown were unable to make a success of the non-profit venture. In 1968 the mortgage holder had no choice but to foreclose, and Black-Foxe was no more.

Today, the only remaining vestige of Black-Foxe is a house on the adjacent property that used to serve as the kindergarten during the school year and a dance studio during the summer months.  It was purchased in the early 1940s by Black-Foxe, and when the school folded, it was sold to a Mr. David Aguirre. He now uses it as his residence and it is also a Los Angeles historical landmark and modest museum of Black-Foxe memorabilia.

Pat O'Donnell, Class of 1949

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It is likely Richard did not attempt to return to Black-Fox after the summer of 1966.  Instead, he started high school at University High School, Los Angeles, where  Thomas Buckley, his only friend from Redeemer Baptist, was also attending.  

Tommy chummed around with Richard, and he and Adelia Dennis, who I had known from Webster Junior High School, accompanied Richard in his GTO on drives around Los Angeles.  Tommy, who I had lost track of for                about 50 years, and I, reconnected over the phone, sharing stories about the ghastly Richard.  

Tommy shared stories about those drives in Richard's GTO after I escaped from Richard early in 1967.  Accompanying them, was Adelia Dennis, who I had known first from Webster Jr. High School.  Adela had come to the cabin with us once, but she could have been going to University High School by 1966.  

Tommy reminded me I had persuaded him to take Adelia to the Prom.  Presumably, this occurred before I escaped from Richard.  

I await more ancient memories on that period of my life.  I was, myself, producing piles of baby clothes, a layette which proved to have been sufficient for at least twins. This, and finishing High School in home study, were the focus of my attention.  

I embroidered each garment for the baby.  Then, you had to wait to find out the gender.  I solved this problem by choosing Carolyn Anne and Charles Arthur for the unborn baby, this way either gender eventuality was covered. 

It does not appear that Richard ever graduated from University High School.  Instead, he ran off with another girl Tommy had introduced to him, Beverly Jane Saville, whose mother's born name was Roth.  She was about six months older than myself, having been born in July, 1948.  

What makes their runaway relationship most interesting is that Beverly was already engaged to another man, who had presented her with an engagement ring.  Beverly was already living with this original fiancée, and her intended had purchased the rings to be used for their wedding, which was to take place in the near future.  The two were living with the fiancé's parents in anticipation of the event.  

I still cannot find any evidence the Richard and Beverly were legally married. Richard Lee Barteaux, Jr., was born  05/02/1969.