During the summer of 1974, my father came to town (McAllen, Texas) for a visit. He had been awarded legal custody when he and my mother divorced, but my sisters and I had been living with my mother and step-father for about 7 or 8 years. During that summer visit, my father became aware that my step-father had been molesting us and spanking us with a wooden paddle (leaving deep bruises and sometimes drawing blood), and that my mother was aware of these things but refused to take action to stop the abuse, and was verbally and physically abusive herself.
When my father said goodbye at the end of his visit, he told us he would find a way to extract us from the situation, but it would take some time to organize. He told us not to tell anyone, but to hold onto hope and be ready when the time came.
In early November, my father showed up in town unannounced and collected my two sisters and me from our respective schools. He first picked up my older sister, a freshman in high school, while she was waiting outside for school to start. When he came to get me from my junior high school, I was called out of class and the principal called my mother. Since my father had proof of custody with him, I was allowed to leave in spite of my mother’s protests on the phone. Since my mother had been alerted that my father was in town asserting his custody rights, we had to hurry to and drive to the elementary school and pick up my younger sister in fear that the police would be looking for us. We then drove about two and a half hours to Corpus Christi, where we caught a flight to Dallas, and from there, to Detroit.
We landed in Detroit late that night. We were picked up at the airport by my father’s friend Jim Marcoux. Jim drove us to his house in Westland, Michigan where he lived with his wife Geri and their four children, Jimmy, Mary Colleen (Cookie), Matthew and Christopher. Jim played the guitar, and I recall him playing “Country Roads” that night, and after a highly stressful day, I remember feeling cozy and safe in the Marcoux’s home.
My father had rented a 3 bedroom house on the grounds of an old abandoned hospital in Ypsilanti. Within a few days, we had acquired beds and clothes from Salvation Army and were enrolled in school. My father’s sister, an aunt I hadn’t met, sent a big box of clothing that had belonged to her own children. Daddy had good intentions, but I think the sudden reality of taking care of three girls came as a bit of a shock and turned out to be more than he could handle.
For the first few weeks life felt pretty normal. We had groceries, went roller skating with friends from school, adopted two dogs and a cat, and even went to church a few times. Before too long, though, Daddy began to struggle, lost his job, and his station wagon was repossessed. He couldn’t afford fuel oil, so we didn’t have heat in the house or hot water for bathing. We often didn’t have enough to eat.
It was a stressful time for my sisters and me. We had a very cold winter with lots of snow and temperatures below zero on many occasions. We scrounged in the abandoned hospital for coal to burn in the fireplace, and we slept in sleeping bags in the living room to try and stay warm. My father increasingly exhibited mental distress. He began writing a book, convinced that God was speaking to him. Looking back, I think he must have suffered from depression.
The during these challenging months when my father was depressed, I derived a sense of security and comfort from the Marcoux family. They would invite us for dinner or drop off groceries at our house. I remember how wonderful it was to take a shower at their house during the time we had no hot water. The family were loving and kind. Their presence in our lives was a wonderful blessing that I will always cherish.
When my mother and her step-mother came to Michigan in March to take us to Dallas to live, I was distraught. I couldn’t fathom leaving my father, even though we had been assured that my mother had moved 500 miles away from my step-father and we would no longer be subjected to abuse.
I was worried about my father and I didn’t want to leave him. He took me for a drive and assured me that he would be okay. He said he needed some time on his own to get his life back on track. I was wary, but I finally agreed to go back to Texas with my mother and sisters. I was still very upset and worried about my father.
My mother, father, step-grandmother, sisters and I all went to the Marcoux’s house – a full circle moment of going back to where our time in Michigan had begun. It was only after being reassured by the Marcoux’s that all would be well, and I realized that my father wasn’t completely alone, that I began to relax a bit.
I have thought about the Marcoux family many times throughout my life. I will forever be grateful for them and the peace and security that came from knowing they were there in case of emergency.
Thank you, Marcoux family. Your kindness has not been forgotten.
Blog post content Copyright Ann Dow, October 2021