Silent Voices

Something is Not Quite Right

It was Thursday, September 29, 1983, and I woke up completely exhausted. The sun was shining but it felt gloomy to me. I hadn’t had much sleep the last week. My family was experiencing a tsunami of turmoil and confusion, and we were so drained from facing the threat of violence. I felt sick to my stomach, not like the flu, but like knowing in your heart that something is terribly wrong. I knew I had to go to school, regardless of how I felt.

It was the beginning of my senior year in high school, and it was our homecoming weekend. I had practice all week for cheerleading and preparing for the parade and football game. I was also busy painting posters and locker tags for all the sporting events. Everyone was excited about the parties and the dance, except for me. I had no desire to be a part of any of these activities.

As I was driving to school, tears rolled down my face. I did not know why I was crying; all I knew was I felt a deep sense of loss. I remember the song Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler was playing on the radio, which I think added to my tears. Maybe it was dealing with my family’s difficulties that was getting to me or maybe knowing it was my senior year homecoming weekend and I was completely disconnected from everyone. I was not enjoying any of it! Great, welcome to a wonderful senior year.

I got to school and sat in my classes all morning staring at the clock. I was so thankful it was only a half-day of school for me. When I got out around noon, I felt light-headed, my hands were shaky, and I had a terrible stomach ache all morning, like someone was pulling a knot tighter and tighter. I did not hear one thing that any of the teachers said because I was in my own numb world. All I knew was I wanted to get home because I felt a strange need to be there. A deep feeling of fear swept over me. I needed to be home to make sure my family was okay. I needed to protect them. I was supposed to stay at school all afternoon to paint more posters, but to be honest I didn’t care. I just knew I had to leave, so I left quickly.

I got home around 12:25 p.m. My brothers Jim, 32; Ricky, 22; Charlie, 21; and Bruce, 20, were home. Jim was visiting from Seattle and Bruce was home because his first day of work was canceled, which was good, because he’d only recently returned home from the hospital and was still getting over a bad case of viral meningitis. Charlie was downstairs getting ready to go to his job at a retail shop.

For some reason, Jim was acting very anxious and nervous. I asked him, What’s wrong?

With a worried look, he said, I don’t know, something seems wrong, and I have a bad feeling.

Me too! I agreed and told him, I felt sick to my stomach all morning, and I know it’s not the flu.

Jim, Bruce, and I watched TV for a little while, as I tried to eat something even though I was not hungry. I don’t remember what we were watching—my mind was somewhere else. I just could not shake the weird, negative and fearful feelings I was experiencing. A feeling of being inside a horror movie and the monster is waiting to strike. I decided that I needed to lie down; maybe it would help my queasy stomach and calm me down. As I was walking to my bedroom, I noticed my brother Ricky out in the backyard asleep on the lawn chair. He looked ghostly white, as though there was no life in him. A strong chill raised the hair on the back of my neck. I called for my brother Bruce to come to the dining room glass door, and we both watched Ricky sleeping. For a quiet moment, we stared intensely to see if, in fact, he was breathing. His chest rose and fell at a very slow pace one moment, then it would start pumping erratically the next. It seemed really strange, not at all like normal breathing.

He looks weird… something isn’t right, I said warily. Feeling nervous I suddenly ordered, Lock the door—and keep it locked!

My brother did what I told him. As I was standing there watching Ricky, a deep sense of sadness overcame me. Memories started flooding back into my mind of all the fun times we had as kids. So much had changed with Ricky and my family over the last two years. The constant turmoil and confusion kept fear brewing between us. With the intense stress the family had all but reached its breaking point.

I started to drift back to a time of sweet, wonderful family memories, when things were good and Ricky was a joy to be around.

Chapter One

Sweet Memories Bring Joy

As I think back about family, my mind fills up with so many sweet memories. I grew up in an average middle-class family. We didn’t have a white-picket fence, but pretty darn close. I was born in Littleton, Colorado. There are eight children in our family. It’s not hard to figure out. Yes, we are Catholic; yes, we almost filled up a whole church pew. We made a lot of commotion when we sat down, us kids fighting about who was going to sit by who, while my parents were hushing us to be quiet. This was a Sunday ritual. I have six brothers (Jim, Gene, Jeff, Ricky, Charlie, and Bruce) and one sister (Theresa)—all born in a fifteen-year span.

Top L to R: Jim, Theresa, Jeff, Gene

Bottom L to R: Debbie, Charlie, Ricky, Bruce

I’m so grateful I came from a large family. Days were never boring, and I always had someone to play with. I loved my family. We usually got along, and we always had a good time with each other, playing games, watching cartoons or running around outside. The only thing I did not like was that it was always loud with kids yelling and the TV/music blaring. If I did not speak fast, yell or cut in, I would not be heard, because we all tend to speak and laugh at the same time. I also had to fight for my food. Sitting at the dinner table, if I did not move fast enough or be aggressive with grabbing food, my brothers would eat it all, like hungry savages—and I would starve to death. Well, that’s what I thought anyway.

Top L to R: Jeff, Theresa

Middle L to R: Gene, Ricky, Jim

Bottom L to R: Bruce, Debbie, Charlie

Top L to R: Charlie, Ricky, Jeff, Theresa, Gene, Jim

Bottom L to R: Bruce, Debbie, Mom, Dad

I am the youngest of the eight. I’m sure some of my brothers and my sister would say I was spoiled. I don’t think I was because I was always grateful for what I had, and I was very grounded in what was important in life and what was not. I just happened to have the luck of being born last when finances were getting better for my parents—and their parenting skills became much more relaxed (probably because they got tired of all these kids not listening). Childhood was a much tougher time for my older siblings. My parents were saving every nickel. They lived in a small three-bedroom house, as they were just getting by. My dad was an engineer associate for Western Electric in Omaha, Nebraska. He worked long hours and a lot of overtime to keep food on the table. Before I was born, my dad asked to be transferred to Denver with Western Electric. In 1950 while on their honeymoon my parents came to Colorado and fell in love with the mountains. When my dad’s company had a job opportunity become available in Denver, he jumped on it and they moved to Littleton in 1964. For most of his career, his salary was only in the mid-$20,000 range, which was not much for eight kids. I do not know how he did it, but he did—and I do not remember my dad ever complaining. No matter how tight money was, he always provided us nice, new school clothes and paid for activities and sports.

Top L to R: Gene, Theresa, Jim

Bottom L to R: Jeff, Ricky, Debbie, Bruce, Charlie and our dog Shadow

Mom and Dad

My dad was also a very good handyman. I can hardly recall my parents calling a repairman to come fix things. He managed to fix and repair whatever was broken in our house. I’m not sure if that was always good! Even though he worked very long hours, he found time on the weekends to repair household items, take us on adventurous mountain picnics and hikes, or come to our sporting events.

My mom, on the other hand, would always help save a nickel by sitting at the kitchen table sewing or repairing our torn or worn out play clothes or handing down our clothes from one kid to the other. She saved every brown paper bag from the grocery store and washed all aluminum foil for reuse. I was very lucky. My mom was wonderful, and I considered her a supermom. A stay-home mom until I got into high school, she had the house clean and dinner ready at six o’clock sharp! She kept us kids organized from one sport to another, rushing around the house, and driving fast to make sure we were not late for practices or games. She supported us in all of our extra activities and escorted us to our various sporting events, including football, hockey, soccer, baseball, track, softball, or gymnastics just to name a few. Even though she was busy keeping us ding-a-ling kids clean and out of trouble, over the years she still managed to take care of two dogs, two cats, four litters of kittens, a couple of birds, a few hamsters, a turtle, and a chipmunk—all with a smile on her face.

My mom was also very creative and painted ceramics, organized flower arrangements and developed some type of wall hangings to decorate our house. During her extra time late at night, while we were sleeping, she managed to crochet a blanket or sew some type of clothing project. Even though money was tight, our house looked clean and nice—and we were dressed in a presentable manner.

Quite often my parents took us on fun-filled picnics to the mountains. We would venture out to new areas somewhere along the front range of Colorado. Somehow, we managed to find something interesting to do or to explore from traversing rough dirt roads that lead to ghost towns or cabins, climbing up rocks and trees, or even discovering old, dirty mine shafts. There was never a dull moment. We had many funny times like when my parents stopped at the gas station to fill up, and my brother Jeff went to the bathroom without telling anyone. As my parents drove away, we all giggled and waved goodbye to my brother out the back window, as he was running after us, waving and screaming for us to stop. After a few minutes, with all the kids laughing, my parents realized they forgot a kid, and turned around to go back to get him. Lesson learned: count your kids before driving off!

Family Picnic

L to R: Bruce, Debbie, Jeff, Ricky, Charlie

Family Picnic

L to R: Theresa, Debbie, Ricky, Bruce, Jeff, Charlie

One nice memory was when we drove down to Monument, Colorado and we were exploring a new dirt road that lead to a mountain area called Devil’s Head for a family picnic. As we were driving up the dirt road, it started to rain hard, and the road had become very slick and muddy. My mom saw a little baby chipmunk roll down the side of the hill by the road. The torrential rain was washing the chipmunk away. My mom made my dad stop, and she got out of the car with her coat over her head and ran to the chipmunk to save it. She gently picked it up and brought the baby chipmunk back into the car. She wrapped it in a dishcloth to keep it dry and safe, so we could bring it home. We got to have a pet chipmunk named Chippy all summer until it was healthy enough to go back into the wild. We now refer to this road as Chipmunk Road, and to this day we still go up that road for picnics.

Our Pet Chipmunk

L to R: Jeff, Chippy and Charlie

My family mostly enjoyed outdoor activities such as camping, hiking, and four-wheeling (jeeping). We were definitely an outdoor family. Actually, we still are. One of our favorite spots to visit is Buena Vista, Colorado; it’s a beautiful place with pine trees, blue lakes, rushing rivers, high rugged mountain peaks, and white chalk cliffs. There are lots of camping spots, hiking trails, mountain climbing and jeep trails. This area provided us with so many fun memories. Our Jeep got banged up or scratched on the rough roads; my brother caught tons of fish; we explored deep mine shafts; we found cool gems and crystals; our family almost got hit by lightning on top of a mountain; and bears frequently walked through our campsite. There is a particular campground called Cascade Campground located up the mountain valley by Mount Princeton Hot Springs. This campground was our favorite place to go. As kids, my mom made us go play while she did the camping chores and cooked dinner over the campfire. In one of the campsites (#7), we built paths all over the hillside with white rocks. We would play tag, and you would have to stay within the path or you would be out. We built the paths over forty-nine years ago, and I am proud to say the majority of them are still there today. There are spots where other people have added rocks over the years. It makes me laugh whenever I go there to visit. Who would have thought a simple game we created for a weekend would last a lifetime.

Jeeping at Mt. Antero

L to R: Dad, Ricky, Bruce, Debbie, Charlie, Theresa, and, of course, Shadow

Camping & Jeeping to an Alpine Lake

Top L to R: Mom, Charlie

Bottom L to R: Ricky, Debbie, Bruce, and Shadow

Whenever I look back at our family camping pictures, the sadness and shadows fade for a moment. We four-wheeled and hiked; we climbed mountains and hillsides; and we camped and explored many areas all over Colorado. Camping was not only an adventure, but also an education. My mom was always teaching us about the history of the ghost towns, the different types of wild flowers or plants, the history of the Jeep roads, and the different types of gems and rocks. I feel very blessed that our parents taught us the joy and love of the mountains. I can’t even imagine our lives without going to the mountains for a weekend adventure.

Our Rock Path

Cascade Campground

Camping & Exploring a Cabin

Top L to R: Charlie, Bruce

Bottom L to R: Ricky, Dad, Shadow, Debbie

The majority of the time the oldest four kids would play or hang out together, and us younger four would play together. There was no fighting or bickering except when we played backyard sports, kick-the-can, or the game Risk. Someone would always be accused of cheating by kicking the can early or adding an extra army man onto the Risk board. Overall, I honestly can say we all got along extremely well. This is shocking considering all the different personalities.

A Game of Risk

Front L to R: Ricky, Charlie

Back L to R: Jim, Jeff, Gene, Debbie Gene and Ricky playing hockey in our backyard

My mom did an excellent job of keeping us in line and making sure we all played well together. She also made sure we each had our own activity from Boy Scouts to playing music to different sporting activities. However, I think the one love we all shared was the enjoyment of the mountains.

Overall, I can’t complain and I had a wonderful childhood. I grew up in a neighborhood full of kids. We all rode bikes and played tag or hide-and-seek. My brothers always protected and played with me. My family ate dinner together in the evenings, and we were never late because you would miss out on all the good food. The TV was turned off, we said the dinner prayer, and we all sat at the table to eat together. We supported each other, and we were there for each other when needed. We played well together—and most importantly, we liked each other.

But don’t get me wrong; we were not the perfect Cleavers. Like most kids, there were times when we drove our parents crazy, did things we were not supposed to do, acted like snotty little brats. Even the neighbors complained about us occasionally. Usually the neighbors would complain to my mom that we were too loud, ran across their flowers, kicked the ball into their window, and, of course, rang their doorbell and ran. I have to admit, most of it was true.

Discipline was always an action, maybe a hard hand here and there, but never a lack of love. Personally, I still can’t believe my parents are not bald from all the things their eight kids put them through: broken bones, bad grades, unexplained absences, teasing neighborhood kids, playing loud music, tee-peeing the neighborhood, getting into car fender benders, talking back, throwing parties, and missing curfew… just to name a few.

So, as you can see, we were the typical middle-class American family… at least I thought we were until my mind drifted back to my brother Ricky.

Chapter Two

So Much Love and Admiration...So Much Potential

As my mind continues to drift back to all the wonderful memories, especially with my brother Ricky, it brings a warm smile to my face and my sadness begins to fade. Ricky was number five in the order of kids and was full of energy. He was very independent and adventurous. When we were little playing games around the house or playing with the neighborhood kids, Ricky was always the leader. He came up with interesting twists to the rules of the games. For instance, you could only stand or hide in certain areas of the yard; or you could not step on a crack in the drive way when you came up to kick-the-can. He had this aura or energy that attracted people to him, and they