school when he slipped up behind her sister, shouted “Hey, Sylvia!” and punched her on the arm when she wheeled around, saying, “That’s for calling my mother a name.” No one, not even Johnny, had actually heard Sylvia calling Gertrude a name, but Gertrude
said
Sylvia did.
Stephanie was upset. Her nervous fainting spells were cropping up again. After one hectic day, she sat down at the table, whipped off her glasses, and just cried. “Fighting, fighting!” she sobbed. “That’s all we ever do around here! I wish we’d quit!”
One reason Stephanie felt so bad about it was because she had been in on it. She was thinking about the time Sylvia had come home from school and Gertrude ripped Sylvia’s blouse off her to show Stephanie she was wearing Stephanie’s brassiere. That made Stephanie mad. She pummeled Sylviaseven or eight times, repeating, “What do you want to do that for, Sylvia, why do you do it?” Sylvia just stood there, took it, and cried.
Stephanie was angriest the time she came home from school to find Sylvia nude in the middle of the living room, surrounded by a ring of onlookers including Randy Lepper, Johnny, Gertrude, Jenny and Paula. Sylvia was squatting, with a Pepsi bottle inserted in her vagina. Stephanie rushed to the middle of the room and slapped Sylvia, hard. “Get up to your room, Sylvia,” she ordered.
She had not seen the prelude. She had not seen Gertrude order Sylvia to undress, and to spread her legs, and to insert the bottle, to prove to Jenny “what kind of girl you are.”
Gertrude and Paula were most jealous of Sylvia. Gertrude often told Sylvia, “I could pass for 20. I could put my fancy clothes on, and saunter down the street, and get the boys to whistle and honk at me just like you do, Sylvia.” But she knew it was not the truth. She had managed to convince the girls she was only 31, but she was not pretty. Thirteen pregnancies and a lifetime of hard work had taken care of her. The only boys she could attract were young boys who wanted the sexual experience, like Dennis Wright, who had planted his seed in her twice but then had beaten her and finally left her, and like Richard Hobbs, who was drawn to the home to watch Gertrude expose part of her belly as she danced to the striptease music from the phonograph, exulting, “This is just the way they do it down at the Fox Theater.”
Paula had equal reason to be jealous. She knew she was pregnant, or at least had a good idea that she was. Despite the talk of Sylvia’s pregnancy, Sylvia did not look pregnant. The autopsy was later to prove Sylvia was not. It was not fair that Sylvia was not pregnant; she was already prettier than Paula, wasn’t that enough?
Stephanie had less reason to be jealous. She was slender, like Sylvia, and she was pretty too. She had a steady boyfriend, Coy Hubbard, who said he had loved her always. She also made good grades at school; she continually brought home A’s and B’s on her report card, and the other children enviously called her “Einy.”
So Stephanie was able to accept Sylvia as a friend, striking out only when convinced—usually by Gertrude—that Sylvia had transgressed some moral precept, or when she saw Sylvia engaged in such revolting behavior as the Pepsi bottle incident. Of course, Stephanie had no idea of what was really going on; looking back, she could see that she herself might have been the target of the seething frustration that pervaded every corner of her home, had Sylvia not been there. But she could not see that at this time, and so her help for her friend Sylvia—when it came—was too little and too late.
7
CINDERELLA WITHOUT A PRINCE
WHAT SOCIOLOGICAL explanation could there be for the bizarre events that followed Sylvia Likens’ last day of school, October 5, 1965? What strange comment was it on our civilization, the steady crescendo of events that led to a pretty girl’s death in a crowded city neighborhood at the hands of a mob of
said
Sylvia did.
Stephanie was upset. Her nervous fainting spells were cropping up again. After one hectic day, she sat down at the table, whipped off her glasses, and just cried. “Fighting, fighting!” she sobbed. “That’s all we ever do around here! I wish we’d quit!”
One reason Stephanie felt so bad about it was because she had been in on it. She was thinking about the time Sylvia had come home from school and Gertrude ripped Sylvia’s blouse off her to show Stephanie she was wearing Stephanie’s brassiere. That made Stephanie mad. She pummeled Sylviaseven or eight times, repeating, “What do you want to do that for, Sylvia, why do you do it?” Sylvia just stood there, took it, and cried.
Stephanie was angriest the time she came home from school to find Sylvia nude in the middle of the living room, surrounded by a ring of onlookers including Randy Lepper, Johnny, Gertrude, Jenny and Paula. Sylvia was squatting, with a Pepsi bottle inserted in her vagina. Stephanie rushed to the middle of the room and slapped Sylvia, hard. “Get up to your room, Sylvia,” she ordered.
She had not seen the prelude. She had not seen Gertrude order Sylvia to undress, and to spread her legs, and to insert the bottle, to prove to Jenny “what kind of girl you are.”
Gertrude and Paula were most jealous of Sylvia. Gertrude often told Sylvia, “I could pass for 20. I could put my fancy clothes on, and saunter down the street, and get the boys to whistle and honk at me just like you do, Sylvia.” But she knew it was not the truth. She had managed to convince the girls she was only 31, but she was not pretty. Thirteen pregnancies and a lifetime of hard work had taken care of her. The only boys she could attract were young boys who wanted the sexual experience, like Dennis Wright, who had planted his seed in her twice but then had beaten her and finally left her, and like Richard Hobbs, who was drawn to the home to watch Gertrude expose part of her belly as she danced to the striptease music from the phonograph, exulting, “This is just the way they do it down at the Fox Theater.”
Paula had equal reason to be jealous. She knew she was pregnant, or at least had a good idea that she was. Despite the talk of Sylvia’s pregnancy, Sylvia did not look pregnant. The autopsy was later to prove Sylvia was not. It was not fair that Sylvia was not pregnant; she was already prettier than Paula, wasn’t that enough?
Stephanie had less reason to be jealous. She was slender, like Sylvia, and she was pretty too. She had a steady boyfriend, Coy Hubbard, who said he had loved her always. She also made good grades at school; she continually brought home A’s and B’s on her report card, and the other children enviously called her “Einy.”
So Stephanie was able to accept Sylvia as a friend, striking out only when convinced—usually by Gertrude—that Sylvia had transgressed some moral precept, or when she saw Sylvia engaged in such revolting behavior as the Pepsi bottle incident. Of course, Stephanie had no idea of what was really going on; looking back, she could see that she herself might have been the target of the seething frustration that pervaded every corner of her home, had Sylvia not been there. But she could not see that at this time, and so her help for her friend Sylvia—when it came—was too little and too late.
7
CINDERELLA WITHOUT A PRINCE
WHAT SOCIOLOGICAL explanation could there be for the bizarre events that followed Sylvia Likens’ last day of school, October 5, 1965? What strange comment was it on our civilization, the steady crescendo of events that led to a pretty girl’s death in a crowded city neighborhood at the hands of a mob of
Similar Books
