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For a moment I was a normal kid, a happy kid. I'd shot hoops with Meadowlark Lemon of the Harlem Globetrotters and my father was impressed. Three weeks later, just before my eight birthday, I was on a rooftop watching for a priest at the church across the street. My intention was to say I'm sorry before I hit the ground. I waited patiently after school for three days for a priest that never showed. For the next ten years, I would struggle with recurring urges to revisit my rooftop. When I flunked out of school and left home, I was confident that I was old enough to be immune to my father's relentless abuse. However, it wasn't until after his funeral that I felt completely free; there was nothing more he could possibly do. I couldn't have been more mistaken. It was fifteen years after his death that my mother, doped-up on morphine, had inadvertently revealed secrets she'd intended to take to her grave. Secrets of sodomy, mob connections, countless abortions, and my father getting away with one of the most horrific unsolved crimes in Chicago's history. He had murdered fifteen-year old Judith Mae Andersen and disposed of her dismembered body in Chicago's Montrose Harbor in 1957. The realization was devastating and once again I longed for my rooftop. Gradually, I found comfort in the belief, that finally, it had to be over. Besides, I was a successful computer programmer, proud of my accomplishments, and happy with my life. What more could he possibly do? Again, I was wrong...

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9781533608017

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Growing up, I was Joe Dumberville, the dumbest kid in school. My dyslexia, attention deficiency disorder, and impaired memory retention combined to present overwhelming obstacles. Then, factoring in my father's relentless abuse and disparagement, I grew up with a debilitating inferiority complex. My life was in a downward spiral... odds for recovery, unimaginable... I barely survived school. In the early '50s, there was little understanding of learning disabilities. In high school, my life's ambition was to be a Regional Transit Authority (RTA) train driver; I felt it would be more prestigious than being a bus driver. When I flunked out of school, I became a stock boy in a print shop with a take-home pay of less than ninety cents an hour. The RTA didn't want me, even as a bus driver. I joined the Navy during the Vietnam era and discovered an uncanny aptitude for logic. I was amazed! Patterns would miraculously appear, and I'd recognize, and even remember, subtle nuances. I'd quickly visualize solutions to complex issues. I believed my intuitive leaps to be lucky guesses. For the first time in my life, I demonstrated a talent, and my work became essential to proving my worth and recovering from the depths of inferiority.

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