TOO-CLOSE FOR COMFORT.
Regardless of where I lived, running was a major part of my every-day schedule. My daily workouts in Little Rock occurred early in the morning-- before work—and usally on the running trail near the Arkansas River. On the weekends, I ran later in the morning and most of the time, my daughters joined me.
At some point, a strange man began calling me, someone who wouldn’t identify himself but who, apparently, was following me. From the very first call, the mystery man could describe each outfit I wore on a particular day. I considered him too close for comfort.
Sometimes, his voice sounded demanding, especially when he described me standing on his chest, kicking him, urinating in his face. I found it troubling when he talked about wanting me to strangle his head between my powerful legs. I began taping his calls and, after playing the tapes for Little Rock’s Police Chief, I agreed to set-up a meeting with the strange caller. Based on the caller’s conversations, I perceived him to be an unattractive and seriously-unstable pervert.
The Chief of Police assured me I’d be safe at all times because officers would be following--- close-behind me--- in an unmarked car. The plan would be to arrest the caller. It was time to end the caller's abusive and potentially-dangerous phone messages.
I arrived at the designated rendezvous spot-- early. Soon, a late model Mercedes Convertible pulled into the parking spot next to mine. Although my frantically-racing heart seemed ready to jump out of my chest, I kept my eyes focused--- straight ahead.
My pulse wildly- raced when I heard the driver slam his car door. I knew he was walking to my car. Pausing, perhaps to look inside, the mystery man opened the passenger door and sat down on the seat next to me.
Within seconds, six policemen—guns drawn—surrounded my car and took control. As the police were handcuffing and removing the mystery man from my car, I turned to look at my caller for the first time. I could hardly believe who I saw staring back at me. I recognized him and—I knew his wife. The Stranger/Stalker was the husband of another Miss Arkansas.
PS. In the photo that accompanies this story, it shows me modeling--in an elaborate Style Show during the seventies-- with two other Miss Arkansas. Both were married and lived in Little Rock.
Jerry walks into the lingerie department of Macy’s and tells the sales lady, “I would like a Southern Baptist bra for my wife, size - 34B.”
With a quizzical look, the sales lady asks, “What kind of bra?”
He repeats, “A Southern Baptist bra. My wife said to tell you that she wanted a Southern Baptist bra and that you'd know what she wanted.”
“Oh, yes, now I understand,” says the sales lady. “We don’t get as many requests for them as we used to. Most of our customers lately want the Catholic bra, the Salvation Army bra, or the Presbyterian bra.”
Confused, and a little flustered, Jerry asks, “So, what are the differences?”
The sales lady responds. “It’s really quite simple. The Catholic bra supports the masses, the Salvation Army bra lifts the fallen, and the Presbyterian bra keeps them staunch and upright.”
He muses on that information for a minute and says, “Hmm. I know I’ll regret asking, but what does the Southern Baptist bra do?”
“Ah,” she replied, “the Southern Baptist bra makes mountains out of molehills.
Everyone knows it’s impossible to re-kindle a fire---using DEAD ASHES. In the early seventies, a single guy named Bob lived near me in a Little Rock-Condominium Complex called Hampton Court. At some point we started dating and enjoyed each other’s company for several years. Needing more space for my daughters and me, I bought a house about five miles from my former condo. Before long, Bob and I were seeing less and less of each other.
There was a point when Bob, six years younger than me, asked me to marry him but, having never been married, Bob didn’t seem ready for the responsibility of a ready-made family. My children were fond of Bob; Bob was a fun-kind-of-guy yet--Bob seemed too-casual about life. I didn’t want to gamble on another marriage-mistake.
From time to time, I’d get a phone call from Bob. He eventually moved to New Orleans and, occasionally, when he’d come back to Little Rock to visit family, we’d have dinner together. One day, Bob called to tell me he’d won a seven-day cruise--for two--on Norwegian Cruise Lines for being his company’s Top Salesman and-- he wanted me to join him for the trip.
His company would fly me from Little Rock to Miami where I would join Bob and, together, we’d climb aboard a Luxurious Cruise Ship and, for seven days, cruise the waters of The Caribbean. It was summertime, my daughters were out of school, and my parents agreed to “baby sit” so I said “yes.” I pictured myself swimming, jogging, writing, reading, and relaxing in the sun. Never-once did I picture myself holding on to the ship’s railing, studying the choppy water far below, and contemplating a serious "jump" --overboard.
We’d been aboard the cruise ship for about two hours when everyone gathered for dinner. That's when I realized… EATING is a major “activity” for cruise ship passengers. In fact, EATING is every day’s “Main Event”!!!!
When Bob and I were escorted to our table--I was stunned to learn that six people from his company had also won tickets for the cruise and would be our constant companions for the seven day trip. I took a few deep breaths--relaxed--and accepted that I was now part of a group rather than part of a couple. I soon realized Bob’s personal and unmarried secretary-- seated on the other side of Bob--assumed I knew she and Bob were somewhat of a “twosome.” So--where did that leave me?!?!?
Bob’s explanation was simple: He thought we could renew our relationship during the cruise while his secretary--who was fun but not interesting-enough to marry—would automatically “get the message.” Bob assumed she would find other”interests” and turn her back on Bob. It was the craziest, most ridiculous situation I’d ever imagined and--I simply wanted to go home!
Over a period of 12 hours, I had ongoing discussions with the ship’s doctor, the ship’s purser, and every official on the ship. They needed to understand that I must be re-located far away from Bob and his business group-- as soon as possible. I didn’t want to see them at meals, in the halls, or at any events. The ship was large and all I asked was to keep our paths from crossing--for the remainder of the cruise.
The room they assigned me was tiny-- with no window-- and located near the ship’s enormous kitchen. For two nights, I struggled with sea sickness, constant noise all around me, and mounting claustrophobia. On the third day, I visited the upper deck, desperate for fresh air and sunshine and--that’s when it hit me. I must get off this ship! We weren’t scheduled to visit a port for another day and, even then, it was some insignificant island for a brief refueling. I knew me well. I had to get off this ship and back home, immediately.
I looked down at the water far below and thought about my only alternative. Yes, it was either JUMP or try to endure another night from Hell. Could I do it?!?!? Would I do it?!?!?!?
I’d reached my limit. It was time to present “my plan” to those in charge: “Either pull into the nearest large port, drop anchor, and escort me to dry land or--I intended to jump-off the ship.” I’m not crazy or in need of attention. I just can-not and will-not spend another night on this floating Merry-go-round from Hell.”
When the doctor (from Sweden) suggested they had the right to restrain me; to keep me from “harming” myself by placing me in a “locked” suite for the remainder of the trip, I advised him to “re-think” such a decision. I had no history of mental illness and, I had zero-tolerance for most medications but---I did have a long history as both a Television and Radio Personality and was “well-connected” with The Media and People in “high places”. If they doubted me--then let me make some phone calls.
The ship’s purser took immediate control of the conversation and assured me he would find a solution to my problem. He asked me to be patient as he made a series of phone calls. He suggested I sit in his “command center” while he began initiating a creative plan. Nearly two hours later, he directed me to hurry back to my room and pack my bags. He asked that I speak to no one and be ready to leave the ship in 35 minutes. The purser instructed me to wait in my room until his assistant came for me.
I had barely gathered my bags together when the assistant knocked at my door. Without a word, he tucked my bags under both his arms and ushered me out the door. By this time, everyone on board was crowding the ship’s many decks, curious to see why we were stopping at an unscheduled port.
As I departed the ship, escorted by both the purser and the ship’s doctor-- I felt thousands of eyes staring at me, curious to know WHO I was, and wondering WHY I was being removed from the cruise ship. One thing I’ve learned--after years of living--I don’t owe anyone an explanation for WHO I am, WHY I make certain decisions or HOW I choose to live my life. I take full responsibility for my actions.
The first sign to greet me when I stepped on solid ground said “WELCOME TO ST. THOMAS.” I learned the Cruise Line had a taxi waiting to take me to the nearest airport. Thank goodness I had one-less-problem to worry about. The Taxi Driver was happy to practice his English and proud he could list the names of all three of the American Airlines that provided service to and from St. Thomas.
But, most alarming was the fact that-- for the next three days-- there was only one flight scheduled to leave St. Thomas for America and-- that flight was today. In fact, it was a Delta Airlines Flight, scheduled to depart in one hour for Atlanta, Georgia. Passengers were already standing in line to board the flight and--all the seats were full!!!! I ran from one ticket window to the next, desperate to be on stand-by, frantic to find someone to help me. Surely…someone could manage to squeeze me in--somewhere. I must get home!
Standing in that unfamiliar airport, surrounded by unfamiliar faces speaking an unfamiliar language and suddenly--over the loud speaker-- I hear “Sally Miller, meet your Delta Pilot at gate number 3, immediately.” I was speechless. People stopped talking to listen, and to wonder why a Pilot was speaking over the public announcement channel. THEN—Again-- I heard: “Sally Miller, Miss Arkansas, there’s no time to waste. Come to gate number 3. Your Delta Pilot is waiting, impatiently.” I grabbed my bags and started running. I knocked into people, left and right, as I pushed and shoved my way through the crowds.
When I found Gate Number 3---there stood a man, handsomely-dressed in a Delta Pilot’s uniform--blocking the main entrance and waiting--just for me. He was someone from my long-ago past AND---someone I hadn't seen since I was nine years old!
We grabbed each other and yes, my eyes filled with tears when I realized this man---now all-grown-up--- was my brother’s childhood friend from Pine Bluff’s East Side. Robert graduated from PB High School in the early fifties, then left to see the world. Forty years later, Robert was a Delta Airlines Pilot--hugging me in the St. Thomas Airport!
Robert took me under his wing--found me a first-class seat on his flight---and flew me safely to Atlanta. He also made arrangements for me to spend the night at Atlanta’s Airport Marriott so I could-easily make my early morning Delta flight-- the next day-- home to Little Rock.
Before leaving me at my hotel, Robert explained how--through the years--he’d “kept-up” with me; how he’d watched me on television the night I was in the Miss America Pageant. He said “You were like the little sister I never had. When I realized it was really-you in the St. Thomas airport and heard about your tale of woe--I knew I must help you.” He pulled me close--to kiss me on the cheek-- and said--- “I will always love you, little sister.” Then--like a dream- Robert walked out of my life.
"Thank you, dearest friend-- for taking care of me." As I say, repeatedly: "THERE ARE NO COINCIDENCES IN MY LIFE."
Several years ago, I was watching/listening to a morning news station when the TV Host began talking about Hillary Clinton’s many years of SERVICE TO AMERICA. The Host began detailing how Hillary had so humbly-served as Arkansas's FIRST LADY then proceeded to faithfully- serve--- as AMERICA's FIRST LADY. For me, the most “regurgitating” moment came when the commentator said---- "Hillary has spent a lifetime as a DEVOTED PUBLIC SERVANT—while forever-improving the Rights of Women and Children in America."
PUBLIC SERVANT?!?!?!? Does Hillary clean toilets at the Bus Station, or pick up trash on the streets of DC?!?!?! Is Hillary volunteering to feed the homeless or-- read to the sick and dying at a local Hospice?!?!?
Look in the mirror, my friend, and you'll see a Public Servant. Yes, YOU! YOU pay taxes---on every item you purchase and, once a year, you pay for everything you own---like your house, your car, personal property and----even your money!!!!!! WE ARE THE PUBLIC SERVANTS!!!!! WE ARE THE SLAVES who keep AMERICA-- UP and RUNNING. WE are the unappreciated idiots who pay the salaries of government workers and most-particularly---the salaries of Politicians---like Nancy Pelosi----who “SERVE” in Congress and---grow richer by the minute!!!!!
BUT, in spite of big salaries, endless perks, houses, cars, travel expenses, and personal staff-- WE provide "lawmakers"----it still isn't enough for these “celebrities”!!!!! Instead of performing their jobs---and doing what they were elected/hired to do, they ignore us-- their employer-- and blatantly-perform illegal acts--make under-the-table deals-- that elevate them to Billionaire Status!
I despise the word "SERVES." It makes me want to puke to hear that "Representative Hill” SERVES in the House" or "Chuck Schumer SERVES in the Senate!!!!!!" And, I still see RED when I hear--"Hillary Clinton SERVED as a First Lady, SERVED as a US Senator, AND SERVED as Secretary of State!!!!!!"
WE---The America Taxpayers---are the poor saps--- who "SERVE" at the will of these Political Criminals. As most of us struggle to pay our bills each month ----remember---- WE haven't received a worthwhile "cost of living" increase for years BUT---- the U.S. President, Congress, and every government official---whose salaries are paid BY TAXPAYERS ----receive a substantial pay increase--regularly--every year. AND, in case you didn't know it----Congress automatically-vote themselves’ a hefty pay raise-- every year.
Yes, it's our money yet---every year-Congress votes on whether or not, Social Security Recepients receive a "Cost of Living" increase and--if so--how much?!?! ?!?!? The average increase for those on Social Security has been between four and ten dollars each month. And, at the same time, the govenment increases the cost of Medicare, monthy, by at least--ten or fifteen dollars. Forget any hope of ever---getting ahead.
SO---I'd like to know exactly "when"--- THE CABOOSE successfully-ditched THE ENGINE--and put itself in- charge of THE TRAIN and-- it's destination?!?!?
AS WE SAY IN THE SOUTH: “THIS OLD DOG DON’T HUNT”!!!!!!!