I had forgotten all the details of the seven-plus times I had been physically and verbally assaulted by men during my 30+ year professional career until the President of the United States claimed how his star power permitted him to grope female genitalia — “They let you do it. You can do anything.” His casual, boastful admission over a hot mic while filming an “Access Hollywood” episode opened the proverbial Pandora’s box. I detailed my assaults in a Facebook post, but did not name the men who assaulted me.
Over the weekend, Christine Blasey Ford revealed that she was the anonymous source of a confidential letter which alleged that Supreme Court nominee Brett M. Kavanaugh sexually assaulted her more than three decades ago while she and Kavanaugh were in high school. A lawyer close to the White House said:
If somebody can be brought down by accusations like this, then you, me, and every man certainly should be worried. We can all be accused of something.
David Frum, a staff writer at The Atlantic, in his article, “Delay the Kavanaugh Vote“, imagined what many are thinking:
If it happened at all, it happened 36 years ago. He was only 17—and probably too drunk to know what he was doing. He grabbed a girl; OK, he should not have done that, but his buddy pulled him away. Everybody went home safe and sound. Really, you’re going to wreck a good man’s career after all this time because of a nothing-story like that?
What we did in high school doesn’t count, right? So I should ignore high school memories that surfaced over the last two days . . . right?
In high school, I was sexually assaulted twice. The first time, I was 16 years old. My family and I were camping in an Upper New York State campground, and my sisters and I went to the “Rec Room” to check out the ping-pong table and board games. While there, the teenage son of the owner openly flirted with me, and as my sisters and I were leaving, whispered in my ear, “Why don’t you come right back? Say you have to go to the bathroom.”
So I did. And I went. He was waiting in the Rec Room with cigarettes and a bottle of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill wine. He was wearing a white t-shirt and cut-off jeans. Within minutes, he had pushed me against the ping-pong table and was grinding himself against me while exposing and groping my breasts. He smelled of sweat and cigarettes. Stunned, I pushed him away and ran back to our camper trailer. I never shared any of these details with any member of my family.
The second time was a month after I graduated from high school. I was 18 years old. A fellow classmate and football team star — a boy who had always been polite to me — asked me out on a date to see a movie.
After he picked me up at my house — politely greeting my parents — we drove to a nearby drive-in theater where years earlier, our entire family had seen, “Cleopatra.” Little did I know that it now showed soft porno movies. I had never seen one. Before it started, Paul reached into the back seat, opened a cooler and pulled out a bottle of yes, Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill wine. He poured some into a paper cup and handed it to me. “Relax,” he said. Soon, on the large screen, I saw two men fondling bare breasts. In what seemed like one seamless motion, Paul took my paper cup, grabbed my legs, pulled me toward him, pinned me to the seat, put his tongue in my mouth, and began to unbutton my blouse. I felt his hands on my breasts and began to cry.
“Wha-wha-what are you doing?” I said, trying to push him away.
“You know what I’m doing,” he replied.
“No, I don’t. I thought you were nice. Get off of me.” I tried to catch my breath.
“Make me,” he giggled.
I began to cry, then sob. “Take me home. Take me home. I thought you were nice. Take me home right now.”
“Hey, calm down. You said you’d go out with me. What did you think would happen?”
“Take me home right now.”
He drove me to my house. He did not get out of the car, open the passenger door and walk me to the front door like he did when the evening started. “Grow up,” he said as I slammed shut the passenger door.
I never shared any of these details with any member of my family, or anyone, for that matter . . . until I read Christine Blasey Ford’s story.
Here are the details of my story for all to read.
That includes you, Paul Emmett. Yes, I grew up and you certainly should be worried.
At that Georgetown Prep school, Kavanaugh was a member of the “100K Club.” Membership required that a student imbibe 100 kegs of beer during his/her senior year.
The only witness to the alleged sexual assault — Mark Judge — denies that nothing inappropriate happened that night. Judge, a writer, several years ago published a memoir entitled, “Wasted: Tales of a Gen-X Drunk” about his years at that Prep School. Often students were so drunk they blacked out.
Is Kavanaugh off the hook if this alleged assault happened during a drunken blackout?
[NOTE: After I posted this comment, Beth pointed out a typo (see her comment below) which I have corrected. Thanks again, Beth.]
At a minimum, a Federal judge aiming for a seat on the Supreme Court, should offer compassion, i.e., “I have no recollection of this incident. You may be mistaking me for someone else. But I am very sorry that this happened to you.”
Republicans on the Judiciary Committee are contacting other women Kavanaugh dated to prove that he has “no pattern of inappropriate behavior with women.”
Stunningly sage advice from Anita Hill regarding next Monday’s Senate Judiciary Committee hearing during which members will hear testimony and ask questions of both Dr. Ford and Judge Kavanaugh:
https://www.nytimes.com/2018/09/18/opinion/anita-hill-brett-kavanaugh-clarence-thomas.html?action=click&module=Opinion&pgtype=Homepage
Thank you for shining a light in a dark corner. I ‘m sorry that you have had to live with these painful experiences. I’m impressed that you remember the name and have a photo. My memory and nature have caused me to let go of many details of most painful incidents in my young life. There may be a typo in your first comment:
“Mark Judge — denies that nothing anything inappropriate happened that night.”
You are brave Sharon and a fine example for others to speak out.
Thanks, dear Beth. I’m out on my walk, pondering all of this. Thanks for noticing the typo. More later.
One quick thought: I would have preferred to let go of these memories, but what does one do when they suddenly surface due to the national media revealing similar incidents? Push them back down into the “Sharon-in-the-Box”?
When such things surface, I would think it is best to reach out, speak out and to help others to do the same. This seems the surest path to disempower haunting old memories and to help end abuse. You are well along the path to transform pain to action.
Oh Friend. Such ugly incidents leaving horrid, haunting memories. Good for you for speaking out. I hope this brings at least a measure of healing in your life. But at least 5 more times. That’s an awful lot to survive. I am stunned!
I really like your “minimum” for an accused man who’s aiming for the Supreme Court. Interesting that his posture, instead, is a posture of defense. Hmmm. Wonder what this tells us about him and his party?
Carol — I endured seven verbal and physical assaults while a professional. I didn’t remember these separate high school assaults until Dr. Ford’s accusation hit the media.
That may seem like a lot, but my hunch is that most women have been harassed/assaulted at least once in high school or at least twice in corporate America.
Also, I never really wanted to go out with Paul. I only agreed to go out with him to prove to my mother that I wasn’t in love with my best friend at the time — a girl.
Thank you for sharing this. I am deeply moved — and angered. Having been assaulted in college, I have always felt shame. While I am confident, he always felt powerful. I told my daughter my story because of the #metoo movement so she can somehow avoid what I experienced. It was one of the first times I ever told someone and she was my 17-year-old child. It is because of women like you, that others feel less afraid to share their stories and somehow save another person.
I am so sorry that you were assaulted in college, dear Kelly. Knowing this brings out the Ripley (from “Aliens”) in me and I want to slap the shit out of the man who assaulted you. Thank you for your courage to share this here. We’ll never not have each other’s back. Never. Love you.