- Excerpt
SNOW JOB
by Barbara F. Graham
INTRODUCTION
Barbara F. Graham goes for the jugular with a compelling,
true-to-life exposure of America's corrupt family-law system.
Written in a spirited first-person voice, SNOW JOB tells the
story of a Boston-area mother and her children who choose to
survive the hell of substance abuse in the family -- only to
find an even greater hell and danger awaiting them in the
U.S. legal system.
This nonfiction novel describes the actual legal, spiritual,
and financial consequences that befall family members as they
strive to move forward and rebuild their lives. In contrast
to most books on substance abuse, SNOW JOB takes readers into
lawyers' offices, judges' chambers, bank mortgage
departments, and medical settings where conversation is not a
matter of public record.
Elements of this story will ring true with anyone whose life
has been touched by divorce, substance abuse, domestic
violence in all its forms (physical, emotional, financial),
and a legal system that devalues the important job of
nurturing the next generation.
An excerpt from SNOW JOB appears
below. This book has been recommended by Freedom From Chemical Dependency
Foundation, The National Coalition for Family Justice, and The Domestic
Violence Training & Resource Institute. Following the excerpt, you
will find information about the author.
CHAPTER XIV
INTO THE FIRE
by Barbara F. Graham
"The Charbonnier Matter," someone
intoned, and then it was
our turn. I followed Gabriel through the swinging gate, and
the four of us, Chubb, Duncan, Gabriel and I stood before
Judge Tracy. I didn't feel nervous. Just out of place. I was
the only one of the five of us who had never had a drinking
problem, and they were making all the rules. The rules that
were about to change the lives of Spencer and Amanda --- and
not for the better.
MacIntyre immediately launched into
a diatribe about what a bitchy, big spender I was, and I would later
learn that just by virtue of being Reed's client, Tracy already had
me typecast negatively. The air fairly bristled with Boston
class warfare: the poor Irish Judge vs. the wealthy Irish
Lawyer vs. nouveau riche upstart Mr. Reed from New Hampshire
vs. Mr. Duncan fair-haired Charbonnier Germane Senior
Executive vs. Mrs. Conover Rich Bitch Charbonnier. I listed
us silently as I heard Chubb tell Tracy, "If she were Mrs.
Reed, Judge, she wouldn't have these problems."
"Of course I wouldn't have these problems," I wanted to
retort, "because Reed wouldn't have been stupid enough to
lose someone like me." But I had been coached: Shut up. Be
courteous. Don't speak unless spoken too. Wear your black
patent leather Catholic girls' school pumps, look demure, and
for God's sake don't let them know how smart you are.
Then Tracy, MacIntyre, and Reed launched into a self-
congratulatory dialogue about what a great job Reed had done
in helping re-write the child support laws, how much improved
they were. I was trying not to throw up.
As soon as I could manage it, I told the judge in simplified
language how Dr. Arthur and I had worried for years that
Duncan had epilepsy and possibly a brain tumor, and that only
this past summer, we had learned he had been drinking
secretly, and the children and I had immediately gone to
Appleton Hall for help, and that I didn't see why my children
should have to pay the penalty for my ignorance.
Tracy was thrilled to have a fellow-alcoholic
before him. His eyes shone, even as Duncan protested, "Judge,
I am not an alcoholic, and I don't have any drinking problem."
"Now Mr. Charbonnier, despite what you say, I know from my
many years on the bench, that when the family says there's an
alcohol problem, there's an alcohol problem. The family
always knows." He wandered a bit in what followed, but
basically he lectured Duncan about being in denial. "Now is
there any hope of you folks getting back together?"
"No," said Duncan, too
quickly, I sensed, for the judge's taste.
"I tried, Your Honor," I said more slowly, after a thoughtful
pause. "The children and I went to Appleton Hall several
times, and we asked my husband to come back with us and work
on the problem as a family, but he refused. All the doctors
have told me this is out of my hands now."
"Well sometimes an alcoholic marriage can be saved, and
sometimes it can't." Then he turned to Duncan. "I'm chairing
the AA meeting in Stover tonight. Why don't you come, son!"
"Maybe I will," said Duncan
ingratiatingly.
I rolled my eyes at Gabriel. I didn't like the way Tracy was
lapping this up.
"I didn't do that at all well," I
said to Gabriel when we got back out in the hall. "I was too emotional."
"Well, it was an emotional matter. You did just fine. Let's
have another cup of coffee and talk about it." He handed me
some money. "No cream, one sweet-and-low, and I'm going to
the men's room."
"That's okay, I'll get this one," I
said handing him back his
money.
Then I ran after him, and caught
him just short of the door. "Give me back that money. After thirteen years with Duncan
Charbonnier, I promised myself I was never going Dutch
again!" He laughed.
When Reed returned, Chubb came over
to us, and I broke the rules by trying to talk to him as a human being
instead of the opposing counsel. "Look, if you have any influence over
this man at all," I implored, referring to Duncan, "get him
to AA."
"For all I know, Mrs. Charbonnier, you planted the vodka
bottles in his car!" he said coldly. How could he say that to
me? What kind of a person did he think I was? I looked at him
in total disbelief as he strode away.
"Gabriel, why did you even
suggest I tell Judge Tracy the truth? Duncan denied my story, MacIntyre
tried to impugn it; you were distracted by it; and I didn't help myself
or Spencer and Amanda in any way. This whole process is a
travesty. The court is in denial, anti-family, and thinks
women who stay home to nurture children are complete fools,
and it treats them accordingly! What goes on in Probate Court
is a sociopath's dream and an honest woman's nightmare!"
"Ursula, this is the best western civilization has to offer," said
Gabriel.
"Well, forgive me if I'm not
impressed!"
Gabriel put his arm around me to
comfort me as we walked out of the courthouse. But I was so mad I marched
straight into Cambridge Street and the path of an oncoming truck. Gabriel
pulled me out of the way, just in time. "We don't want
anything to happen to you."
The support order was handed down
several days later, about half of what we'd been used to living on,
as Reed had so accurately predicted. Duncan did not pay us the first
week's support "forthwith" as the Court ordered, and then
delayed the following payment, so the children and I went for two
weeks in December with no financial support from him
whatsoever. The Court didn't mind. I was about to learn that
millions of fathers don't pay their child support on time, if
at all, and that they regularly go unpunished for it.
The message from "the best western civilization has to offer" boiled
down to this: if you stay home to be a full-time mom and nurture children,
you and your children become vulnerable to getting royally screwed
by The System.
Was this the reward for staying home for nine years and for
being a loving and faithful wife, partner, and friend? If I
had it to do over again, would I stay at home and nurture a
family? What a hopeless case I am --- of course I would!
Maybe the legal system didn't value my contribution, but
somehow I still did.
In the nine years I did stay home,
whenever people out in the world would ask me what I did, it was my
habit to reply that I was "the Curator of National Treasures." Occasionally
people got it; more often they would launch into a discussion
of art and antiques. To my way of thinking, our children are
our national treasures, but it was painfully evident as I
stood in Judge Tracy's courtroom that the legal system just
doesn't see it that way. Reality was dawning: Duncan really
does stand a good chance of getting away with systematically
destroying everything I hold dear --- family, home, children
and a happy, stable way of life.
How, I wondered, was I going to keep my
kids happy, trusting, and well-adjusted in a court system that allows
their lives to be torn apart?
Copyright ©1995 by Barbara
F. Graham. All rights reserved. Please do not duplicate or distribute
this material without consent from Barbara
F. Graham and Hang On To Your Hat! Press. Thank you.
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