RUN, RUN, RUN AWAY

The Eagles' Nest, The Women of the Rathskeller Inn

Chapter 13

The Rathskeller became my safe house. Away from the looming darkness of the big house that we shared with aunt Lolly and Norm, we were all happier inside our small tavern that rolled out pizzas and golden ale. Mom was busy but more at peace. Grandma Ann always welcomed me into the office. She taught my small, nimble fingers effective methods to fill coin wrappers, a task that remains challenging for even adults. She was patient and left me to it.

By the age of ten, I was in the kitchen learning to cook and follow recipes. It was fun, and I felt grown up and important, busy contributing to my family's efforts. Even better, I was surrounded by caring young adults who treated me like their little sister. They smelled of hope.

Some in town considered the Rathskeller a den of iniquity or a rat’s nest. It was nothing like that. It was a thriving, joyful place with a heart that beat for the customers who came. It was my home. By 1964, the Rathskeller was the only constant in my life. Little did I know how fragile our lives were.

Mom kept the arson a secret from me until the final week of her life. We spoke every day that week, and every day I learned another secret from her past. It was as if she was unpacking her life for what she considered would be her next greatest journey, life after death. She still mourned the loss of that cabin thirty-eight years later. As most would be, I was shocked by the revelation when she described in detail what had occurred that night. But I confess, I have no memory of what I said twenty-three-plus years since she died. It seems my reaction at the time has become one of the memories I buried, right beside others I do not care to recall.

Watching my aunt torch the lake cabin must have been like getting dropped into an icy pond that shocks a person to their senses. Survival instinct, it changes everything. Mom’s habits changed overnight, and her persona seemed to have righted itself, putting her on a better course to safeguard her and her daughters. Her steely determination was reinforced with romantic love, but not with my dad.

Al Carter was a decent, responsible man, prepared to take on the role of dad for me and my sister. I had no interest in that ever happening. I made my mom’s life pure misery from the moment she told me. She informed me that she was prepared to pack all our belongings and move us to Anchorage, Alaska, once school was out. The mere suggestion that another man could replace my father sent me into fits. Mom ignored my emotional outbursts. She had other immediate worries to contend with and wanted to move us out of the big house and away from aunt Lolly as soon as possible. For me, both the known and unknown future terrified me.

We moved quickly into a small apartment within walking distance to the Rathskeller. On March 27, 1964, an earthquake in Alaska, measuring 9.2 on the Richter scale, began at 5:36 pm Alaska time and caused significant damage in Anchorage. Buildings collapsed, and entire neighborhoods slid into the sea. Watching the scene play in looping coverage on the television took my anxiety to an extreme level. Witnessing the major flooding and damage to surrounding coastal communities near Turnagain Arm was petrifying. I never imagined the earth I stood on could move like that. Once I saw entire city blocks sliding into the ocean, I couldn’t unsee it. The idea that mom would marry Al and move us to a dangerous place worsened everything. I wasn’t doing well in school, couldn’t sleep, and threw tantrums. I wanted to run as fast as possible into my father’s arms.

I did, or should I say we did. Instead of moving 2,372 miles to Anchorage, we headed to Huntsville, Alabama, 2193 miles south in the summer of 1964. It was far enough away to keep us safe from the threat that weighed heavily on mom’s mind. Our first trip (there were two) was spent exploring deep caverns in New Mexico, visiting Civil War battlegrounds, and attempting to climb a tower in Kentucky that I had wanted to scale, but my anxiety and fear of heights stopped me. And there was an unfortunate fudgesicle incident that was anything but sweet. There was only one car trip back to Idaho that summer. Dad had to return to Seattle to complete training, which would be brief, before returning to Huntsville, where he would work for NASA on the Apollo Program.

The trip back was hellish and hot. Dad agreed to take his buddy’s wife and son with us. I was trapped in a car with no air conditioning, with five adults and a spoiled kid who whined and threw fits if he didn’t get his way. I slept on the car floor in the backseat because I was the only kid who didn’t get carsick. Others slept on the seats or leaned on the doors. It was a different nightmare from the big house. We only stopped for bathroom breaks or a quick bite to eat, the adults taking turns driving all day and night, something not unusual for the era. But mom had chosen my dad, we were all together, and I felt safe. Unhappy, but safe.

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Lonely Nights and Restless Sleep

Unable to sleep at night, it became abundantly clear to Jackie that she needed to move from the big house. She had stayed because it seemed like the financially responsible thing to do. With her moderately healthy income from the Rathskeller, she could stop sweating the small stuff. She was paying tuition for her youngest daughter to attend the local Catholic grade school. She could afford her oldest daughter’s prom dress and the small red Corvair that had been a luxury. But now, money and the small luxuries she afforded herself and her daughters seemed far less important.