Friend to the Friendless: The Story of Dottie

Mom did not like to socialize in the normal sense.  She wasn't into church and all the fellowship that came with it.  She helped with the school rummage sale every year yet kept her distance from the other moms at St Vincents School.  I can remember only a few bingo parties that she and Dad held at our house when I was very young. She occasionally turned on the creepiness with the seances that she hosted at our house with her psychic friend, the Reverend Cecil Cawthorne, running the show.  The only neighbor she allowed into our house was lonely Grandma Balistreri, the old Italian lady who lived across the street. Mom didn't want people knowing our business. Mom's oldest sister Amy, who lived in Ephrata, Washington, was her best friend and only confidante, and they talked long distance on the phone fairly often. But even though she didn't have close friends, she was rarely alone on Eagle Street.

Most of Mom's interactions with people came through her weekly sales and purchases.  Most of those transactions were one time deals, and we never saw the person again.  There were a few people, however, who answered an ad and then kept coming back.  And Mom was okay with it.  Normally, the person would call to inquire about something Mom was selling, they would come to see it, and usually buy it.  And then they would keep coming over, for weeks, months, and even years.  Usually these people were on the fringes of society, either down on their luck, or strange and misunderstood.  Mom filled their need for someone to talk to.  Mom was like a neighborhood bartender.  She would offer someone a comfy chair, a bottle of pop, and a snack, and before long, that person would share their entire life story. Their stories were never ones of success. Over repeated visits, we would soon learn of their dreams, their conflicts, and their disasters. Mom was a very good listener, and made these folks feel welcome in our home.  She was a friend to the friendless. There were many people who drifted into and out of our lives on Eagle Street. One such person was a woman named Dottie.

In July of 1974, Dottie answered an ad and bought one of our silver Poodle puppies for $85.  She was 50ish and had red hair.  She said she was a dog groomer and had a shop in Logan Heights.  A few weeks after the purchase, her puppy's AKC registration paper arrived in the mail. Mom decided to drive down to her shop and deliver it in person.  When we got to the National Avenue address she had given us, what we found was a vacant storefront with a small hand written sign on the door that said "Dottie's Grooming."  It was on a gritty, sad street in the bad part of town, surrounded by similar dirty old buildings.

Mom parked the car and I got out to go take a closer look.  I looked through the grimy window.  There was just an empty dark space.  In the rear of the building, I saw a faint light.  Then I heard a dog bark, and saw our puppy running towards the window.  Dottie appeared from the back room and I waved to get her attention.  She unlocked all the latches and let us into the dim and empty space.  That was when we realized that she had no grooming shop.  She was living in the back of a dilapidated empty store, with just a dirty old toilet and sink.  She had a cooler to hold her food.  A suitcase of clothes and a blanket and pillow lay on the worn tile floor.  After getting over the initial shock, Mom invited her to come over for pizza that night. And that's how Dottie became a familiar face on Eagle Street for the next decade.

Over many visits to our house,  Dottie eventually shared that she had four failed marriages, with a child born from each husband. Her great love (and her biggest impediment to success) was Las Vegas. When she spoke of this mysterious place, her eyes sparkled, and she got very excited, the way we kids acted when we were begging mom to take us to Disneyland.  She admitted that her four divorces and four lost homes were due to her gambling addiction.  But she didn't seem to understand that she could change her life simply by staying away from Nevada. Her youngest daughter lived there and was a cocktail waitress at the Hilton Hotel and Casino, so there was always an excuse for Dottie to go back for a visit. She spoke of her oldest son and daughter, who sounded like responsible people and were living their own lives somewhere. I am sure they had tried to help their mom many times over the years.  Her youngest son Alan, who seemed like a really nice guy,  had just ended a relationship and joined up with his mom in the daily struggle to stay off the street.

Dottie and Alan handling some business in our cluttered Eagle Street living room sometime in the 80's. Alan was always pensive.  Dottie however, always remained positive that her big break was just around the corner.

As time passed,  Dottie and her son Alan bounced between Los Angeles and San Diego. They were always on the move, chasing some business scheme that never panned out. In San Diego they hopped around nearby neighborhoods of  North Park and City Heights, going from one rental to another, month after month. Back in those days, it was so easy to rent a place in San Diego. They could always come up with the first month's rent, but then things fell apart and they were hurriedly packing up their few belongings and moving on.  Eventually, Alan figured out he had one last chance to escape his situation. He was nearing the age deadline to join the military and at the last minute he signed up and was sent to Montana.  Alone again, Dottie scraped and hustled.  She rang the Salvation Army bell at Christmas and was able to skim enough change from the kettle to get by. She painted houses and did whatever she needed to do to earn some money.  She always remained cheerful, no matter how messy her life was. And no matter what, she always gravitated back to Las Vegas.

One summer day in either 1984 or 1985, Dottie called Mom to give her some exciting news.  After the conversation, Mom hung up and announced that Dottie had found her golden goose.  She had told Mom of her good fortune in meeting Ralph, an ancient man who was very hard of hearing and was almost 40 years older than she was. She met him on a sweltering hot day, while he was handing out religious tracts in front of a North Park grocery store. He was all wrapped up in a winter coat and wearing a woolen hat and muffler.  Dottie stopped to talk to him and discovered that he owned a little house on nearby Mississippi Street. She offered to go home with him, cook him a meal and do his laundry. That was an offer he couldn't refuse. She basically moved in with him the day they met.  Within weeks they were married and before you could blink,  the house was sold despite attempts by his worried adult daughter to stop him.

That was the last time we saw Dottie because the two newlyweds took the money and moved away to----yes, you guessed it---Las Vegas.  In July of 1986, one month before Mom passed away, she received one final call from Dottie, informing her of Ralph's death.  He was 100 years old.  Where Dottie ended up next is anyone's guess.  But she will always remain an Eagle Street memory.