The Bookie's Daughter

Big Al during the 1971 Federal Trial, Jeannette News-Dispatch

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Copyright © 2012 Heather Abraham

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in review.

SagisBooks Publishers Inc.
www.SagisBooks.Com

First Edition: April, 2012

ISBN-10: 0-9838635-1-2
ISBN-13: 978-0983-86351-9

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012933590

Author’s note: The narrative you are about to read is based on events from my childhood, although most names and identifying characteristics of those who participated in this dramedy have been fictionalized.

Editor: Lara Merlin, New York, NY

Book Cover: John Howard Graphics, Jeannette, PA.

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Printed in the United States of America

To my parents, Big Al and Bonnie Abraham.
I wish you peace at last.

And
In loving memory of:
Virginia Butch
Bud Himmelwright
Eileen Porreca
Huseyin and Nezahat Sağişman

It takes a village to write a book. Although writing is a solitary act, the support of family and friends has been an essential part of my creative process. I begin with the life-long friends who enthusiastically recounted their memories of my zany family. Through occasional tears and inevitable laughter, Lois Ann Crump, Ann Porreca, Patricia Little, Ron Porreca, Clyde Pearsol, Toni Ann Moffa Bibb, Felicia Tillman Toé, Diane Himes, and Joe Marsolo helped me to bring the past alive.

I am immensely grateful for the support, advice, and encouragement that has continuously flowed from friends and colleagues. Heartfelt thanks to: John Sullivan, Kate Daley-Bailey, Kenny Smith, Dennis LoRusso, Erika Dorland, Suzanne Degnats, Felicia Thomas, and Ellen Logan. I am especially indebted to Warren Pritchard, Sherry Morton, and Barbara Sutter for their critiques of early chapter drafts. Their time and thoughtful suggestions have been essential in the development of this narrative. For their encouragement and wisdom, I tip-my-hat to three forces of nature: Judith Stogner, Tammy Speed, and Arzu Őzyazgan. Special thanks to Debbie Szypula who for years pressed me to write my story and to Ayla Bakanay for providing me with a few weeks of much needed silence.

I am sincerely grateful to John Howard for his generous support and creative book cover design; Lara Merlin, editor extraordinaire, for her patience and wisdom; the fabulous women at the Westmoreland County Clerk of Courts for assisting my search of Big Al's criminal records; and the gracious staff of the Jeannette Public Library who located relevant newspaper articles. A grateful shout-out goes to those who reminisced on the gambling culture of bygone days but wished to remain anonymous.

My deepest thanks to the other Bookie's Daughter, my sister Vanessa Abraham, who has never wavered in her support. Her wicked sense of humor, bold spirit, and pragmatic acceptance of our formative years continues to inspire me. And most importantly, my endless gratitude to my husband, Teo Sağişman (benim hayatım), who instantly championed this project and gave me the courage to stay the course. His unwavering encouragement, boundless creative energy, and remarkable pluck have been fundamental in making this project a reality. Finally, my affection to our three, furry muses: Princess Grace, Rhea Sita, and Bella Luna.

“
If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.”

George Bernard Shaw

M
y initial effort at writing this book began within a year of my father’s death in 1983. Raw from grief and full of rage—at no one in particular and yet at everyone—I began to inquire into the particulars of my father’s many illegal ventures. Although I had been privy to a great deal of his illegitimate dealings, I desperately wanted to fill in the missing details I felt were necessary to make sense of his life—and by extension, mine. As if somehow, the tiniest scrap of information would help me bridge the gap between this world and the next.

I
n short order, I began receiving threatening phone calls from a mysterious gritty voice who insisted that I was “making a mistake” and that continued pursuit would be “detrimental” to my health. Undeterred, I persisted, contacting old acquaintances and seeking to obtain copies of trial transcripts. A near miss with a speeding car finally convinced me to suspend my efforts, but the desire to organize my memories and tell my story, even if only to myself, has never been far from the surface.

T
he project was briefly resurrected ten years later, shortly after I began to attend community college in Atlanta. After taking a particularly engaging writing class, I began to outline the events I wanted to include in my memoir. Occupied with eking out a living and attending night school, I made occasional stabs at writing but I again put the project on the back burner. I pledged to myself that I would pick it up after finishing with my education.

T
hirteen years later, after years of night school and a few years as a full-time student, I finally earned my third and final degree—a Master’s in comparative religion. Graduating just in time for the second worst economic decline in American history, I found the job market all but closed. Time was now abundant. I revisited my old project—a project that my father had always predicted would one day become a reality.

I
n many ways, this book is entirely different from what would have been the product of the previous two attempts. The passage of decades and many years of therapy have all but extinguished the grief, anger, and outrage that sustained me during my formative years and kept me going in the years following my father’s death.

T
he first attempt would most probably have produced a book about revenge—revenge on the predators who stole much of my childhood and on the corrupt officials and ignorant, deluded adults that were so often vicious in their treatment and betrayal of my family. My second attempt would have been a study on rage—the rage of a wounded child at her incredibly inept and hopelessly addicted parents.

M
y story is about acceptance, reconciliation, and resolution. I am thankful for the passage of time and the wisdom I gained in the process of enjoying and enduring life’s messiness. Reflection, with the acknowledgement and release of anger, has allowed me to tell my story free from the burdens of the walking wounded.

T
his process has been unbelievably cathartic. I am thankful for the buckets of tears and endless hours of laughter I shared with my sister, Vanessa, while revisiting the events of our youth. With the publication of this book, I will no longer live in fear that my youthful “criminal” adventures would be discovered or that the life I have built would somehow disappear if my past were illuminated. Weary of running from the past, I have decided that it is time for all my identities to live in harmony, without regret or embarrassment.

T
he narrative you are about to read is based on events from my childhood. The names and identifying characteristics of those who participated in this dramedy have been fictionalized. I applied these changes in an effort to conceal the true-identity of many of the players. I did this, not necessarily to protect those who participated but to protect their family members and loved ones. I firmly believe that the sins of the father (or mother) should not be visited upon the generations that follow.

A
fter months of trying to put the events of my life with my parents in chronological order, I found the task impossible. Some themes, repeated throughout my childhood, defy a simple timeline. Although I maintain a semblance of chronology, the following narrative is presented in an order that favors story line and is arranged by topic.