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Wednesday, February 5, 2014

LY #104 Not News

Sally-High School
Search term:  Sally Jane Hanson

As far as I know the deaths of my oldest sister and her daughter were never reported in a newspaper.  I would actually have to do some research, however, to be sure.  Visit the morgues of the Oakland Tribune, San Francisco Chronicle, and San Jose Mercury News.  Or get access to their databases, if they have them.  A quick search of Newspapers.com under her maiden and married names revealed nothing.

This lack of information was made clear to me twice in the years afterwords.  In the summer of 1988, at the 100th Anniversary Celebration of Los Gatos High School, I ran into the man who taught her French back when she was in school in the early 60s.  I casually mentioned her passing.  He looked like I'd slapped him.  There in the midst of the celebration he sat down and began weeping.  Then, in 1991 after my mother's death I wrote in Mom's obituary that she was "preceded in death" by her daughter, Sally Jane Hanson.  A woman showed up late to the reception after my Mom's funeral mass and said that she had just driven an hour to be there not because she knew my mother but because she'd known Sally and was shocked that she was dead.

Why the lack of news about what, these days, would be considered content worthy?  Perhaps the old time professional courtesy that bound reporters and their police contacts were responsible for this lack of public information.  So I always assumed.  There's so much of this story that I "assumed" because I found it so difficult to talk with my parents about it.  And when I was able to talk with them the information they gave was limited both by their positions and by the ideology of their generation.

Here is what I remember about my first knowledge of this story.

The date is Sunday, February 28.   (I know this now because it was just before dress rehearsals of the LGHS senior play, Midsummer Night's Dream.  I have all my high school newspapers so I know the exact date of that show.)  I have just returned from meeting across town with the woman who is doing hair and make-up for the show.  She has set and styled my hair and taught my Mom and me how to get the pancake, blush and eyeliner on.  Since I rarely did anything with my hair or face, I am feeling giggly and goofy when I get home.   In my memory we arrive at almost the same time that my sister's husband, A--- and another man arrive at the house.

I notice that A--- has cut off both his beard and the hair that once touched his shoulders and make some loud laughing comment about his changed appearance.  The face he turns to me is that of a ghost.  It's empty of everything except darkness.  I feel afraid and know that something is wrong.  I am sent to my room for a short time.

A few minutes later Dad and Mom call me into the living room.  Is my younger sister there?  It seems so but frankly, I'm not sure.  What I remember is looking at A--- and the gray light of late afternoon streaming in through the venetian blinds.  There is something big now sitting inside my chest pressing hard my breastbone.  I already want to be somewhere else.

Then someone, probably my mother, told me, told us, that my oldest sister had attempted suicide and succeeded in killing her 18 month old child.

What words were used?  I don't remember.  For years I remembered hearing that my sister had used a broken bottle on herself and her child.  But this wasn't the case.  In the early part of this Century I met again with my ex-brother-in-law and found out that Sally had indeed slit her wrists.  Then she smothered her child to death.  Also, while bleeding, she made a phone call to my mother during which she had the usual "how's-your-day-going-just-fine-thanks" conversation.

This first suicide attempt was not successful.  Her husband found her and she survived, saving him from being charged with the deaths of his wife and child, though not from a long night of police interrogation.  His release marked one small escape from the collateral damage resulting from her terrible actions.

2 comments:

Stacey Lee Donohue said...

I never asked you about this story. I'm so sorry.

Old Doc Huck said...

Thank-you, Stacey.