A long time ago, perhaps 36 years ago, I went to a club with my husband. It was really hot outside and I was wearing a dress that had no shoulder straps. My husband was hanging out with some friends and I was happily talking to another woman when a gang of UW frat boys came over and one of them grabbed my dress and yanked it down. I was suddenly topless and mortified. The boys hooted and hollered and moved on. I was humiliated and furious. I ran out of the club to find a policeman (this was on ‘The Ave’ by the UW in Seattle and there was a big police presence back then). i found one and tearfully and furiously demanded he come with me back to the club to find the guy who pulled my dress down. The policeman hesitated, sighed and followed me to the club. I pointed the guy out. Mr Policeman and the Frat guy talked for a second, laughed, and, had people high five-ed back then, I feel certain they would have done it. The frat boys looked over at me and smirked, while the policeman shook his head, smiling too. He walked over to me and said, without even looking at me. “Nothing to be done here.” And he left.
That same year I was working alone in a small vintage clothing store in downtown Seattle. A man came in and was walking pointlessly around the shop, staring at me, leering way too much. Nervously I told him he needed to be shopping or he should leave. He grabbed some dresses and went into the dressing room. I heard grunting, groans and I knew what he was doing. I called 911 to tell them I was alone in the store and a man was doing something sexual in the dressing room and I didn’t feel safe. The guy burst out of the room, sweating and zipping up his pants and bolted out of the store. Seconds later two policemen showed up and were very kind, listening to my story and soothing me, trying to calm my shaking hands. We filed a report and they left. I locked the door and called my boss. One of the policemen that had helped file the report came back, knocking at the door. I unlocked it and let him in. Again, he was very kind. He asked me how I was doing, and I told him my boss was coming and I was going home. He said “I’m not sure if this is appropriate or not, but I thought it was kind of funny.” He handed me a banana with his phone number on it. “Call me and we can get a drink sometime.”
This has been my experience calling for help from the police with sexual assaults. I have an even worse story that happened that I never talk about that is extremely similar to Christine Ford’s. It was a nightmare and I was trapped, horrified, embarrassed and told no one at the time. I shouldn’t have been at the party, I shouldn’t have worn that shirt, I shouldn’t have talked to him, and God, what if my parents ever found out? It was my fault. Over the years I’ve shut it out of my mind. The few men that I actually told this story to, have listened, expressed sadness and anger, but then it never gets mentioned again, as if I never said it. And I’ve thought it strange, but some how relieving, because, in the end, the truth is that I never wanted anyone to know about it anyway. But I’m telling you now…. if the fucker guy that assaulted me was ever up for a Supreme Court seat,,,,, I’d be out of the closet and doing exactly what she’s doing. For her sake I’m bringing it up, and for the sake of the country I will take a stand against Kavanaugh. There are so many men that are respectful of women. MORE THAN NOT!! . So why the men who felt entitled to someone’s body, also feel entitled to sit in judgement of the men and women of the United States is something that gets my adrenalin going.
I learned telling the police was an exercise in humiliation, and, like millions of other women, have understood “Shut up and take it” Ms. Ford could be me. And I suspect that there are many, many, many women who could also be Ms. Ford. There. My creepy secret is out.
