The Other Woman

This was my Grandfather’s Secretary, the woman he was convicted of killing.

All of the evidence indicates he was having an adulterous affair with her, went to Fort Smith, Arkansas to buy booze, pulled over on the side of the road in dry Oklahoma to have a romantic assignation, and when they quarrelled in the federal government vehicle, a pistol was produced and she was mortally wounded.

The result of this tawdry and tragic episode was that my Grandmother Nola left Oklahoma to be with her family near Pacific Grove, California, which is how my father ended up caddying for Bing Crosby at Pebble Beach.

Regardless, this is the woman. I’d searched high and low for a photograph of her, but to no avail.

Eventually, I spent about $250 in copying fees from the U.S. Department of Interior to obtain his employment file (which they’d miraculously recorded), whereupon I finally was able to view a photo of the woman he’d killed.

I know where she is buried. Or at least, I know the cemetery in which her remains lie. Apparently her grave is unmarked.

Regardless, one day I will visit it, present her with some flowers, and ask her forgiveness.