I've told this cautionary tale to the girls, and it has made a huge impression. What makes a bigger impression is when strangers tell us that they were at "The Party," which occurred more than twenty years ago.
My sister was a very popular girl in high school. Extremely popular. To this day, people tell me that they never knew that our family had two daughters - they only know my sister. Everyone knew her, but I was flying under the radar, and no one knew me. Fine by me, I like it that way.
Anyway, I was off at college and decided to come home unannounced for the weekend. I took a couple of trains and a bus, and let myself in, waiting for the rest of the family to arrive home from school/work. I didn't have to wait long, but the "welcome" wasn't quite what I expected.
"What the hell are you doing here?!?" raged my sister.
Immediately, my radar screen went up. "I LIVE here, you idiot. I don't have to check with you before I come home. Why do you care?" I shouted.
"Well, you've gotta go. I'm having a couple of friends over this evening, and I don't want you around wrecking things." stormed my sister.
I found out that our mother was off at a church retreat for the weekend, and that my sister had invited a few friends over, and told them that there would be no adult supervision. Being the bossy sister that I was (am), I said that no one would be allowed in the house, and that they could party out in the backyard. My sister ranted and raved, but I held all the cards and she knew it.
As darkness fell, the cars started arriving. Looking out the kitchen window, I could see kegs being unloaded from trunks, and joints being passed around. People pounded on the door, demanding to use the bathroom. I kept the doors locked, and shouted that they could crap in the woods for all I cared.
As the evening progressed, our neighborhood became a parking lot. Picture a mosh pit covering an acre, and you've got the right idea. The band arrived, and the music was deafening. Then a local radio station's van arrived and began giving away tee shirts and bumper stickers. Times Square on New Year's Eve was less crowded than our backyard. In the middle of it all, I was alone in the island of our locked house, making sure that no one came in. (and cursing my sister. Big Time.)
At 9:45 p.m., the phone rang. It was a friend's father, who was a neighbor and a policeman. "Kathy, I'm coming to get you outta there. At 10:00 p.m., the cops are coming in to break up the party, and they're prepared for a riot. Wait near your front door, and when you see me, come out and lock the door behind you."
I did exactly as he said. We walked back down to my friend's house, and her dad clued me in. He had been listening to his police radio all evening, and three towns were sending in their officers (in riot gear) to break up the party, which they estimated to consist of nearly a thousand people. This was the biggest thing to happen in our sleepy neighborhood, ever.
We sat in their dining room as the police got out of their cars and walked up the hill, wearing helmets and carrying batons. Within fifteen minutes, people started pouring down the hill, through the woods, and off the street. By 11:00 p.m., the police had arrested a few holdouts and it was all over. I spent the night at my friend's home, afraid of what I would do when I got ahold of my sister.
The next morning, when I woke up, I thanked my hosts and went home. My sister and a couple of her friends were cleaning the yard of broken glass, cigarette butts and roaches. They had already cleared the toilet paper from the woods, and gathered many bags of plastic cups, bumper stickers, and god only knows what. Actually, the yard had never looked so good. My sister looked one heck of a lot worse for the wear: she had spent the night hiding in the basement, in fear that the police would find out that she was the host of the party and arrest her.
After calling her any number of synonyms for idiot, I gave her an ultimatum: either you tell Mom about this when she gets home, or I will. You have until it's time for me to leave to go back to school. I got called a bee-yatch, but I stood firm. My sister was bigger and taller than I was, but I had right on my side, and I knew it. We had reached a stalemate.
Mom arrived home, and I started giving meaningful looks toward my sister. In turn, she gave me meaningful finger gestures when Mom wasn't looking. I kept hissing that she only had a short time left, but she chose not to spill her guts. Finally, when Mom went to drive me to the train station, I told my sister that this was her last chance. At her hissed "F*ck you!" I knew that I was going to have to tell Mom about the party.
And I did. Not all of it, of course. Just that my sister had thrown a big party in her absence and the police had broken it up. Mom got very quiet (that scary kind of quiet), told me to have a safe trip back to school, and dropped me at the train.
Later, I found out the rest of the story - the police visited my mother at work the next morning, threatening to charge her with criminal neglect for leaving my 17 year old sister alone overnight. They also talked about the "riot," the illegal drugs, and accused her of any number of bad parenting practices. At work. In front of her co-workers. The local paper ran a half page article about three town's police having to break up drug party and melee. It didn't mention my sister, because she was a juvenile, but it did mention my mother as owner of the house.
Then there were the neighbors, each of whom had to go visit my mother and tell her their own personal horror story. Mom ended up paying tons of money she didn't have for repairs to people's lawns and personal property. My sister was in a LOT of trouble at home. Mom made her earn the money paid out for the damage, plus interest, and had her grounded for what seemed like a year. Grounded at our house resembled maximum security prison. No phone calls, television, visitors or much of anything else. Go to school, work and sit in your bedroom. You didn't even get to have meals with the family - you got to sit at the kitchen table alone, under Mom's watchful eye as she did the dishes and glared at you. Mom doesn't own shackles, or I'm sure that they would have been featured at one time or another.
Not surprisingly, all this turned out to be MY fault. My sister, to this day, tells people that I "ratted her out," and caused the whole punishment thing. She steadfastly refuses to believe that if I hadn't said anything, the neighbors and police would have been quiet, and Mom would have never found out. Because the yard was so clean. Also, if I had only been "reasonable" and allowed people in the house, the crowd wouldn't have become so unruly. Yeah, right.
My mother wasn't all that happy with me, either. She somehow got the idea that I could have headed this party off at the pass, and should have been supervising my sister. Uh-huh. She didn't really get the idea that I was trying to save her house, and if people went to jail, I really didn't care.
Ironically, one of the police that broke up the party ended up buying the house when my mom sold it a few years later. At the closing, he told her that he remembered the party quite well, and said my mom seemed like a nice person, despite it all.
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The girls have heard this story over and over, for years, from several people
- my sister, my mom, me; as well as from various and sundry strangers who all claim to have attended the party. I didn't know it had made such an impression until last night. P/T D's mother is away for the weekend, and gave P/T D permission to stay home alone.
P/T D called us at dinnertime, asking to come here. She said that she was afraid to be home alone, and wanted to be with us. As Bob drove her here, she confessed that she had considered having a few friends over for a party, but then she "remembered Kathy's story about The Party," and decided against it.
Good thing. We owned the house when my sister had her little debacle. P/T D's family rents, and gets a subsidy. If something similar had happened, they'd never be able to stay in their apartment. When I mentioned that fact, P/T D went pale and said she was "really glad" that she decided to come to our house instead of having some friends over.
hehehehe.
Kathy N-V