Twin Stories

Ruthe, Marie, Bette

at my parents wedding

1947

The twins. Ruthe and Bette. They lived in absolute adoration of their older sister Marty. She could do no wrong. She told them what to do and say. She ordered them around. She was rich! She was society! She was their god. The twins constantly corrected each other’s manners loudly in public. Marty had tried so hard to teach them to be proper.

They had very oily skin and even when they grew older, never had a wrinkle. I, of course, inherited my mom’s Irish complexion and needed moisturizer since my teen years. Nuts! They were very lean and looked fantastic in the sheath dresses of the day. They also had beautiful accessories and perfect hair and nails. Everyone in my dad’s family had no hips or thighs. Really. Life is not fair.

They also were the wonderful women who introduced us to spike high heals. They used to give us their old high heals so Lee and I could play dress up. I took the heals seriously and became a pro. I still love high heals!

When I think of them when we were still living in Chicago, I remember Lawrence Welk on their TV, Ramaki (chicken livers and water chestnuts wrapped in bacon and broiled), onion dip, closets stuffed with clothes, Venetian blinds, long apartment hallways, playgrounds, and perfume.

They came to visit several years after we were married. With my parents, we all went out to dinner to our favorite nice restaurant on the coast. Every Friday night, we would head there around 9:30 for a nice dinner. If anyone was hanging out with us, they also went along. A really nice dinner, including a drink for each of us, was under $20.00 total. Those were the days!

So, we suggested that restaurant for our dinner together. We arrived. The twins ordered champagne. My dad cringed. They were already looped as they had two drinks at our house before dinner. As dad was paying for dinner, he really didn’t want to buy champagne. “Bring the best you have!” they said to the waiter.

They became even loopier. Dinner arrived. They suddenly had to use the rest room. They helped each other up and wandered off. When they came back, it was clear that they needed to go home. Michael noticed that their chairs were wet then he noticed that there was a puddle on the floor. They had urinated in the restaurant.

We could never show our faces there again.

When they got home to my parent’s house that evening, they went into the bathroom, ripped up the carpeting – into which they had also peed – and stuffed it into a very small waste paper basket.

My mom was appalled.

Years later in 2004 when I spent the afternoon with them shopping on Worth Avenue in Palm Beach, they headed to the rest room. They came out and said they needed to immediately head home. I was confused until I noticed the huge wet spot continuing to grow on Ruthe’s pants as we strolled back up Worth Avenue to the car.

As I had driven their car, I could not help but wonder all what their fabric car seats held.

They were not the best of housekeepers and I soon realized that they never washed their hands. Ever. Imagine my delight when we had to eat at their condo. The kitchen had dirt on the entire front of the refrigerator and every cabinet and just stuff was stacked on every surface.

Ruthe ordered me, and I mean ordered, to help them get some food ready. I was thrilled. I was able to wash everything including the serving platters and utensils.

That trip was the last time we saw them. At that time, Bette had been diagnosed with mid-stage Alzheimer’s and mostly recognized me. She was still able to speak and was pliable.

Well over a year later, a huge hurricane suddenly turn and hit Palm Beach head on. Their brother Bill had been spending most of his time with them as a helper for Bette. He even bought a condo next to them to house nursing care for her. They were stuck together in the condo for over a week in oppressive heat, no power, no food, and no gas to get out and in total darkness due to the hurricane shutters, as there was a series of hurricanes.

Bill had some issues during WWII and began to lose it. During a phone conversation, Linda realized something was very wrong, hired a private jet, flew into Palm Beach, hired a limo to pick them up them and evacuated them to her farm in Michigan after dropping Bill off in Chattanooga.

He began to have nightmares and needed help for the rest of his life. He was diagnosed with post traumatic stress syndrome after all these years. I will tell the whole story later.

Linda placed and funded Ruthe and Bette into an exclusive care facility in Michigan where Bette could have proper care for the disease and Ruthe had her own apartment in the same complex. There they lived for two years. Ruthe and Bette had never been apart even for one day of their lives.

Bette passed away in early 2008.

Almost blind, Bill flew to Chicago to the mausoleum to be present for her services. Ruthe flew back to Florida immediately afterwards. There she sits today. She never leaves the condo and is extremely angry with God. She had prayed that Bette would not die and God had let her down.

When my mom phoned, she was horrible to her. Mom said that would be her last contact with Ruthe. She was done. Alma, Bill’s wife, also told me all the nasty things she said to her since the funeral, in fact, Alma was purposefully not invited to the funeral. Just mean.

Before he died, Bill told me that he hoped to outlive his younger sister so he could be sure that she was buried properly in the mausoleum with the rest of the family. That did not happen. He fell down the stairs in his home in December of 2008 and died. They could not determine if he had a stroke then fell or fell and had a brain bleed. We deeply miss him.

Ruthe is still in Palm Beach engulfed in anger.