Leta divorces Ora Freeman

During my Christmas visit to Ohio, I spent a short time at the Lucas County Courthouse in a successful search to find divorce documents for Leta and her third and fourth husbands, Ora Freeman and Leech Hoose respectfully. In my previous trip, I was able to learn the marriage date of Leta to Leech. I already had her marriage date to Ora and her marriage to husband number five Robert Fields. To strengthen the timeline for the novel, I hoped to acquire the divorce dates. (Robert Fields was not divorced; he died.)

Like all of my research, this experience shared its own surprises. In fact, it even altered the timeline I have been developing, albeit slightly.

Leta field for divorce from Ora Freeman on July 2, 1928, merely seven months after marrying him on December 27, 1927. Her petition was filed by attorney Mary E. Gillen.

The petition states: “Plaintiff says that the defendant is guilty of gross neglect of duty and extreme cruelty in that he has failed and refused to support and maintain her and abuses and maltreats her, assaults, beats and threatens her with bodily harm and threatened to burn and destroy her property and will do so unless enjoined by this court.”

This seems basically typical, aside for the burning and destroying of property part, which is a little bit curious since a second document indicates that Leta has no property. More fascinating to me is that Leta names a second defendant in the filing, Alfred Hayward, who is listed as living at the same address as Leta’s soon-to-be former husband Ora.

“Plaintiff further says that the defendant, Alfred Hayward has monies and credits and wages in his possession belonging to the defendant, Ora L. Freeman and she asks that he be restrained from paying him any monies until further order of this court.”

In my estimation, this makes Mr. Hayward either a work colleague or boss of Ora. Some additional research about Mr. Hayward is now on the schedule.

Leta further asks for alimony (which she didn’t from her first husband Ralph Chetister) and that Ora “be enjoined from further molesting her or coming to her home.” This indicates that he most likely made several threatening and/or suppliant visits.

Included in the documents is an order to the Sheriff of Lucas County to notify Ora that he was being sued that was to be delivered by August 6, 1928. Another document confirms that the Sheriff delivered the summons to Ora on August 6. However, yet another document (unfortunately with its date cut off in the microfilm) notes that there were at least two attempts to deliver the summons to Ora. The first time “Ora L. Freeman could not be found by me in Lucas County, Ohio. The summons was delivered to Alfred Hayward on July 25.

In addition to filing for divorce, Leta filed an Affidavit of Poverty on July 23, 1928 that states she “is without sufficient financial means to prepay or give security for costs in said action. Affiant further states that she has no money with which to pay the costs in said action: that she has no real or personal property with which to secure the payment of said costs that may accrue, nor is she able to give a bond or any other security to cover said costs as provided by law.”

This affidavit contains some contradictory information about property. How could Ora threaten to burn or destroy Leta’s property if she had none? This could mean where she was currently living.

On February 23, 1929, the judge granted Leta’s divorce. However, there is a most curious introduction to the filing:

“This day this cause came on to be heard and was submitted upon the petition and the evidence, and upon application is the court directing the Sheriff to amend his return to conform with the facts the court finds that the defendant has been duly and personally served by the Sheriff according to law and that by inadvertence the Sheriff made an improper and incorrect return and the court finds that the defendant has been served as required by law and directs that the Sheriff amend and correct his return to show personal and proper service upon the defendant herein.”

From my perspective, this could mean many things, most notably that Ora Freeman never showed up for any of the court dates, and Leta’s divorce was granted without his appearance or defending himself.

In any case, Leta was granted her divorce from Ora on February 23, 1929: “the marriage contract heretofore existing between the said Leta Freeman and Ora L. Freeman be, and the same hereby is, dissolved, and both parties are released from the obligation of the same.”

Eight days later (March 3, 1929), Leta married Leech Hoose in an adjacent county.

Secrets, part fourteen

Leta was looking at her husband. He was more inebriated than she, but in his red-faced rage, there was no way for anyone else to realize. Besides, he had just entered the speakeasy where she had been secretly meeting another man for weeks, so no one would suspect that he was anything more than a betrayed husband exercising his rightful claim to his wayward wife.

Once he recognized that he was in control of the situation, Ora puffed out his chest and stood up straight. After looking at the barkeep, his wife’s suitor and around the room for any potential challenger and finding none, he turned back to Leta. She was precariously balanced on her knees, partly clinging to a chair for support, her curly hair displaced and a slight smear of lipstick on her lips. Ora yanked her to her feet.

“Let’s go,” he said gruffly and dragged her toward the door, barely giving her time to snatch her pocketbook from the table.

The air was chilly, but neither seemed to notice, as they walked away from the establishment.

“Where’s the truck?” Leta asked as he pulled her down the street.

“Shut up,” he snarled and slapped her again, only not as hard as he had in the saloon. Still, because she was sore from the first slap, it hurt more, and she cried in pain.

“It’s after eleven,” she gasped. “The trolley has stopped running. What happened to the truck?” And when he didn’t answer, she persisted. “How did you get here?”

Ora stopped for a moment and looked around. He seemed bewildered.

“You can’t remember where you parked?” she inquired. She was holding her stinging cheek with one hand and he was gripping her other forearm. Her carefully coiffed hair had partially fallen. Somewhere, somehow she had lost her hat, and when she had fallen onto the chair, she had torn the skirt of her dress. The chilly air and her own vulnerability had her shivering.

As for Ora, he looked the same as he always did in this state—shiny red face made more bright by his sallow complexion; half-open, blood-shot, leaking eyes; perspiration beaded on his forehead and soaking through his shirt which looked as though he had slept in it. Part of the shirt had come untucked from his pants and strained against the suspenders that held his pants over his round belly. The shirt had several stains—mustard, coffee, rum—and his pants had twisted slightly. If he didn’t look so threatening, he would have looked like some character in a Charlie Chaplin film.

He grunted as if he finally found his bearings and then turned around, still dragging Leta roughly. Five minutes later, after forcibly shoving her into the passenger side of his vehicle, they were on the road and fifteen minutes after that, stopping in front of their house.

During their drive, the truck had been silent, except for an occasional whimper by Leta and a disapproving grunt from Ora. Neither moved at first, Ora staring straight ahead as if his brain had been turned off and Leta eyeing him cautiously, huddled against the passenger door so as to be as far away from his as she could and still be in the cab of the vehicle.

“Ora?” Leta finally whispered.

At first, he seemed not to hear her, so she repeated a little more loudly.

In an instant, his hands were squeezing her neck and pulling her face to his.

“If you ever shame me like that again, god damn you to hell, I will kill you!” he hissed. Then he squeezed a little more tightly before pushing her back into the door.

“Now, get out!” he ordered.

Keeping her eyes on her husband, Leta reached for the door handle, and then eased herself out of the truck. She walked backwards, watching him the entire time, until she reached the front door. Ora was still in the truck, staring out the window. While still watching him, she found her keys, but had to turn to unlock the door. Before she had finished, he was standing over her and she cried in fear, but not loudly enough to wake the children or any of their neighbors. His heavy breathing and noxious breath nearly overcame her.

With her hands trembling and body tense, fearing at any moment that he might repeat or magnify the violence, Leta unlocked the door. He pushed her aside so hard that she fell into the frame of the door and cut her already sore cheek, tore her stocking and bruised her leg. But she let him pass. He immediately went into the bathroom, where she heard him vomiting.

This gave her the opportunity to race into her son Dale’s room, grab her sleeping son roughly and yank him quickly into Vivian’s room where she immediately locked the door.

The noise had awakened Vivian.

“Ma?” she inquired, “What is it?”

Leta shushed her and clung to her twelve-year-old boy, who held onto her tightly, barely breathing in the confusion and fear. The threesome stayed that way for fifteen minutes at least, as Leta listened to her husband finish in the lavatory then stagger into the kitchen, pop open a bottle of beer, drop the bottle where it broke, swear and then stagger through the house and into their bedroom. Only then did she relax her hold on Dale.

While she could still speak, before the sobs overwhelmed her, she instructed him to get into bed with his sister.

“Ma?” he questioned.

“Go now,” she said firmly, “you have school in the morning.”

He paused and tried to see her face in the dark.

“You heard me,” she concluded, and he reluctantly obeyed.

Once he had walked away, she could hold back no longer. Her cheek burned, she could feel the trickle of blood running down her chin, her arm which Ora had gripped so tightly ached and her knee throbbed. The tears started to flow and flow and flow, so many that she wasn’t sure she would ever stop. She could feel Vivian and perhaps Dale watching from the bed, but she could do nothing to stop the tears or prevent her bewildered children from watching their unkempt and distraught mother from falling apart.

Her heart, her soul felt sorrow and regret and blame, and most painfully, she missed her beloved Albert. If he was still with her, none of this would have happened. They would still be laughing and carrying on like teenagers, Vivian would feel less responsible, and Dale would be confident and strong. They would live in a nice house with plenty to eat and clothes that weren’t patched together again and again. She would have a man that loved her, cared for her, listened to her, and provided her with affection and respect. Instead, she had this, this cesspool of unhappiness and pain. So she cried. Leta cried for half the night, then stared at the wall for several more hours, her entire soul numb, and finally, just as dawn was peeking into the room through the hold in the drape she had not the patch to fix, she fell lightly asleep.

The next afternoon, she met Dale and Vivian at school, just as they were dismissed. Instead of walking toward their house, they walked the mile to her old friend Mrs. Drew’s, where they spent the rest of the afternoon until her brother Aaron picked them up in his automobile.

Two days later, Leta filed for divorce.

Secrets, part thirteen

For weeks, Leta had been secretly spending time with Leech Hoose, primarily at a speakeasy in a part of Toledo far from where she lived with her husband and two children. Two nights a week, she would board a streetcar that carried her from her neighborhood, spend a couple of hours at the establishment with Leech and then return on the penultimate trolley back to her own home. She dreaded returning home, although her children were there. Her marriage to Ora Freeman had dissolved into one of mutual disrespect and distrust. His temper, his laziness in all things—from employment to personal habits—his disrespect, his meanness toward her two children all combined to make her loathe him, being with him, even being near him. For his part, he seized every opportunity to be away from her as well.

And so she began to talk to charming, sweet-voiced and gentle Leech. He knew she was married and stated very clearly that he did not care. She was in an establishment where she had little chance of meeting any friends or relatives, and she felt great warmth in him, a warmth she needed desperately.

Their friendship grew into a relationship. She didn’t know how she could exist without him. However, one evening, after a particularly complicated day, while they were sitting at their usual table in the speakeasy, she heard a familiar and completely unwelcome voice interrupt their peace.

“Ora?” Leta gasped and turned her head.

There he was, her unwelcome husband, towering over her and her beau.

Before Leta could react any further, Leech tried to stand in her defense, but he had been sitting too long and was weighed down by the generous amount of liquor he had consumed during the evening. Ora pushed him back down easily.

“Sit,” he ordered.

Then he grabbed his wife’s arm and yanked her to her feet.

“Let’s go, whore,” he snapped.

“Watch your mouth,” she demanded, “and let me go.”

Leta struggled, but he held on to her tightly.

 “Shut up, bitch!” he roared and slapped her across the face.

If he had not been holding her arm, she would have fallen to the floor, weakened by her own inebriation, but also in response to the force her husband used. Leta grabbed her cheek with her free arm. She could not see the red handprint, but she could feel the sting. All the drinking in the world would not have numbed her from that.

Charlie, the barkeep, had run over to them, his massive frame casting a shadow on both Ora and Leta.

“Hey, pal,” he said to Ora in his deepest, most commanding voice, the one he used when he was breaking up a potential fight or ordering a belligerent inebriate out of his establishment. Once Leta witnessed him physically lifting a man and throwing him out into the rain. “Calm down and the let the lady go.”

Ora swore an oath and stood defiantly before the larger man. “This is my wife,” he hissed, “and I am taking this hussy home where she belongs.”

Charlie immediately stopped and looked at Leta. “Is this true, Leta?” he asked.

With tears in her eyes, she looked at Charlie and nodded slightly. Immediately, the barkeep raised his hands in defeat and stepped back.

“Alrighty then,” he said agreeably. “Let’s just do this calmly. We’re all adults here.”

“Not this,” Ora hissed, jerking Leta’s arm roughly, “this is a cheating whore.”

“Hey!” Leech protested, and made to interfere, but Charlie grabbed him firmly.

“Not our business, pal,” Charlie said.

To be continued.

Secrets, part twelve

When she gave the password and entered the speakeasy, Leta was trembling with anxiety. She needed a drink to calm her nerves, she told herself, and went straight to the bar.

"Leta!” the barkeep exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

She looked right at him with dark eyes.

“One of those kind of days,” he surmised. “How about a gin and tonic?”

“Please,” she said.

“Coming right up.”

The establishment wasn’t very full, and Leta made a cursory glance of the patrons. Many of them wore hats to be less recognizable, but she didn’t see him, the man she had been meeting here for weeks, and the same man she had rejected by not appearing for their lunch date earlier. While she was disappointed, she did relax a little.

When the barkeep handed her the cocktail, she drank it as if it were a glass of water on a steaming day.

“Someone’s thirsty,” the barkeep noted.

“Charlie,” she said, “you have no idea.”

“How about something a little stronger? Got some vermouth in today and could make you a martini.”

“A martini!” she gasped in surprise. It seemed so indulgent.

“Fresh olives, too,” he added. “My father-in-law is visiting from Italy and brought a mess of them with him.”

“Well, why not?”

“I’ll be with you in just a jif,” he said and turned to wait on the man called Drunk Harry.

Drunk Harry came into the speakeasy every night at eight-thirty. He dressed immaculately in a pressed linen suit and tie, his thick, slicked down his graying hair and carried a pack of cigarettes. Over the subsequent ninety minutes, he would smoke the pack of cigarettes and drink until he could hardly stand. Then he would slide off his bar stool, stagger out the door and across the street to the large home where he lived alone. His wife had died a year earlier, and his grown children blamed their mother’s untimely death on their father’s greed and neglect. He was a successful financier who worked from early in the morning until fifteen minutes before he entered the speakeasy. Leta heard from other patrons that he was very wealthy, and once she saw him pay his tab from a large roll of bills he extracted from a pocket. While he had profited monetarily from the Great Depression, he had lost everything else. Leta never noticed that he talked to anyone, although she once observed that he shared a cigarette with a fellow businessman who sat beside him.

Tonight, she felt a certain pang of pity for the man. He was attractive, well groomed and successful, but miserable, slowly drinking himself to death. He looked at her and nodded, as if he understood what she was thinking and agreed. She quickly turned away, reaching for her glass.

“Oh,” she said to no one in particular when she realized it was empty.

“May I buy you a refill?” a familiar voice asked.

She continued her turn to find Leech Hoose standing beside her.

“Leech!” she gasped in relief. She nearly lost her balance, but he reached out his soft hand to steady her.

“Maybe you’ve had too much,” he teased and then winked.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I was—“

“No need,” he said, holding up his hand. “I am just glad you were not sick…or worse.”

He sat beside her, just as Charlie returned with her martini.

“What is that?” Leech asked.

“A martini,” she answered.

“Want to try one?” Charlie asked.

Leech examined the clear cocktail carefully.

“Go ahead,” Leta urged. “Take a sip. See if you like it.”

He did and shuddered, which made Leta laugh.

“That’s nasty!”

“More for me, then,” Leta noted through her laughter.

“Straight gin coming right up,” the barkeep said.

“How are you?” Leech asked when they were alone, and she became more serious..

“Better,” she answered. “You?

“Same. I wasn’t sure you were going to be here.”

“Me either,” she acknowledged. “But here I am.”

“I’m glad.”

“Lunch was—I’m sorry—I was—“ she stammered, but he held up his hand.

“Don’t,” he said. “We’re here.”

After he received his regular glass of straight gin, they took their drinks to their table in the corner. A few moments later, the awkwardness dispatched, they sipped their drinks in silence and held hands.

The speakeasy was fairly empty with only twenty or so patrons at any one time throughout the night. Leta was so content that she lost track of the time. When Drunk Harry finally got up and staggered toward the door, she remembered that she had children, a home and other responsibilities. She looked at the table. How many drinks had she had? And then she looked up at Leech who was looking at her with cloudy eyes.

“You’re beautiful,” he said with a slight slur, and she smiled.

“I think it’s time I head home,” she said. “I don’t even know what time it is!”

“Obviously,” a familiar gruff voice agreed.

To be continued.

Secrets, part eleven

Leta felt conflict and confusion. She was married to Ora Freeman. He had heroically rescued her and her children after the sudden death of her husband Albert. Ora had been attentive, charming and devoted. She married him, and only after did she learn that his habits, manners and behaviors were not those of a man with a wife and family to support. Over the next several months, their life together became tense, and at least for Leta and her children, miserable. Ora’s work as a house painter was sporadic and to add more financial uncertainty, he rarely pursued jobs. His personal habits of cleanliness were lacking, and there were times when Leta was so disgusted with him that she could barely stand to be in the same room.

For her own peace, she began to frequent a speakeasy in another part of the city, not too far from their home, but far enough that Ora would never visit. It was also a higher caliber of establishment than he dared set foot in. There she met Mr. Leech Hoose, who had been unconcerned that she was married, who had found her charming and witty, who liked to look into her eyes.

Over a period of three months, Leta and Leech became more intimate, meeting on a schedule at the speakeasy and even having lunch on Wednesdays. The masculine attention altered Leta’s countenance, but when her sister-in-law Florence began to notice, Leta determined that she must stop seeing the preferred male companion. To begin, she had decided that she would stay home rather than meet him at 12:30 p.m. on this particular Wednesday. While this caused her tremendous consternation, Leta held to her resolution.

While the impulse taunted her, she refused to look at the large kitchen clock, and even when she turned in that general direction, she lowered her head. Finally, she could wait no longer. It was after one in the afternoon, and she needed to walk to the market for some flour and sausages for supper. Although on an alternative route, she passed the café where she had been meeting Leech. Being so late in the afternoon, the restaurant was nearly empty, and he was not there.

She felt relief and sadness, and this melancholy took root in her, and then steadily grew throughout the day, dwarfing the anxiety she felt earlier. When the children arrived home from school, she was making cookies, but she barely noted their presence. A large emptiness filled her mind. Her son Dale prattled aimlessly about a new recess game he and some of the other boys had created, and she nodded and responded appropriately, but she wasn’t listening.

Her thoughts were filled with Leech and the constant rejection of those thoughts.

“Ma!”

Vivian’s raised voice startled her, and she looked at her daughter who had at some point seated herself at the kitchen table to do her homework.

“You already added the sugar,” Vivian continued when she had her mother’s attention.

“Oh yes, of course,” Leta agreed, stirred her raisin compote and then put the sugar away. “Let’s put your books away,” she added, “and set the table for supper. Your step-father should be home soon.”

But Ora failed to arrive. The trio waited until well after 7:00 p.m., and ate. Leta had Vivian make a plate for Ora, sent the children to their rooms, dressed and then took the bus to the only place she would find comfort.

Leech was there.

To be continued.