The Bookie's Daughter (36 page)

“Fine. I understand your need to break away, but we expect you to work in the store until you graduate. I’ll make sure you don’t have any dealings with the other side of the business, but I expect you to help out.” His response showed some resignation to my rejection of his lifestyle. “Do we have a deal?”

“It’s a deal, Dad,” I agreed, but put forth my intentions for the coming months. “I’m going to continue working on campaigns between now and graduation. There are some big political fights coming up and I want to be involved. How about I work twenty hours a week in the store and then the rest of my time is mine to do with as I see fit?” I found it exciting to be negotiating my transition out of my father’s world.

Grudgingly conceding my request, he shook his head and responded with a warning. “Fine, but I think you are jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. Politics is a dirty business, a criminal world of its own making. I’ll smooth things over with your mother about your new schedule and make sure you have some time free for your political campaigns, but don’t get taken in.” Struggling to find the words to make his case, he proceeded. “Mark my words, you’ll find yourself surrounded by criminals—they’ll just be hiding behind a mask of respectability. Daddy knows this all too well. I’ve dealt with many politicians, their behind-the-scenes puppeteers, and minions. It’s a dirty business. Say what you will about our world, but at least we know who is capable of what. I understand you want to run away from our life of crime, but you need to keep in mind that the definition of crime is not absolute; it’s subjective. There are crimes that don’t come under the purview of the justice system, but they are just as damaging. You’ll need to stay alert to not get pulled into their world.” As he warned me, there was a look of concern on his face and something akin to regret in his voice. I understood his worry but did not buy into his premise. I thought he was jaded by his long-term immersion in his chosen criminal life.

Our new arrangement and my father’s acceptance of the course I set for my immediate future brought an end to my plans to move to Michigan. It did not, however, conclude the collision of wills that had so long been the main feature of my relationship with my mother. A woman of strong opinions and an inability to surrender control, she was not happy with my having any say in my life. As long as I was “under her roof,” she believed I should do as I was told. I have always found it ironic that her daughters were the only two individuals in her life who questioned and rebuffed her authority. Like my sister before me, I was now subject to her fury over what she viewed as impending abandonment. I stood my ground, almost welcoming the snide remarks my mother threw my way. I knew that in a matter of months, I would escape her dominance and strike out on my own.

True to my plan, the last months of my life on the Avenue found me busy with political campaigns. There was plenty of work, since I did not consider any task beneath me, no matter how tedious or menial. I jumped at the chance to work on mass mailings and spent hours soliciting votes by phone. I arranged for voters to have transportation to the polls on Election Day, worked on registration drives, and attended rallies. I especially looked forward to the first major election in which I was eligible to vote.

With graduation on the horizon, I began to look around for an office job. Making inquiries in the political arena, I let everyone know that I was looking for a permanent paid position. The week before my graduation, I received a phone call from someone I had worked with on a campaign the year before. A position was available for a staff member to incumbent US Congressman John P. Murtha. I appreciated the heads up, but did not think I would be a serious contender until another political acquaintance called and advised me to put my hat in the ring. Knowing I had nothing to lose and everything to gain, I followed through and formally applied.

My parents were concerned about my pursuing the position. They both thought I was silly to apply. Al’s approach was sweet; he warned me that no matter how efficient I was, “a US Congressman is never going to hire Al Abraham’s daughter.” He was concerned that I would be heartbroken when I did not get the job. Trying to prepare me for the inevitable disappointment, he kept suggesting that I reconsider Las Vegas. Undaunted, I continued to campaign for the position, calling politicians for whom I had previously volunteered to solicit support.

Finally free of my father’s criminal world, I was caught up in the possibilities of the future. I dreamed bigger than Al Abraham’s daughter had the right to, or so my parents believed. My big chance came the day after my high school graduation party. Congressman Murtha was attending a political function in Westmoreland County and I was invited to attend so that I could have an opportunity to meet with him. Nervously dressing for the event, I came face to face with my worst fears—from the most hurtful of sources, my mother. I do not know what set her off that morning. It may have been my optimism or my audacious hopes, but she was in a terror and I knew that I was the source of her anger. Charging into the bedroom while I was dressing, my mother informed me that I was being ridiculous and was only going to end up publically humiliated. “Who do you think you are that he would hire you?”

I was not mentally prepared for a mother-daughter clash. “Mom, I don’t have the energy to fight with you now. Please leave me be.”

“Murtha will never hire you! You’ll have your father to thank for the public snub you’re chasing. He has ruined any chance you have for a future!” Screaming at me, she became even more agitated when the response she wanted was not forthcoming. From her demeanor, it was obvious she desired to engage me in a full-blown match.

Although exasperated by her unending tirade against life’s possibilities, I refused to take the bait. “Mom, I appreciate your obvious concern,” I replied sarcastically, “but this is my life now. I’m not a fool. I know my last name makes my getting this job a long shot, but I have to try. Why can’t you just wish me luck?”

Somewhat taken aback, she temporarily changed her tone. “I do wish you luck,” she said sweetly and I believed her. Then, just as I began to feel the rare warmth of my mother’s affection, she added, “But it’s not going to happen.”

“We’ll see about that!” Not wanting to leave on a negative note, I added, “Even if I don’t get the job, this is good experience. It’s an opportunity to practice presenting myself as a potential employee. I’m not stupid, Mom. I know better than anyone the stigma attached to being Al Abraham’s daughter. But if I don’t try, I’m already a looser. And besides, I have never been ashamed of my father and I’m not going to let anyone suggest that I should.”

“I don’t think you should be ashamed, Heather, just prepared for the worst case scenario.” She turned to leave the room. Stopping short of the door, she threw over her parting shoulder, “I do wish you luck. Truly I do.” I understood that it cost my mother dearly to make this gesture.

“Thanks, Mom, I really appreciate that.”

The meeting with Congressman Murtha was brief but upbeat. After our initial meeting, I spent some time with his staff, who scheduled me for a formal interview the following week. My mother drove me to Johnstown on the morning of the interview. We were both uncharacteristically quiet during the hour-long drive. I was mentally preparing for the interview and my mother was struggling to keep her negativity at bay.

After the interview, we met up with a childhood friend of my mother’s at a restaurant near Murtha’s Johnstown office. Excited to see her old friend, who had recently moved back into the area, Bonnie was surprisingly upbeat. I felt confident that I had done my best at the interview and settled in for a relaxing lunch. My mother remained in a good mood for the duration, so the drive home was pleasant. It was now a waiting game.

The following week I received the good news. I had been selected for the position and would begin work the first week of August in Murtha’s Somerset office where I would be in training for six months. After the training period, I would transfer to Greensburg, the Westmoreland County seat, to open Murtha’s Westmoreland County office.

I was as surprised as anyone about securing the position. The reaction at home was calm. Bonnie was thankfully rendered speechless, and Al was out on one of his mystery runs. No longer involved in the family business, I rarely knew where my father was or what he was up to. This took some getting used to on both our parts. After my mother informed him of the surprising news, he found me at home packing up my closet. He took a seat on my bed and I immediately handed him an empty box to hold. “Did you hear the good news?”

“Your mother told me a few minutes ago. It’s a little early to pack, don’t you think?” He gestured toward the boxes I had already sealed.

“I don’t think so. I am only packing my winter clothes right now, but I do have to start looking for an apartment in Somerset. I want to move next month so I can get acclimated to the area before I begin to work.” I excitedly filled the box on my father’s lap. Getting no response, I looked at my father and saw that he was crying. This was shocking, as I had only seen my father cry on one previous occasion—when he learned that his mother had passed away. “Dad! What’s wrong? Did something bad happen?”

“No, nothing happened. I’m just concerned about you.”

“Dad, be happy for me. This is a good thing.” His obvious misery worried me. Putting the box on the floor, my father motioned for me to sit beside him.

Settling in, I took his hand and again asked what was wrong.

“Listen to me. This is really important.” He held up his hand, showing four fingers. “There are four things worse than me: drug dealers, pimps, Wall Street bookies, and politicians.” He folded a finger down as he ticked off each one on his “worst criminal” list. “Life is never black and white. There is never a clear line between the good guys and the bad guys. Now, I don’t know Murtha and haven’t heard anything bad about him, but even if he is the most honorable of men, you will be moving in circles full of people who will want something from him, and from you, once you are on his staff.”

“Dad, I’m a big girl and can take care of myself. I really need you to be happy for me,” I beseeched my father while bringing my head to rest on his shoulder. We sat quietly for a moment before he continued to press his point.

“Heather, I
am
happy for you but I need you to understand that there are bad guys in all walks of life. I know the political world better than you think. There are those who truly want to make a change but many others who are in it for the power. Believe me. They don’t stop short of manipulation, bullying, or crime. If you are not prepared, you won’t see it coming. Be wary, that’s all I’m saying.” His voice quivered with emotion as he imparted his warning. “I want you to do me a favor; think about this for a couple of days and then let me know what you want to do. Las Vegas is still an option, but I will support your decision no matter what. Okay? Will you take a few days and think about this?”

“Yes. I will.” Still, I was somewhat disappointed that there was such a gloom over what should have been a celebration. Before he left, we set a date for later in the week to discuss my decision.

A little disconcerted with my father’s obvious unease, I called upon a businesswoman I knew who was very well connected in the political world. She had always been kind to me in the past and made an effort to visit with me at rallies and fundraisers. Although she was not a public official nor would she ever consider running for office, she was a power broker—a behind the scenes mover and shaker in Westmoreland County’s political arena. Meeting for lunch in her office, I explained my father’s concern and my subsequent unease. To my surprise, she readily agreed with my father about the seedier side of the political game. Nonetheless, she believed that I was savvy enough to make my way without becoming a casualty.

After much deliberation, I met with my father for dinner and told him that I was sure about taking the job. Although disappointed, he was true to his word and threw his full support behind me. Within weeks, I found a lovely apartment within walking distance of Murtha’s Somerset office. I moved off Clay Avenue in July 1982 and embraced my new life in the new city with a charming name. Determined to put the past behind me—and escape the demons that had haunted my dreams for so long—I turned away from the abyss that was greedily consuming my parents and jumped feet first into my new job. I relished the excitement and long hours. Thankfully, I was blissfully unaware that the biggest challenge of my young life was just around the corner.