Under the Red Velvet Cover: Conquering Victimhood and Breaking the Silence of Abuse, Corruption and Family Secrets - My Life Journey

by Grant Garris

Overview

Today, I would learn the truth.

 

An efficient sounding female voice answered the phone, “Dallas County Police Department.”

 

Where do I begin? What do I say?

 

“Yes ma'am, I need to speak with someone about a case that's twenty two years old.”

 

“A case? What type of case?”

 

“A sexual abuse case.”

 

 

With that phone call, successful business executive Grant Garris began a journey through the memory of his shattered childhood; many of the details as painstakingly clear as when they had occurred, as he suffered violent and horrific sexual abuse at the hands of his own grandfather.

 

In a stark and startling memoir, Garris recounts his early years, offering no protection from the shocking reality that is childhood sexual abuse. Difficult to read and yet impossible to put down, Garris details molestation, the physical torture, and the sadistic mental manipulation that are the all-too-common arsenal of those who harm children  - and those who protect them as they harbor a family's dirty secret.

 

Standing against a monster and refusing to be deterred by the intricate family ties and powerful political connections of a Southern bastion family that threatened to sacrifice their own children to the altar of public image, Garris chose to prevail.

 

Garris movingly recounts the surprising support system that evolved in his journey, including a seemingly powerless domestic servant, strangers, a fellow survivor named Oprah Winfrey, and a few courageous loved ones, all of whom dropped into his life at precisely the right moment.

 

Garris' life story is not a narrative of victimhood, nor is it a rosy tale of happy endings tied up in a neat package. Instead, it is the gritty, raw, and sometimes wonderful reality of conquering adversity.  This book should be required reading for all who believe it is time to shred the veil of secrecy that protects child molesters.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781449069124
Publisher:	AuthorHouse
Publication date:	05/18/2010
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
File size:	1 MB

Read an Excerpt

UNDER THE RED VELVET COVER

Conquering Victimhood and Breaking the Silence of Abuse, Corruption and Family Secrets - My Life Journey

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By GRANT GARRIS

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 Grant Garris
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-6910-0

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Chapter One

Get Over It!

When the phone rang at the Selma Police Department, I felt exhilarated and frightened at the same time.

Today, I would learn the truth.

An efficient sounding female voice answered the phone, "Dallas County Police Department."

My heart was pounding in my throat, choking me. For a bizarre moment I feared I wouldn't be able to speak.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Where do I begin? What do I say? I need to know the truth, but I don't think I can speak.

I was a thirty-eight year-old successful executive standing in my high-rise office in Atlanta, feeling like I was about to reenter the gates of hell.

"Hello?" she said again, her voice slightly impatient now.

"Um, yes, I'm here. I have a quick question,"

"Yes sir, how can I help you?"

"I was needing ... I mean I wanted to see ... Well, what I need to know is ..."

I took a deep breath to calm myself. An avid public speaker, I seldom run out of things to say.

"Yes ma'am, I need to speak with someone about a case that's twenty two years old."

"A case? What type of case?"

"A sexual abuse case."

"Here in Dallas County, sir?"

"Yes ma'am. It was about twenty-two years ago."

She said, "Let me transfer you."

Oh, great, she's going to transfer me to someone that's an expert at getting whack jobs off the phone. Why am I doing this? My family told me the results of the case years ago. Why was I questioning what they had told me all of these years?

A voice on the other end of the line interrupted my mental tirade.

"Records, this is Lucy."

Fidgeting with the phone cord and starting to sweat, as I tried to formulate the right type of sentence to tell her what I needed. I finally started "I'd like some information on a case that's about twenty-two years old," I said. My voice was shaky but getting firmer.

"Twenty two years ago, sir?" she said softly. "I don't know if I would even begin to know where to look for this information. We have archived all of that information and the files have been stored downstairs."

"Yes ma'am I understand that, but I was hoping to learn how the case ended," I replied. This town was so corrupt back then and I just don't believe what I was told by my family is what happened. I honestly feel that he, at most, got a slap on the wrist. All of these years I have fooled myself into believing that in fact he did receive some type of criminal punishment.

"Why do you need to know about this? Are you an attorney, sir?"

"No ma'am, I'm the person who filed the complaint." My voice cracked from nervousness as I tried my hardest not to sound petrified. He was the one who did it to himself and I should have nothing to be ashamed of.

Following a compulsion to tell her the truth, I hurried on, "Ma'am, I was a fifteen years old when I turned in my grandfather for sexually abusing me. I've heard so many stories about the verdict that I just wanted to verify the truth."

Now that I'd started, I couldn't stop.

"I've been trying to remember my childhood, and doing a lot of writing about my life and what I experienced at the hands of the devil known as my grandfather." Feeling I was losing her in my tumble of words, I finally paused and said, "I just need to know so I can move on."

She put me on hold for a while and came back on the line, her voice filled with quiet compassion. "Honey, it'll take me a couple of hours, but I'm going to go downstairs and try to find this for you. When did you report the abuse?"

I couldn't even remember what I had done last week, much less over twenty years ago regarding something I would rather forget. I knew I had to give her some type of additional information if I wanted to get anything out of this call.

"I don't remember the exact date, but I can tell you it was during the summer in the mid-eighties."

"Can you narrow it down a little bit for me? Everything we have is filed by date."

I was stunned into silence. There's so much of my childhood I can't remember. I was horrified I couldn't remember the exact date.

Holy shit, I'm going to have to call her back, and I don't know if I have the courage to make this phone call again. Think!

Remembering specifics about my past is like trying to remember where I put my car keys - I know they have to be somewhere. Desperate to recall the date, I searched my brain for clues. I couldn't tell her that the reason I was calling was to help me create a timeline of my life. There were huge chunks of my past missing, and I was working to fill in the blanks. These chunks were filled with darkness and unanswered questions because I had mentally blocked what was happening to me during that time. Like many young victims, I wiped out what was happening because it was too horrifying for a child's mind to comprehend.

Similar to walking around the house and retracing my steps to find my keys, I can run through events that help me recall elements from that darkness by identifying cultural or social events, even natural disasters. I can retrieve these events, but I can't remember what was happening to me during that time. Then it came to me.

"Wimbledon!"

She said, "Excuse me, sir,"

"Wimbledon had just been on television, and Boris Becker had won, so it must have been sometime in July 1985," I said, feeling my excitement growing as if I had just answered the last question on a tough college final exam correctly.

"Okay, let's try this, who was the perpetrator in the case?"

"My grandfather," I blurted, still reluctant to say his name.

She politely said, "Well, honey, I really need a name."

Why am I so compelled to know what happened? Should I just do what my cousin suggested and just "get over it?" No! I can't forget all of the past like that because it has, in some weird way, made me who I am today. I need to understand it more clearly. I need to know that all of the things I have done have made some kind of a difference. I'm no longer a frightened teenager. I'm a man in search of my past and I knew the truth would literally set me free, or at least I hope.

"His name is Bernard Jowers," I said softly, speaking that wretched name aloud for the first time in years.

He is my mother's father and all of the grandchildren in the family called him Pop. We call my mother's mom Mema. They were thought to be the pillars of our family by friends and within their community.

Lucy put me on hold again while she searched for the grand jury verdict.

The lame elevator music on the other end of the line made my thoughts drift back to that bleak summer day when I finally told someone about Pop's dirty little secret.

Dad drove me to the courthouse and didn't say a word to me the entire ride.

I was hoping he would at least tell me things would be all right and that I was doing the right thing by going to the police. Instead, we sat in deafening silence. My desire to just get all of this behind me was palpable. I wondered if he would be proud of me for telling the details of what happened, or if he would be disgusted once he knew the truth about the horrible specifics I was getting prepared to tell.

My mind ran on, Will this kill my relationship with everyone in my family or will it bring us closer together?

I knew that regardless of the outcome, this was what I had to do for me.

As we rounded the corner and turned onto the road that led to the courthouse, I could feel my stomach start to churn with worry. I could feel my muscles trembling all over as if I were cold. We pulled into the parking lot and I took a deep breath. It's too late to turn back now, I guess.

I was terrified to relive all of the events that had happened to me because I had tried so hard to forget all about the gruesome details. The reality was that if I were going to find justice I would have to be forthcoming and honest about what had happened. I wanted him to go to jail forever just to keep him away from our family, and mostly from me. I was so angry because he put me in this situation where I, a teenager, had to do what I knew was right for both me and any other kids he could hurt.

Dad and I exited the car; the only sounds to be heard were the clinking of the keys as they were pulled out of the ignition and the release of the door as I pulled the handle. We greeted each other at the trunk of his car and he hesitantly put his arm on my shoulder. This was about as deep as his emotions could go, because he was trying to be supportive of me and still look like a man to everyone else.

"You OK?"

I was glad he'd finally spoken to me, but now was not the time for a conversation. I just wanted to be done with this.

"Yes, I'm fine, I guess."

I was standing beside him as we looked up the steps and the sun was glaring over the top of the historic building, blinding me briefly.

As I put my hand over my brow to block the sun, I could make out some people at the top of the steps. I couldn't tell exactly who they were but as we walked up the mountain of concrete steps I looked up at the wall of people and realized it was my family and friends who were there to support me, or so I thought.

Once we got closer, about six steps from the top, my Aunt Patricia greeted us and gently took my hand. For the first time that morning looking into Aunt Patricia's eyes, I felt safe and thought how wonderful it was they were all there to support me. As soon as our hands connected I could feel her confidence and power surround me almost like a body guard. For a short moment everything I feared and everything I was concerned about briefly went away as I became transfixed on her loving face.

With her other hand, she gently pulled my face close to hers. "Don't you worry about a thing, you are so wonderful and you are doing the right thing. I will be here for you all day if that is what you need. I am here for you in heart and soul. Do you understand me?"

Aunt Patricia was the wife of Uncle Nick, who was a Methodist preacher. She understood love better than anyone in our family and she had never gone back on her commitments to me.

Not really sure why she was telling me this, I knew she would not lie so I wanted to let her know that I trusted her immensely. "Aunt Patricia, I love you and I know you are here for me. Thank you so much for believing me."

As we finally reached the last foot of our climb and approached the other members of my family, I stepped forward to receive their words and their support. I discovered I couldn't have been more wrong about their presence. They were there to beg me not to talk to the police. They didn't want me to turn my grandfather in as a sexual predator.

I became frozen in my steps. I looked at all of them in disbelief, my mouth unable to move and my heart breaking with every word they uttered. I started to tune them out and their words became distorted sounds that made no sense to me. My eyes went from one person to the other and I could feel my world shrinking by the second. I could feel the sweat start to bead up on my forehead and upper lip and I just wanted to take off running in any direction I could to get away from them.

It is breathtakingly easy to gang up on a child and to insert a seed of doubt in his mind. They did their best - after all, this was the family business; maintaining this façade was the sick and twisted glue that held them together. However, through all of this internal chaos, I was still confident about what I needed to do and held true to what I had discussed with my dear Nelly. I had to do this for me because I was not the person that caused this and I am only doing the right thing. This saying became my rote mantra to keep me focused.

Luckily, my mind-set took a turn in the proper direction. I became enraged at the audacity that any of these people would be here to support the person that had raped many of them, repeatedly, and continued to present a danger to their own children. At fifteen, I shouldn't be facing my family and doing something so difficult. They were all older and I can't believe it took me, the youngest person in the family, to finally say something about this monster. The tension and stress from the car ride quickly turned to anger. Finally, I silenced them with my words and started to reclaim the reason for me being there.

"This is something I have to do," I said angrily and loudly. "I have to stop him before he hurts any more kids."

"He won't hurt any more kids," my mom said, with a confidence she could not possibly feel. However, she was intent on her mission to silence me. She took a step down to get closer to me as my teen-aged mind tried to decide if she was there to support me or if she was there to protect her father. She continued, "At least, not kids outside our family." Question answered, and chillingly so.

I could feel the blood rush out of my face. I thought she believed me. I thought she would be the one to support me all the way through this. I guess I am more alone than I thought.

As she looked at me stoically, I stepped past her and reminded her about my two young cousins who lived next door to my grandparents. Were they joking with me or were they serious? I couldn't believe that they were all quite aware that I was there to do the right thing, and yet they wanted me to stay silent as they had for so many years. I was furious, and at that point more determined than ever. They were as sick as he was for trying to protect him. They were treating me as if I were turning in their cult leader.

My only concern was now removed. I was certain I would never have the same relationship with them and no longer did I care.

Without another word, my Aunt Patricia, with my hand in hers, gently pushed everyone aside as if she were completely dismissing them and endearingly pulled me into her body. She put her arm around me, protecting me as she calmly led me into the police station. She kissed me on top of my head and said, "Don't let the nonsense they are telling you change your mind. You are doing the right thing and they are embarrassed that they didn't."

That sentence meant the world to me. I looked up into her bright green eyes and finally felt that someone understood what I was doing.

My parents eventually followed us inside. As we walked through the huge white doors that were framed with intricate hand carved molding, the brightness of the sun became gray. Inside, there were police officers scurrying around, walking from office to office. It smelled sterile and institutionalized like most government buildings. My aunt walked away briefly to find out where we needed to be and what we needed to be doing. Within minutes she had returned to guide us to a bench that was as old as the building.

"They said they would be right out," she told me.

As soon as we sat down on the bench a man approached us and asked if we were there to meet with a detective. My aunt stood, "Yes, that would be us."

She was speaking in the softest of tones but truly taking control of the entire situation. She was making sure that she knew what was going on and where we needed to be, keeping me informed along the way. She had appointed herself as my spokesperson and would not allow people to get in front of me without them explaining to her first what their expectations were from me. She was keeping her word and charging forward with supporting me.

We were led into an office where there was a desk, with two chairs that were covered with ugly green vinyl. They were strategically placed in front of an office desk facing the third larger chair positioned behind the desk. Prior to walking into the door of the office I imagined myself as a cat, not sure that I wanted to go into the room, with all four paws on each side of the door. Once I crossed the threshold I realized I had no reason to be intimidated by the room itself.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from UNDER THE RED VELVET COVER by GRANT GARRIS Copyright © 2010 by Grant Garris. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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