Quinlan / Battelle Karen Ann

The Quinlans Tell Their Story
1. Auflage 2020
ISBN: 978-1-0983-4488-7
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 473 Seiten

This is the story of one family's devotion and courage in the face of the tragedy which has become a landmark in medical and legal history. The Quinlans tell here, in their own words, of their love for Karen, of the agony which they shared in reaching the decision to instigate the court proceedings which eventually led to the famous New Jersey State Supreme Court ruling, of the brilliant young lawyer who volunteered to fight for Karen Ann's cause, and of the supportive role of friends, doctors, nurses, and the Church.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Quinlan, Joseph

Quinlan, Julia

Battelle, Phyliss

Leseproben

KAREN ANN CHAPTER 1 April 11, 1975, was the last ordinary day. Looking back, Julia Quinlan sees herself driving along the shore road as usual to her job at the Rectory, watching the morning sun sparkling and rippling across the lake - the perfect day to begin a suntan. Then at three o’clock, heading home and noting, frustrated, that the lake had gone flat and steel gray. It was Friday, so she stopped at the Acme supermarket for weekend groceries and, as she pulled the car into the garage, she heard the phone ringing. She remembers fumbling with the house keys, juggling an enormous shopping bag, and then hurrying into the kitchen, hoping it was the call she had been waiting for. – And it was. It was Karen. “Hi, Mom.” she said. “Oh, fine, honey,” I had to catch my breath. “How about you? How’s your new place?” I tried to keep my voice happy. On Monday, she had moved into a house over on Cranberry Lake, and Joe and I were upset about it. Karen knew how we felt, and there was no point belaboring it. “It’s terrific. You’re really going to love it.” She sounded elated. “It’s your kind of place. You know, rustic and quaint. Almost like one of those converted barns you’ve always wanted.” “Sounds charming.” “That’s it. Exactly the word. There’s a huge outdoor stone fireplace and a patio surrounded by great old trees. My room is on the second floor, with windows that look out on this real forest-” She was obviously excited, almost singing, and as she rambled on about the house, I could feel my muscles begin to relax. Everything was going to be fine. Dear Lord, we had been so concerned when she suddenly told us she was planning to rent a room in a house ten miles away. Joe, trying to act stern and looking only stricken, saying, “But why should you pay rent when you have your own room here at home?’’ Karen surprised, then indignant, moaning, “I’m twenty-one, Dad. If you can’t make it on your own at twenty-one, you’ll never make it.” No rational comeback. Karen reassuring, “Don’t be so overprotective - I’ll only be there two weeks.” She was driving to Florida in May with a girl friend. “And don’t worry because the house happens, to belong to two guys. I assure you they’re harmless, and couldn’t care less about me. I’ll be safe.” A reluctant giving-in, a kiss and a hug, and she was gone. And now, on the phone, Karen was saying, “When can you drive up and see me?’’ “Gee, let’s see.” I had to think for a moment. “What about Sunday after mass?” “No good. I’m busy Sunday. Can you come Monday?” she said. I reminded her that Monday was my Rosary meeting. I was president of the Rosary Society this year. Finally; after some rather giggly analysis of our respective social obligations, we agreed on Tuesday afternoon, after I got off work. Karen gave me instructions on how to get to Cranberry Lake, about a ten-minute drive, then needled, “Knowing you, you’ll get lost. But I’ll send out the St. Bernards.” It was typical Karen. We must have talked for an hour and a half. She said she was saving her money to send Joe and me to Hawaii for our thirtieth wedding anniversary in September 1976. That was typical Karen, too-all-out generous, and very naive. I doubt if she had any concept of the plane fare. And she mentioned that she was starting on a “starvation diet” to slim herself back into her size seven bikinis for Florida. I resisted the mother’s instinct to urge her to eat sensibly. Moderation is not a word in Karen’s vocabulary. Once she sets her mind to do something, she wants instant results. “And, by the way,” she was saying; “I’ve been thinking that if I like Miami, maybe I’ll look for a job there and stick around in Florida for a few months.” “I think that would be fantastic,” I said, and I meant it. Karen and I are alike in our love for travel and independence. If I were her age, I’d do the same thing exactly. “Do it now, honey. Once you’re married and have babies, you won’t have the chance,” I said, and she hooted. “That’ll be the day!” It was after 5:30 when we finally hung up. “Don’t forget Tuesday,” she said. It occurred to me that, perhaps she was homesick, but she would never admit it. “And give my love to Dad.’’ They were the last words I ever heard her speak. Joseph Quinlan remembers dinner that evening as the usual rousing family get-together: – Julie told us about Karen’s call, and that she seemed very happy. I felt relieved to hear that, but I still didn’t like the idea. I said, “I wish somebody could tell me why she moved into that place with those two fellows.” Julie ‘sighed and said, “Honey, she hasn’t ‘moved in’ with anybody. She’s just rented a room, and these young men happen to be the landlords.” Then Mary Ellen, who is nineteen and knows everybody in all the surrounding counties, said, “You’ve seen one of them, Dad. He’s Bill Zywot - he grew up just down the road from us. The other fellow, Tom French, I don’t know anything about, but don’t worry, Dad, they’re definitely not her type.” “Who is Karen’s type these days?” I said. “What happened to Tommy Flynn?” Tommy was a nice kid, amateur wrestler. He and Karen went together all through high school. “He’s in college down in St. Petersburg,” Julie said. “Maybe Karen will see him next month when she goes down. By the way, changing the subject, Karen is going to send us to Hawaii for our thirtieth anniversary.” John let out a howl when his mother said that. John is seventeen, and he idolizes Karen, but he is going through the cynical age. “Karen?” he erupted. “Save that kind of money? What’s it cost?” “John, shame on you.” Julie pretended to reprimand him, but she was smiling. “I wish you were half as generous as she is.” “You’re evading the issue. How much does it cost?” “I have no idea,” Julie said, “but if Karen sets her mind to it, she’ll do it.” “Mom’s right” Mary Ellen said, “and I’ll tell you how she’ll do it. Along about July, Karen will call a little conference. She’ll say, “Listen, you kids, we’re going to. send Mom and Dad on this little anniversary cruise. I’ve saved seventy five bucks - how much can you kick in?” “Mary Ellen, you’re terrible!” Julie was smiling. She loves it when the kids needle each other - and they’re always needling. It’s something they picked up from Karen. “I wouldn’t count on that trip if I were you,” John said. “Thank goodness you’re not me,” Julie informed him, standing up. “You wouldn’t appreciate Hawaii!” We realized it was 7:45, and Julie had a Cursillo Prayer Meeting at church. After she left the house, John asked me if he could borrow the new Datsun and drive over to Netcong, pick up a boy friend, and bring him back to the house. They wanted to play pool in the basement. I tried to talk him out of it There was a heavy layer of fog out there, and John had only had his driver’s license for three months. But it was just a five-mile drive to Satch Romano’s home, and John was so eager to show off the new car. “Okay,” I said finally, and flipped him the keys, “but be back within an hour.” After he left, I felt uneasy. I sat down and turned on the TV and there was nothing showing that I cared about, and I kept thinking to myself, “Relax. Everything is fine.” Two hours later, I found I was dead wrong. At 9:15 P.M. on April 11, John and his friend were driving up a hill a few miles from the Quinlan home, when suddenly another car came ripping over the top from the other side. The other car was in the center of the road. John swerved out onto the shoulder to avoid a collision, and the new green Datsun flipped into the air and spun over three times before it smashed into the ground. Julia, who was at the prayer meeting when the accident occurred, felt afterward that it was a miracle those boys survived”: – The car was totally demolished. Not a fender, not a door, nothing wasn’t crumpled. The hood rolled forward like a window shade and smashed right through the front windshield, ‘pinning John and his friend in the front seat. John was stunned. He was unconscious for several seconds. When he came to and realized what had happened, he managed to crawl out the shattered front window, cutting himself terribly. The other boy made it out through a hole in the back of the car, God knows how. Both of them dreadfully bruised and their faces and bodies covered with blood, but no bones were broken. Some neighbors heard the crash and rushed out. When they saw gasoline spurting out of the car, they quickly pulled out a wire, disconnecting the ignition. Then they called an ambulance, which took the boys to a hospital emergency room. John was afraid to call home. He knew that I would still be at the church, and he didn’t want to talk to Joe. Not that he was afraid because of the new car. He was frightened because one of his hands had been severely cut, and John sensed that this would terrify Joe. It happens that my husband lost his left arm during the war. He also lost a finger on his right hand. Naturally, he is unusually sensitive to the children’s injuries, and John feared that if his father saw how seriously...