It was the final day of November 1963 in the small town of Massena, NY, where a modest yet friendly wedding occurred. The groom was Airman First Class Charles Tyrrell, stationed at Plattsburgh Air Force Base in upstate New York. The bride was Arlene Hart from Massena, NY, who lived and worked in Rouses Point, about 60 miles north of Plattsburgh.

Thus begins the narrative of my married life. The ups and downs of this journey from dating and military life to marriage and civilian life unfolded like this.

Arlene and I first met in 1961 at Brodies nightclub, where I was well-known for my dancing and held the title of Limbo Champion. She was employed as a supermarket cashier in Rouses Point, NY, where she rented a room from a lovely elderly lady who became like a grandmother to us during our dating years.

During our dating period, we spent most weekends at Arlene's parents' home in Messana. It was a two-hour drive from Plattsburgh, so I took the midnight shift at the Base. This way, we could leave for Massena on Saturday morning after work, and I didn’t have to report back until Monday night.

The winters in upstate New York are harsh. Snowbanks can reach ten feet high along the roads. Many nights, we drove back to Plattsburgh in blinding snow. I remember driving on the left side of the road with my window down, following the mailboxes sticking out of the snowbank. When we spotted headlights ahead, Arlene would roll down her window, and I would pull as close to the right snowbank as possible.

On another night, while driving in blinding snow, we encountered a massive snow drift blocking the road. I wanted to return to the motel we had passed near Malone, but Arlene insisted I find out when the road would be cleared. It was an early lesson in learning to say "Yes Dear."

I turned the car around and headed to the NY State Trooper's office. Their expressions said it all when I walked into the station. I must have looked like the Abominable Snowman. It was snowing, and I trudged through knee-high snow in a topcoat and no boots to reach their station.

As I had suspected, they had no idea when the road would be cleaed. We returned to that motel, drank coffee, and waited for a snowblower to pass.

Once, we unintentionally crossed the border into Canada on our way home from Massena. Arlene had pointed out the road as a "shortcut," but I soon realised we were lost. A car was following us. I was sure it was the border patrol but with ten-foot snowbanks, there was no place to turn around until we found an opening where a farmer had plowed the driveway to his roadside barn.

As we passed the other car, sure enough, it was the border patrol. When we got back to the main road, sirens blared, and flashing lights lit up the night sky. They were not very friendly. They searched our 1958 Chevy thoroughly, even pulling out the back seat and tossing it into a snowbank.

Not long after our engagement, while we were planning our wedding, Arlene contracted mononucleosis. Her illness and recovery delayed our wedding and prevented her from apartment hunting together, a task that turned out to be an overwhelming experience.

In the Air Force, when you no longer live on the Base, you receive a subsistence allowance to cover food and shelter costs. However, local landlords decided that the allowance should pay the rent, and they were renting out terrible places.

One apartment I viewed had a plastic shower curtain hanging on the living room wall. Turning the corner into the bedroom, I discovered the purpose of the shower curtain: it was hiding a large hole in the wall between the living room and the bedroom. And the rent? The entire subsistence allowance!

Then one day, I found a charming Spartan mobile home with an 8'x16' attached cabana. It had a white picket fence in front and a tree in the side yard. The interior was immaculate with shiny wood paneling. I couldn't find a stain or a trace of dust anywhere, even on the water heater under the kitchen counter.

The little home was fully furnished. The living room had a sofa and a picture window with flowered drapes. The kitchen was efficient with a cozy dining booth. There were two bedrooms, one in the front with a double bed and one in the back with twin beds. The mattresses were clean and appeared almost brand new.

The "Trailer Park" was small, well-kept, and managed by a nice elderly couple who lived there. It was near the Base in the quiet little town of Peru, NY. Most residents were military personnel. It seemed perfect to me, but it was "For Sale." Furthermore, I was concerned about the stigma of "trailer park living" with Arlene.

However, if we purchased this home, we wouldn't need to buy furniture. The master bedroom had a large closet, while the second bedroom had two closets separated by a handy dressing table and mirror. The bathroom had a tiled tub and shower, although it was small. Litterally, one could almost brush their teeth while sitting on the toilet.

I was so thrilled about my find that my in-laws offered to give us some money to buy the trailer if we agreed to a less expensive wedding. It made sense to me, but I would have to convince Arlene, who had not seen the dreadful apartments I had looked at. I suppose my descriptions worked because she agreed.

I don't recall much about the wedding day. I wasn't drunk, but I was nervous, scared, and anxious. Additionally, President John F. Kennedy had just been assassinated eight days earlier, and the mood among all the guests felt somber and grim. Aside from the usual congratulations, the topic at every table was John Kennedy or the November blizzard that was forecasted.

By the end of the reception, the blizzard had arrived in full force. We had planned to honeymoon in Lake Placid, NY, a beautiful and quaint ski town in the Adirondack Mountains. However, as we left for our honeymoon that evening, the sight of cars in the median and ditches ruled out any attempt to reach the mountains that night.

With the weather making our honeymoon trip impossible, we spent the night at a motel not far from town. The next day, it was noon before the roads were drivable, so we decided to skip the honeymoon and just "go home." Anyway, I was eager for Arlene to see the charming little home I had found.

For whatever reasons, it was nightfall before we arrived in Peru, and my excitement quickly turned into tragic disappointment. The blizzard had knocked out the electricity. The little home I was so proud of was dark and frozen. While I got the furnace working, Arlene sat in the dark, staring at the flowered curtains and crying. The honeymoon was over!

The winters are long and bitterly cold in northern New York. From December through February, temperatures often drop to -20° or colder. In our little community, a lot of time was spent shoveling snow, removing ice, installing "heat-tapes" to prevent the plumbing from freezing, and getting our cars started after days of sub-zero temperatures.

It was early spring before Arlene began to appreciate how wonderful our little home was. To our surprise, colourful crocuses bloomed along the white picket fence. Arlene planted Lilies of the Valley around the tree in the yard. We decorated the spacious cabana with a few furnishings, and it became a great room to spend time in now that the weather was pleasant.

The summer passed with trips to the beach at Lake Champlain, and we settled in nicely. Arlene began to love our little home and decided she wanted to be a mom instead of going to work. Two weeks before Thanksgiving, our first son, Robert, was born. Our little mobile home kept us comfortable and cozy through another Plattsburgh winter. I installed an automatic washer in the kitchen to ease the chore of washing diapers.

I enjoyed the military. For me, applying for officer's training and making a career would have been ideal. However, Arlene despised military life with a passion. One Sunday, I was called out of church, from the pulpit, for an emergency on the flight line. Arlene was mortified to leave church with our baby in her arms, but we were on a military base, and everyone in the military understood military life.

In any case, we decided it would be back to civilian life when my enlistment ended in August. Arlene was against moving to Ohio, so I prepared for our transition to civilian life by mailing out resumes to companies only in New York and Pennsylvania.

When it came time for interviews, Arlene's brother Keith accompanied me on the trip. The interviews took us from IBM in Binghamton, NY, to American Electronic Labs in Lansdale, PA. When I interviewed with AEL, it felt like I had struck gold finding a job.

American Electronics Labs had a military contract to install ALT-7 ECM transmitters in armored personnel carriers and mentioned they had no idea how to even turn the transmitters on. I had just spent three years working with ALT-7 ECM transmitters and considered myself an expert.

AEL was impressed and made what I considered a fantastic offer to work for them. Additionally, the small town of Lansdale, outside of Philadelphia, appeared to be a great place to raise a family. I accepted their offer and was scheduled to start work in September 1965.

I rented an apartment in Lansdale while Arlene stayed in Peru to sell the trailer. When it didn’t sell, we moved it to Arlene's parents' property. It was eventually sold as a "cabin in the woods" to the buyer. Arlene cried when it was sold, but perhaps it was because she was pregnant with our second child.

Meanwhile, I found a lovely apartment in Telford, PA, a tiny town next to Lansdale. The apartment was on the second floor of a large home at the corner of Penn Ave and School Lane. It had two bedrooms and a very spacious eat-in kitchen. There was even a detached garage on School Lane for our '59 Chevy.

The house was owned by a friendly young couple who also had preschool children. The location was perfect. We could walk to the grocery store, the bank, and even the train station. In February 1966, our second son, Joseph, was born in the Lansdale hospital.

  In 1968-69, we constructed a custom home in Franconia Township, located just west of Telford and Souderton, PA. A local builder, Joe Pascal & Sons, was developing a small community of ten houses on Moyer Road amidst Mennonite farmland.

While searching for a home, we came across one of Joe Pascal's beautiful stone-front houses and I was quite impressed with the quality of his construction. His homes featured three bedrooms, a full basement, and a one-car garage. The seclusion of his new development was appealing and we decided to buy.

Since construction had not yet begun, we had the option to choose any lot on Moyer Road. We chose a lot that was addjacent to a right-of-way. The base price of the house was $19,000. However, we opted for several upgrades: a fireplace, a formal dining room, and a heated basement.

The fireplace was a standard option but the builder pointed out that the oil heating system he installed could not be adapted to heat the basement and that closing off the dining area from the kitchen for a formal dining room would make the room too dark.

After conducting some research, I found solutions. The electric company was promoting "all electric homes," and with electric baseboard heating, we could not only heat the basement but also provide individual heaters and thermostats for each room. Additionally, by installing sliding glass doors instead of a window in the dining room, we would ensure ample light in the space.

The builder approved the modifications, but when we applied for the loan, we discovered that "building" a house required a 20% down payment. Arlene's parents lent us $2,000 for the extra down payment and we purchased the house. Our electric heat and formal dinning room were later offered by the builder in future homes.

Our all-electric home qualified as a "Medallion Home," and the cost of electricity was just one cent per kilowatt hour. The basement was pleasantly warm, and the dining room was bright and cheerful, although we would eventually need to build a deck to utilize the sliding glass doors.

With an acre of land, the builder only sodded the front yard and scattered some grass seed about 100 feet behind the house. I wanted to seed the entire backyard, and Arlene desired a large garden, so I purchased a 10 hp Allis Chalmers tractor equipped with a 42" mower, a 34" roto-tiller, and added a 36" dozer blade.

The dozer blade proved essential for spreading the topsoil needed for seeding the backyard. Using the tiller, I cultivated a large garden where we grew corn, tomatoes, onions, beans, broccoli, cucumbers, and even pumpkins. The mower was a great help once the entire acre of grass grew in.

I often spent my weekends tilling the garden and mowing the lawn. However, when I relaxed on Sunday evenings after a meal of meat, potatoes, and fresh vegetables, admiring my well-kept lawn and watching the sunset over the fields, all the effort felt worthwhile.

Arlene was a stay-at-home mom who enjoyed cooking. Through canning, our garden provided food that lasted throughout the winter. I worked as an electronic technician at American Electronic Labs and attended LaSalle University at night to pursue an engineering degree. LaSalle did not accept my math credits from the University of Cincinnati but did accept my history credits from Plattsburgh State University.

Our first year, while searching for a Christmas tree, the boys collected some pine cones. We placed them in a bowl and used them as a holiday centerpiece for the dining room table. After some time, we heard "crackling" noises and discovered that the pine cones were opening and dropping tiny seeds.

We planted the seeds in egg cartons, similar to how we started our garden, and soon sprouts emerged. Each tiny sprout resembled a single pine needle. Once they grew into seedlings, we planted them in a protected area outside. Eventually, we successfully grew two lovely little pine trees from those seeds.

Meanwhile, we had repaid the loan from Arlene's parents, but tragedy was on the horizon. Her parents visited for Thanksgiving, and during their stay, we learned that her mother had cancer. When we found out that Beatrice, known as Betty, had to travel from Massena to Buffalo, NY for radiation treatments, we insisted they stay and receive her treatments at our Abington hospital, just 25 miles away.

With the added household expenses, Arlene took a part-time job operating a printing press for a Telford company that printed diplomas and manufactured graduation rings. By April, her mother had grown fatigued and homesick. They returned to Massena, and sadly, after just a couple of months, Betty passed away. She was deeply loved, and her funeral was heartbreaking.

Unfortunately for Arlene's father, Arile, Betty had concealed a dark secret for many years. Arile had been purchasing US Treasury Bonds from the time he served in WWII until his retirement from Alcoa Aluminum in Massena. After Betty's funeral, he opened the safe only to discover stacks of empty envelopes. All his bonds had been cashed.

The poor man, who had built two of the houses they lived in with his own hands, was left with no savings. His brother, who lived a few houses away, took him in, and his youngest son Gary took over the house. It would take a few years, but I would eventually understand the meaning of "like mother, like daughter."

I had a decent salary at American Electronic Labs, but the 1959 Chevrolet Impala we bought from Arlene's cousin was old, and we couldn't afford to replace it. The rocker panels had rusted out, so I covered them with masking tape and spray-painted them the same color as the car to pass Pennsylvania's annual auto inspection.

At AEL, I traveled frequently, and Arlene was not pleased. Additionally, attending LaSalle for an engineering degree required a significant time commitment. Finances were tight. I needed a raise, but President Nixon had implemented a wage freeze and ended government contracts, leaving no engineering jobs available.

After seeing a whimsical classified ad for a management position, I playfully replied with a resume and a lighthearted cover letter. Months passed without a response, and I had written off the experience as a lesson learned when one Sunday, while painting the trim on the house, S&S Associates called.

The caller was impressed that I had written the cover letter and resume myself and asked if I could come to his office in King of Prussia immediately for an interview. I was in work clothes, but he insisted I "come as you are." I cleaned up and went to the interview. Sy Hochman hired me that day with a very attractive salary.

Although I had a long commute to work each day, my position at S&S Associates provided enough income to retire the Impala and purchase a used 1967 Oldsmobile. Over the next two years, I experienced great success. The business expanded from one employee to 16. My title was CEO of Service in Electronics, and my salary was neearly double the median income for that time.

We traded in the Oldsmobile for a brand new 1972 Chevrolet Impala. I no longer traveled for work, and we had a lovely home. However, Arlene was still not happy, and life was about to take a tragic turn. My boss, friend, and mentor died in an accident while on business in North Jersey. His partners from Bethesda, MD, shut down Service in Electronics.

I found myself unemployed, and despite sending out numerous resumes, I received no responses. Eventually, I accepted a job from an associate in the industrial x-ray business. However, within a year, I got a reply to a resume I had submitted to JCPenney for a product service manager position.

My interview at JCPenney was successful, and they appreciated my experience and leadership abilities. I received an offer for the position of establishing and managing a new product service center in Dayton, Ohio.

  Service in Electronics had become the largest home electronics repair service in the Delaware Valley under my leadership. This was the type of intuitive leadership that JCPenney sought for launching a new product service center in Dayton, Ohio.

JCPenney service centers were independent entities that offered repair and maintenance for home electronics, major appliances, and gas engine products sold in their stores. The manager was accountable for the entire operation, including profitability.

After six months of training, JCPenney presented me with the chance to establish their new Dayton Product Service Center. I traveled to Dayton ahead of my family to set up the operation and search for housing. My search focused on Centerville, OH, near the JCPenney store in the Centerville Mall.

I dedicated most of my time to setting up the service center, transforming an empty warehouse into a well-organized and efficient repair facility. When Arlene joined me, we found a brand new two-story colonial home in Centerville. With four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a spacious front porch, and a two-car garage, it was a significant upgrade from our small ranch house in Franconia.

This house featured the most unique master bathroom I had ever seen. As you entered, two sinks, their cabinets, mirrors, and lighting were situated on the right side. The wall behind the sinks concealed the shower, accessible from one end, and the toilet, accessible from the opposite end. Across from the sinks were two large walk-in closets for him and her.

The dining room and living room were arranged in an "L" shape, and we decorated them in a Spanish style with all new furnishings. For the dining room, we purchased a sturdy, dark pine table that seated eight guests, complete with two captain's chairs. The matching server showcased crystal candlesticks and an ornate china fruit bowl. The elegant pine hutch sparkled with crystal stemware and two sets of Mikasa china.

Centerville was an esteemed community. Although our property was only half an acre, it provided ample space for a wonderful vegetable garden. Our neighbors included lawyers, doctors, and upper-level managers from Dayton corporations such as NCR, IBM, GM, Frigidaire, and Delco. While we didn't have the largest house in the area, both of my sons had their own bedrooms.

Bob and Joe both thrived in Centerville's modern and progressive school system. Bob excelled in a setting where students collaborated to complete their studies, with the teacher available for guidance. Joe's reading skills improved by two grade levels; he aimed to win a prize by reading the most books over the summer, and he succeeded!

Bob and Joe participated in Little League baseball, soccer, and both delivered newspapers. They often combined their routes, stacking newspapers in a wagon, so I purchased them a used JCPenney minibike. They rode the minibike while towing the wagon filled with papers.

In the fall of 1974, I bought a new Chevrolet Monza. This compact V8 was perfect for commuting to work, and we had more space in the garage with two cars, a minibike, and my tractor. Arlene was not pleased with my purchase, referring to it as "a sports car."

In Centerville, fathers attended their children's baseball and soccer games when they weren't traveling for work. Since I didn't travel, I was usually present at the boys' games. Once, I was late for a game, and Arlene told Bob and Joe it was because I loved my job more than them.

I should have recognized earlier that there were signs of trouble in Centerville. The wives, calling themselves "management widows," gathered each morning for coffee, Valium, and gossip.

Arlene enjoyed cooking and baking and was quite skilled at it. She had a modern kitchen, a well-stocked pantry, fancy appliances, and her own car. She had the freedom and resources to indulge in whatever she desired: tennis, luncheons, shopping, or pampering herself with hair, nails, or spa treatments.

Instead, she immersed herself in housework and complaints. Apparently, dishonesty was also involved. Bob recently informed me that it wasn't their mother who cleaned the house; she made them vacuum and dust after school and somehow shifted the blame onto me. All of this occurred despite that my salary was enough for her to have hired a housekeeper.

Arlene hated my job. She had despised the Air Force, disliked my job at AEL, my position at S&S Associates, and now she resented my role at JCPenney. So, next came the marriage counselors, who advised that "I was trying to buy my family's love with material things" and suggested I quit my job for one that allowed me to spend more time at home.

With all due respect to her father, I could not be that husband. He left for work at six in the morning with his lunch pail, worked until the four o'clock whistle blew, and returned home ready for a five o'clock "snews" as he called it, and be ready supper at six.

I enjoyed my job. I liked being in charge. I took pride in my facility and my employees. I appreciated the prestige. I liked having nice clothes, multiple cars, an impressive home, evening cocktails, and dining out at eight.

But Arlene had a different vision. Since I refused to change, she sought to have me fired. I played tennis once a week with three colleagues. One day, Caroline, who worked in my parts department, filled in for one of the guys who couldn't play. When I told Arlene that Caroline played, she saw her chance.

She contacted my boss and claimed I was "involved with a female employee." John Weatherford, manager of the Columbus Service & Parts Distribution Center, came on behalf of my boss. John sensed a bigger problem reminding me that a happy wife was essential for JCPenney to retain their managers.

This incident was particularly humiliating for me for two reasons. I was the first product service manager to hire a woman in the parts department, a role traditionally held by men due to the heavy carry-in repairs like TVs and lawn mowers that they handeled.

The unfortunate part is this: Mike was my parts manager, and I hired Caroline as an assistant because women are more detail-oriented, and managing my inventory was crucial for my profits. Caroline was the reason my monthly "profit flash" was the most accurate in the region.

Secondly, I had hired a girl for our front office who was so attractive that she captured the attention of every man who saw her. The men working in the business across the street from my service center once displayed a banner on their front lawn that read "We Love You Carla!".

I almost didn't hire Carla because she was so beautiful, but her personality and determination won me over. As it turned out, Carla was not just a pretty face; she was the best call taker in the region, capable of calming the angriest customers and making them laugh about their "lemon" purchase.

My two female Assurred Performance Plan sales representatives were among the best in the region. My APP sales were only topped by the Pittsburgh service center with its three stores in three malls. I had one store and one mall!

Shortly after this incident, however, JCPenney offered me the chance to manage the first computerized Product Service Center in Camden, NJ. This would require relocating to New Jersey, but I thought the change could be beneficial for the family. Arlene rarely left the house, even to check the mailbox at the driveway. Perhaps this would be an opportunity to rejuvenate our lives and provide a new adventure for the boys.

  In Dayton, OH, I operated one of the most acclaimed service centers in the nation. My operational strategies for dispatching and record-keeping had become one of the most successful models in product service.

In 1978, JCPenney invited me to oversee their first computerized Product Service Center. The Camden, NJ center was chosen due to its size and proximity to the New York City headquarters.

This promotion placed us in the top 14% of American households. I prided myself as a successful father, husband, provider, and business manager.

During our search for a home in New Jersey, Arlene was dissatisfied with the options available in the nearby towns of Collingswood, Audubon, Cherry Hill, or Marlton. However, when we discovered Medford, NJ, she found the ideal house.

It was one of the model homes being sold by the builder of Sherwood Forest, a community located on the outskirts of the New Jersey Pine Barrens. Everything about this home was stunning. Across the street lay one of Medford's picturesque lakes. Although the commute to work would be long and often congested, we decided to purchase the house.

This 2,600 square-foot, center-hall home boasted hardwood floors throughout and pegged hardwood flooring in the dining room. Chair rails in every room enhanced its elegance. The family room featured a brick wall fireplace with a mantle and log bin. Sliding glass doors opened onto a 12'x16' screened-in deck that overlooked the dense woods of the Pine Barrens.

To maintain its model home appearance, we had the house professionally decorated. We papered one wall in the dining room with a hand-painted, Asian print above the chair rail. The living room was adorned with grass-cloth wallpaper below the chair rail. The artwork we chose complemented every room.

However, with my new job and salary came additional responsibilities. I was home less, often due to my one-hour commute to and from work. Moreover, the initial computer setup required longer hours. Arlene became increasingly resentful.

We had barely finished decorating when one morning, while I was getting ready for work, she revealed that she had consulted a lawyer, cashed my paycheck, and closed our bank accounts. I would soon discover that she had also managed to convince the neighbors that I was evil and a "wife beater."

As usual, I had taken only $20 from my monthly paycheck for lunch and gas. With no paycheck, I realized I was nearly out of money. I visited a lawyer who advised me to cancel all my credit cards and move into the guest bedroom, but I wasn't quite ready to accept what was about to unfold.

To maintain peace, I began sleeping in the guest bedroom. However, it seemed she was better prepared than I was and ready to implement her lawyer's advice immediately. I was no longer allowed to eat any of the food she prepared or use our washer and dryer.

One evening, I took a cookie she had baked from a dish on the kitchen table. She jumped on my back, scratching my face as she attempted to take the cookie back. I broke free and ran upstairs to the bedroom. She burst in, threw herself on the floor beside the nightstand, grabbed the phone, and called the police.

When the police arrived, she claimed my scratches were a result of "defending herself against my abuse." The officers suggested I leave the house. I went to a "drive-up motel" where I could remain unseen. I rented a room to clean up and apply ice to my now-bloody scratches. Fortunately, I had a small first aid kit in the car and used Band-Aids to cover the wounds.

Not long after that incident, she executed another malicious trick. The national service manager from New York headquarters, my boss from Pittsburgh, and John Weatherford, the parts distribution manager from Columbus, OH, scheduled a visit to see the new computer.

They were quite impressed with the setup, and that evening we went to dinner to discuss the future of computers in product service. When I returned home that night, the lights were off in the guest bedroom, and I was walking on something soft.

Arlene had removed the bulbs from the bedroom lamps and taken all my clothes out of the closet, scattering them across the bedroom floor. I was furious and stormed into the master bedroom. I grabbed a lamp from the nightstand and headed back across the hall.

Not to be outdone, she seized the lamp cord and wrapped it around the knob on the upstairs railing, yanking the lamp from my hand and breaking the knob. She picked up the lamp and struck me over the head with it. I dashed past her into the master bedroom and locked the door. She literally kicked the door open, shattering the door frame.

Once again, she threw herself on the bedroom floor next to the nightstand, grabbed the phone, and called the police. By the time they arrived, the children were awake and standing in the hall. She silenced them and sent them back to bed.

When the police inquired about the door, she claimed I had "kicked the door down when I came home one night in a drunken stupor." It was an Oscar-winning performance, but I believe the police knew she was lying.

In thirteen years of marriage, I had never been drunk or violent. Yet again, the police advised me to leave the house. This time, they allowed me to take a few belongings with me. I spent the night at my office. Thankfully, the JCPenney managers were leaving for the airport the next morning and wouldn't see me in the same suit.

My lawyer suggested I should try to take as much as I could from the house. This time, I followed his advice. I had been living off my American Express and gas credit cards, but soon I had no credit left. I was supposed to see the boys that weekend, but I had no money and could barely afford to eat.

I began living at the office, shaving in the men's room and sleeping on the sofa in the ladies' restroom. I hid my belongings in the credenza in my office and arranged for JCPenney to send my paychecks to the office without informing anyone about the situation at home.

The next time I went home, all my clothing was in plastic trash bags and lying on the front lawn. The house was locked, and all the locks had been changed. Arlene had instructed the boys not to answer the door. I was living the nightmare she had meticulously planned.

It took nearly my entire next month's paycheck to pay my bills and rent a one-bedroom apartment. I managed to retrieve a bed frame, my electronics, and a few possessions from the house, but after furnishing my small apartment with essentials like a bed, dishes, utensils, and a coffee maker, I learned to live a very frugal life.

As I gradually got back on my feet, Arlene pulled another malicious trick. She informed me that the boys would be away at Boy Scout Camp for the weekend, and I couldn't have my regular weekly visit with them. I believed her story because the boys were indeed in the Boy Scouts.

However, the following weekend when I went to pick them up at the house, it was empty. The doors and windows were all locked. I had to hire a locksmith to gain entry. The house was empty; nine rooms of furniture were missing, window treatments, linens, and artwork were gone. The deck and the garage were bare. She had disappeared.

Eventually, I found my books still stored in the attic, but my military and college records were missing. I was bewildered on how to establish a new beginning. I still had a lease on my apartment and mortgage payments. Looking back, I should have returned to the house. But I had no way of knowing that the divorce would take three years.

Judge Ferrelli had allowed Arlene's lawyer to reschedule the divorce hearings 13 times. I spent may hours sitting alone in the Mt. Holly New Jersey courthouse. I found it odd to see my attorney and her attorney having a friendly lunch together at the courthouse but another encounter would prove to be staggering.

A woman sat sobbing, sitting next to her lady lawyer on a bench in the courthouse hallway. The lawyer was advising her to provoke a fight with her husband, call the police, and claim he was abusive. The poor woman was objecting but the lawyer was adament.

The old Mt. Holly, NJ courthouse had high ceilings and halls that echoed every sound. "The police will make him leave the house, and that is your chance to change all the locks. You must do this to get the judge on your side." her lawyer persisted. This moment of déjá vu sealed my opinion of greedy divorce lawyers and obstinate courts.