Archive for suicide

Post #83 – Danny’s tightrope…

Posted in Family, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on January 6, 2013 by tenaciousbitch

Happy New Year, everyone! Now that my head has cleared after my Blog of the Year nomination :), I have an update on my younger brother, Danny. For those just tuning in to my matinee of madness, Danny is an addict, who stole more than $50K from my Grandmother and dumped her in a low-rent nursing home the Christmas of 2010. The 411 on that particular brand of chaos, begins at:

Unfortunately, Danny fell in love with drugs in junior high. He’s tried to quit three times in the last ten years, and after tumbling off the sobriety wagon, he, like many addicts, cried for help via suicide attempts. I’ve blogged about those events, which are not in order chronologically, but reside at:

and –

Anyway, that said, at this point in this life, Danny has chosen to, once again, embark upon that tightrope existence known as being sober. My friend, Jack (Danny’s friend also), called on New Year’s Day to give me the news.

“Where’s he living?” I asked.

“In a halfway house owned by some church. It’s affiliated with a really HUGE church in Columbus.”

“Oh, which one?” I asked, since, of course, I live in a suburb of Columbus (Ohio).

“World Harvest,” Jack replied.

“Really? That’ s over on the East side. You know, Ashe* built that church.”

“He did?”

“Yeah, back in ’96 or ’97, he lived here in Columbus, and he was a Project Manager for American Church Builders. They built World Harvest’s church. I went over there to drop Max off to see Ashe a couple of times. And somewhere there’s a picture of Max, when he was 4 or 5 sitting on a bulldozer, happy as a clam, on that construction site. Ashe and his second wife actually went to World Harvest, on occasion as well.”

“Huh, well, that’s a monstrous church, like 4,000 people or something.”

“Yeah, I know,” I answered. “I hope Danny’s serious this time, for his own sake.”

“Me too, but who knows.  He’d been staying with some guy he’d been working with last time I talked to him in October. And he was going to bartending school, and now he’s going to church and trying to get straight. Kind of a quick transition if you ask me,” Jack explained. “I’ll bet he just got kicked out of his buddy’s house and had nowhere else to go, ya know?”

“Yeah, could be, or maybe, he’s finally decided to kick the habit.”

“I’m afraid, he’s just staying there until something better comes along, but I hope I’m wrong.”

“Me too. We know how this song and dance usually ends up. He starts out doing really well, then ends up white-knuckling it the closer it gets to May when Mom died, and that anniversary always nixes his abstinence.”

“Yeah. He also got baptized the other night.”

“What? Why? We were all baptized when we were babies like everyone else in the Catholic Church.”

“Well, this particular church is Pentecostal, and-”

“That’s the church that Nana grew up in, and I won’t go there. We’ve gone to the Presbyterian church and a couple nondenominational Christian Churches, but the Pentecostal church is too out there for me. I remember going to Nana’s church in Georgia in grade school, and some woman started speaking in tongues, scared the pee out of me,” I said, chuckling.

Jack laughed. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“Nothing against the Pentecostal church, but I never went back. It’s just not for me. It’s too different from the formality of the Catholic church that I grew up in.”

“Yeah. Danny said getting baptized changed his life.”

“That’s what he said after watching Joel Osteen with Nana a few years ago when he said he was allegedly going to AA, but in reality, he was impersonating Dad and fraudulently requesting checks over the phone to pay his bills out of Dad’s account and taking out credit cards in Dad’s name.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how anyone can do that to their own family.”

“Me, neither. Dad gave me a card on his SuperAmerica Visa, and I never used it for anything but gas when it was like a buck a gallon, or sometimes I bought prescriptions for the boys when I was a single Mom back when Ashe lived here, and I didn’t have any health insurance. But I always called Dad first, and I would NEVER have opened an account in Dad’s name.”

“Yeah, I know. Wasn’t that card one of them that Danny ran up?”

“Yep. Jacked it up to around $4,000, and Dad had to close the account.”

Jack and I talked for a few more minutes about the Arnold Classic he was coming to town to attend in March. I invited him to stop by for dinner or lunch or something, and we said our goodbyes.

So, there you have it, ladies, and gents, the latest on the enigma otherwise known as my brother, Danny. Even though we haven’t spoken in two years, and I honestly don’t care whether I ever see him again because the thought is just too painful, I do hope this recent endeavor to break up with drugs and alcohol forever is legitimate.  However, every time I see Jack’s name/number on the caller i.d., I fear it’s that call…the one punctuated by Danny wearing a toe tag in some morgue somewhere in South Carolina, but I continue to pray every night that such won’t happen, that a miracle will occur, and Danny will finally be drug free.

For an amusing post about Jack, check out: Post #29 – The Prick, the proctologist and Pigin English found at this URL:

And that’s all I have to say about that –

Over and out from Crazytown…

TenaciousBitch and company…

*Ashe was my second husband/my son Max’s father who died in 2005. He’s mentioned in several posts including:  Post #58 Ashe, the sex god parked upon this URL:

and #75 – About Ashe’s logic at:


Post #53 – The Second Attempt…

Posted in family battles, memoir, relationships, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 14, 2012 by tenaciousbitch

My heart wrangled wildly hearing Danny’s belligerent threats and his fists pummeling my door at the Red Roof Inn*. I turned on the bedside lamp and studied the dresser I’d shoved in front of the door earlier. I feared he’d barge right through the barrier because he’s always been as strong as a damned ox.

I heaved a huge sigh of relief, seeing that the steel door and the dresser were holding steadfastly under the stress of his attack.

I called the hotel office while Danny continued to rage and shout. “You fucking bitch, open this fucking door! You’re not getting away with this!”

Getting away with what?

“This is Kennedy Smith in 209. My brother is here again,” I stammered to Gladys, the hotel manager, over Danny’s violent bullshit.

“I know you’re in there!” Danny yelled. “Open up!” The noise of his blustering and banging was starting to give me a headache.

“Oh, my God, is that him in the background?” Gladys asked.

“Yes, but I’m okay, and-”

“Let me in, Kennedy, right fucking now, or I’ll knock this door off the fucking hinges!” Danny screamed, followed by more explosive thrashing against the door, but the furniture blockade didn’t budge. “We need to talk! You don’t know what’s going on!”

“I’ll be right there,” Gladys said.

I hung up and started to call the police, but, then, I thought, perhaps…not. I rushed over to the door and took a deep breath. “I called the cops, Danny,” I said as loudly and as calmly as I could, given the circumstances. “You need to go! I don’t think you wanna go to jail-!”

“If you don’t open this door, I’ve gotta screwdriver, and-” he sputtered, finally giving my door a rest. “I’m not afraid to use it!”

“Danny, did you hear me?” I hollered as loud as I could over his blathering of threats.


Thank God, he finally stopped yammering for a second. “I called the cops. You need to go,” I said angrily with the same stern demeanor as with my boys when they were younger and definitely NEEDED to go to their rooms before things got REALLY ugly…

I knew by his silence, he’d fallen for it. I sighed thinking maybe, just maybe…I’d get back to sleep before 8 a.m. if I didn’t have to deal with the local P.D.

“I just wanted to talk,” Danny barked. “You didn’t have to call the cops. You’ve got-”

“Excuse me, are you a guest here?” A man called out in the distance. I assumed it was Jeff, the manager’s son.

“What’re doing there?” Gladys shouted.

No response from Danny, and then, in that controlled but infuriated tone I’ve heard him use so many times when he’s trying to intimidate someone, “This isn’t over, bitch.”

I heard the sound of several footfalls on the asphalt parking lot.

“Unless you’re a guest-” the man said tersely, his voice nearer now. “You need to leave the property, right now.”

“What’s your name? What’re you doing here?” Gladys hollered at Danny, but her inquiry was answered by the echo of Danny’s slow gait moving away from my room.

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving,” Danny said politely in the practiced manner of a used car salesman. “Nothing to see here.”

Yeah, okay, I had to smile at the irony of that statement as my heart rate started to decline from volcanic to uneasy. And I had to wonder considering Danny’s last comment if this was all just an elaborate and never-ending shell game to hide his crimes.

I looked out the window, and I saw Danny getting into his crappy-assed Malibu.

He slammed the door and started his car. His eyes flickered in my direction. Seeing me at the window, he flashed his middle finger, a gesture I returned.

“Fucking prick,” I mumbled to myself as I heaved the dresser out of the way.

A gentle knock at the door. “Miss Smith, are you okay?” Gladys asked through the door.

I watched Danny drive away before I opened the door. Though I did feel a little shaky, I said, “I’m fine,” to Gladys, who looked a little pale, and her son, Jeff, the hulking maintenance man.

“I thought I’s gonna have to clobber that asshole,” Jeff said laughing.

“Next time, go right ahead,” I said, smiling.

“Redecorating are we?” Gladys asked with a faint smile, gesturing at the cock-eyed dresser.

“Yes, I thought it looked better reinforcing the entranceway.”

They both laughed.

“Did you call the police?” Gladys asked.

“No, I knew all I had to do was threaten to call Barboursville’s finest, and Danny would be gone.”

She nodded.

“Thanks for showing up so quickly.”

“No problem. What’s his story anyway?” Jeff asked. “Not that it’s really any of my business, but-”

“He’s a drug addict, and I’m about to expose all his lies and misdeeds,” I said with a grin. “Most people just let him do whatever he wants because they’re afraid of him, but I drew a line in the sand after our mom died, and I’ll walk through fire to make sure he doesn’t cross it, if I can.”

“Good for you,” Gladys said.

“And Danny always SAYS he’s gonna kill people or, you know, beat them up, but he hasn’t done anything like that since a bar fight more than 20 years ago, that I know of, anyway.”

Gladys nodded.

After all the chaotic milieu ended, I flopped onto the bed again and finally drifted off to sleep sometime after 6 a.m. I was supposed to leave around 8:00 to drive Dad’s BMW to Georgia for him, but I knew I’d never make it up that early. I re-set the alarm on my phone for 9:00. Dad knew I wasn’t an early riser, so he wouldn’t be concerned if I called him when I got up.

However, I wasn’t given the opportunity to sleep that late. At 8:30, the phone rang and woke me up. It was Nana. “Your brother tried to kill himself again**,” she said, matter-of-factly as if rattling off a grocery list. “He took some of your dad’s epilepsy pills and some of my heart pills. He’s out cold in the basement.”

Resentment stifled the concern I should’ve felt. I shook my head, trying to shake off the fogginess from lack of sleep. “Did you call an ambulance?”

“No, your dad was afraid to, afraid they’d put him in jail.”

“In jail? For what?” I asked wondering if they had somehow gotten wind of Danny’s antics at the hotel in the wee hours.

“I don’t know. Taking someone else’s pills, I guess.”

“They don’t put you in jail for that – unless you get caught driving.”

“Oh,” Nana said. “Well, he didn’t know that.”

“He should still call.”

“I’ll tell him,” Nana replied, seemingly unfazed by the morning’s events.

“I’ll be over in a little while.”

I dragged myself out of bed, hastily ate a granola bar, took a shower and arrived at Dad’s about an hour later. Dad still hadn’t called for an EMT.

“How much did he take?” I asked, sitting down across from Dad at the kitchen table where he had been reading the paper.

“He took at least 3 of my Mysoline. I don’t know how many of Maude’s pills he took.”

“Quite a few. I’d just filled that bottle,” Nana said, pouring herself a cup of coffee and sitting down next to me.”

“Have you checked to make sure he’s still breathing?”

“Yeah, he was about an hour ago before Monica got here. That’s her Jeep out front.”

“Monica? How’d she know about this?”

“I called her,” Nana said. “Found her number on a slip of paper on his desk. They’ve been going out again. She was just here a couple of nights ago.”

I nodded. Monica was an ex-girlfriend of Danny’s from high school. “I thought she lived in Maryland?”

“She did until she lost her job. I always liked her, smart girl. She does something with computers, doesn’t she?” Nana asked.

“Yeah, I saw her at the mall last Christmas, and she mentioned working as a computer programmer, I think. She was still in Maryland then.”

Nana nodded. I went downstairs, and there was Danny lying face down on the couch in the cold basement. Monica, a tall, dark-haired beauty in her late 30s, sat beside him, tears in her eyes.

“How’s he doing?” I asked.

“He’s pretty out of it. He woke up and smiled at me and asked me why I was here, why anyone would care. What happened? Why did he-?” Monica asked.

“You’ll have to ask Danny about that,” I said.  “It’s not my business to say.”

I gave Monica my business card with my cell number and email address and asked her to keep me posted about Danny’s condition, and I headed out for Georgia shortly after.

Dad and Nana flew to Georgia later that afternoon, and Monica stayed with Danny that night and most of the next day.

That night, I returned Monica’s voicemail from a hotel in North Carolina. She said he’d been awake long enough to eat a cheeseburger she’d brought him from McDonald’s, then immediately slipped back into slumber. He slept pretty much nonstop for almost two days, but he fully recovered to blaze yet another trail of chaos upon the world and everyone’s sanity within 1,000 mile radius and then some.

And, that, my friend’s, is the saga of Danny’s second endeavor to punch out early…and/or permanently.

The sad thing is the best emotion I could rally at the time was ambivalence, and I have difficulty feeling bad about that. If that makes me a bad person, so be it…

Over and out from SHE who shan’t be crossed… 🙂


*See the previous Post #52 – The Red Roof Incident for the WHOLE story as to WHY my brother Danny had shown up at my hotel room.

**The first attempt was when Danny was 20ish. This is the second attempt, hence the name of the post, and his third attempt is the subject of Post #5 – The Dreaded Call at Midnight”…

P.S. DISCLAIMER: This story is a combination of TWO different events, which happened at different times…but it’s all true, save for a few altered details to protect the innocent and those who do not wish to be mentioned in my blog or my memoir.

# 6 – The Theft, the THUG and more Mayhem this way comes…

Posted in Family, grandmothers, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on March 28, 2011 by tenaciousbitch

Telling Nana Maude that Danny tried to kill himself was a tad less painful than throwing salty mud in her eye. She immediately started crying, and then the bile of anger crept into her voice. “So, who’s going to take care of me now?” she wailed, trying not to sob.

“I really think we need to look at nursing homes because I don’t think-”

“No, you might as well bury me.”

“But, Nana, you can’t live by yourself, and I’m sure there are some very nice nursing homes here. I’m sure they’re not all like this one.”

“Well, it’s all the same. I’d be sitting alone all day, and I’ll bet the food’s no better elsewhere.”

After a lengthy and difficult conversation, Nana Maude asked if she could come and live with me, Charlie, and Max.

“But you HATE the cold weather.”

“I hate it here worse, and I love going to your house.”

I paused a moment trying to think of the right words that wouldn’t hurt her feelings. “You don’t understand. When you come to visit, everything changes. We don’t eat the same food. We don’t watch the same TV. Everything revolves around you. And I work all day.”

“All day?”

“Yes, upstairs, eight to ten hours a day. So, you’d be sitting by yourself all day.”

“Oh, well, I’d hate that, but…” her voice trailed off. “But I can’t stay here.”

At that point, I truly felt like my life as I knew it, was over. I already felt as if my family were sucking the life out of me, and now this? I love my Grandmother, but I did NOT want her living with me.

The maddening daily routine of trying to figure out what to cook for her is enough to beget over-serving one’s self hard liquor every day. Her list of entrees is currently less than a dozen, and it gets shorter every day. Nana likes “country food” – beans and cornbread and anything FRIED. Charlie and I are relatively health conscious, and she is MOST certainly not…

She also hates anything the slightest bit violent in TV or movies. She didn’t like Miss Congeniality because it had ONE scene with a gun. She doesn’t even like movies where people argue!

Ugh…and mine and Charlie’s favorite shows are:  CSI, White Collar, Dog the Bounty Hunter, Fringe, True Blood…yeah, I can see us all sitting down to dinner to watch the latest with Sooki and Bill…

But after discussing it with my husband, we decided that Nana would come up to Ohio. I hung up the phone after talking to Charlie and burst into tears.

After discussing Danny’s suicide attempt, we went to Citibank to close the joint bank accounts that she’d had with Danny. The account manager was kind enough to print out copies of all the bank statements for the last six months since Danny had been stealing Nana’s mail (again). She wanted to make sure there weren’t other bills that hadn’t been paid. I put the statements in my suitcase, to mull over later.

That evening, I heard Nana on the phone talking about Danny.

“Who was that?” I asked when Nana hung up.

“Connie, that friend of Danny’s I told you about, her boyfriend lives down the street from here. She says Danny’s going to rehab. Can you believe it?”

“God, I hope he’s serious this time,” I said, and I meant it. This was also his THIRD stretch in rehab.

The next morning, a man named Everett called saying that he’d been talking to Danny for a couple of weeks about buying Dad’s BMW. I’d driven down to Georgia a year ago, and Danny still hadn’t registered it in his name. I’d seen the for sale sign on the BMW at Nana’s house, but I didn’t know WHY Danny was trying to sell it until I found all the cut off notices for Nana’s utilities…

Everett said that his bank required that the registration be current on the car before they would approve the loan.

“Well, Danny’s in the hospital, so I’ll be glad to take care of that and sell you the car. It’s actually still owned by my Dad’s estate,” I told Everett on the phone.

“I see,” Everett replied, obviously, a little confused. “Well, I don’t want to cheat Danny or anything.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll clear it with Danny. He can’t sell it himself because he doesn’t have the money to register it or insure it.”

Yeah, because doing so previously would’ve cut into his crack budget.

“So, I’ll have to title it in my name, and then, I’ll…make sure he gets what he’s owed,” I said, very carefully, so as not to tip him off to the fact that ALL of the money would go to my Grandmother and/or to pay her bills.

“Oh, okay, I see.” Everett said.

“What price had you agreed to?”

“Sixty-three hundred,” he replied.

YIPPEE…that meant, perhaps, I could escape without going over my credit card limit…since I was buying EVERYTHING Nana needed as well as my own groceries and not making any money while I was in Georgia. When it was all said and done, I put over $2K on my credit card that month I was in Georgia.

After Danny’s suicide attempt, I checked out of the hotel and went to stay at Nana’s, and I researched the BMW situation. By GEORGIA law, Danny was required to TITLE the car in his name and INSURED it within 10 days of receipt. Since he hadn’t, he didn’t legally own the car – though he’d bought it from Dad’s estate, technically.

“That sounds fair,” I replied making a mental note to look up the Blue Book value of the car.

“Is Danny all right?”

“Uh,”… My mother would’ve lied and said he had appendicitis or something, but I don’t play that game. “He’s in rehab. Danny has a drug problem.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Well, just give me a call when you get all the paperwork straightened out.”

We said our goodbyes, and I walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water where I was startled to see a sloppy-looking woman, with bad acne, in dirty-looking shorts and a very tight-fitting t-shirt. She had the rather yellowed teeth of a Meth addict, but, maybe, she just didn’t have a dental plan.  Either way, I immediately assumed she was a member of Danny’s baggage/a girlfriend.

“Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

“I’m Connie. I have a key,” she said, holding up a key to the front door. “Maude asked me to come by and clean. I’ve been, you know… helping out, and-”

“Yeah, you talked to her last night, right?”

Connie nodded.

“I’m Kennedy, Danny’s sister. You’re a friend of his, right?”

She nodded, then disappeared saying going to clean the bathrooms. Okay…she seemed nice, but…

I thought it was odd that this woman who barely knew Nana – now has a key and suddenly appeared to clean the house. However, I soon learned…she did more than that…

A couple days later I came back to the house after visiting Nana, and I couldn’t find those bank statements from Citibank ANYWHERE. AND all the new bank info from the account that we opened in mine and Nana’s name was also GONE…at the time, I thought Connie took them. However, it was worse than that…

Stay tuned, boys and girls… things are JUST getting good!

~Tenaciousbitch/Kennedy Smith

#5 – The DREADED call at midnight…

Posted in Family, nonfiction, relationships, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on March 27, 2011 by tenaciousbitch

After visiting Nana, I tossed the Red Lobster leftovers in the fridge at the Marriott and gratefully crashed onto my queen-sized bed. I sipped my Merlot and laid on the bed reading The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest. I really have no love for Larsen’s writing style, which I thought was bargain basement shitty, but I had to finish the series, so I could go on with my life… 🙂

Around midnight, the phone rang. It was Nancy, Nana’s best friend who would ordinarily NEVER call this late, so I was a tad vexed when I answered the phone, worrying it was the call about Nana that ends with –my condolences…but it wasn’t…

“The police and EMS are at Maude’s house. Danny tried to kill himself.”

“Oh, my God! Is he okay?”

“I don’t know.  They said he was unconscious.”

“Is he at Memorial Hospital?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, thanks for letting me know.”

Perhaps, this is incredibly selfish, but at that moment in time, I was really PISSED at Danny. It was bad enough that he pilfered ALL of Nana’s money, but now this. And this is the third time he’s tried to end it all (more on the other attempts in future posts).

I called Memorial, and because of HIPPA, they wouldn’t confirm or deny that Danny had been admitted, which actually was kind of a relief.

Maybe, I was being unkind, but without knowing if he was there or not gave me an excuse NOT to go over there. It would’ve been illogical to take him to St. Ann’s. It was 20 miles away…and they probably wouldn’t let me see him anyway, not that I wanted to. WHAT the hell would I have said? I’m glad you didn’t off yourself, but I still can’t stand the sight of you??

I took a DEEP breath and explained to the receptionist at Memorial, that “Danny has MRSA. The staff need to know if he’s there.”

The receptionist assured me she’d pass the info along, “If he’s here,” she said, but she didn’t. The next day, I called back and just asked for Danny, without mentioning the suicide attempt, and, luckily, I was transferred to ICU.

I informed the nurse named Winona that Danny had MRSA.

“Thanks,” Winona replied. “It’s not on his chart. We test for MRSA, but we haven’t gotten the results back yet.”

“How is he?”

“He’s awake and stable.”

I nodded, not sure what else to say. “What did he do exactly?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” I knew that…doesn’t hurt to ask.

The nurse explained that Danny was on a 72-hour hold and that I could see him after that.

“Okay, thanks.”

I hung up. The anger soured in my mouth, knowing this turn of events annihilated any chance that Danny could move back in with Nana. And for those who wonder why, check out this post:

Yes, I knew I was being a selfish bitch, but I’m okay with that. I know I should cry, feel badly that my brother almost died, but I think he’s just bullied it out of me over the years.

However, every suicidal incident has occurred immediately after committing another royal fuck-up. Only this time, Nana and I are the ones in his bear trap and not Mom or Dad. And if Nana won’t go to an assisted living facility or a nursing home, and she does move in with me, our finances will be a disaster. And I don’t need anyone or anything tossing more chores on my plate.

My contract with the production company in the U.K. had dwindled to around 10-15 hours/week because of the downturn in the economy, so I’d been looking for a “regular” job. But there’s no way I could possibly work outside the house if Nana moves in with us. We couldn’t afford to hire someone to take care of her all day. DAMMIT!

Plus, as it is, I’m already struggling to equalize my time between my freelance work, my writing and my family obligations while trying to keep my house at least sanitary.

A couple of days later, I went to the hospital, with the intent of seeing Danny. I sat in my car wondering what to say, especially after speaking with Nana’s mortgage company confirming that he’d liquidated and spent ALL of the equity in Nana’s house (around $50,000). Her checking account was overdrawn, and her savings was nonexistent, not to mention he’d spent her January Social Security check as well. So, she was penniless until February 3rd, 26 days away!

Without looking at her bank statements, I knew he’d spent all her money on booze, drugs, new clothes and strippers.  There were pages of charges to Macy’s, the Liquor Barn (a mile from Nana’s) and a place called The Cheetah Lounge, which probably wasn’t associated with the local zoo 🙂 – as well as numerous ATM withdrawals for $300 each time, the limit for her account.

I’d also found cut-off notices for her utilities and her phone bill. So, not only did he STEAL all of her money, he hadn’t even bothered to pay her bills either. I had to put about $900 on my credit card just to keep the lights on, etc.

Aside from spending Nana’s life savings, Danny had run up Dad’s credit cards, (without permission) and fraudulently opened credit cards in Dad’s name and forged Dad’s name on a double-wide trailer that Danny and his ex-wife bought sometime around 2003. How is that, you ask? Well, Danny was a mortgage broker at the time, so it was pretty easy for him to close the loan without Dad’ presence.

The double-wide trailer and a single-wide that Dad had co-signed for – both got foreclosed on, so Dad received a bill for more than $60,000 in storage fees, back lot rent, etc. on Danny’s trailers sometime around 2005. And though Dad had paid off our childhood home in West Virginia in ’96, he had to take out TWO mortgages to pay all of Danny’s debts, and Danny just strutted away into the sunset – just another day in HIS universe where the rules of God and Man don’t apply to Daniel P Smith.

When Dad died, Ben, Danny and I decided to sell Mom and Dad’s house. Emptying the house required 3 estate sales, half a dozen grueling weekends driving 300 miles round trip to Dad’s in WV over five months, and hauling furniture home that didn’t sell and donating the highest volume of knick knacks this side of Martha Stewart’s basement – to Goodwill.

Then, TWO days before the closing, Ben had to cancel the sale. With Danny’s fraudulent credit card debt in Dad’s name, the two mortgages and $3,000 of Mom’s credit card debt, Dad owed over $100K, and the house appraised at $60,000. So, thanks, Danny…we just lost $20K a piece. AWESOME…

So, what did I say to Danny after he’d used our dad like an ATM machine for around 15 years? Not much.

Sitting in my car in Memorial Hospital’s parking lot, I wrote him a note telling him to STAY AWAY from ME and Nana Maude, or I would convince Ben to press charges against him for identity theft and forgery.

Sadly, since Nana had given Danny Power of Attorney, no prosecutor would go after him for THEFT… but Ben could file charges as the executor of Dad’s Will for all the debt Danny took out in Dad’s name…

I didn’t hear from Danny for a couple of days after leaving the note with one of the nurses on his floor… little did I know he never got it.

More later… about the TSUNAMI left in Danny’s wake…


~Tenacious Bitch and Company…