Maria BALLANTYNE'S life story
 

Mrs. Ballantyne and I found two comfortable chairs in the living room and settled in.  Her living room occupied a corner of the house with two large picture windows.  One wall looked out on a swimming pool and the huge lawn that extended into the nearby woods.  Another wall looked out on a beautiful atrium that featured a large collection of exotic tropical plants.  I did not know it at the time, but this atrium would play a major role later in the day.  The living room was decorated with countless family photographs.  The walls and tables were full of pictures dedicated to preserving memories of the large Ballantyne clan. 

Noticing me admiring the pictures, Mrs. Ballantyne smiled.

"This is my favorite room in the house.  These pictures are incredibly important to me.  They tell the story of a dream come true for me.  Earlier you mentioned having a conversation with God.  I have had conversations of my own.  When I was growing up, my family was shattered to pieces by tragedy.  At one point I was practically an orphan.  Lonely and miserable, I prayed to God that I could have a loving husband and a family of my own to love.  Thank goodness I got my wish."

"When you and I met ten years ago, you mentioned your life fell apart when your mother died.  What happened after that?"

"My father was born in Greece in 1881.  His name was Savvas Paraskevopoulos, but he changed it to Mike when he moved to America.  My father could neither read nor write.  Due to his lack of education, as a young man he made a living as a goat herder.  Although my father was poor and uneducated, he was a strapping lad with a great deal of ambition.  Seeking a better opportunity, Mike decided the best way he could make something of his life was to emigrate from his small mountain village of Nestani to far-off America.  My father immigrated in 1901.  He was 20 years old when he arrived at Ellis Island.

My father was a well-built, powerful young man.  Due to his strength, he got a job as a laborer on a railroad gang.  He gradually moved west wherever his railroad job took him.  One day my father was working in Arkansas when he went to his Irish foreman to collect his pay. 

"What's your name, mister?" the foreman demanded.

In broken English, he replied, "Savvas Paraskevopoulos."

The foreman stared at him in disgust.  "Look here," the man snapped, "I can't say your name and I cannot imagine how to spell it.  Use my name or I'm going to fire you."

"Okay, what's your name?" my father asked.

"Mike Mitchell," the foreman said.

"Fine," he replied, "then that's my name too." 

And with that, my father traded his Greek name for an Irish name.  Mike's cousin had recently arrived in America, so the two of them decided to meet in Houston, Texas.  There they opened a shoeshine stand near the fancy Rice Hotel in downtown Houston.  Although Mike would eventually turn out to be a bum, in the beginning he was a hard worker.  Settling down in nearby Galveston, Mike ran a succession of shoeshine shops, then branched out into a dry-cleaning shop that pressed and ironed shirts as well as other clothes.

Just then the maid came in to serve us both coffee.  After thanking the woman, Mrs. Ballantyne took a sip, then resumed.

"My mother-to-be was quite flattered.  Dazzled by this extremely confident Greek-American with his beautifully tailored suit, ample supply of clean shirts and fresh carnations in his lapel, Katina liked him a lot better than the so-so guy her sister had picked out for her.  Furthermore her parents were back in Greece, so she was free to choose.  And so Mike succeeded in sweeping the beautiful young lady off her feet.  Breaking off her engagement to the first suitor, Katina Eleftheriou married Mike and hopped on a train back to Galveston. 

I sometimes wonder what my mother thought when she realized the luxury home her new husband had promised her was actually a tiny apartment above Mike's shoeshine and cleaning shop.  However, she must have seen promise in the man because she stuck around.  If nothing else, this fellow was aggressive.  That he was.

My parents had four children.  The first three were boys: Johnny, Christie, George.  Then came me in 1920, the same year Prohibition started.  Following my birth, the next eleven years were full of happiness for the family.  Our mother was warm, nurturing and deeply concerned about her children's fortunes.  But then in a flash she was gone."

brother and sister
 

"In 1931, a terrible misfortune befell the family when my mother suffered a devastating stroke.  She died soon after.  It was a heart-rending tragedy.  My mother was only 44 at the time.  I was grief-stricken."

Mrs. Ballantyne gave me a faint smile.  "So here I am, 11 years old, and my world has just fallen apart.  Are you following this?"

I nodded.  "Yes, ma'am." 

"My mother Katina was a wonderful woman and we were very close.  When I lost her, I felt so much pain I did not know if I could continue.  Thank God my older brother George pulled me through.  George was not much older than me, just 18 months difference, but he grew up fast when my mother died.  My father was nowhere to be seen most of the time, so George took care of me in the days following." 

"What happened to Johnny and Christie?"

"They had both finished high school, so my father told them to move to Houston and learn how to feed themselves for a change.  I wish they had stayed because my father decided to stop being our father.  Not long after my mother died, my father got in a terrible car accident and broke his leg.  Now that Mike was crippled, that was his excuse to stop being a father to George and me.  He decided to get rid of us.  For a time, George and I drifted from home to home, relative to relative, with no idea what our father was planning to do with us.  He felt sorry for himself and did stupid things.  Good jobs were really tough to come by due to the Depression, so my father gave up looking.  Rather than get an honest job, he preferred to run errands for the Galveston mob.  With my mother gone, he gave free rein to his gambling habit.  He gambled and chased women in the casinos day and night. 

Things stabilized somewhat when my father found us permanent residence.  However we suffered a really cruel fate because no one could afford to take both of us.  We are talking about the Depression and money was tight.  Mike's brother agreed to take George, but I went elsewhere.  Under heavy pressure from Mike, Aunt Virginia, my mother's sister, agreed to take care of me. 

I was heartbroken when George was sent to live miles away at the other end of Galveston Island.  It could just as easily been the end of the world.  We had no telephone and several months went by without my seeing him.  I assumed it would be forever.  I could not bear to be separated from George.  He was my absolute best friend in the world.  We had clung together in the wake of our mother's death.  Now we didn't even have each other.  Separated, I felt like an orphan.  My world had fallen to pieces.

This was the lowest point of my life.  I had lost my mother, my oldest brothers had moved to Houston, my father had abandoned me and now I lost George too.  With my mother dead and my best friend in the world gone, I could not hold back the tears. 

Fortunately, George, 13, missed me as much as I missed him.  He was a master at catching fish in Galveston Bay and selling them to seafood restaurants.  It took him two months, but one day George unexpectedly showed up on my doorstep.  He was riding a beat-up bicycle he had bought with his fish earnings just so he could see me again.  Filled with joy, I hugged George so hard he thought one of his ribs was broken.  However, just then I noticed George had two tennis rackets in his bag.  Little did I know George intended to use those rackets to terrorize me.

"What's that tennis racket for, George?"

He replied, "Oh, gosh, Maria, I thought maybe you and I would play a little tennis, bat the ball around some."

George was a fanatic about tennis.  Tennis was the great love of his life.  We played that first day, but George noticed this was a really long walk for me, so he bought me a bike too.  Now we met every day after school using the tennis court as our halfway point." 

"This went on for three years.  Not once did I beat my brother.  Believe me, it was not for lack of trying.  There has never been a more competitive woman than me, but beating my brother was impossible.  George was really good plus he was the sort of boy who wouldn't dream of throwing a game to his kid sister just to be nice.  I seethed with resentment over getting beaten at tennis all the time. 

Fortunately, George was magnificent in every other way.  It wasn't easy, but I usually forgave him.  When George was not busy beating my brains out at tennis, he would take me fishing.  I would sit there in the boat and keep him company.  George was such a good fisherman, he caught some really big fish and sold them to seafood restaurants for spending money.  He was saving that money for college because he doubted seriously our father Mike would help him.  That was a smart move because he ended up paying his own way to Texas A&M.

For a while there, it was me and George against the world.  For three years following our mother's death, we had each other but practically no one else.  We grew as close as humanly possible.  Drawing strength and courage from each other's presence, together we overcame the terrible blow of losing both our parents and our two older brothers who had moved to Houston.  There were many times when we were alone.  We would be cooling off after tennis or fishing out on Galveston Bay.  During these moments, we often talked about our missing parents.  They deserved a lot of credit for having the courage to leave their Greek homeland for the 5,000 mile sea trip to America.  George said he had the same instinct within him.  He identified with Mexican immigrants who risked their lives to come to Texas.  George said if he had been born a Mexican, no wall, no river, no cops would have ever stopped him from coming to America.  Proud to live in this land of opportunity, George insisted he would take any risk necessary to succeed in life.  George said there was a powerful will in his Greek blood to succeed at any cost.  I would nod and tell George I felt the same way.

The great mystery of our lives was trying to understand why our once-ambitious father had turned his back on us.  Neither George nor I could figure out what had changed him into such a deadbeat.  Before my mother's death, Mike had been a hard-working man with his own business.  But that was yesterday.  Shirking his duties as a parent, Mike decided true happiness lay in playing poker, hustling for the mob and chasing women.  George and I vowed never to repeat our father's mistake.  Due to the pain of losing our parents, we made a solemn vow.  We promised when the day came to be parents ourselves, we would become the finest parents imaginable.  That three year period we spent together after our mother's tragic death marked the birth of our legacy as parents.  Family first, hard work, determination, and the resolve to never quit until we made something of ourselves.  That was our vow."

gangster land
 

"What was life like living with your Aunt and Uncle?" I asked.

"Very weird, very strange.  Things were far from idyllic.  Although my relationship with my aunt eventually improved, at first I was not particularly welcome in my new home.  Aunt Virginia and Uncle Gus had two children of their own plus a baby on the way.  In addition they supervised a restaurant business downstairs that required constant attention.  Money was always a problem.  Stuck in a new home where money was tight, I felt like my presence was resented.  For a while there, attention was scarce.  Things were really tough for me.  I feel completely alone."

"You said things were weird.  What did you mean?"

"There was a dark secret to this restaurant.  You won't believe this, but I lived upstairs from a gambling joint.  Due to the noise, it did not take long to learn I lived in some sort of Gangster Land.  I had a small room to myself upstairs, but I never had a moment of peace.  The commotion downstairs was so intense that I started to peek around doors at night.  My curiosity help me figure out that my aunt and uncle's restaurant served as a front for a gambling operation run by the Galveston mob.  There was a door in the restaurant guarded by powerful thugs.  Behind that door was the hidden casino.  Inside the casino, a side door led to the brothel.  I never actually saw the casino because I was not allowed inside.  But I knew it was there." 

I smiled to myself.  We had both lost a parent, we were neglected by our remaining parent.  I lived in a home with six Mexicans, Mrs. Ballantyne had Gangster Land.  Weren't we a pair? 

"If you never saw the brothel, then how did you know?"

"The women were always on the make for customers.  When things were slow, sometimes they would come inside the restaurant and solicit.  Other times they would go out on the street and find a hookup.  I would watch as some woman dragged her john through the restaurant into the casino."

Mrs. Ballantyne frowned, then added, "Forgive my French, but the whorehouse was busy day and night.  I saw and heard things no small girl should hear.  I had to grow up in a hurry.  But at least I learned how to cuss like a sailor." 

Sam Maceo, Godfather
 

Mrs. Ballantyne looked out the window for a moment.  I suppose she was deciding how much she was willing to share about her relationship with the Galveston Godfather. 

"Rick, back when I first met you at that grocery store, do you remember me telling you that a gangster had paid my way to college?"

"Yes, of course.  How could I forget?  I've been wondering about that for ten years.  However you were pretty vague.  You spoke in a whisper."

Mrs. Ballantyne smiled.  "I don't know if you could call Sam Maceo a skeleton in the closet, but that was not information I wanted spread around St. John's.  I had no idea if I could trust you to stay silent."

"You had a reputation to protect."

"You could put it that way.  But my children have graduated since then.  Let the scions of society think what they want.  From where I stand, Sam Maceo was very kind to me.  I owe him my college education."

"I have never heard of him.  Was he famous?"

"I don't know about the rest of the country, but Sam Maceo was famous in Galveston.  He was the island's Godfather.  He got started smuggling bootleg liquor during the Prohibition.  Once he had the police in his back pocket through bribes, Maceo operated at will.  Gambling was wide open and prostitution was rampant.  Although my father was not a direct member of the Maceo operation, he ran errands for the Maceo brothers whenever there was a chance to earn a quick buck." 

"What was it like living around the mob?"

"It was crazy.  Because the casino and the brothel was on the premises, my uncle's restaurant was used as a frequent meeting place for gangsters.  Several times a week the island Mafioso would gather to eat, conduct business and flirt with the various women of the night.  When business was slow, the girls would leave the casino and look for customers in the restaurant.  Sometimes things got hot and heavy when the preliminary action took place where I could see.  There were arguments, men fighting over women, women fighting over men, flirting, laughter, sensual contact, you name it.  Things got wild sometimes.  These were tough men and fast women, but fortunately they left me alone.  I lived in the eye of the hurricane."

I grinned.  "And you didn't want to tell anyone at St. John's?  They would have loved this story."

Mrs. Ballantyne laughed.  "A couple times when I was feeling perverse, I almost said something.  But I preferred to keep my difficult childhood a secret."

"Why did the gangsters leave you alone?  You said your father visited the place a lot.  Did he keep an eye on you?"

"Hell, no.  Sam Maceo was the one who protected me.  He took a shine to me and told his men to keep their hands off.  Like I said, after my mother's death, my father went off on a tangent.  I would see my father from time to time when he came by to play poker or blackjack at the casino, but he rarely paid any attention to me.  Usually it was a cursory wave, a quick little 'How ya doin', sweetie?', then he would make a dash behind the mysterious casino door so he didn't have to talk to me.  My father was useless to me.  We talked occasionally, but we never talked about me.  As far he was concerned, I was on my own.  My father was born to hustle, not raise children."

"You said this mob boss paid your way to college.  Was there some reason for that?"

"I know what you are getting at, but Mr. Maceo was not that kind of man.  The Sam Maceo I knew was very honorable.  He didn't kill people because he didn't need to.  Sam Maceo was more like a business man.  Yes, his business was illegal, but back in those days no one cared.  Prostitution?  Only the church ladies objected.  Booze?  Come on, now.  Gambling?  Same thing.  These were what I refer to as victimless crimes.  I say let people do what they want if they aren't hurting anyone else.  You want to drink?  Go right ahead.

Sam Maceo was the most powerful man in Galveston when I was a little girl.  He was a close associate of Carlos Marcello, Godfather of the New Orleans crime family.  Together these two men dominated the entire Gulf Coast.   Back in those days Galveston was sort of a world unto itself.  The local cops were in his pocket, but the Texas Rangers went nuts trying to put him out of business.  Fortunately, up until the bitter end, the gratitude of the Galveston people went a long way towards shielding him.  Sam Maceo felt responsible for taking care of the Galveston community.  That loyalty was a door that swung both ways.  They knew where their bread was buttered.  Everyone understood that Sam Maceo was the economic engine that kept Galveston prosperous.  For a while there, Galveston was just as big as New Orleans.  People from all over America came to Galveston to have a good time.   If the outsiders had just left him alone, I bet there would have never been a Las Vegas.  That honor would have gone to Galveston instead."

"How did you meet him?"

"Mr. Maceo knew everybody.  He knew me because my dissolute father occasionally did small jobs for his syndicate.  In addition, Sam Maceo visited my uncle's restaurant on occasion because he had one of his gambling and prostitution operations hidden behind that well-guarded door.  Since I lived upstairs, I had to cross through the restaurant to get to my room.  Mr. Maceo enjoyed eating at the restaurant and would see me.  He always seemed to go out of his way to greet me.  I was 12 at the time.  He knew my mother had just died and he also knew my father had forced me to go live with my aunt and uncle.  He was a better father to me than my own father."

Mrs. Ballantyne winced at this point, probably because it hurt to talk about her father.

"My father was a real jerk.  Noting how my father was preoccupied with gambling and chasing women, Mr. Maceo did not approve of his behavior.  I think he felt sorry for me.  A firm believer in Family, he was disgusted at my father's neglect of duty.

Mr. Maceo would spot me as I walked through my uncle's restaurant after school and smile at me.  I was so lonely, I loved the attention.  I would always smile back.  Then one day he waved to me and beckoned for me to come over.  As I stood trembling at his booth, Mr. Maceo asked me how school was going and if I needed anything.  I just stared in awe.  I was much too intimidated to say a word."

Mrs. Ballantyne paused to laugh.  With a twinkle in her eye, she said, "Can you imagine me being speechless about anything?"  She giggled a second time, then continued.

"Mr. Maceo teased me about being so quiet, then asked me my name.  When I answered, he said, 'Aw, so you can talk after all.'  He handed me a dollar and told me to spend it wisely.  The next time I saw him, this time I found my voice and we talked for a couple minutes.  He smiled the entire time.  After that, I got in the habit of going over to his table to chat whenever I saw him.  Each time he would hand me a dollar.  I was so starved for attention, I was grateful to anyone who was willing to be nice to me.  One day he handed me another dollar and I told him he didn't need to do that.  When I handed it back to him, Mr. Maceo seemed a little miffed.

'Why don't you want my dollar?' he asked.

'Because, Mr. Maceo, I would rather talk to you for free.'

What a smile!  He got the biggest kick out of that.  That's how we became friends."

the tennis match of the century
 

I grinned.  "That's what I thought you would say.  Now I have another question.  When I first met you ten years ago, you mentioned you never dated in high school.  I didn't believe you at the time, but now you just said it again.  Is that really true?  If so, why didn't you ever date?"

Mrs. Ballantyne laughed. 

"That is a funny story, Rick.  Blame it on George.  He was very protective of me and I loved him for that.  However, he took it a little too far when I moved to San Antonio.  My brother was only 18 months older than me, but in his mind he was a grown man and I was a helpless teenage girl in great danger of being seduced.  After my mother died and Mike split up the family, George became very protective of me, probably because he overheard all the nasty things some of the guys up at A&M bragged about. 

At any rate, tennis was the glue in our relationship.  After my father split us up, we lived in different homes and went to different schools.  George made a point to come look me up after school practically every day.  George loved tennis with a passion; he couldn't get enough of it.  Tennis and astronomy were the two great loves of his life, oh, and don't' forget fishing.  But tennis was tops.  Every day George would challenge me to another game of tennis.  This became my daily curse.  Don't get me wrong, ordinarily George was wonderful to me, but tennis was different.  George was pretty mean when it came to tennis.  He refused to let me win and loved to rub it in how superior he was.  George was older, taller, and faster than me.  I couldn't beat him to save my soul.  You have no idea what it is like to lose time and time again to someone."

Well, actually I did know what it was like to lose all the time.  When I was 13, there was a man named Neal who was my mother's live-in boyfriend.  I despised Neal, especially when he tormented me with his chess skills.  I could not beat him... until I studied like mad in secret and turned the tables on him.  However, before I finally won, I lost enough times to know what Mrs. Ballantyne was talking about.

"So did you ever beat George when you played after school?"

"No, not once.  The thing is, I was a very good player.  None of my friends had a chance against me.  But I didn't care about beating them.  All I wanted to do was beat George, but George wasn't going to let that happen.  No way his kid sister would ever beat Mr. High and Mighty.  I lost every game we ever played and George teased me about it.

He made me so mad!  I wanted to quit so many times I lost count, but the next day I would be out there playing him again.  I vowed that one day I would beat him.  Didn't know when, didn't know how, but someday I would beat George.  It became a point of honor for me.  The thing that irritated me is that I was getting better all the time, but George was getting better at the same rate thanks to me!  I could not catch up to him.

After three years of torment, George went off to college up at A&M.  Now that George was gone, my Aunt and Uncle decided this was a good time to move to San Antonio.  I was furious.  This forced me to leave my hometown and what few friends I had.  I decided I would find a boyfriend and handle my loneliness that way.

I was in the 11th grade and wanted to start dating.  But I made the mistake of telling George.  George was fiercely protective and didn't want me dating anyone unless he could check out the boy first.  This was ridiculous.  George was in college 200 miles away.  How is he going to supervise my love life?  Besides, I could not believe George thought he had the right to order me around like he was my father.  I argued with George no end that I was old enough to take care of myself, but he wouldn't listen.  I wrote him a letter and said I was going to start dating whether he liked it or not.   Since he was up at A&M, George was in no position to control me.  Or so I thought.

George pulled a dirty trick on me.  One weekend in October he showed up unannounced in San Antonio with my two older brothers Johnny and Christie.  The three of them ganged up on me.  Johnny and Christie were just as bad as George.  All three brothers were terribly overprotective.  In their minds, I was this naive, helpless little Catholic girl who needed to be protected from all those dangerous, dirty-minded school boys.  They didn't want me dating when they weren't around to inspect the boys first.  Their idea of me dating was to ride along in the back seat where they could keep their eagle eyes on me.  That's how bad it was.  But since my two older brothers lived in Houston and George was at College Station, their solution was to forbid me to date.  They gave Uncle Gus and Aunt Virginia explicit orders not to let their kid sister date anyone without their consent. 

Rick, they said it to my face!  I was sitting right there in the living room listening to them.  I could not believe the words that came out of their mouths!  When George said it was for my own good, he made me so damn mad!  I was about to lose my temper, so I stomped out of the room and ran out of the house to cool down.  I walked around the block hoping they would change their minds, but I doubted it.  Sure enough, when I came back, those were the rules.  No dating in high school.  I was stunned.  Now, don't get me wrong.  I love George from the bottom of my heart and I know he thought he was doing the right thing.  But I didn't agree with him.  I was 16 years old and this was my life he was interfering with. 

I felt trapped.  Here I was in San Antonio without a friend in the world and forced to live like I had been sent to a nunnery.  Everyone at my school dated but me.  Thanks to my idiot brothers, I was a hermit.  So I got mad.  Really mad.  I was mad all the time.  Because I was mad, I played tennis.  And more tennis.  It was the only thing I could do to control my frustration.   Sometimes I challenged the boys from the school tennis team.  I was encouraged because I beat most of them.  I was getting better.  Every time I played tennis, all I could think about was how much I wanted to get even with George.

Meanwhile George, bless his soul, had written to tell me he had become captain of the tennis team at Texas A&M.  He was so proud of himself.  George added that he was unbeaten so far, maybe even unbeatable.  That was a mistake.  George should not have told me he was unbeatable.  Huge mistake. 

I was so mad at George for not letting me date, I decided to teach him a lesson.  From his letters, I knew he was struggling hard to make enough money to stay in school.  I figured if George was that busy scrambling to pay his tuition, there was no way he could be playing much tennis here in off-season.  That gave me an advantage because I had all the free time in the world thanks to his knucklehead idea that I couldn't date. 

Shortly before Thanksgiving, George called the house to apologize for not coming to see me.  He mumbled something about going to see the big Aggie football game against Texas as his excuse for ignoring me.  Feeling guilty, George promised to come see me at Christmas.  I smiled because that was exactly what I wanted to hear.  I circled the date.

I had one month to get ready, so now I practiced even harder.   I played tennis every day against the toughest players I could find at school.  No, not the girls.  I could beat them.  I played the boys and I could usually beat them too.  When I wasn't playing tennis, I trained as hard as I possibly could.  I walked to and from school and jogged in my spare time.  I was in the best shape of my life.  When George came to San Antonio to visit me over Christmas, it was time to spring my trap.  I casually asked him about his game.  It was the dead of winter and George admitted he hadn't played in two months. 

I innocently asked why not.  George replied he was busy working odd jobs and studying constantly, so he had put tennis on hold till spring began the next tennis season.  I smiled.  Just as I thought!  Meanwhile George had no idea I played constantly.  Plus I was older now and more physically mature.  I was also a lot faster than he realized.  In his ignorant boy's mind, I still looked like his little kid sister, a weakling too frail to keep up with the likes of him, tennis team El Capitano and Texas Aggie big shot.  So I casually asked if he would like to play. 

George's eyes lit up.  'Well, sure, Maria, if you want to.'  George was more than happy to play his favorite patsy."

Mrs. Ballantyne's eyes lit up and she smiled with glee.  I could see she loved telling me this story.

"Oh, Rick, I was so nervous!  When I took my jacket off, I was scared to death he would notice that my Greek skin was practically black from practicing in the sun every afternoon.  After all, it was Christmas.  Why would I have a suntan?  Fortunately George is a boy.  Boys are too stupid to notice anything that obvious.  George never suspected a thing.

Let me tell you, I jumped all over him!  George never knew what hit him.  I got to balls he had never seen me reach before.  Not only was George out of shape, he was in shock over how much I had improved.  Before he could recover, I had too big a lead for him to catch up.  I beat him soundly in the first set.  I was so thrilled!  I had never taken a set off George before.

George was not used to being whipped.  Oh no, not by a long shot.  George was hopping mad and bent on revenge.  When I saw him set his jaw and get that determined look, I knew I was in trouble.  No more element of surprise.  Sure enough, he beat me handily in the second set.  However, I noticed he was really huffing and puffing towards the end.  After his victory, George was ready to give me a big hug and call it a day.  He smiled and said, "Hey, let's call it even, Maria.  Nice job on the first set."

I said, "No way, Buster, you're not getting off that easy.  You know the rules... tie-breaker.  One more set."

The third set was the battle of the century.  Neither of us could break the other person's serve, but I noticed George was tiring.  He wasn't chasing down balls he would normally get to.  He just let them go for winners because he was too tired.  That was totally out of character for him.  George wasn't tall, but he was quick.  Ordinarily George chased down everything in sight, but not today.  As I hoped, the off-season had made him soft.  My goal was to wear him down and it worked.  Even when I didn't win the point, he used so much energy volleying back and forth that I was encouraged.  I finally broke through in a marathon match, then held my serve for the victory.  George was so tired he could barely move in the last game.  

Afterwards George was numb.  This did not happen!!  This cannot happen!!  Shaking his head in disbelief, George stared at me like I was an alien or something.  He could not believe his baby sister of all people had beaten him.  George was so glum, it was wonderful.  I started to feel sorry for him, but then I remembered all the times he had teased me unmercifully after his victories.  Then I recalled how he wouldn't let me date.  My anger returned and I decided to rub it in.  "Hey, George, how does it feel to get beaten by a girl?"  Now if George got beat by the collegiate champion or something, he could have handled that.  But not his kid sister, not the little girl who was so frail and helpless she could not be allowed to date.  So I razzed him all the way home.  "Hey, George, are you going to tell any of your A&M buddies?"  Let him suffer.  George deserved it."

I smiled as I watched Mrs. Ballantyne gloat.  She had really enjoyed reliving her big victory.

"So, Mrs. Ballantyne, did you ever beat George again?"

Mrs. Ballantyne shook her head.

"No, sorry to say, I never beat George again.  But it didn't matter.  For some reason, my victory in San Antonio continued to rankle him fiercely.  George is like the guy who makes a 99 on a test, but is miserable because he missed one question.  George was such a bad loser that I have spent the rest of my life teasing him endlessly about the upset victory.  It did not matter to George that he had 2,000 victories over me, he never got over this single tarnish to his greatness.  George has never been able to accept that one day long ago in the past his kid sister beat him through some bizarre fluke.  Mr. Invincible, the self-described best tennis player in Texas lost to a girl.  It still bugs him every time I bring up the subject.  To his dismay I usually find a way to remind him at least once every time I see him and he always frowns.  I will never, ever let him forget!!"

alando 'jay' Ballantyne
 

I tried hard not to laugh out loud.  I could not believe what I was hearing.  It was difficult to imagine the most outgoing woman I had ever met being shy.  Considering I was extremely shy thanks to my Epic Losing Streak with women, maybe there was hope for me yet.

"I don't know what got into me.  Jay was begging for my phone number, but I refused to give it to him.  I hesitated because I had a total failure of confidence."

"What was stopping you?"

"I don't know, this young man was so well-educated and so good-looking that every girl at the pool was dying to meet him.  They could not take their eyes off him.  I withheld my phone number because I could not figure out what he saw in a shy girl like myself.  What chance did I have?  I liked him so much, I was afraid of getting my feelings hurt."

I smiled quietly. I was still having a hard time picturing this lovely, vivacious woman as 'shy' and 'lacking confidence'.  That said, I appreciated her modesty.  I was also taken aback by her candor.  Mrs. Ballantyne was so comfortable sitting here in her living room, she was ready to tell me anything I asked. 

"To avoid embarrassing me, Jay finally gave up and moved away to get something at the snack bar.  When he came back, he jumped in at another part of the swimming pool.  But it was just an act.  Jay was sneaky enough to go behind my back.  When I wasn't looking, he got my phone number from one of my girlfriends at the pool.

I told myself I didn't want to go out with him.  During World War II, Jay served as an army captain and medical doctor.  At the moment he was temporarily stationed at the Randolph air force base here in San Antonio.  I was certain I was going to fall for him only to see him leave.  We went out on a date and now I was even more intimidated.  My suitor was a very impressive man.  Jay had graduated Phi Beta Kappa from the University of Arizona and had been awarded a scholarship to Columbia Medical School.  I was in awe.  This man was even smarter than he was good-looking. 

Fortunately Jay was so nice to me that I finally conquered my jitters.  We saw each other every chance we got and were married three months later."

"Why so fast?"

"The reason for our whirlwind decision to marry was typical of young couples during the war.  Just as I feared, Jay received orders to report to Hawaii.  I was heartsick when he broke the news.  Jay was just as miserable as I was.  It was either get married or be separated.  Bless his heart, Jay wasted no time proposing.

We had not known each other long, but I was so much in love.  I could not bear the thought of letting him leave without me.  If something went wrong, another Pearl Harbor, I could never forgive myself.  However I did not dare let him know I would follow him to the end of the earth.  I played hard to get, made him beg a little, but I knew all along I would relent.  I told Jay ordinarily I would make him wait longer, but since it was Hawaii, maybe I would reconsider.  Our time in Hawaii was the happiest I have ever been in my life.  I had waited so long for this moment.  Now it was all worthwhile.  That is why I always tell my children to keep trying.  Sooner or later their luck will turn, but only if they put in the work.

Following the war, Jay's training took us to the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota.  Then came his big chance.  In 1947, Jay became the first resident at Houston's new M.D. Anderson Hospital as a head and neck cancer surgeon." 

"How did your husband feel about moving to Houston?"

"Jay had enjoyed his previous time in Texas, so he had no objections.  My main reason for asking him to move us to Houston was to be reunited with George.  My brother was a successful businessman with a large, very wonderful family.  I missed George so much and wanted to be close to him again.  So we moved our growing family to Houston.  Everything worked to perfection.  My husband thrived.  He developed an international reputation at M.D. Anderson.  He also served as a teaching professor for the University of Texas medical system.  Meanwhile I set up shop in our new home.  Our house was a gift from George."

From here the conversation drifted to the story of her home.  Mrs. Ballantyne smiled at the memory of how her family was able to move into Houston's prestigious River Oaks area.  Meanwhile I was confused.  How did George get so rich?

"Are you serious?  This house was a gift from your brother?"

"More or less, yes.  We were only able to afford our home because George gave us the property.  Believe it or not, my brother is a wealthy oilman.  He is a true rags to riches story."

"I would imagine you would be very grateful to George."

Mrs. Ballantyne nodded.  "That is the understatement of the century."

I grinned.  "Did you find it in your heart to forgive him for beating you at tennis?"

With a smile, Mrs. Ballantyne quipped, "Oh, maybe a little bit.  I owe him so much." 

It was at this point that I became obsessed with George.  Here was a man who was so poor he caught fish during high school hoping to pay his own way to college.  Now this same man is giving away a multi-million dollar property to his sister.  Who is this guy?  However, it would be rude to change the subject, so I decided to bide my time. 

As she looked around the spacious living room, Mrs. Ballantyne waved her hand in a sweeping motion to call attention to the beauty of the room and the copious pictures of her large family. 

"I owe George a lot for helping me make my dreams come true.  In the late Fifties, George bought an undeveloped tract of land on the edge of River Oaks.  Located on the banks of muddy Buffalo Bayou, our lot was inexpensive by River Oaks standards.  He got it cheap because the property was a veritable jungle at the time.  Heavily forested with oak trees and dense underbrush, the lot was infested with mosquitoes, rodents, snakes and squirrels."

"Mrs. Ballantyne, I know you are trying to be modest, but this is River Oaks.  No one lives in River Oaks by accident." 

"You are right of course.  No one lives here by accident.  People always think we are rich, but we have everyone fooled.  We aren't rich, we're just lucky.  Jay is well paid, but we live on a fixed income.  All the mothers at St. John's assumed since my family had this nice big home in River Oaks and I had seven children at the school that my husband must be filthy rich.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  That has always been my family's big secret.  Compared to the wealth of some of our neighbors, we are the Beverly Hillbillies, but what they don't know won't hurt them.  We aren't wealthy, but we are fortunate.  We only live in River Oaks thanks to a generous gift from my brother plus a couple lucky breaks."

After a pause to sip some coffee, Mrs. Ballantyne continued.

"The early part of my life was tough, but I have also been incredibly lucky.  The story of the house is a good example.  George thought about building on this lot himself, but when we moved back to Houston, he was so thrilled that he changed his mind and gave the property to our family as a welcome home gift.  That was lucky break number one.

Soon after, the City of Houston bought an easement down to Buffalo Bayou.  That sliced off a third of our property, but we didn't need it.  That was lucky break number two.  The money from the city purchase gave us enough money to build our house. 

The third lucky break came when a German architect named Karl Kamrath offered to build our family home at a significant discount.  Here again, I suspect George helped.  George won't admit it, but I think he asked Karl to do us a favor.  Karl had built George's house over in Memorial, so I guess the two of them were buddies.  Karl took the hint.  He told us he wished to build a showcase home in the exclusive River Oaks area.  In this way, he could demonstrate his talent to the booming Houston real estate market.  

We were more than happy to accept the offer.  As it turned out, the lot and house together cost only $60,000.  Although this was a lot of money in the late Fifties, early Sixties, the price tag was still far below what anyone would have guessed.  Ever since, everyone looks at our big house and think we own an oil rig.  I just smile and keep the truth to myself."

Mrs. Ballantyne's comments left me even more curious about George.  The last I heard of George, he was selling fish to buy a bike and aggravating his sister with his tennis dominance.  Now George has enough money to hand a River Oaks property to his sister. 

"Getting this house was quite an accomplishment.  Considering I grew up poor, it was unbelievable to own a prestigious River Oaks address in the land of the Über-rich.  Unfortunately, we could barely make ends meet.  Although Jay's earnings placed us somewhere at the edge of the upper class, his salary was stretched very thin with seven children to support.  Those darn kids ate us out of house and home.  Looking back, I should have sold a couple of them."

I assumed Mrs. Ballantyne was teasing. 

"My next step was finding new schools for the children.  I looked to nearby St. John's for Michael, my oldest son.  Poor Michael, he was so intimidated being surrounded by all these wealthy kids.  Michael was totally convinced he was the poorest kid in the school."

Mrs. Ballantyne looked at me and grinned.

"I have a guilty confession to make.  You have no way of knowing this, but back in 1968 when you and I had our long talk at the grocery store, I almost broke out laughing when you said were the poorest kid at St. John's.  Michael used to say the same thing.  I told Michael he was crazy, but he never stopped arguing with me.  He went on and that we had to be the poorest family at the school.  Michael was very fortunate to be away at Stanford when I met you.  Otherwise I would have taken you home with me that same afternoon and let Michael meet you just so I could finally win the argument!"

I nodded appreciatively.  The irony was unmistakable.  No matter how bad someone thinks he has it, there's always someone who has it worse.  I never met Michael, but I knew who he was.  Michael had been a Senior when I became a Freshman.  He was the school's most famous track star.  Michael was so fast he set a school record in the mile that stood for over thirty years.  He was a top scholar as well.  Michael was a genius with many academic honors.  Indeed, Michael, the self-described poorest kid in school, was the shining light of his graduating class. 

"Mike was our Trailblazer.  Mr. Chidsey was very taken with Michael's combination of academics, leadership and athletics.  When he discovered I had a pantry full of younger kids at home, he wasted no time informing me that all of my children were welcome at his school.  But I complained we couldn't afford to send them all once.  Mr. Chidsey said not to worry.  One by one, Mr. Chidsey arranged a series of partial scholarships to make this possible.  Following in Michael's footsteps, his six brothers and sisters were able to attend St. John's." 

At this point, Mrs. Ballantyne pointed to a picture of her husband. 

"It was always my dream to marry a man I could respect.  I wanted him to be the kind of father I never had.  I wanted him to help me create the home I never had growing up.  Thanks to Jay, this dream has come true in more ways than I could possibly imagine.  My family means everything to me.

Who would have ever believed this was possible?  When I was a little girl and my mother had just died, things were very bleak.  I never dreamed it could get worse, but then it did.  When my father sent me away, I was broken hearted.  I had just lost my mother and could barely cope.  Now my father didn't want me either.  I could not understand why my own father would abandon me. 

My father was such a jerk.  First he sent George away to his brother.  Then he turned me over to his sister-in-law.  'Here, Virginia, take Maria.  I can't take care of her, so you do it for me.  I want you to give Maria a home.'"

Mrs. Ballantyne snorted with contempt.

"What was he thinking?  Virginia didn't want me.  She had a family of her own, but my father bullied her into taking me.  Stupid man, this was the Depression.  What made him think Gus and Virginia could afford to take care of me?  Money was tight and Virginia had a baby on the way.  I thought my father would at least come to visit, but I was wrong.  Mike forgot I existed.  Instead, he turned his back on me and started chasing women.  I was so angry at him.

It didn't take long to realize Aunt Virginia didn't have time for me.  She had her own children to worry about plus she had the restaurant to take of.  She resented that my father had used guilt to make her take her dead sister's little girl against her will.  The tension was obvious.  I was only 11 years old and convinced my life was going absolutely nowhere.  At the time I had no idea this wonderful future awaited me.  All I knew was these were the six loneliest, toughest years of my life.  Then one day out of nowhere a gangster hands me a college scholarship.  That was my break of a lifetime."