INTERESTING PEOPLE
Babe Got Away With Murder
The first time I saw Babe Nothwang she was strutting up the center aisle of St. Mary’s Star of the Sea Catholic Church like it was a Paris fashion-house runway. Babe was a Barbie doll come to life — she was the Barbie prototype.
Babe was as tall and thin as Barbie and she wore dramatic blue eye shadow and thick black mascara that clumped. Her hot pink lipstick bled. And instead of being twenty or so, Babe was old. Forty anyway.
She had on black high heels, must have been five inches tall, with just a strap across the foot to hold them snug, a mink stole, and a close-cut floral dress that was more for evening wear than 11:00 o’clock mass.
It was during the days that you still had to wear something on your head out of due respect for the Lord and since hats were out, most of us wore little white or black lace doilies bobby pinned into place but Babe wore a full off- white lace mantilla that left her assisted blond, cotton-candy hairdo intact.
Babe strolled to within three pews of the front of the church, genuflected, and sidled in. It was quite an undertaking in that shrink-wrap dress, without much margin for a comfortable walking gait much less for dropping to one knee.
At her place in the pew, she went to bent knee, did the sign of the cross, bowed her head and closed her eyes. After a brief piety, she opened her eyes, did the sign of the cross again, rather grandly, touching her forehead, her midriff, her left shoulder and then her right.
Babe behaved herself in church. She stood when she was supposed to stand, sat when she was supposed to sit, and knelt when she was supposed to kneel. She read along in the missalette provided for worshipers and she responded when appropriate. I watched her. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.
When mass was over, Babe sauntered to the back of the church along with the rest of the assemblage. Actually, the congregation parted for her.
Out on the street, Babe opened the door and slipped behind the wheel of a sleek, highly polished, red convertible Cadillac complete with white leather interior and tiny round twin tail lights on each fin. It was cherry, a showpiece.
She removed the mantilla and took a fashionable, colorful bandana from her purse, put it over her head and tied it under her chin. When she turned the key, the engine immediately started, purring so softly you could hardly hear it. Then Babe sailed off down the hill towards town in her USS Cadillac, and every eye in the congregation was on her.
That is the way Babe liked it.
What I remember about Babe after that is a jumble. She was not from Astoria and I don’t know what brought her there. She was a hairdresser; she had her own salon.
One time, Babe gave my friend, Roma, a haircut. “I can’t believe my mom had her cut my hair!” Roma said. “I remember walking home from the appointment and Jerry Sullivan asked me who put a lawnmower on my head! I cried all the way home!”
My best friend’s mother used to sew and mend for Babe. I remember Anna holding up a pair of Babe’s rather worn, minuscule shorts and saying out loud, “Why doesn’t she just throw these away?”
Oh, and the scandal. Babe shot her boyfriend. Killed him dead. Alcohol was probably involved. And abuse.
I heard that for a long time after, Babe mourned and grieved the loss.
There was a big court trial. The Daily Astorian featured a blow-by-blow account of it all but I don’t remember reading it. I just remember that after all of the evidence was presented, and after the prosecutor had his final say and the defense attorney had his, Babe was found not guilty of murder or even manslaughter by a jury of her peers. She was only guilty of defending herself.
This made a wonderful reputation for the young, smart defense attorney who enjoyed a thriving law practice thereafter until his retirement.
And it made a lot of talk about Babe having “gotten away with murder” among the residents of Astoria. At least for awhile.
I moved away from Astoria the moment I got my high school diploma. I didn’t give a thought to Babe at all after that until I saw her obituary. She died at age 88 in Yuma, Arizona. There was just a paragraph devoted to the particulars of her life. Nothing was mentioned of the tragic end of her boyfriend.
But there were five memories and condolences posted below the obit. From those, I gleaned that she was well loved and that she had gotten on with the business of life.
