Valerie Plame and me and a pedophile priest

At the news that Joe Wilson died, I was concerned that Valerie Plame would falter in her New Mexico Congressional campaign, then read here that he was now her ex husband. 

I identify with Valerie Plame in two weird ways. One, she's the woman I would have been if I hadn’t been so screwed up, a sentiment I have often now in my seventies. The second connection I have with Plame is I was once almost recruited into the CIA but was rejected bk of what happened to me at the hands of a pedophile priest. Ah what a small world.

My generation of women was not encouraged to go onto higher education unless we were really exceptional or really rich with unusually progressive parents.  To me, planning for college in the 1960s would have kept me outside of the popular crowd in high school, to which I didn't belong anyway.  Still I know that if I been born twenty, even ten years later, I’d have studied the sciences or planned for college and become a lawyer, even an astronaut. 

Instead I became a journalist for NASA with the title “Public Information Specialist” working with astronauts in the late 1970s working at LBJ Space Center in Houston.  That's where my identification with Valerie Plame comes in. 

Because at one point the CIA recruited me, then rejected me.

I was rejected from the CIA because of my sexual problems. 

More than a decade later I realized being molested by a priest at age five was the root of those sexual problems.  But in 1980, I had not made that connection.

Honest.  In about 1980 I was talking to guys in the CIA about working for them, then Their Behavioral Profilers identified that I had a sexual problem that would make me “unreliable. ” I knew something weird had happened when I was around age five with Father Horne but did not remember enough details to realize it was a cause of my weird sexuality.  I thought I just had more sex than most people because I had some special spiritual sex thing that I shared with men and all those women who hated me for it were secretly jealous of me for all the guys I’d been with.

Sigh. It's hard to admit I was so screwed up, but I made it to seventy one and could have twenty-thirty more years now to make up for it. Slowly.

The CIA guys said, their rejecting me for sexual problems had nothing to do with how I act on one date or another.  They identified an issue, a sexual problem that showed a psychiatric incident in childhood perhaps, something that created a compulsion.  I don't remember all the words they said to me, I just remember how disappointed I was and how confused.  Because at that point I had not connected being molested at age five by Father Horne-y with how really confused I was about sex and how much that sexual compulsion affected my life.

I remember the incident dimly now.  It was when I was 31 at the oldest, 1979 or so working in the Newsroom at NASA Houston (713 483 5111 call them and confirm it). I was amazingly hot in those days, looked a lot like Valerie Plame, still have the same hair as her only now it's white, and I'm shorter, and I liked the extra power and sex looking good got me.

Valerie Plame for Congress

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Had that same sassy attitude  and I worked out and jogged and pretended I was training with the astronauts, so at that time I could tuck a blouse in a size six skirt and look good.  The men who were “recruiting” me for CIA were with a public relations firm in downtown Houston, a sub contractor to Hill and Knowlton and I've since seen the name of that PR firm a few times in stories that concerned intelligence ops in D.C., but I cannot for the life of me remember its name. 

I thought I was going on to a new exciting career, or maybe occasional assignments. I thought I was about to become part of the Intelligence Community that today is being hounded by Trump so for the first time in my life I'm glad I wasn’t.

Instead I was confronted for one of the first times with the reality of my skewed sexuality, that everyone in the world did not want to live the promiscuous life I was living; indeed, if I met someone today who lives like I lived then, I’d know they must have been been molested as a child.

Again. If I had been born twenty, even ten years later, people would have identified my behavior in preteen years as that of a kid who’d been molested.  Instead I just wore green makeup and isolated and shocked and jumped on men’s laps and humped them to the embarrassment of my mother and lived on so that forty years later I could write City of Angels Blog at http://cityofangels12.blogspot.com starting at http://cityofangels3.blogspot.com and continuing at http://cityofangels4.blogspot.com and http://cityofangels8.blogspot.com about the pedophile priests crimes and coverups by the Catholic bishops forty years later.

Life goes on. 

Links in this story:  https://www.post-gazette.com/news/obituaries/2019/09/28/Joe-Wilson-Skeptic-on-Iraq-War-intelligence-ex-husband-of-Valerie-Plame/stories/201909290125   
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ICW-dGD1M18


-Kay Ebeling
(First posted today at City of Angels 25 (http://cityofangels25.blogspot.com)

This strange noise came up from inside, if I did not leave the Church fast I'd scream something embarrassing

I tried again to go to a Catholic church last Sunday. It seems every time I try to get a social life here, everything leads to St. T’s, Saint Theresa’s the local Catholic place that is apparently doing a real good job at what they do, when not looking the other way while Father Horney gets his horns off with a kid in the confessional… but I digress.

I've sort of made a few friends in town and they all go to Saint T’s. The people I'm interested in meeting in Tahoe it turns out go to St. T’s.  People I've met who I like will go into long conversations about great things that happen when they're at St. T’s, so I thought, well, I could just see what it's like. I mean my last time as a practicing Catholic they were still doing it in Latin. Dad let me and Trish leave the church after we became teenage whores, as dad then saw what Father Horne did to us… he even got a settlement from the Chicago archdiocese in 1955… but I digress.

So Sunday AM I'm dressed to go out and Denny’s is just not an option, nor is any of the other churches… Presbyterian to me is Catholic light although at least their priests are married. Still they wear the robes and sound so Catholic that I've gotten triggered when I went there before and also… I don't know.

I went Sunday to Saint T’s to try to be part of the town where I'm living.  I walked in enough past the beginning to be un-noticed sat in the back and listened to some nice singing, then looked around. A guy I think I recognized, Hispanic with his family, was bent forward holding his prayer book, trying, trying so hard to have the spiritual experience he came there to have, pushing it kind of, but determined.  I remember feeling that way a long time ago, a spiritual feeling, in several churches since adulthood.  I know what that Mexican man across the aisle was trying to get to.  I wanted to get there too. 

But then as I looked around more, this thing inside just would not stay silent.  I knew if I sat there much longer, I was going to holler something, I was thinking it and soon I’d be thinking it out loud or maybe screaming, “You are all being conned at such a deep level!”

My mouth opened, this strange noise came out.  It started deep in the stomach but I choked on it, so instead it turned into a cough, a gaseous cough that hiccupped out and people kind of jumped nearby, I think the priest even jerked his hand… not sure.  I thought, if I do not get out of here in this moment I am going to scream out something and embarrass myself and I'm already kind of getting known as a crazy old lady in town…

So I went back outside and walked around and I think I had one conversation, with a bus driver. The cafes are empty in the mornings here, this is a party city and I'm a morning person. 

Hmm. 

-

By Kay Ebeling 

also posted at CofA 25 http://cityofangels25.blogspot.com