When we were in Salt Lake City looking for the home our family lived in from 1953-55, 1265 Harrison Avenue, we drove the old and current bus route from downtown. It goes in front of the University of Utah.
Nearby, we found this uniquely named bar:
It passes for a neighborhood bar, I was told by a hotel employee.
Until July 1st, every such establishment was required by state law to be a private club.
The Northwest Herald did a front page story on fathers in McHenry County Jail. I scanned it at the time, but that was before I lost my images in a hard drive crash.
It was a good article, to which I would link if the NW Herald’s search engine was adequate.
I was reminded of the underlying story I wanted to write by this May 26th Chicago Tribune story, entitled,
No job,
but child
support
still due
I tried to find that article by typing in all but the last two words in the title and nothing popped up. Didn’t matter, because the Tribune hides its articles after 30 days.
And it doesn’t matter for the purpose of this story.
Before my friend Mark Enghstrom was diagnosed with a fast spreading cancer, he was in one of the McHenry County divorce wars. Having endured one myself, we discussed the details too often.
He wanted as much time with his kids, Luke and Tabatha, as he could get. I remember one time he took them on a vacation in the almost broken-down panel truck he used for his carpentry and painting jobs. They always went camping. He could never afford a motel room.
I think they went to Iowa the time I am remembering his having told me about.
In any event, they were in farm country and he saw a farmer on a tractor. Mark offered him $15 to let Luke drive it. The farmer accepted it. Luke learned to drive a tractor in junior high school, just as farm kids do.
During the hearing on child support, he was so proud that he had just gotten a job selling insurance for some “Christian” insurance agent.
The $35,000 he testified to was not from commissions he had earned; it was a starting stipend.
And, guess what?
It disappeared when Mark called the boss on some unethical behavior.
But, did the child support decrease?
Oh, no.
It just kept mounting up as his carpentry and painting work did not bring in anything close to $35,000 a year.
(And that, a friend reminded me, is an understatement to Mark’s abilities. He was a craftsman. Look at the cove molding in our kitchen and you’ll agree. Ask my wife about the discussion of color for our bedroom and downstairs bathroom, where you can still seen a shoe mark as he distressed the striped faux French design he created. He used to call me “a handyman’s delight.”)
In any event, Mark’s ex-wife’s attorney seemed to think she could wring money out of Mark’s rock. She kept taking him to court again and again and, of course, Mark could never pay what he owed in child support, let alone the lawyer’s fees for taking to court repeatedly.
Eventually, the lawyer asked that Mark be tossed in jail for not paying the child support.
Right along with the violent criminals.
The irony is that Mark had just started a job that would pay decent money. Naturally, he lost it because he was in jail.
At the time I wondered about the logic of Judge Marty Zopp’s expecting a father to pay back child support while incarcerated.
I think Mark was in jail at least a month. (He was put in jail twice, for this offense, once earlier for not very long.)
At one of the status hearings, I interjected myself into the proceedings, saying I had a job for him.
The judge admonished me for speaking out of turn, but let Mark out that day.
We went to the McHenry County Fair and had lunch. How pale his skin was from all those days without sunlight.
Anyway, that’s what the two stories about Dad’s not being able to pay their child support when they lost their jobs brought forth from my memory bank.
Mark died in 2005 after having left an indelible mark on our family. My son sometimes says he “hates God,” because of Mr. Mark’s and South School Librarian Mrs. Pearl’s deaths. I see his handiwork in the kitchen, bedroom, living room and both bathrooms. The last thing he was able to do was put up the towel rack in the downstairs bathroom after painting it. It pretty amazing how often his craftsmanship leads my brain to think of him.
The irony is that the attorney who ran up all the bills trying to collect child support that did not exist did not get paid.
= = = = =
In the photos with people, you see Luke and Tabatha with their father Mark Engstrom.
Latest Posts
