The Letter

The letter, signed "Phyllis C.," first appeared in the lovelorn column of the Denver Post. But it got around town faster than the biggest Page One story. In Denver offices clippings were passed from hand to hand; secretaries read it over the telephone to each other. Husbands returning home from work had it thrust upon them by their wives, all of whom seemed to have a triumphant gleam in their eyes. By wire service the letter was sent around the U.S. TV stations picked it up.

A Stand. "I am 5 ft. 1/2 in. tall and weigh about 125 pounds," said the letter. "My husband is 6 ft. 2 in. tall and weighs over 240 pounds. For the first five of our fifteen years of married life, my husband beat me severely at least once a month, and did so with no provocation. I loved my husband dearly . . . and felt that I could put up with the difficult situation. However, when his rages increased in severity and frequency and the safety of our two young daughters was at stake, I was forced to take a stand.

"The next time my husband beat me ... I did not attempt to fight back, but merely said, 'O.K. I owe you one and I'll pay you back.' Three nights later, when he was sleeping quietly, I got up and beat him severely about the head and neck with the leg of a broken chair. Of course, I immediately received another beating, but all I did was repeat, 'I still owe you one.'

"All was peaceful for a week until I walked up behind him while he was eating supper and broke a mixing bowl over his head. Again I was beaten immediately. I waited for a while and beat him on the head with a bed slat when he was reading his paper. Immediately, I received the worst beating he had ever given me."

A Confession. But from that point on, wrote Phyllis, her husband's attitude changed. "He was afraid to go to sleep at night, and every time I came near him he would instinctively put his arms up to protect his head and face. Sometimes I would wait as long as two months before retaliating, and all the while he would be going crazy wondering at what unexpected moment he would be attacked. Finally he asked for a truce, and I gladly agreed. Since that time, he has never laid a hand upon me or the girls, and our married life has become a wonderful thing . . . For six months every muscle in my body ached, but the past ten years have proved how small a price I actually did pay."

As the laughs and questions swirled about her head, Post Lovelorn Editor Jane Sterling (real name: Doris Hilton) put a notice in her column: "Phyllis C.: Please call my office." Next day, Editor Sterling got a phone call from a man, who refused to give his name. Yes, he knew Phyllis C.; she was his sister-in-law. She was out of the city, but would call when she returned. Next day, the man himself called on Editor Sterling--with a confession. Feeling guilty about all the publicity, he admitted that he had written the letter.

But he insisted that the story was true. It had been told him by his father, a Chicago lawyer, who heard it from the lips of Phyllis C. herself, a client. Whether the letter was true or not, the confession had come too late. The Story of the Woman Who Paid was well on its way to becoming a part of American folklore, like the lady on the Merritt Parkway (TIME, March 8).

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