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Feb 4 08 10:22 PM
No worries Shar that has happen to me too, its not your fault, and I know exactly just how frustrated you are right now, so the best thing to do is
walk away from your computer before you take a hammer to it
and do your post in the morning
Got that partner in crime
Feb 5 08 11:22 PM
Feb 6 08 6:54 PM
"Do you have a
"Yes I do."
"Okay, I'm going to give you a name and number. Its the medical examiner's office."
Deborah wrote down the information.
"When you make
arrangements with the funeral home, they'll need to phone this number to arrange the pickup."
"Yes, the body, Mrs. Spungen."
"Why can't she …? Deborah trailed off. She was about to ask why she couldn't just hop on the train. She swallowed.
"Yes of course."
"It'll be sometime over the weekend. After the autopsy of course."
"Of course, the autopsy," Deborah repeated woodenly.
He gave me directions to the
see you tomorrow morning at ten. I'll make sure you're taken everywhere. We'll get it over with just as quickly as
Deborah hung up the phone. Joe, her
boss, appeared in the office doorway. He'd heard the news. He held his arms out. I went to him and buried my face in his chest. It felt good to be held for
Deborah said, "Thank God its over."
Then she called Frank's office.
His secretary answered.
"Nancy's dead!" Deborah blurted out. "Pleas try to find Frank right
The secretary said he was due at
the St. Moritz in forty-five minutes.
"You've got to get word to him," Deborah said.
She said his partner was already
there. She'd phone him and tell him to ask Frank to call home right away. He would not give Frank the news. Deborah needed to do
She hung up, notice that she was
clutching a piece of paper in her hand.
The phone number of the medical examiner's office. Right she had to contact a funeral home. She had chosen one already in her fantasy. All taken care
of. The name. She couldn't remember the name. Why couldn't she remember it?
She looked it up in the Yellow
Pages. She had trouble focusing on the print, it kept transforming from written language to meaningless wriggles on a page. But she fount
Deborah called, the director was
out; he would call her later at home. She gave the man on the phone the message about the medical examiner's office. He took down the number and said
they'd take care of the transportation arrangements. Deborah had been thrown, briefly, but now she was all set to follow through on her fantasy. She phoned
get to my house right away. Nancy is dead," Deborah said quickly.
Then she called her friend Susan,
her son said she was out. Good this she was prepared for that.
something has happened," Deborah said, "and to come over right away."
She wrote instruction for what she
needed to be done at work over the next three days. She gave it to her secretary. Now she was ready to go home. David would be there soon from school. Suzy?
That would take some doing; she had some late afternoon classes. Frank would call soon. Home, time to go home.
Deborah gathered up her brief case
and her purse and went out into the main office. There was some kind of catered party going on there now. Tables were heaped with food. People standing around
eating little meatballs with toothpicks. They stopped chewing and talking when Deborah glided through on a cloud, feeling nothing, hearing
She found her car in the lot. She
started it up and headed home. It took her two days to get there or so it felt. Time seemed to have stopped. There were no cars or people anywhere. The streets
were devoid of life. If was as if everyone had died except her.
to tell you your daughter has been murdered, Mrs. Spungen."
It was sunny and bright, Deborah
rolled down the window, felt not wind on her face.
boyfriend, Sid Vicious has been arrested."
I screamed, no sound come
course, you have to identify the body."
The car seemed to be driving it
self. Deborah thought about taking her hands off the wheel and just letting it. The she panicked. She realized she was driving and she was in no condition to
drive. Whey hadn't anyone offered to give her a ride home? Or had they, and had she just not heard it?
Deborah was about halfway home. No turning
back. She kept going, fighting to hold on to the rational self, the one who knew that Nancy was finally at peace, and the one who was taking care of business.
There was another self she hadn't anticipated. This was the self who wouldn't accept Nancy's death. The self who was breaking
Somehow Deborah found their block
and then their driveway. Janet was there. Deborah got out of the car. They hugged. Janet cried. Deborah didn't. She wanted to but couldn't. There was
too much to do.
Jane made some coffee. Susan
arrived a few minutes after that. She cried when she got the news, again Deborah did not.
Back to you my gorgeous partner in crime
Feb 11 08 5:08 PM
AKA Nancy Laura Spungen
Birthplace: Philadelphia, PA
Location of death: New York City
Cause of death: Murder
Remains: Buried, King David Cemetery, Bucks County, PA
Race or Ethnicity: White
Sexual orientation: Straight
Nationality: United States
Executive summary: Sid Vicious's girlfriend
Mother: Deborah Spungen
Sister: Suzy (b. 1959)
Brother: David (b. 1961)
Boyfriend: Sid Vicious (dated 1977-78, until her murder)
Suicide Attempt (multiple)
Risk Factors: Schizophrenia, Heroin, Depression
FILMOGRAPHY AS ACTOR
D. O. A. (12-Sep-1980) Herself
Is the subject of books:
And I Don't Want To Live This Life, 1983, BY: Deborah Spungen
Feb 11 08 8:17 PM
Why couldn't they leave us alone to mourn her? Why rob us of our privacy?
Deborah was bewildered and frightened. She had always seen Nancy's death as the end of their odyssey. It wasn't going to be. Sid would doubtless be
put on trial. This would go on for weeks, months, years. It wasn't supposed to happen this way.
An ache formed in the center of my chest. Deborah quickly breathed in and out several times, the pain more than she
could bear. It didn't go away. She took aspirin. They didn't help.
She began to call friends and relatives. Some called her. They'd heard the news on the radio. Others just came by. Deborah greeted each one in the
foyer. Few words were spoken. Mostly, they embraced. People often say they don't know what to say to someone like me at a time like this. Nothing need be
said. The presence of those you care about is comfort enough; a warm embrace communicates for more than words do.
David finally located Laura. She knew where Suzy was - with friends. Laura left her own job, went to Suzy, and told her Nancy was dead. Suzy called at
about five o'clock, crying. Deborah asked her to come home. She said she would. Laura offered to make the trip on the train with her.
Deborah's mother, Nancy's only living grandparent, had to be told. Trouble was, she was visiting her father, who was ninety-six, at his senior
citizens' home. Deborah didn't want to phone her there for fear of upsetting him to much. Then she remembered that one of her cousins was with her. She
arranged to have her cousin pulled aside and informed of the news. As soon as her mother had concluded her visit, she was given the news by Deborah's
cousin, who then brought her by. She was shocked and confused by all the press outside the house. She'd been living in the Virgin Islands for the past ten
years and was largely unaware of Nancy's collision with heroin, punk rock and celebrity. They had protected her from Nancy's
Frank was still on his way. It seemed to be taking him forever. Details so many details. Deborah knew there
would be a generous outpouring of gifts and flowers from their friends. In lieu of flowers, she felt there should be a place for money to be donated, some
place appropriate to Nancy's life. Frank's nephew Dean suggested the Eagleville Hospital, a nearby drug and alcohol rehabilitation center. A friend of
Dean's worked there. Dean phoned him. His friend said no such fund existed at Eagleville at that time, but that he'd
be happy to set one up to receive donations in Nancy's memory. Deborah gave him the go-ahead. She wanted to do something for the other Nancys. Now
that she was dead, it was a priority to find a way to save someone else.
Fortunately, this much was clear then. Within a few weeks, Deborah would not be capable of such rational thinking.
from the funeral parlor called. He said he had spoken to the medical examiner's office in New York. The body that phrase again would be released Saturday.
He concurred with a Sunday morning funeral. He would be able to meet them at the funeral home that night about nine thirty so they could make all of the
a rabbi who was available for a Sunday funeral. He agreed to come by on Saturday t talk about Nancy. Deborah thought is important that he know about
Nancy. For him t say something standard like, "we mourn the loss of this beautiful child who gave all of us
much" just wouldn't be appropriate. Nancy would have said," Cut that bullshit out!" Deborah wanted him to talk about Nancy as she was in
pain, incapable of living productively, incapable of returning their love. She wanted him to convey their own pain and sadness.
She wanted Nancy to know she was still loved.
also thought something appropriate should be read. Deborah and David began to search through the lyric sheets of all the rock albums in the house, hoping to
find one song that would somehow capture Nancy's life. They examined all of the Beatles albums in particular. Deborah was especially fervent in her search.
She was hoping she'd find some words to explain the meaning of Nancy's short, unhappy life.
search yielded not such song, Dean asked if it would be okay if he wrote a poem for Nancy. Deborah said "Oh courser."
into the den. Ten minutes later, he returned with it. Deborah read it. It was beautiful. Indeed, it captured Nancy's life in a few verses. She embraced
Dean. She thanked him and said she would share it with the rabbi and ask him to read it at the funeral.
came home. He stood in the open front doorway framed by the lights of the news minicams. He appeared clam in front of the reporters clamoring for attention on
their front lawn.
them off, said "No comment" in a clear, controlled voice. Then he shut the door on them and reached out for David and Deborah. They embrace in the
his arms around the two of them, adopting the role of the strong one, the protector who would shield them from further pain.
Back over to the fabulous Shar my partner in crime
Feb 17 08 12:19 AM
As crazy as it seems reality of it is not like Deborah's
dreams~~Chapter 22 Continued
I was just thinking. Thinking a lot about Nancy as a person,
her character and all, she is a role model for the rough and tough wannabe's who try to emulate Nancy--The author of her own destruction. Amy Winehouse,
"Rehab" singer/songwriter seems to be emulating Nancy Spungen gone is the trademark, beehive. The press dubbed her and hubby the next Sid and Nancy.
I dont think that there will ever be another not Punks Romeo and Juliette. Madonna wanted to play the part of Nancy in the film "Sid and Nancy."
However Alex Cox chose Cloe Webb. Now lets read on about life after nancy.
"Whatever I was going through,I knew it was ten times worse for you."
In fact ,Deborah notices that David developed this role,as it allowed him to
bury his own powerful and conflicting emotions of his sisters death. Later his emotions would surface on their own.
Nancy shortly before her death and how she partially became a symbol in her own right. Nancy age 10 taken at school, even at this age
she had a death wish and I think a premanition that she spilled out at a later stage, she always knew she would hit the headlines.
"Whatever I was going through, I knew it was ten times
worse for you."
In fact, this role also allowed him to bury his own powerful and conflicting emotions
over Nancy's death.
Later they would surface on their own.
Frank's emotional response was immediate.
He began to cry standing there in the foyer.
I'd never seen him cry before.
He didn't stop.
He sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, deep, gut-wrenching moans coming out of him along
with the tears.
It all came out at once for Frank-the twenty years of frustration and pain, the realization that
what he'd wanted for our first child was never going to happen.
He sobbed for twenty minutes.
Never have I heard another man cry like that.
It was the saddest crying I've ever heard.
I stood there holding him as his grief came out in a torrent. I envied his ability to let it loose.
My eyes were moist, but I could not cry outwardly, not with all of those reporters on the
other side of the door.
I cried on the inside, filling within with tears. it hurt to cry like that.
It made that ache in my chest even more intense.
Frank cried until there were no more tears in him. He dried his eyes and the three of us went
into the living room to join our family and friends, many of whom were now sharing Frank's
extraordinary outpouring of grief by shedding tears of their own.
Suzy came home about half a hour after Frank. She was upset and in tears, but also on
"What are all these people doing here?" she demanded, indicatng not the press but our
family and friends in the living room.
"Half of them don't even know Nancy. What do they want?"
"To be with us," I said.
"What for?" she said.
"To share our loss. They care about us and-"
`How long are they going to be here?"
"The funeral is on Sunday," I said. "We found a rabbi fortuately. Then we'll sit shivah for a
"Nancy wouldn't like this," Suzy said angrily.
"What do you mean by `this'?" asked Frank.
"This. This Jewish fuss."
"She's not here anymore," Frank pointed out.
"She'd want to be cremated," Suzy insisted.
"She left no instructions," I said.
"And she's not here anymore," Frank repeated gently.
"it's what we want."
Today Suzy understands.
"I realize now that it was for you guys that those
people were there," she told me recently.
"But at the time I resented it. Nancy wasn't a normal person and I didn't she should be
mourned like one."
So Suzy went off to the living room, spoke to a couple of close relatives, then sat by herself,
grumbling Nancy's death had triggered a powerful emotional conflict in her, too.
This was the first sign of problems that, like David's, would take a while to surface.
Someone made dinner.
We sat around the dining table and had something to eat.
The phone and doorbell rang constantly.
Most of the time it was reporters.
They simply would not quit.
With each ring I was seized by that fear I'd felt earlier.
Now it bordered on panic.
Suddenly I realized what was frightening me.
Each ring was taking me further and further from the fantasy I'd written to desensitize myself
to Nancy's inevitable death.
As a result, I was moving further and further out onto an emotional high Wire with no net
I could feel myself losing my balance.
That's why I was afraid.
Mercifully, the reporters and cameramen had temporarily gone on to another story when
Frank and I left for the funeral parlor.
Frank drove slowly.
We held hands, not talking for a while.
It was the first chance we'd had to be alone. It felt good.
"You know," Frank said, "when I was driving into New York this afternoon, I was actually
thinking about going to that hotel, getting her away from there and that guy. Dragging her
out of there over my shoulder if I had to. Bringing her home."
"It Wouldn't have made any difference," I said.
"She would've gone right back."
"Yeah, that's what I figured. Still. ."
"Don't do that to yourself."
He shrugged. "Anyway," he said, letting out a deep sigh, "I guess she made it."
I knew what he meant. "She didn't see twenty one," I agreed.
"She knew better than all of us. I still can't believe it happened this way, though. Murder.
What happens now? What will they do to us tomorrow?"
"Whatever we have to do, we'll do. Don't be afraid. I'll be with you."
"But then there'll be a trial."
"So there'll be a trial. It doesn't matter. She's dead."
"What if she's not?" I asked, suddenly clinging to her existence.
Now to see what happens next.......over to Diane take it away DG
Feb 17 08 9:49 AM
"What if it's not her? What if it's someone else? It could all
be a horrible mistake. It's happened."
"It's her," he said softly. We'll see tomorrow."
pulled into the funeral home parking lot, there was only one other car here. Inside it was dark and deserted. Rather eerie. Just the funeral director, them and
the dead. He took them into his office, offered his condolences, and got down to business.
came first. They had no family plot. They arrange for one near where Frank's parents were buried. It cost about two thousand dollars. It seemed there was a
rule or regulation for everything, each one designed with the purpose of lining someone's pocket. The had to pay a fee to a New York mortician for securing
the body from the medical examiner's office and releasing it to our mortician, the New York City ME's office would not release a body to an
out-of-state mortician. They had to pay to transport Nancy to Pennsylvania. They had to pay a fee to open the gravesite. State law. So was paying for a
concrete outer burial casing.
"For what?" Deborah asked, in reference to the latter.
keep the wood from rotting," he
"Wood?" she asked, confused.
"The casket, Mrs. Spungen."
shuddered, decided to ask no more questions.
"Will you want it open or closed?"
"Close," Frank said.
"What will she wear?"
"Well we don't have anything of hers,"
Frank said. "I suppose we could buy her a dress."
"No, wait," Deborah broke in. "We have her prom dress. The green one."
"Shoes?" the man said. "Have any of her shoes?"
shook her head.
can take care of that. She needn't wear any. We'll cover her feet."
"The dress," Deborah pointed out. "It's rather, well, it has a bare midriff."
"We'll arrange it," he assured her. "The next item is flowers. White flowers? Fall
"Fall flowers," Deborah said. "Those were her favorites."
"Fine. We'll cover the casket with amber and copper mums. They look
lovely. Then there's the matter of the announcement in the newspapers, the paid advertisement."
"We're having some problems with the press," Frank said.
"This is an unusual case. A murder. We don't want them there."
can't keep them out," he said.
"But if you're concerned about
are," Frank and Deborah
"Then we can wait and put the announcement in on Monday, the day
afterward. Of course, that means you'll have to personally contact anyone you wish to attend."
"That's all right," Frank said. "We'd prefer that. We just don't want this thing to end up a
understand. I hope you'll understand though that if people want to come, they'll come. A funeral home is open to the public."
"Isn't there anything you can
do?" Deborah begged?
"Well, I can put you in a side room off the chapel before the service to
protect your privacy. And then close off the six rows of the chapel immediately behind you so no one can bother your. How would that
so unfair to have to be distance from our friends and relatives like that. Deborah wondered if anyone else had to take such a precaution.
that would be fine.
funeral director went on down his checklist. He was trying to be as sympathetic and understanding as possible, but Deborah found the whole business morbid and
awful. Going over all of these details seemed so unnecessary. Frank was used to it. He'd done it before for his parents' funerals, Deborah
was the matter of choosing a casket. He took us down a flight of stairs, flicked on a florescent light switch to illuminate an immense subterranean showroom
filled with caskets, a macabre supermarket. Some were featured on individual pedestals. Some were raided to display the blue satin within. It was positively
had never known a room like this existed outside "The Twilight Zone."
director took us form one model to the next, explaining the relative merits, fingering the brass handles, running his hand lovingly over the fine satin wood
just like the model on "Let Make A Deal" would caress the smooth, shiny hardwood dining set behind door number two.
and closed each one for them, then gave them the price. They ran in cost from $1,200 to $10,000. When he had shown them all of them, he waited courteously for
"Which one do you want?" Frank said.
over to you my shocker sister and partner in crime take it away Shar
Feb 19 08 5:31 PM
The Press, no
privacy....just heartache, what will they do to blacken her?
No one can ever
know....the heartache of loosing their murdered daughter
"I don't know," I said. "I don't care."
"Do you think she'd want something plain? Fancy?"
"Maybe we should wait," I said. "What if she's not dead?
"I mean, it`s not like we have any real proof. Just somebody telling me on
the phone. It's not like we've seen her."
" I believe she's dead," Frank said. Then he took my hand and
He chose an $1,800 model of cherry wood.
Then we went back up to the office and the director added up the list.
The total cost of Nancy's funeral was a little over $8,000.
Frank told the man that would be fine.
We didn't have nearly that much money in our savings account,
though if we had a dollar for every newspaper article that referred to
us as "affluent" we'd have just about covered it.
We would get the money somehow.
We got home just before eleven.
The street was once again jammed with cars and vans.
Our house looked as if it had been seized by enemy troops.
Reporters, photographers and cameramen were everywhere.
Frank pulled into the driveway.
We got out and made a dash for the house.
"There they are!" shouted someone.
"Wait, folks!" cried someone else.
"We need a live feed for the late news!"
"Just your reaction!"
Frank waved them off.
We slammed the door on them.
The bell rang immediately.
He opened the door, firmly stated "No comment," and closed it.
Someone on the porch cursed.
I wanted to scream at them, "Go away and leave us alone! Have
you no compassion? Can't you see what's happened to our family?"
But I kept quiet.
Anything I said or did would be captured by their minicams
and sent out live over the air.
Besides. they wouldn't understand.
To them, this was a big story, a sensational death.
As Julia Cass of the Inquirer later put it to me,
"it was sex, drugs, rock `n' roll, and murder-the perfect culmination
of the punk movement."
Our friends and family greeted us inside our refuge.
We decided to watch the late TV news and see what was being said about us
and our daughter.
We turned the set on in the den and sat down.
We didn't have long to wait.
Nancy's death was the lead local News story.
The news was far worse than I could have imagined.
"Punk girlfriend" Nancy Spungen hadn't been beaten to death, as I'd assumed.
She'd been stabbed in the abdomen with a seven-inch hunting knife.
A big, ugly knife had been plunged into my baby's stomach.
There was blood.
There was pain.
I winced, chest aching.
It was more real now, more awful.
Sid had been arrested and charged with the murder.
A filmed report from outside the Chelsea Hotel showed Sid being led out by
the police, wearing handcuffs, real handcuffs this time.
He was pale and dazed.
There were scratch marks on his face.
"I'll smash your cameras," he snarled at the press.
According to Manhattan Chief of Detectives Martin Duffy, Sid
had awakened at 10:50 a.m., still feeling the effects of Tuinal,a
depressant he had taken the night before.
Nancy was not in bed next to him.
Rather, the bed was covered with blood.
A trail of it led from the bed to the bath room.
Nancy was on the bathroom floor, under the sink, clad only
in her fancy black underwear, a stab wound in her stomach.
She'd bled to death.
The Chelsea Hotel switchboard, the police spokesman advised,
received an outside call at about this time asking that someone
check room 100 because "someone is seriously injured."
It was not clear if the call had come from Sid.
Hotel employees went up to the room to find signs of a struggle,
and Nancy's body.
Sid was not in the room.
He returned a few minutes later, before the police got there.
Hotel neighbors reportedly heard Sid tell police, "You can't arrest
me. I'm a rock `n' roll star."
One of the arresting officers reportedly replied, "Oh, yeah? Well`
I play lead handcuffs."
An unidentified friend of the couple, the TV newsman reported,
said he had been out with them that night until four a.m., at which
point Nancy had begged him to come back to the Chelsea with
them because Sid was "acting strange."
Sid had, the friend said pressed a hunting knife against Nancy's throat.
"He beats her with a guitar every so often,"
the reporter quoted the friend as saying,
"but I didn't think he was going to kill her."
Then the news broadcast cut to our house for a live report.
There were the cameras and reporters we'd just seen.
There was our house,
the one we were hiding in as we tried to mourn our
A reporter stood out front, saying we were inside, in seclusion.
and had no comment to make.
Sid would be arraigned the following day.
we turned the television off, stunned into silence by the grisly
details of' Nancy's murder.
I hated violence.
Movies with blood and gore in them were abhorrent to me.
I avoided them.
This I could not avoid. This was real life. It didn't feel like it.
It was inconceivable that this was really happening.
But it was. the phone rang almost immediately.
Frank picked it up. Someone shouted into the phone~
"She was a no-good twat!" and then hung up.
Frank put the phone down, shaken.
It rang again.
A different caller hollered, "cocksucking cunt bitch!" and hung up.
Frank took one more of these awful, hateful calls before he decided
to leave the phone off the hook.
We were bewildered by this turn of events.
My God, Nancy had not murdered anyone.
She was the victim.
Yet, somehow, the murder suspect and his victim were interchangeable in this case.
The media had made Nancy and Sid into personifications of the punk movement.
Some people identified with them. Others hated them.
Her murder seemed to stir up both sides.
In death, Nancy was bringing out people's anger, just as she had in life.
It was unnerving.
We decided to call the phone company the next day and ask for an unlisted number.
Frank peered out the window.
The reporters were gone.
Our friends filtered out and the four of us went to bed, numb
Frank and I just lay there holding hands.
The only words of comfort we could give each other were "I love you."
After a while Frank began to cry again.
I cradled him in my arms and he sobbed and moaned uncontrollably
like he had before in the foyer.
I cried some more on the inside.
I still couldn't cry on the outside.
Nor could I sleep.
I was thinking about what we'd have to do tomorrow.
I was inching further and further out onto the high
wire, trying to hold on to my balance, trying not to look down.
Fear kept me awake until just before dawn.
Well it's that time again as you see~~~
Here is my gorgeous partner in crime with the beginning of
chapter 23 ~~~~
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