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The Boston Globe from Boston, Massachusetts • 33

Publication:
The Boston Globei
Location:
Boston, Massachusetts
Issue Date:
Page:
33
Extracted Article Text (OCR)

THE BOSTON GLOBE MONDAY. FEBRUARY 14. 1983 33 Arts Films 38 Business 40 ALAN RICU.1AU Where's justice? Good question 74 ''VV: I. 0. ft 1 She says Rich looks well, a lot better than she looks.

He has new glasses, which she can't afford. He has the kind of neat haircut Judges like. "Everybody says he looks like a little professor." she says. "They don't think he can kill someone. Take it from me.

he can." She remembers every detail of the 1977 trial, when Rich went to jail for attacking her. It was held in Dedham Superior Court. "I remember the judge holding a paper this long with his prior convictions." says Denise. holding her hands wide. "He said to Rich, 'Did you want to kill her? Were you trying to kill He said.

I remember the Judge saying. don't think there's a place in society for The judge sentenced him to 20 years at Concord for assault with at-. tempt to murder and 10 years for assault with attempt to rape, the sentences to run concurrently. Rich was barely 21, and young men of 21 with professorial appearances are rarely sent to Walpole, a maximum security facility. For reasons I don't even begin to understand, a man sentenced to Concord for 20 years I is eligible for parole In 24 months.

Rich was not out on parole when he assaulted the second girl, but his time was near. He was on a pre-release program. Concord has so many kinds of programs it's more like a YMCA than a penal institution. When Rich was found guilty of attacking the girl at the bus stop, he could have been returned to Concord. He was not.

The Judge realized how worthless a 20-year sentence to Concord really is. The Concord sentence was thrown out and he was ordered to Walpole "forthwith." The state finally wanted him to start serving a serious sentence. Denise does not enjoy talking about Rich, whose crimes have made him so much a part of her life that she always calls him by his first name. She hoped that telling her story would do some good. She asked if anything would be done about the Injustice of a 20-year sentence to Concord being dismissed because the prison is too easy and the parole too quick.

I told her I didn't think so. In the summer of 1981. a man named Rich attacked a young girl walking to a bus stop. He was caught and pleaded guilty to assault with attempt to rape. Rich was sentenced to not less than nine nor more than 10 years at Walpole, a prison populated by people for whom the only hope of rehabilitation is old age.

He will be eligible for parole in six years. This is a pretty tough sentence. Some might say our court system is finally responding to demands for less lenient treatment of criminals. But before we say that, let me tell you more about Rich. In the summer of 1976, he was at a party in Dedham.

So was a girl named Denise. She was 16 then, about the same age as the girl Rich would grab near the bus stop. Denise and Rich and some of the others at the party decided to go for a swim at Noble and Greenough, a nearby private school. To get to the pool, they had to walk along a path through the woods. "I was walking with about 12 people." Denise recalls, "and Rich grabbed me.

First he put his hands over my mouth because I started to scream. "He tried to rape me and told me to shut up or he'd kill me. Then I felt warmth, blood. Needless to say; he had a knife. He just kept it up.

He kept oh telling me while he was stabbing me that he was going to kill me." A neighbor rescued her. Police found Rich by a river, washing away blood. Denise survived, with scars. She has eight small puffy scars on her neck, more of them on her hands where she tried to grab the blade of the. knife.

Rich went to Concord prison, a medium security facility. He stayed only a few years. Today. Denise lives with her boyfriend, partly because she is afraid to live alone. When she did live alone and went into the shower, she carried a hammer with her for protection.

She keeps a loaded Smith Wesson 12-gauge pump shotgun and a Doberman pinscher around the house. Friends called her when Rich got out of Concord on a pre-release program. They called her when he attacked the second girl. She was among the spectators when Rich went on trial for that assault in 1981. ILLUSTRATION BY JOANNE STORIN A reader's guide to the breathless world of aDerback love tWe're finally a family' After 29 years, brothers and sisters parted in childhood meet cover sellers.

To make the prestigious New York Times best-seller list, a book must sell between 3000 and 10,000 copies in a given week. A popular paperback romance may sell twice that in the same amount of time, according to the industry, which is currently promoting Itself with an eagerness that would make a virtuous heroine blush. Paperback love has hit talk shows, convention halls, club meetings, and the media. Even Ms. magazine and Its glossy sister.

Savvy, have documented the trend, Ms. calling its report: "Sweet Bondage: You and Your Romance Habit," while Savvy announced: "Splendor in the Cash." i Of course, the heroine in most modern romances does not blush easily anymore, which may account for her increasing popularity. Publishing surveys indicate the average reader of paperback love sto ries is neither a giggling teen nor a blue- rinsed aunt, but a college-educated worn-" an in her mid-30s with a family and white-collar job. Competition for this de-'i slrable market is fierce, as publishers wooi their market with category romances called Desire and Ecstasy and the like. ROMANCE, Page 34 By Jill Bloom Special to The Globe Ah, sweet Valentine.

There's nothing like a dozen roses or a box of chocolates to flutter the heart with romantic fancies. But on this Cupid's day, many will be turning the pages of love stories for their dollop of romance. And paperback love is flourishing, now more than ever. Last year more than 10 million Americans bought at least one paperback romance, and millions more are considered loyal readers. Sales for these breathy books tower over even the biggest hard By Rena Dictor Leoianc urn 1 vwmn Thprp was a knock at luUW WW M.

the door and i the tension In the room who'd been waiting for hours in the ninth floor suite of the Holiday Inn. A tall, lean, boyishly handsome man entered the hotel's Suite 901 and smiled uncertainly at the sea of faces around him. Valentines for your fancy Esther Howland made Cupid a household name He dian recognize me men ana women ai first. Yet, in this strange room, in this strange city, after so many years he was 4 nome. mis was ine uresi unu-ui over the United States and gathered in the hotel suite on Jan.

20. Warren was the last of the eight to arrive. The next day their brother Ivan joined the reunion, flying In from Korea. Their brother Frank died of a brain tumor in 1974 at the age of 27. The reunion was arranged by Alan Landsburg Productions, with the help of ABC Television, to be filmed for the "That's Incredible" television series.

It will be aired tonight (8, Ch. 5), the same night ABC will run the movie about Lucile Fray, "Who Will Love My Children." starring Ann-Margret and Frederic Forrest (9 p.m., Ch. 5). "The reunion was a dream come true," said Joann Samsel of Storm Lake. Iowa, who came with her husband Tom.

At 42, she is the oldest of the Fray children and was perhaps hit hardest by the breakup of the family. "I never wanted to see any of my brothers and sisters go." she said in a soft, sad voice. "They've always been with me every day in my mind. It's just tremendous to be together again and to get to know each other." REUNION, Page 36 .1 1 -years U1C Clglll uiuuicis aim oioivia family were reunited. It was in 1954 that Lucile Fray, a poor 1 nV.A 9 V.

HI i S8T "IIUUSCWIIC ill uuuiuwai ivjwa, iuuiivu onv. I was dying of cancer and set out to find lov- for hr 1 rhlMren. Desnite Lite iiuiiivvj great physical and emotional pain, she succeeded. But finding the best homes for meant they would be scattered 'across the countrv and grow up strangers to one another in most cases. Her five daughters.

Joann, Joyce, Pauline, Virginia and Linda, and three of her sons, Carl, Warren and Stephen, had flown to the Hollywood reunion from all XT ll .2: From left: Ivan Carbaugh, Carl Miller, Joanne Samsel, Stephen Handy, Linda McNatt, Virginia Johnson, Joyce Boyd, Pauline Dicks and Warren Wehmeyer. By Margo Miller Globe Staff Who sent Esther Howland that first valentine? Did she stroke the soft paper lace? Did she smile tenderly at the sentimental mes-' sage? Did she see her future predicted in full lithographic color, sweetly lurid, in the love tokens that were traditionally pasted on such cards? A lurking cupid. The lovers arm in arm. The wedding-ringed hand. The bird's nest full of eggs.

Blue flowers symbolizing constancy. Did the woman whose Boston Globe obituary in 1904 would be headlined "Originator of Fancy Valentine Industry in America" take any romantic interest-in 14 after she went into the card business? None of the articles about Cupid's American handmaiden say. It's known that Esther Howland was born in. Worcester in 1828, the daughter of a prosperous stationer, and that she died in Quincy, a spinster who dressed smartly, drove high-stepping horses and went to the Unitarian church. It's known that she received her first valentine in 1847, the year she was grad-.

uated from Mount Holyoke. Female Semi-nary. It's' known that she, started making valentines for her brother to dell when he "traveled" for the family's Vtilionery v. business. These samples, expected to bring perhaps $200 in future orders, re-, suited in requests for $5000 worth of val- I i i iff if as i A VALENTINE, Page 34.

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