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Editor’s note: The Reporter has chosen to replace the names of individuals in this letter with initials.
Dear Editor:
While all of us like to believe we have the fortitude to stand by our own convictions during any situation, most tend to follow the behaviors of others. But what’s particularly strange is that when enough people get together, they end up doing some really bizarre, nonsensical and downright violent things that we’d never consider on our own. Psychologists refer to this phenomenon as herd or mob mentality. This is what happened to me after moving to Noblesville.
Zoning Commission
My daughter had recently died, and I wanted to do something for others in her name. I opened Evonne’s Sharing House in a lovely brick colonial on Conner Street across from the American Legion. This was a not-for-profit bed and breakfast, with the B&B being an end to a means. Noblesville Old Town went crazy. I was being harassed all hours of the night and the slander and craziness spread across NextDoor.com. One of the last accusations was that I was turning my third floor into a sweat shop for “wayward girls!” The whole situation was brutal, and I ended up moving.
The American Legion
I joined the Legion and proposed bringing my festival connections to town as a non-profit fund raiser for both entities. I am a single woman in my sixties. After pushing out four children into this world, I am also pretty sure I am a female. I always dress and behave professionally as I have been a member of multiple not-for-profits and CEOs of businesses. I didn’t see the lack of professionalism or the mob mentality coming … until it smacked me in the face!
Someone at the Legion started a rumor that I was a man. Others jumped on that train and there was betting and pools, jokes and games about the question of my gender. I became friends with another member. We went to dinner a couple of times. It was from him that I learned of the vicious lies being spread around about me. Mr. R. was being harassed by other members due to his association with me.
I was mortified! The entire place seemed to think I was a man and I had no knowledge of this! I started getting flak from the bartenders. A bartender named J. would throw her hands up in the air while shouting, “I don’t care if you’re a guy!” over and over and with a full bar. She soon refused to cook for me or serve me a cold drink because she said she felt “uncomfortable” doing so.
Her insults and bad behavior continued until I threatened to sue her if she did not quit screaming slanderous remarks about me. J. came over and offered up the names of the people (other bartenders, commander, members, etc.) if I left her out of my lawsuit. This act was mildly humorous but nevertheless, the ideal still lingered in my brain that it was my right to be there.
Two gentlemen from Costa Rica came to the U.S. for an engineering seminar and stayed at my B&B. I made a bad decision by taking them to lunch at the American Legion. We simply walked across the street. While our lunch was being prepared, the members at the bar kept looking at them with disgust and it was not long before the “n” word started to circulate. The men and I looked at each other and all agreed we would get the meal to go.
I took the powers-that-be a copy of their own bylaws, explaining how members should be treated and dropped them off. The next time I went there, J. the bartender handed me the phone before I had found a seat. The head bartender, R., was on the other end. She said I was being refused service because of the papers I had dropped off.
“Copies of your own bylaws?” I asked and she said, “Yes.” Just then I heard Z., the Commander shout across the bar for J., the bartender to call the police because I refused to leave. I could have walked across the street before the police came, but perhaps I was selfishly taking my stand about my rights once again. I was then escorted out by two officers. Such an innocent act … such a violent response, it seemed.
Months later, I was speaking to the Women’s Auxiliary President of the American Legion, M. K., who said, “Mona, I think it was horrible the way they treated you. You never did anything but act like a perfect lady in that place.” She advised me to go speak to the new Commander.
I did speak to J. G., the new commander, who said I was welcome there ANY time. “You can start out with a clean slate,” he said. He then laughed and said, “Hell, I have been thrown out of here twice, including the day I was elected!” It seemed to me that if a man got thrown out, it was a funny and they could come right back in no matter their offence. I pointed out to J. that I never had a “dirty” slate.
I decided to test his offer and went in the very next afternoon. He motioned me over to a table he was sitting at and told me he was sorry, but I would have to leave. According to him, the men met the night before and voted me out. I told him I knew the men did not meet that night and he admitted that it was the treasurer, J. M., who had decided my fate. He said I must leave or again be escorted out by police.
VFW
My daughter encouraged me to join the Veterans of Foreign Wars. She had fond memories of her grandparents taking her and her sister to the one in Fort Wayne on certain nights for dinner, playing pool and joining in events for children. They also hosted the memorial for my father-in-law.
I joined my friends there one evening and met the Commander. He was very nice, introduced me to his wife, who was the women’s auxiliary president. She happened to be Native American. I am a writer and an artist who has written extensively about Native Americans, which is also part of my own heritage. I offered to share these writings with her and asked if she had an email. She looked at me and said, “I don’t know you,” and never gave me the email.
My sister was on life support at Riverview hospital and I went to the VFW after visiting her. (Sometimes one would rather be around others that do not know your pain than those who do.) I was signed in by a woman I had met before. I tried to ask the bartender – who had been so friendly when taking a donation from me for a free weekend at my B&B – was ice cold in her behavior.
There were only two people there, and I was looking around for a coffee pot. I saw J. M. from the American Legion coming out of an office at the VFW! I followed him and kept saying his name until he finally turned around. I asked him why it was his call to bar me from the Legion. He vehemently, spat out the words, “Because you have cost us $2,500 from suing us!” “What,” I asked, “who is suing you?” The Civil Rights Commission for the State of Indiana!” he blurted.
I really had no idea. Once I reported their behavior, I had moved and had not heard anything more from them. “Well good for them,” I said. “I want you to know, I am picking up an application to join the VFW today.” J. looked at me and replied, “That will NEVER happen.” “Why not?” I asked. “The Commander has said they would love to have me.” “I find that extremely hard to believe,” said J. “Are you calling me a liar now?” I asked. He simply told me that it would never happen again, and he would see to it.
The Eagles
I tried joining the Eagles after befriending a few women members there. I was signed in by another member and pretty much sat by myself in silence. Finally, I spoke to a member of the women’s group who was next to me. I told her that my experience there was tantamount to going to church alone. “No one knows you and no one wants to know you,” I said. She turned and put her flat hand in my face and said, “I’m good.” She then turned back around. I later found out that the women had voted that I could not join their little club.
Seemingly, the rumors had spread like wildfire through the tight-knit clubs of Noblesville.
The Moose
I decided to join the Moose Lodge as my friends were members. My friend S. recommended me, and it was not long before the women voted me in. I started going to the weekly women’s fundraiser meeting for the children’s home, Moosehart.
What I did not know was that the guy who runs this club, D. G., went to two women’s Moose officers and told them not to vote me in. They told him that is was too late, the women had already voted me in. He then told these women to make sure that I went to the women’s restroom since there were questions about my gender.
I immediately saw the repercussions of accidently being voted in. The bartender,
- S., harassed, ignored and refused me service every time I went into the Moose. I told my friends that she would be the instrument by which I was removed from their club. True enough, it was a nightmare every time I showed up. She refused me service when she knew I was a member yet refused to look at the receipt I had for paying for said membership.
I have to say, she must have worked a lot because every time I went in there except for once, she was there harassing me. I drive for Uber to supplement my income, therefore I do not carry cash with me. Whenever I used my credit card, since the bill had to be over $10, I just added a tip so the bill would come to or over the required minimum.
My son died on Feb. 11 of this year. A couple days later, I went into the Moose to talk to D. G. about having a memorial for him at the Moose. The women of the Moose had told me that I must speak to him about, well … everything.
I was getting ready to leave when C. came in. I asked her for D. G.’s phone number and she refused to give it to me. I tried to pay my bill and because it equaled $7.50 instead of $10, she started screaming at me about the $10 minimum. I told her I wanted to leave the bartender who had served me a tip, which would bring it up to $10. She continued ranting.
I asked her why she gave me such a horrible time every time I was there. I said I was only there to talk to D. G. because my son, David, had just died and I wished to talk to him about a memorial. Before I could even elaborate, C. screamed, “I don’t care!” She then told me to leave because she was calling the police. I told her I was leaving and there was no need to call anyone. After I got outside, the car I had just purchased would not start. I went back in and asked R., a member, to help me jump it. He came outside to assist me but was swearing and yelling about how wrong it was (the way C. treated me.)
- then came out and started shaking her finger in my face telling me D. G. barred me via the phone that according to her she had no knowledge of the number.
The men of the Moose wrote me a letter. Stating that I was barred for inappropriate language and not following the Moose’s rules for credit cards. Funny, because I do not allow the language they accused me of in my home, and would never say such a thing in public! They gave me a time to go for my “public stoning” of March 20.
They put in the letter that I could bring my own witnesses, but I could not cross examine those against me. That was easy, as none of them were there! Furthermore, they stated that I could not have representation of any kind in their kangaroo court! Has anyone there read the Constitution? Since five officers are necessary for the kangaroo court, I am pretty sure they do not follow their bylaws either!
I took two witnesses whom the men never questioned. I also had numerous witnesses who evidently did not wish to get involved. They knew what had happened and thought it horrible, but somehow ended up on C.’s list of witnesses. I have not yet received the official letter of banning, although I cannot call such a thing official since it was just the chauvinistic attitudes and egos of three officers and not the required five.
One of the things that has driven me mad about these not-for-profit entities is that they seem to make-up, bend and stretch the very limits of their own bylaws to exclude and discriminate.
How does this happen differently between men and women? Many studies have suggested that males tend to be more physically and verbally aggressive than females.
According to a new study, to be published in Psychological Science, a journal of the Association for Psychological Science, it may not be the case that women are less competitive than men – they may just be using a different strategy to come out ahead. Specifically, women may rely more on indirect forms of aggression, such as social exclusion. Either way, it is horrible and ugly, and I am pretty sure it does fare well for the recipient or the victim.
I lived in Carmel for 26 years and found the people to be welcoming and friendly. What a difference a few miles make in the mindsets of people.
Mona Whitfield
Noblesville