Why I didn't report it. Except I did. I told my brother, who was eight. He told me if I didn't tell our parents, he would. So I told her.
Mr. White used to put his hands under my clothes and he tried to drag me into his house today. (Decades later and I still don't know if he actually succeeded or not.)
So she called my father, who came home from work. The police came and talked to me. They were nice. How many times had it happened? More than I could remember. Every time I walked by, it seemed. Certainly every time Old Thomas (the crossing guard) down at the end of the block wasn't looking.
What would he do? He would put his hands inside my clothes and touch me while his other hand was in his pocket. I thought he had change in there. That's what he told me. He would give me candy and change sometimes.
Had I ever gone inside his house? I was pretty sure I hadn't, but he had dragged me part way to the door while I was screaming and crying, so I didn't know. Still don't. He was saying awful things to me at the time. Called me a tease and said he'd had enough. I was six.
The mother said she couldn't take it and went to her bedroom. I remember the police had to ask her to come out of her bedroom because they said I needed her to be strong for me and that I was paying too much attention to what was being said. They told my father that he couldn't send me to my room because I would think I did something bad by telling. I remember my father wanted to go with the police while they questioned him. They wouldn't let him because he wouldn't promise to stay in the car. They knew who Mr. White was. He'd done that kind of thing before. He'd hurt another little girl, so I was lucky.
When they came back, they told my father that Mr. White had said that he would move by the end of the week and that he would pay my father $1,000.00 if no charges were filed against him. The police kept trying to stop me from hearing what was said, but because she was trying to listen too, I could hear a lot.
$1,000.00. The police wanted him gone. Everyone wanted an easy end to the story. He would leave and he would be someone else's problem. One of the police officers said 'Maybe someone else's dad won't be so civilised.' and they mentioned the other side of town. The other officer cut them off by saying they wouldn't wish that on anyone's daughter. They saw me listening again and changed the subject a bit. They would help my father obtain the money from him on the Monday. I asked for a toy for me and one for my brother because he helped me.
I remember when I walked by Mr. White's house the next week I felt guilty. I felt sad that he was leaving because he had paid attention to me and he had only been mean to me once.
So I did tell. And my father made a $1,000.00.