Meeting Miss America, Almost

I met the would-be pageant princess for the very first time as my home in the redwoods was burning down. Uninvited, she showed up less than an hour after I and my cat arrived to my luthier’s open arms and assurance of sanctuary. I’d only been inside his guitar shop before, never inside the mostly-empty house he’d recently retrieved in a divorce agreement. Let’s call him RJ.

RJ seemed surprised to see the obviously agitated woman who arrived with no warning; at first glance, I figured she was his mom. I got the feeling she hated me right away, though.

Once introduced as ‘someone who lives in the neighborhood’, she didn’t stay long. She didn’t stay away for long, either.

Before the NFD allowed me to visit the ashes of my disenchanted forest home, the icky-vibe neighbor came back to wreak a bit of havoc. And that’s how I came to be physically assaulted in the street by a drunk old woman who once aspired to be Miss America. Seriously. Miss Fkkn America.

When she signed herself up to compete in the 1963 Miss Napa County pageant, her picture made the local newspaper several times. As pretty as any of the other girls, she was barred before the preliminary competition. Those reasons don’t seem to have been published. Let’s call her CBR.

Flash forward 54 years, CBR showed up for a second surprise visit while RJ and I were having dinner. Sloppy drunk, she barged through the unlocked front door and into the dining room. The decidedly not-miss-congeniality got in my face and demanded I “step outside for a talk.”

I asked if CBR if she was threatening me. In response, she snatched a goblet of red wine from the table and tossed the contents against a white wall. RJ stood up and escorted the fuming trespasser to the door. She continued her drunken tirade, and I stepped outside to make sure RJ was not in danger.

That’s when Not-Miss-America lunged for my throat and tore off my necklace, cutting her finger on its silver crescent moon pendant in the process. With theatrical flourish and no lack of epithet, CBR wiped her blood on my host’s shirt, staggered to her car, drove herself the few blocks back to her house, and called the Napa police. She said she was the victim.

When an officer arrived at her house, CBR proved her identity with a drivers license and assured him that she had done all her drinking after returning home for the night. The cop took a written report in which she stated that we had assaulted *her.* She showed him a bruise the officer described as ‘old’ in his report.

Cop came back to talk to us. After interviewing me and RJ in separate rooms, the officer returned to Not Miss America’s house and said he didn’t believe her story. She screamed an obscenity or three, and slammed the door in his face. The officer came back and asked if I wanted to file charges. He said CBR could be arrested for battery. Wine Country first responders were busy with bigger issues that night, RJ swore she’d sober up and leave us alone, so I declined to press charges against the woman who thought she had what it takes to be Miss America.

If I’d known then what RJ –and the Napa police– knew about her, I would have pressed those charges hard.

* * *

By the way, Janice Kerr prevailed at the 1963 Miss Napa County pageant.

Unlike the disqualified contestant, Kerr did not go on to be arrested numerous times in Napa.