Kevin Spacey’s Big Brother explains: ‘A moment in time. Living in the shadows, lifting up the curtain from a lifetime of silence . . . after surviving child abuse’ – Randy B. Fowler.

Dear Kevin,

I am honestly happy for you. I took all of the painful, hurtful, perverted abuse from our parents: sexual, physical, verbal, emotional, and psychological in order to protect you the best that I could because I have always loved you as my little brother so very much. I never wanted you to suffer or to have to carry the baggage of childhood abuse throughout your life as I have.

Any man can get a woman pregnant and technically be called a father. It takes a special type of man with the qualities of upright character, moral standards, nurturing, and unconditional love for his children to be called a “Daddy.”

Our father lacked all of those qualities. In fact, he was narcissistic, selfish, devious, lazy, perverted, mentally ill, and an absolutely incapable father to ever be considered a “Daddy.

He was a full-fledged, white supremacist, neo-Nazi racist and how I hated him for that.

The truth is that he should have been locked up in a mental institution for the criminally insane.

My life has been a living Hell Kevin, but I am on the other side of that Hell now.

Yes, Bro, I do love you, and I always will.

Randy Fowler



by Georgina Bisval

Kevin Spacey’s older brother Randy Fowler hits out over abuse shame, sharing how Kevin hid sordid secrets and has their dad’s twisted genes. He reveals how the Hollywood actor used his fame and fortune to mask his true twisted nature and says the House of Cards star turned to acting and changed his name to hide a dark side after a childhood plagued by abuse and denials about his sexuality.

Randall B. Fowler, professional Rod Stewart impersonator

“Kevin turned to acting as a little kid. He ditched the name Fowler and created the character of Kevin Spacey to mask a monster. It helped him hide from his demons. He struggled with his sexuality, always denying he was gay. On stage he pretended to be somebody else. It gave him power, transformed him.

We grew up with abuse and neglect in a house of horrors. Our violent dad whipped me with a riding crop… I’ve never had children in case that evil personality could be passed on. Now it sadly seems one of us may carry those twisted genes and that person might be Kevin.

His fans love the sinister characters he plays, but he’s not acting, that’s really him. He hid behind his acting career to maintain a secret sordid life and in reality he was a monster. I’ve long suspected there was a dark side to him. I just hope he gets the help he needs so nobody else is harmed by him.”

The carefully crafted image Spacey, 58, created first cracked in a bizarre incident in 2004 when he claimed he had been mugged while walking his dog in a London park at 4am.

Randy thinks he reminds Kevin too much of his troubled and disturbing past

“That was when the wheels of his fake life first started to come off. I thought then it was only a matter of time before the world would know the real Kevin Spacey. He’d been trying to lie about who he was for years. In interviews he re-invented his entire childhood.

He once claimed he’d broken an officer’s leg at military school — but that was me. Another time he said he burnt down a building at the back of our house — but that was me too when I burned our chicken coop. He has taken pieces of my life and claimed them as his own, trying to portray a man who was a troubled child saved by the theatre.”

Star Trek actor Anthony Rapp has alleged Spacey tried to seduce him when he was just 14. Spacey then announced he was gay, facing a wave of criticism for the timing.

Kevin wrote a letter to Randy in 1976 dressed in Fencing gear

Now others have come forward with sexual harassment claims, including an actor who was at London’s Old Vic when Spacey was artistic director. And a British barman says the actor flashed at him outside a hotel then handed over his £5,000 watch to hush him up.

On Thursday, his publicist announced he was going to have treatment. By Friday it was claimed he sexually harassed eight of the House of Cards crew — with one claiming they were assaulted by him.

None of this is a surprise to Randy. He thinks his brother is following in the footsteps of their father Geoff, a man he calls The Creature. Randy, whose dad and mum Kathleen are now both dead, said:

“Our father was a Nazi-loving monster who raped and beat me from the age of 14. Back then I tried to hide what was happening to me from Kevin. I prayed that if I let The Creature hurt me, he’d stay away from Kevin. Now I think I was naive. I once tried to talk to Kevin about it. He said he had no idea dad was like that and wouldn’t discuss it. When I heard about these allegations, I prayed history wasn’t repeating itself.”

Growing up, the family — including sister Julie Ann, now 66 — were forced to move countless times. Randy, who is writing a book about their lives, said: “Dad was a writer who could never hold down a job so they couldn’t afford the rent. Kevin went to about ten schools in ten years and became shy and introverted. He never had friends so would hang out with mine.

Kevin never had a girlfriend either. Of course, I knew he was gay, we all did. He was a mummy’s boy. The only people he ever said he loved as a kid were male stars like Frank Sinatra and Christopher Walken. But when I asked him straight out if he was gay when we were smoking a joint one day, Kevin just said, ‘I’m not heterosexual, homosexual or bisexual, just sexual.’

Kevin should have been honest about who he is. Coming out after being accused of assaulting a 14-year-old is an insult to the entire gay and lesbian community.”

As Kevin got more and more famous he cut off contact with Randy

Randy recalls money was so tight they went hungry and did not even go to the dentist. “The only holiday we had was to a nudist colony. Kevin was a toddler and surrounded by all these naked adults. What kind of parents do that? The Creature even had books of child pornography in his office.”

The brothers always stuck together. Limousine driver and Rod Stewart impersonator Randy, said: “We adored each other. We built forts, rode bikes, escaped outside as much as we could.” The home Randy shares with long-term partner Trish is adorned with photos of the brothers.

Randy and Kevin’s father idolised Nazis and kept books of child pornography in his office, according to Randy

On one of the actor dressed in fencing gear in 1976, Kevin has written: ‘Dear Randy, I guess after years of fighting we finally settled down to work together. “Fowler and Company” is going to be hot!! I’ll invite you to the academy awards when I go. Your idol and brother Kevin Spacey Fowler.’

But as Kevin became more famous, he froze Randy out of his life. Spacey started to ignore calls from his brother, who said: “I think I reminded him of ‘Kevin Fowler’ and our childhood. He wanted to get away from that.” They have only met five times in nearly three decades.

“When mum was dying of a brain tumour in 2002, he didn’t call me until she was so sick she was a vegetable. He robbed me of my last chance to talk to her.” They last met at her funeral. “Kevin organised it and all his work friends came, which I thought was weird.”

“I’ve sent birthday and Christmas cards. They are returned in Kevin’s hand writing saying he no longer lives at the address. One time when he was in London I asked a friend to hand deliver a card to him. Kevin ripped it up without even looking at it.

“I’m speaking out because I want him to know I’m here for him if he needs me.”


A moment in time. Living in the shadows, lifting up the curtain from a lifetime of silence . . . after surviving child abuse.

by Randy B. Fowler

Chapter 1

This autobiography is a serious discussion on the choices and ramifications of living in silence most of my life and how I learned to deal with the after effects of sexual child abuse by my father, “The Creature”, and my mother, who turned a passive abuser’s blind eye to what was happening in our home to one of her sons.

I will also address another distressing aspect of my relationship with my mother concerning her absolute refusal her entire life to discuss the matter of sexual child abuse perpetrated on me by her sick, perverted, pedophile of a husband.

The book also explores how it affected my relationship with not only my parents but also with my now famous little brother, the great and powerful actor Kevin Spacey Fowler.

Most of us go through life with blinders on, knowing only that one station in life to which we have been assigned. I know that if only my brother were to escape the bonds of his glitzy and glamorous Hollywood lifestyle in order to experience a true relationship with his family…if only for a brief spell, it might give him a whole new perspective on life, himself, family, acting, and his nonexistent relationship with his loving big brother…me.

What would Kevin do if he could wake himself up from his silence and his lifetime suppression of his feelings?

My personal experience, however, has taught me that it is very difficult and sometimes impossible for a person to change when dealing with his or her own past. Many people deal with tragic events by not dealing with them at all. They try to block them out by simply sweeping the painful memories under the carpet and by completely refusing to ever acknowledge and discuss them, which is the case with my own family.

As a result, my philosophy of life has always been: “Expect nothing from anyone, and you will never be disappointed.” This philosophy came as a result of having spent my entire childhood in misery as a victim of sexual child abuse.

While writing this autobiography, I realized how cruel my life had been and how I have always believed that I had sacrificed my ravaged body, soul, and childhood to protect my little brother, Kevin, from having to suffer the same physical, emotional, and psychological damages that have plagued me throughout most of my life.

It was not some adult decision I had made to protect my little brother; it is just what big brothers do… they protect the one they love. I truly believe that the love I had for my brother gave him the emotional and psychological tools necessary to make something of himself without the stigma and burdens of excruciatingly painful sexual child abuse looming over his shoulders everyday of his life. Yet, the end result is that I ended up not even being able to have a relationship with him because Kevin Spacey Fowler cannot even deal with the fact of who our parents really were and the hell of a dysfunctional family from whence he came.

How ironic and cruel life can be when you have always believed that you were the one who had endured a living hell in order to protect your little brother because you loved him so very much.

This autobiography will also answer many unanswered questions about my nonexistent relationship with my brother Kevin Spacey Fowler such as the following: Why is one brother brutally honest, and the other brother brutally dishonest? Why does one brother have character, and the other plays characters? Why was one a plaything for their cruel, mentally ill, perverted father, and the other embraced by a loving mother who ignores Randy’s screams of pain and suffering Why was one married and divorced three times in ten years, and the other has never been married?

I wonder if these questions are typical of the feelings of many children who have suffered child abuse at the hands of a psychopathic, perverted pedophile of a parent, or are they just relevant to my own sick Hell of a childhood?

After reading this book you will be able to tell the difference between two brothers that are completely different in every respect as a result of their separate dysfunctional upbringings. My life has been mostly full of regrets on the choices and decisions that I have made which were entirely based on my feelings and not the facts, which inevitably always got me into either emotional or financial troubles that have followed me throughout my life.

As painful as those events that I experienced were, they did make me the man I am today. The person I was when growing up as a young child does not even exist anymore. That person is dead and gone, and all that is left are the memories and emotional scars of what happened to me. I was able to overcome the demons that possessed me and was extremely fortunate to cleanse my soul by standing naked before God and looking at the absolute truth of what had happened to me.

I also discovered who I was now as an individual and the Hell of a dysfunctional family from where I came. I did this by seriously dealing with my tumultuous and painful past as a sexually abused child. My life now encompasses peace and tranquility because I made a conscious choice to lift up the veil of secrecy that had shrouded my troubled childhood in order to shed a little light on the subject and help others who are dealing with the same type of tragic events in their own lives.

I consider myself to be a statistical anomaly. I could have ended up an alcoholic, drug addict, a criminal in prison, or worse yet, dead! I can honestly tell you that there is hope and true healing of one’s soul by not running away from your past. However, it will take a tremendous amount of courage to face one’s own painful past in order to heal the many wounds that come from being abused as a child. They are all encompassing wounds because they were caused as a result of sexual physical, emotional, verbal, mental, cruel psychological, and even spiritual abuse.

No child should ever be put through such torture. I am here to tell you once again that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and it is totally up to the victim to search for that path that will lead him or her to come face to face with that light. Trust me; it is there, and it is a healing, cathartic light that will help release all of the guilt, shame, hurt, and hatred that has been bottled up inside a victim because of his or her keeping silent and trying to sweep it all under the carpet.


Chapter 2

When I began to write my autobiography, I had to decide where I would start telling my story…at the beginning of my childhood, the middle, or the end? I finally came to the conclusion that the best place to start was my visit to my dying mother and her ensuing funeral. It was my poor mother’s end, but it was also my new beginning.

In this emotional chapter, I go through a lot of mental musings about my family because as I was writing, flashbacks kept pouring into my mind…one after another.

My mother was a Christian Scientist and did not believe in going to see a specialist after having had a stroke after my father’s death. She told no one. During the following years, her health began to deteriorate rapidly. We later found out that she had a cancerous brain tumor. Unfortunately, it was too late for anything to be done. I remember Mother calling me about six months before she died. She still had all of her mental faculties intact, and she pleaded for me to come visit her so that we might talk. Unfortunately for me, I was too broke at the time to even afford a plane ticket. I pleaded with my brother, Kevin Spacey, to send me a plane ticket so that I might visit with our mother before she would lose her capacity to communicate. As usual, all I got from him was a cold shoulder and no response whatsoever as I waited month after month, anticipating a plane ticket.

It was not until a month before Mother died that my brother finally called me back and told me: “I think it is time for you to come see Mother.”

My brother Kevin Spacey, who is worth well over $80 million, finally reluctantly sent me a plane ticket to come visit our mother. When I arrived at the LAX airport, to my surprise, there was a limousine there to pick me up… NOT my brother himself. At the time, I thought this was a very cold gesture from Kevin to just let me know that he was a rich, famous, and a big shot now. After settling into my hotel room, a luxury suite, I became very suspicious as to why Kevin had only put my sister and her family up in a non-luxury room. Fortunately, he had also rented a car for me to use during my visit so that I could commute to and from my hotel to my mother’s home.

Upon my arrival at my mother’s house, I was absolutely devastated when I realized the condition in which she was; she was so far gone mentally that she could not even utter a single word and have that conversation I had waited to have with her for over 35 years. We might have been able to talk about my childhood and her lack of intervention from the horrific abuse I had suffered from her husband, my father… “The Creature.” The glazed look she had in her eyes made me cry profusely.

Not being able to talk to my mother about my childhood was the greatest lost opportunity I had ever experienced in my life.

The time together would have allowed us to finally experience peace, love, and acceptance…just the two of us together. It was denied by my brother’s own ego and cruelty not to even share Mother with me for the briefest of moments. I do not know if I will ever forget or forgive him for such a blatant act of selfish cruelty. Kevin really showed his true colors by making me wait to the very end to see our mother. He not only denied my mother her last remaining wishes, but also he denied me my own peace of mind for which I had desperately waited my entire adult life to resolve.

It was devastating for me to be left with such a tragic and empty feeling inside my gut knowing that my mother finally mustered up the courage to talk about my troubled childhood and the dastardly deeds her now deceased pedophile husband had perpetrated on me. I remember sitting alone with my mother and holding her hand trying to communicate with her and realizing that she could not comprehend or understand a word I was saying to her. Suddenly, Kevin walked into the room and literally pushed me off to the side, so he could sit next to our mother and comfort her. He would not even allow me to spend a few precious minutes alone with our mother before behaving like the slimy and clingy little mama’s boy that he had become.

I was totally disgusted by his behavior and realized that my own brother was being very selfish and totally inconsiderate of my feelings. This hurt me deeply more than words could ever express. Victims of child abuse often have very fragile feelings because their feelings have been so damaged during their childhoods. My brother’s despicable behavior by shoving me away from our mother left me immensely pissed off at him. I decided to return to my hotel room realizing that he was not even going to let me try to communicate with Mother. I thought to myself: “What was Kevin so afraid of?”

From my own perspective, while watching his strange and peculiar behavior toward our mother, I came to the most chilling conclusion and observation. Kevin not only appeared to be actually jealous of me, but his clinginess and affection toward our mother resembled how someone might treat their lover more than a normal mother-and-son relationship. I know that sounds really creepy, but can you imagine how I felt witnessing this entire episode play out right in front of my own eyes at such a tragic time for me? I must admit that night my brother graciously took my sister’s family and me out for dinner.

I am sure everyone has experienced being in a public place and seeing someone act rudely towards another person and not realizing that there were other people watching and listening to them, especially when that person might be famous in the public eye. I happened to experience this first hand watching how my own brother treated one of his movie fans. We were all sitting at the table and eating while having somewhat of a pleasant conversation between ourselves when suddenly a couple of strangers approached me and said that they would love to have my autograph and picture with them. Being the pleasant and outgoing person that I am, I was not only flattered but also honored to give them my time. Excuse me, but I sincerely believed that at that time, it was the strangers’ time also, regardless of the fact that they were temporarily disturbing my dinner with my family. I graciously gave them my autograph and then posed for a couple of photos with them. They thanked me so much and walked away with smiles on their faces.

I glanced over to my brother, and he gave me the most disturbing glare that was very familiar to me. I was a bit startled and taken aback by his response and wondered: “Why the dirty look, Bro?” Then, I realized that Kevin was actually jealous that someone else was paying attention to me and not him; his internal reaction projected the following thoughts that you could read all over his face: “How dare they! Don’t they realize that I’m the great Kevin Spacey, and my brother is a nobody?” He immediately sat up straight in his chair and took off his ridiculous backwards baseball cap hoping that someone would recognize him.

Not even 15 minutes had past and someone else approached our table and said to my brother: “Oh I just love all of your movies; could I have my picture taken with you?” I will never forget what my brother did next. I was absolutely disgusted and embarrassed to suddenly realize that Kevin Spacey was even related to me. He looked up with such anger and rudeness toward the stranger with his mouth still full of food and said to her: “Can’t you see I’m f*****g eating dinner? Leave me alone!” I could see by the woman’s face how totally shocked and heartbroken she was that her movie idol could treat her so rudely and with such contempt.

After the woman walked away, I leaned over to my brother, and I said to him: “What’s your f*****g problem? Don’t you realize that she’s one of your fans? She’s going to tell her friends about how rudely and disrespectful you treated her. She in turn will tell her other friends, and the vicious cycle of bad publicity will come back to haunt you in movie ticket sales. Why would you treat anyone that way? She used to buy your movie tickets, but I bet now she won’t buy them anymore nor will any of her friends for that matter. Don’t you realize that you just lost a bunch of fans by your atrocious behavior? If you don’t like being bothered by strangers, why did you decide to become an actor when you knew very well that being approached by strangers and being in the public eye was part of the Hollywood movie business scene? ”Kevin just looked over at me and said: “Couldn’t she see I was f*****g eating dinner?”

After that rude and entirely impolite response, I looked over at my family and could see the look on their faces and how shocked, ashamed, and embarrassed they were at my brother’s outburst and behavior. At that moment, we realized that our sweet little brother, Kevin Spacey Fowler, had become a totally different person from the amicable brother we had known in our childhood. Mother’s last wishes were that Kevin, Julie, and I would be close again. So sorry, Mother, we gave it our best shot. Unfortunately, that is where the problem often stems from. Being a rich and famous movie star I guess often makes one think he or she can get away with any illicit behavior without any consequences.

Kevin’s behavior that evening had given me a glimpse into his personality and who he really had become. His behavior revealed to me that he had become a narcissistic control freak, a male diva, so to speak. Everything had to be on his terms regardless of who was going to get hurt in the process. At that moment, I lost all respect for my beloved little brother. No matter what negative worrisome thoughts I had had about him before, that episode just reinforced and sealed the deal for me.

After dinner was over, we walked back together to where the cars had been parked. I was walking a lot slower than everyone else because we all had to walk up a very steep hill, and my back had really started hurting me. Less than two years prior, I had had major back surgery on my L5 Disc, and I had to be very careful of everything that I did, including walking. We were walking entirely uphill, when my back suddenly completely gave out, and I fell to the ground in excruciating pain. My sister happened to turn around and saw me on my knees and came rushing towards me and helped me up off the sidewalk. That is the kind of sister I fortunately have. Julie Ann is a very caring and nurturing person.

Unfortunately for me, my brother acted exactly the opposite. He turned around briefly and saw me on my knees in pain, and then he just turned back around and continued walking up the hill as if nothing had happened. My brother showed absolutely no feelings towards me; it was as if ice water was rushing through his heart and veins. This event also gave me another glimpse into Kevin’s new true personality. He had become callous and unsympathetic even toward another member of his own family. I have to admit to you that Kevin’s complete lack of having any feelings towards me hurt me more emotionally then the excruciating pain I was experiencing in my back. I realized at that Moment in Time that my little brother could not give a shit whether I even lived or died.

After we had gotten back to the cars, my brother had us dropped off at the motel. I sat in my room all of that evening thinking about what I had just witnessed from Kevin’s rude outburst at the restaurant and his lack of any sympathy towards my personal welfare. I was not only hurt emotionally, but I felt totally betrayed by my own brother whom I had spent my entire childhood trying to protect from pain. I was hurting, and I was very bitter. I decided that this was probably not the first time this public sort of incident had happened to my brother. I surmised metaphorically that Kevin must have an enormous closet that is stuffed full of all of the skeletons of his victims that he has left for dead over the years in his pursuit to become the great Kevin Spacey movie star. Why did I have to be one of those victims!

The next four days I got up bright and early and went to spend my days with my mother. As I sat with her each day holding her hand, I could not help but notice how she looked at me with her sad eyes trying so desperately to communicate with me. What speech she did articulate was so garbled and incoherent that it was extremely difficult to decipher exactly what she was trying to say to me. She constantly was squeezing my hand desperately trying to speak the words I had waited to hear my entire life. I knew at that Moment in Time it was her desperate attempt to finally apologize even though no words were spoken. I could see her genuine sincerity in her eyes and facial gestures. Even though I never heard the actual words of an apology from her, I did feel a tremendous weight lifted off of my troubled soul. I sadly realized, however, that I was not going to get the type of redemption for which I had been hoping, but I was still able to feel a bit more at peace with myself.

During my long days with my mother, she would be awake for a while and then fall back to sleep again. This was a normal routine while I was visiting her. When she would fall back to sleep, I would wander around the house deep in my thoughts and contemplate her inevitable death and my loss. Yet during my wanderings, I could not help but notice how many pictures there were of my brother and mother together. During those many wanderings through Mother’s home, I never did find even one single picture of my mother and me together. At first this seemed highly suspicious and peculiar to me, then I realized that it was my brother who had purchased the house for Mother and probably had decorated it himself. I guess because he thought I was just a thorn in his side, he definitely was not going to hang up a single picture of Mother and me together.

I asked myself over and over: “Why does my little brother hate me so much? I had never hurt him. God knows as his big brother I had always tried my best to protect and support him.” At least, this is what I have always believed is the truth. It seemed to be just another suspicious and bizarre observation and glimpse into Kevin’s true selfish character and personality.

The three remaining days of my visit were spent in relatively peace and reflection time with my mother since my brother was not around that much during the day. Supposedly, he had important Hollywood stuff to do.

On my last day visiting with my mother, in the late afternoon as the sun was going down in the Hollywood Hills, I glanced out the living room window at the setting sun and was suddenly overcome with extreme sadness and grief knowing that this was the last time I would ever see my mother alive again. Sorry, but I still felt an emptiness in my heart and such bitterness and resentment towards my brother Kevin for not letting me come to visit Mother sooner when she would have still been able to communicate coherently. As I hugged my mother and kissed her goodbye, the tears rolled unremittingly down my cheeks. To my absolute amazement my mother spoke the first understandable words I had heard in the last four days; she said to me in a quiet voice: “Everything will be fine.” She then closed her eyes from exhaustion and fell back to sleep.

Those last four words she had ever spoken to me turned out to be the resolution of a lifetime struggle battling child abuse. After waiting my entire life those four words would have to be enough to carry my tortured soul into the future. My anger and bitterness toward my mother had finally been resolved. Do you know what the best part of that whole scenario was? Kevin was not there to interfere, and he never knew that Mother had finally been able to speak to me. I had gotten that Moment in Time together with my mother, and there was nothing my brother could do about it. Hooray for me!

I left Mother’s house not even being able to say goodbye to my brother because he was conveniently absent when I had left. To be perfectly honest, after what I had just experienced with my mother, it just did not matter to me at that time to say goodbye to the most heartless man I had ever known, my little brother Kevin.

During my flight home back to Boise I could not help but regurgitate over and over again in my mind what had transpired over the last four days. I felt such sadness for my mother knowing that her brain tumor could have been diagnosed 10 years earlier if she had just gone to see a doctor after she had had a stroke when our father passed away on Christmas Eve, 1992. She could have had it diagnosed and treated back then, but unfortunately her Christian Science religious beliefs prevented her from seeking out the help she so desperately needed.

People are always saying someone’s religious beliefs usually do not hurt anyone, Oh really! Religious beliefs killed my mother. My mother never told anybody that she had had a stroke and had lost the sight in one of her eyes until ten years later when she collapsed in downtown Seattle. At that time, Mother was rushed to the emergency room where she finally confessed to the doctor what had happened to her 10 years earlier. Needless to say, the doctors were quite shocked at my mother’s revelation.

A month after I had returned home from California, the dreaded phone call that I had been anticipating finally came. My sister, Julie Ann, called me on her birthday and told me that Mother had just passed away 15 minutes ago. At that Moment in Time, I finally came to the grave realization that my mother was dead, and what was left of my family would never be able to come to reconcile our differences over our horrific dysfunctional past as Mother had wished. Despite my grievances with my mother over child abuse and her refusal to talk about it with me, she was always able to at least keep the hope alive in me of reconciliation in the future with my estranged brother, Kevin, who unfortunately has absolutely refused to have any relationship with me, whatsoever.

Yes, Kevin reluctantly sent me a plane ticket for my mother’s funeral, but he absolutely refused to buy my wife, Trish, a plane ticket. Over the years, Trish and my mother had become very close and communicated often about what was going on in our lives. It pained me so much that my brother has millions, and yet he could not even find it in his heart to purchase a plane ticket for Trish so that she could also attend our mother’s funeral and help be my rock and support. That was just so cruel and cold of him!

I did not sleep very well the night before Mother’s funeral. I woke up the morning of the funeral and felt emptiness and consuming sadness in my entire being as I got cleaned up. I had picked out a very special outfit for my mother’s funeral, a long black coat with a silver bow tie and a matching cummerbund. I was really extremely nervous about how I would behave at my mother’s funeral. I still had a very bitter feeling towards Kevin that my darling Trish was not there to comfort me. I was all alone in my thoughts and was extremely uncomfortable speaking in front of a live audience.

At that time in my life, I was still very insecure about myself and totally lacked the confidence of an emotionally, well-adjusted adult. I had never actually attended any family members’ funerals before, so I had no idea that I was about to enter the surreal world of a dreadful and disgusting Spaceyland production.

Before the funeral started, I went up to my mother’s open casket, leaned over, and placed a kiss on the cheek of her lifeless body, and great sadness overcame me. I immediately started crying over my own personal loss. I tried to compose myself and sat down next to my sister, Julie Ann, and I just held her hand in painful silence.

I had been to a lot of funerals in my life before, and all of them had been serious and somber events. This “event” was quite the opposite. It was like some kind of spectacle awards show. I was waiting for someone to say lights, camera, and action! My brother approached the podium with fanfare music playing in the background. He stood there with his usual non-emotional actor’s face. He placed his inch-thick script on the podium and turned to page one. He proceeded with his tribute to our mother to an almost empty room. My brother was the master of ceremonies and had prepared a long-winded and pompous speech.

As the words flowed from his unemotional lips about how wonderful his relationship was with our mother, I was so mad that I just wanted to puke. The words he used in his eulogy were nothing that I had ever experienced from our mother. He portrayed her to be some kind of a Godly Saint who could do no wrong. He professed how he owed everything to her for his tremendous success as a Hollywood actor. Well, at least he got that part partially right.

I found my mind wandering and reminiscing over our painful childhood. I thought about the sacrifices that I had made protecting my little brother from the Creature ever sexually abusing or raping him. Did my sacrifices ever receive even a little gratitude or thanks? Evidently not! I definitely did not hear any kind words from him regarding me on that particular day.

The award show funeral continued with his fancy slideshow presentation and all of those wonderful photos of him and my mother together over the years. I never felt so alone and isolated in the presence of my own family. I never experienced those colorful memories that my brother was so very fortunate to have experienced with Mother. My personal relationship with my mother was literally a dichotomy of unfulfilled dreams of my own delusional aspirations that I had been living with for the past thirty years.

My brother had finished Act 1 of his awards show funeral, when I could hear the reluctance in his voice as he said to the small crowd of people in the audience: “Now, a few words from my brother.” As he released the podium to me, and we walked past each other, I could not help but feel a strange uneasiness over the entire proceedings. Questions poured into my mind: “Where were all of my mother’s friends whom she had come to know the last ten years since our father had died in 1992?” I stood there staring basically out into an empty room with only a small group of people in attendance. I was a bit surprised and bewildered because I knew that Mother had had so many friends. Again, I asked myself: “Where were they all? Didn’t anybody bother to contact Mother’s friends and inform them that she had passed away?”

It was not until after the funeral that I found out the real reason for the absence of all of my mother’s friends at her funeral. It had been my brother’s idea not to inform them. He even decided to have our mother buried under an alias name so as to avoid attracting any paparazzi to his current location.

Can you believe it! It was as if the man was some kind of secret agent and his whereabouts was a matter of national security. If I would have known this before the funeral started, I might have said something to him. Well, to be perfectly honest, I am sure we would have gotten into a huge argument concerning his disrespecting our mother and not inviting her friends to her own funeral. How selfish and inconsiderate of him to only think of himself and not our mother’s friends. I thought to myself: “Big deal! OK, Kevin, you are a rich hotshot movie star, so give it a rest, Randy, just for one day. It’s family. Don’t you have any feelings left inside of you, Kevin?”

Unfortunately, my brother has no concept of the word “Family” anymore because we no longer exist where he is concerned. I thought to myself: “Who cares that the paparazzi might show up? Besides Kevin loves all of the attention from the media anyway. It would have been just another day at the office for him!”

This was the essence of my family’s behavior. Yes, the dirty little secrets that destroyed any relationship I could have had with my brother was looming overhead at my mother’s funeral. How ironic! I felt such a dark and slimy presence all around me. It instantly sent me back to my childhood. I could not quite put my finger on why I was feeling that way at the time. Something strange was going on inside of me… memories that would not stop kept pouring into my brain and heart.

It was a definite turning point in my own life. My first realization was that this would probably be the last time I ever saw or spoke to my brother Kevin again. Once our mother died, he would have no reason to be in contact with me ever again. That would require feelings toward a family member of which he has repeatedly demonstrated that he has none… or that he has suppressed them all. I thought: “Poor Kevin! He is still living in silence and in the shadows.”I wondered if he ever would come out of them.

Forgive me for digressing again, but I am being blatantly honest to you readers about my inner thoughts and musings at that extremely sad time in my life.

Before I began to speak at the podium, I looked down at my notes to gather my thoughts and emotions. I suddenly felt a cold chill rushing over my body. It was like time had been frozen briefly, and in that split second I was thrust back to that Moment in Time when my life was forever changed. I could not help but remember how my mother had just simply walked away from my desperate screams for help and the sexual abuse pain that I was enduring from her now deceased husband… my father, “The Creature.”

At the same time, a second realization flashed through my thoughts. I realized that I was statistically one lucky individual. I finally had escaped the prison of child abuse that had held me captive for most of my adult life. I had conquered and defeated the demons that had possessed me and controlled my life. I was finally able to understand the consequences and decisions I had made by living in silence as a child while truly believing at the time that I was protecting my little brother, Kevin, from suffering the same fate as I was suffering from our father, the Creature.

In retrospect, I wish I had screamed at the top of my lungs even louder over and over again when my demonic father was abusing me until I had gotten someone’s attention, anyone’s attention. Standing there at the podium, I realized that there really had been no one there to hear me my cries for help. My mother had always walked away from my screams; my sister had moved out; and my brother Kevin was always outside playing. My desperate screams for help were all in vain, and there was nobody there who was going to rescue me from the horrifically painful fate that had always awaited me. I was so completely terrified of the Creature that I never told anybody. He continually violently threatened me on a daily basis that if I ever mentioned what he was doing to me to anybody that he would make my life a living Hell. What the Creature had been doing to me left me afraid and without hope of ever being saved.

My sick pedophilic father considered sexually abusing me to be “our special time together.” Even though I lived my entire childhood in silence and never told a single soul, the Creature still made my life a living Hell anyway. I had lived my entire childhood in fear, always with the insecurities of whom I could trust. I definitely knew I could not trust my mother. It was easier for her to just walk away from my agonizing screams for help. Oh, how I hated that! I cannot even begin to describe in words how that made me feel as a young child. I felt completely abandoned by everyone, even though we were all living in the same house.

Yes, I have digressed once again, but there I was at my mother’s funeral, and I could not stop the past from forcing those ugly memories into my head at that present moment. As I gathered my thoughts and looked up at the empty room, I began to recite a beautiful poem that my mother had written and given to me years earlier about people that behave exactly as my little brother Kevin Spacey was behaving now that he had become a big movie star. How ironic!

I received this poem from my mother in 1988. At the time, I believed that it was her way of reaching out to me to reconcile what had happened to me as a child at the hands of the Creature, even though she was never able to talk to me about it. While I was reading this poem to the audience, I could not help my temptation and pleasure to consciously look straight into my brother’s eyes when I got to the end of each phrase. He glared at me with contempt, and you know what? I actually liked it. I liked it a lot!

Of all of the times that I have tried to reach out to Kevin over the course of many years, I have always hoped that he would understand what had happened to me; it finally took a poem from our own mother to even get the tiniest emotional reaction out of him. I thought to myself: “Just maybe there’s hope that we can finally reconcile our differences.”

After reading my mother’s poem, I turned the page over and began to glance at the prepared notes that I had written in my motel room the night before. It suddenly occurred to me that everything I had written down about my mother was all total bullshit. It was laced with untruths and complete fabrications about my relationship with her over the course of my adult life. I asked myself: “What should I do? Should I tell the truth about how my mother never helped me when I was screaming for someone to help to save and protect me from the Creature, or should I just continue to recite my prepared bullshit speech?”

I decided that this was not the time and place for me to air out my grievances about my family. If I had actually revealed the truth to what few people there were in the audience, Kevin probably would have rushed to the podium and thrown me off the stage. He would then be able to preserve his delusional perspective of our mother.

What I mean by a few people being in the audience was that on the right side of the aisle was my sister, her family, and a few of my mother’s nurses. On the left side of the aisle was Kevin’s complete staff from Kevin’s Trigger Street Productions. I thought: “What the hell were they doing there? They never even knew my mother!” It just irritated the hell out of me not to see any of my mother’s many friends. However, it was a glimpse into my brother’s personality on how narcissistic he had become and how he just craved all that attention by inviting his employees and not my mother’s friends to her funeral. Kevin had his friends to support him, but I was not even able to have my wife, Trish, there. God knows I really needed her support me more than ever!

After I had finished my closing remarks, to my surprise and complete amazement, I received a huge applause over my carefully crafted words. Many people after the funeral came up to me and wanted a copy of my mother’s poem that I had read. I was deeply touched over their response since many of my brother’s employees told me that they did not realize Kevin Spacey even had a brother. Why would they? Sadly, as far as my brother Kevin is concerned, I do not even exist. Why, Kevin? Why have you abandoned me when we were so close as children? What have I ever done to deserve your enmity?

In fact, if anyone has ever watched any of my brother Kevin’s television interviews, he or she would notice that whenever the host of the show would ask Kevin about his family, the look on my brother’s face would always show just how uncomfortable it was for him to admit he even had a brother or even discuss anything about his family or childhood. Yes, my brother Kevin is still living in silence and in his own shadows.

After the funeral was over, the next stop was the big party afterwards at my mother’s home that my brother had purchased for her when she had become ill. My mother’s home was located in an upscale neighborhood in the Hollywood Hills in California.

By the time I had arrived at the after-funeral party, the house was filled with boozing Hollywood types frolicking around and talking about how important they all were. Of course, my brother was the center of attention… the two-time Academy award winner was surrounded by people who were all completely enamored with him. It was so bizarre and surreal for me to watch Kevin have all the time in the world for his employees and guests but not have a single minute that he could spare spending some quality time just talking to me, his big brother, and catching up and reconciling as Mother had wished. I was really devastated and angry and was actually starting to despise my brother Kevin that very sad day because of how cold and indifferent he was treating me. Again, I wished that my wife Trish could have been there to help support me through that extremely emotional and devastating day.

Suddenly, I found my opening to speak to my brother when Kevin was outside all by himself leaning up against the patio railing drinking a latte. I went up to him and asked him: “How’s it going?” Then, suddenly one of the guests snapped a photo of us together, and before I knew it, Kevin just walked away. We never even got to utter a single word of pleasantry between us. The entire episode that had transpired reminded me of one of my brother’s movies, The Usual Suspects. Kevin’s character, Virbal Kint, aka Keyser Söze says: “After that my guess is that you will never hear from him again. The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he did not exist. And like that… he is gone. He completely vanished like a fark in the wind, leaving a trail of emotional stench in his wake. I guess I just was not interesting or important enough for him to stick around and talk with.”

Was I just a like a fark in the wind to my little brother now that he was a famous movie star? I have never wanted my brother’s money; I have only wanted a cordial relationship with him and his love. Is that too much for which to ask? I guess so!

During the party I somehow managed to convince what was left of my family and brother to take a family photo together. It was our last photo together and the last time I saw or talked to any of my remaining family members. At the end of the party, I began getting ready to leave and was frantically searching for my brother so that I might have a few words with him before the limousine would take me to the airport. I finally got my brother alone and said to him: “Kevin we need to bury the hatchet on our grievances and be brothers again, as this is what Mother would have wanted for the both of us.” He looked at me with somewhat tearful eyes and told me: “I promise to call you and stay in contact with you.” I have never heard even a word from Kevin since that day. Pathetic…right?

At that Moment in Time, he had seemed very sincere towards me, but I soon came to realize that he was just an actor playing a part and saying what needed to be said just to appease me and get me the hell out of there. Yes, I repeat that that was the last time I have ever seen or spoken to my brother. That Moment in Time was just another disappointment in my life. That funeral day was absolute torture for my soul. I have not heard a peep from my brother in over a decade, not a single phone call, and not a single Christmas or Birthday card. I just do not exist in my brother’s little Solar System. I have come to the conclusion that I probably never will. Therefore, my philosophy in life is: “Expect nothing, and you won’t be disappointed.”

So many times in my life I have felt like an orphan completely cut off from my family. I wonder if other sexually abused children have ever felt the same way. We are so alone at the time with no one to talk to or comfort us. People who know me know me as a man of integrity and of his word. I do not lie. No one would ever want to disclose the horrific things that I have experienced as a child; however, I have kept my silence for far too long.

My sole purpose in writing this book is that it might help other victims of sexual child abuse understand and face their demons. They need to know that they are not alone and that there are people who sincerely care about them and want to help them in every way possible. Sexual child abuse takes a toll on a child’s self-esteem, self-worth, and self-image. I am here to tell victims that there is a light at the end of the tunnel and a process and path that they can choose to take to get to that light.

When I was abused, it was the 1960s. Nobody talked about child abuse back then. There were no TV shows like Oprah Winfrey, Ellen DeGenres, and Phil Donahue that discussed child abuse openly and honestly. In my particular circumstances, child abuse was just another dirty little secret that got stuffed away in the closet of the unrealized dreams and hopes of my ever having a normal emotional life. Instead, my life ended up with mostly regrets and burdens filled with the psychological and emotional scars of someone else’s devious and demented sexual pleasures… my own father, the Creature.

I recognize that we victims reside in a particular segment of our society that lives and suffers in a subculture of pain and silence. Many children that suffer from child abuse rarely trust anyone, including himself or herself. They will ask themselves an assortment of questions:
“Was it my fault? What did I do wrong? Am I making too big of a deal over being sexually abused or raped?”

The answer to all these questions is a definite resounding NO! No child has the ability to fully comprehend what is happening to him or her, especially at a very young age when he or she is receiving painful, humiliating maltreatment from one of his or her own parents. Many children keep all of their emotions bottled up inside; others rebel against their family, friends, and authority figures. A term psychologist use for this is “acting in or acting out.”

Quite often sexually abused children do not realize why they are behaving with such hostility and anger towards themselves, others, and even their own family members. Abused children end up looking at life through a skewed and distorted lens that has nothing to do with reality. Children are supposed to feel safe in their own home. Living in fear is no way for a child to grow up because they take those fears and insecurities into their adulthood and end up not having the emotional and psychological tools necessary to cope with real life experiences on a daily basis.

In my case, I was totally emotionally scarred; it permeated every aspect of my life from intimacy issues with women, trust, and common sense decisions as well as over the simplest situations in my life. With all the emotional baggage associated with child abuse that I had endured, it is truly a miracle that I did not end up either in jail, an alcoholic, a drug addict, or even worse, another victim of suicide! Fortunately, after years of struggling with my whole emotional ordeal, I finally have come face-to-face with my demons and have been able to find many of the answers to questions that had eluded me for so long.

Chapter 3

Everyone has heard of the new term in our technological society known as “identity theft.” This particular phenomenon started happening to me in the early 1980s by none other than my little brother Kevin. Every time I hear Kevin on some silly talk show, he inevitably spews out another falsehood about his life that never actually happened to him. Not only did I do everything to protect my brother Kevin from being sexually abused by our father, the Creature, but also I took most of the horrific abuse.

Kevin had the benefit of our mother’s protected wings always insulating him from experiencing any tragic events or disciplinary actions while growing up. I see that I need to take a minute to explain myself to the reader. Whenever the Creature beat and sexually abused me, he would violently threaten me that if I ever told anyone what he was doing to me that he would make my life a living Hell. (Personally, I do not think that Hell could have been any worse.) Anyway, I told the Creature that if he every hurt my little brother Kevin in any abusive way, I would tell Mother and everyone else about his horrific abusive actions towards me. He agreed to never do any harm to Kevin.

As a child, I believed my father, and I believed that every time the Creature harmed me that I was also protecting my little brother Kevin.

The truth is Kevin had the ideal childhood. He was completely spoiled and denied nothing, regardless of what he says and what has been printed in the media over the last 35 years. My advice to my brother is to take a serious look at your own life and get your own life’s stories. My stories are not for you to steal, Kevin, or to claim to be your own. As tragic as those events may have been in my life, they eventually made me into the man that I am today. It has often been said that chronic liars eventually believe their own lies that they constantly spew out, and those lies eventually become their own truth and reality.

I offer you the following truthful stories of those events that are mine and mine alone and are not for Kevin to steal to embellish his mama’s boy upbringing. He should have been thrilled not to have gone through the painful ordeals I did, and he should be thanking his older brother and shouting at the top of his lungs: “I was fortunate enough to grow up a normal person because of the love and protection of my older brother, Randy.” Even years after he was finally made aware of what was actually going on in our dysfunctional house, I have still never even gotten one thank you from Kevin. Why?

Oh… Spanked Me! Kevin’s claiming to be whipped and spanked by our father is not only laughable, but just an out right lie! My brother never once was punished physically nor did he receive any type of abuse, psychological or verbal, ever. The kid was spoiled rotten and wanted for nothing. Our parents granted Kevin’s every wish to him, no matter how big or small. Even at a very young age, Kevin became very skillful at being able to manipulate my parents, and he knew exactly how to reach their soft spots and press their buttons.

My Sister’s Chicken Coop!

Kevin has claimed that he burned down my sister’s chicken coop in Malibu, California, in 1965. Here is the real story. I was nine years old and was outside playing in my sister’s chicken coop with matches trying to make a little fire to keep the chickens warm. The flames got too big, and the chicken coop caught on fire and burned to the ground. Fortunately, the chicken coop was located quite a ways from the house. The house we were living in at the time had several acres of land where one could graze horses. By the time I got to the house and back to the chicken coop with a pail of water, it had completely burned down and was totally destroyed. My sister was really upset with me, and, of course, I got the living shit beat out of me by the Creature with his leather-riding crop. A Forkin’ Lie!

Kevin has also claimed that he stabbed our sister with a fork in Thousand Oaks, California, in 1967.

Here is what actually went down. My parents were extremely strict about the groceries they bought for themselves and themselves only. We children were not allowed to partake in their special goodies. One afternoon, I was rummaging through the kitchen cabinets and found a goody that required a fork with which to eat it. When my sister entered the kitchen, she began to scold me for stealing our parents’ restricted foods. I was tired of my parents denying me just a little treat once in a while, so I picked up a fork and stabbed Julie Ann in the hand for interfering with my own devilish pleasures of a little decent sugar buzz.

Of course, my sister told my parents, and, of course, once again I got the shit beat out of me by the Creature for disobeying my parents’ strict rules on food consumption. I believe my sister still has a scar on her hand today. At the time, I never understood my parents’rationalization for denying their children a treat once in a while. Oh, I know why. It was because treats cost money, and my father never had a job to help support the family because he spent his entire life pretending to be a writer. He never finished a single page, and he never made a single dime off of anything he was doing in that office all those years. What a waste of his time, and what a tragic lack of financial support that was for all of us!

The Constipation Conspiracy!

In 1969, my parents sent me to Ridgewood Military Academy in Woodland Hills, California, claiming that they thought my life needed discipline and structure. Not true; all my life really needed was my father to stop raping me constantly. My brother did not attend this military academy. He attended University Middle School in Thousand Oaks, California, where we were living at that time. Yes, as you have all figured out, we did move around a lot.

My parents let me attend the Christmas dance at Ridgewood, and I invited a hot looking blonde girl named ironically Randy Borlog.

The next day in science class, one of my classmates told me that my date looked “constipated.” I had no idea what the word even meant, so I had one of my other classmates tell me how to spell the word, and I proceeded to look it up in the dictionary. Oh boy! I was really pissed at that classmate when I found out the definition of “constipated.” By the strangest coincidence, that nasty kid was named Randy Linkmeyer 2nd Lieutenant. I immediately picked up the empty desk next to me and threw it on Linkmeyer’s leg and broke his leg in half.

I will never forget that day; that asshole screamed like a little baby. The entire class was absolutely shocked at what I had done to him, and you know what? I liked it because it was the first time in my life that I had stood up and defended myself with what little was left of my honor. What I did psychologists refer to as “acting out”?

Oh I acted out all right. The science teacher immediately grabbed me by my right ear and hauled me off to the commandant’s office for serious disciplinary actions. While I was being dragged by my ear to the commandant’s office, a thought suddenly occurred to me: “Why don’t I act this defiant toward my father the next time he tries to rape me? Oh, I know why. It is probably because I am scared shitless of the Creature that roams our home searching for his next devious and perverted sexual pleasure!”

It seemed like forever, but I finally ended up in the commandant’s office, and I knew I was in for a serious disciplinary session. What I mean by a serious disciplinary action is being spanked with a big wooden paddle with holes drilled in it. Can you believe it? It even contained former cadets’ signatures all over it.

This was not my first time being dragged into the commandant’s office to be whipped. I was constantly being disciplined while attending military school, usually several times a week. I got very creative knowing that each day there was a statistical possibility that I was going to get paddled that day, so I started wearing three and four pairs of underwear under my uniform so that I would not have to endure the daily pain of the commandant’s paddle. Pretty ingenious on my part, do you not agree?

My parents were called and informed of the incident at school and were ordered to face a board of inquiry on my behalf regarding my permanent expulsion from the military academy. Somehow, my parents were able to convince the powers to be to give me one more chance. They were told that if any more incidents happened during the school year, I would be permanently expelled from school.

This incident can be verified through one of my former classmates at Ridgewood Military Academy with whom I have remained friends still today. His name is Brian Reisinger Corleone (Actor and Comedian).

Not only did I get my ass whipped by the commandant of the military school for actually breaking a cadet’s leg because he had told me that my girlfriend looked constipated, but also I was put on serious probation for the rest of the school year. However, all of that was nothing compared to the punishment my parents subjected me to when I got home.

The first thing that the Creature did to me when I got home was beat the living shit out of me with his familiar weapon of choice, his horse riding whip. They also made me pack up all of my personal possessions in my bedroom, put them into boxes, and take them to the garage where they were immediately stored. I was not allowed to have my possessions back for over three months. I had to live in a bedroom with only a few clothes full of holes and my military school uniforms. Yes, it was just another form of torture.

Here is the most amazing aspect of that entire ordeal at military school; Ridgewood Military Academy was never able to break me. I never missed a single day of school, and at the end of the school year, I actually received an award for perfect attendance. Believe me; the last place I wanted to be was in my home with the Creature while my mother was at work.


During that same semester, the Ridgewood Military Academy had a tradition called “the manual of arms competition.” Basically, it was Simon-Says with an M1 rifle carried by all of the cadets in the entire school. The commandant would shout out: “right shoulder arms, left shoulder arms alarms, order arms,” and so on. If any cadet made an incorrect move that was not allowed in the specific positions the commandant called, he was immediately eliminated from the competition. Guess what? I won the competition. At that Moment in Time, I was better than any of the other cadets.

Even though I did not have any rank or a single metal displayed on my uniform, I still managed to maintain my focus and concentration to be the best cadet for the entire school in that year’s competition.

It was really amazing. Imagine a skinny little insecure boy who could outshine all of the upperclass men with all of their shiny garb and rank. I will never forget the look on the commandant’s face when he presented me with the award; his face had the look of absolute astonishment. The photo taken of me at that time was priceless, and that picture actually ended up in the 1970 Ridgewood Military Academy yearbook, the TABARD.

England Once… Not Even Twice! This story is a real whopper!

For many years now in television interviews and in the print media, my brother Kevin has claimed that our family made numerous trips to England while we were growing up. Not true! Our family made one trip to England in December of 1973 for two weeks and two weeks only. Why does Kevin even need to over exaggerate a family vacation? Here’s why.

He did this to help enhance his credibility when they were choosing him to be the artistic director of the Old Vic Theater in London, England. Once again he wanted to convince the world that he was not a foreigner being put in charge of the Old Vic Theater, but that he was just a lovable local chap. Playing a character is my brother Kevin’s forte, even when it is playing the role of a world traveler.

Creature Plagiarism! Here’s another doozy!

Back in 2004, Sharon Churcher from a newspaper called The Mail in London, England, did an exclusive interview with me. I gave her my personal name for our father, “The Creature.” Kevin has repeatedly claimed it is what we used to call our father when growing up. Sorry, but it is so not true! I had not heard a peep from my brother Kevin in over a decade. The truth be told, Kevin was spoiled rotten; he never once had a bad thing to say about either of our parents. Kevin has never been able to give me credit for anything…even calling our father who painfully tortured me my entire childhood, “The Creature.”

Many Years of Therapy Needed!

Dear Kevin, your life is spectacular enough, and you do not need to steal my tragic stories. Sometimes, your lack of internal truthfulness and integrity is like a mannequin wearing a bad-fitting tacky suit. Kevin, you know full well that you could do no wrong in our parents’ eyes. That is why you have been so successful, super intelligent, and talented. You were allowed to have a relatively normal childhood.

I am honestly happy for you. I took all of the painful, hurtful, perverted abuse from our parents: sexual, physical, verbal, emotional, and psychological in order to protect you the best that I could because I have always loved you as my little brother so very much. I never wanted you to suffer or to have to carry the baggage of childhood abuse throughout your life as I have. I have my own identity that I have been trying to forge over my lifetime, and you have your own. I do not want you to ever try to take mine.

It has been a living Hell, but I am on the other side of that Hell now. Yes, Bro, I do love you, and I always will.


Chapter 4

To truly understand how dysfunctional my family was, we must first journey into my parents’ dark past to fully comprehend who they were and where they came from. Let us begin the exploration with my mother.

She was born December 5, 1931, in Minneapolis, Minnesota. She was what is referred to as a military brat; her family was constantly up rooted putting her in a difficult situation of always being in new and unfamiliar places with very few close friends. My mother had attended 23 different schools before she graduated from high school. This must have obviously made my mother extremely independent not having any close friends on whom she could depend.

Probably because of her lack of friends, my mother learned to play the piano, and she became quite proficient on it over the years. Unfortunately, her constant isolation from social interaction gave her what psychologists refer to as “an avoidance conflict personality.”

She, too, came from a dysfunctional family; her father in her mother’s second marriage was an alcoholic, and he constantly beat and physically abused her. My mother’s mother had a daughter from her first marriage named Jane Lavelle, who had a fabulous singing career in the 1940s touring with an assortment of big bands.

Sadly, my mother’s parents had such a volatile relationship that they were married and divorced three times. The first time was when my mother was one year old, and the last time was when she was 16 years old. Divorce back then was a pretty radical concept in the 1930s and 40s.

Violence was a constant companion while my mother was growing up. Tragically, during one of her father’s drunken stupors he threw a knife at her and left a scar on her knee.

Adding fuel to the fire in my mother’s life, she also had to deal with her maternal grandmother living with them for 10 years. Her grandmother loved to spar with my mother’s alcoholic father. However, things did simmer down a little when my mother’s family moved to Southern California during the middle of World War II. Unfortunately, that did not last very long for my mother. The family eventually went to live with her Aunt Myrtle and Uncle Marcus, who ran a boarding house.

My mother had to give up her childhood. She was immediately put to work doing all the sweeping, dusting, dishwashing, and all of the other household tasks in exchange for room and board. She must have felt like a live-in maid. Aunt Myrtle evidently was a narcissist and always reminded my mother of how lucky she was to be able stay with her aunt, and she told my mother that she should appreciate her aunt’s good heartedness and the favor she was doing for her mother.

Mother also had to deal with Uncle Marcus, who was evidently a pedophile and was constantly trying to kiss my mother and fondle her inappropriately at any opportunity he could find. To escape the constant turmoil and abuse in which my mother was living, she would constantly sneak out of the house to a vacant lot next door.

Boy does this sound familiar to my abusive childhood and rings a bell with me! She would wait for her father and mother to stop fighting.

When silence finally came, it usually meant that her father had passed out, and it was safe to return home. That vacant lot was my mother’s sanctuary for the next four years.

In 1947, her father went overseas and her mother decided to fill the vacant rooms with borders. There was a constant flow of new borders over the next two years. Not long after that, my father entered the picture as one of the infamous new borders in my mother’s young troubled life.

Looking back on my mother’s upbringing and family history, one can truly understand why my mother turned a blind eye to the abuse that was going on in our own home. Her own defense mechanism of avoidance and denial were her strongest personality traits. It was just so much easier for her to avoid any conflict that would upset her little delusional world. My mother might have been independent, but she was weak when it came to dealing with our own family’s dynamics and tragedies.

Any man can get a woman pregnant and technically be called a father. It takes a special type of man with the qualities of upright character, moral standards, nurturing, and unconditional love for his children to be called a “Daddy.” My father lacked all of those qualities. In fact, he was narcissistic, selfish, devious, lazy, perverted, mentally ill, and an absolutely incapable father to ever be considered a “Daddy.” The truth is that he should have been locked up in a mental institution for the criminally insane.

Thomas Geoffrey Fowler (Longshore) was born on June 4, 1924, in Denver, Colorado. Longshore was his stepfather’s surname. He always went by his real father’s last name. On my birth certificate, I was born as Randall Breck Longshore. The last name of Fowler was not adopted legally until the 1970s.

His mother was born Norma Spacey in 1902 in Memphis, Tennessee, and she divorced his real father when he was six years old.

The Spacy/Spacey surname comes from a British branch of our family. Norma Spacey’s uncle was John Graham Spacey born August 9, 1897, in Derbyshire, England. John Graham Spacey was an actor and appeared in at least 17 films that included: Rules of the Sea, The Man who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, China Clipper, and The Prince and the Pauper before he passed away on January 1, 1940.

After his mother divorced his father, she soon married Willard Longshore. He was a college-educated son of formerly wealthy Wyoming sheep ranchers born in Ohio in 1899. According to our family history, the elder Longshores unfortunately had lost all their money during the 1929 stock market crash and the Great Depression that soon followed.

The newlyweds Willard and Norma moved to North Hollywood, California, and Willard’s parents moved in with the newlyweds.

They had three more children over the next several years: Nancy, born October 13, 1932, and twins Stephen and Susan born October 3, 1936, in Culver City, California.

According to my father, Willard was evidently a very stern disciplinarian, and the two did not get along with each other at all. This was probably due to Geoffrey being the oldest child from his mother’s previous marriage. Willard treated him as a second-class citizen and just a stepson. Willard was the cruel stepfather. According to my father, Willard vigorously punished him with a large board throughout his childhood.

This is quite contrary to his brother Stephen Longshore’s recollection of Willard whom he described as a gentle man and evidently never witnessed his father’s dispensing punishment with a large board. With such a dichotomy of recollections of the degree of punishment my father supposedly received from Willard, I am sure the truth lies somewhere in the middle of severity.

This lack of nurturing and respect for Norma’s son by Willard obviously had a profound affect on how my father and would treat his own children later in his life. How sad! I would have thought that my father would have treated his own children completely the opposite of the violent abusive manner in which he was treated.

To make matters worse, the Longshore family had many rigid rules and strict behavior forced upon their four children. There was no talking at the dinner table; they were not allowed to waste food; everything must be eaten off of their plates; and only one glass of milk was allowed per child at each meal. Talk about déjà vu; that sounds exactly like the rules my father imposed on us children when we were growing up.

The Creature would never let me have a second glass of milk whenever I badly wanted one. To this day, I always ask my wife to pour me a second glass of milk, and I hold up that glass of milk and make the following toast to the Creature: “F***k You!

Believe me, mealtimes were a very unhappy time for us. That is exactly what family mealtimes should not be.

According to my father, he did not have a particularly meaningful and memorable childhood. When he was in high school, he was forced to help supplement the family’s income by having two paper routes, one in the early morning and the other in the late afternoon. He used to have to stay up until after midnight because he was taking advanced college preparatory classes from the 7th through the 12th grades and evidently had very few hours of sleep each night.

His daily routine did not allow him to have much of a social life at all. Since he had no spare time, he did not participate in very many extracurricular activities. To make matters worse, he never had any money to spend because his parents took all of his paper route money.

There was one activity, however, in which his parents let him participate, the Boy Scouts. Unfortunately, he had no money to spend on a proper uniform, and he was forced to put together a piecemeal outfit. Somehow, he managed to get through all of the necessary requirements to be recognized as an Eagle Scout in 1942. (Later revelations indicated that there is some doubt on exactly how he really earned the Eagle Scout award).

During one of my father’s infamous long-winded lectures, he told me the story about when he was in the Boy Scouts and the Scoutmaster had sexually “fondled” him, and, believe it or not, my father thought that it was no big deal. My father told me that was why he did the same to me. The sick, perverted Creature would just laugh at me because he thought I was making too big of a deal over it. Fondle is not the word that I would use to describe my father’s violent, sexually abusive behavior toward me. It was excruciatingly painful, both physically and emotionally.

Pedophiles groom children with flattery to make them more willing to surrender to being abused and less likely to confess it to anyone. This is a tactic pedophiles use to bring their child victims totally under their control. The pedophile tries to convince the child that what the child is doing is “right” and not “wrong.” This is how the pedophile ensures himself/herself that the victim will not report the incident to a parent or other authorities. The Creature tried to use those tactics with me, but I found them very hard to accept. I only obeyed because I was terrified of the Creature.

During high school, my father was also in the North Hollywood High School Marching Band and was the Drum Major. This was also the same year that he had received his Eagle Scout award. I find it very ironic that I was also the Drum Major at Canoga Park High School from 1973 to 1974, and I was also in the Boy Scouts until I was forced to quit because my father did not approve of the Scoutmaster who was Jewish. What a ridiculous premise to make me quit the Boy Scouts just because of someone’s ethnic and religious background.

My father was a full-fledged, white supremacist, neo-Nazi racist and how I hated him for that.

After my father graduated from high school in June of 1943, he was drafted into the Army to participate in World War II. His mother marched him down to the induction center at the Los Angeles Court house to formally change his name to Longshore, evidently for insurance purposes. She never mentioned the fact that it would be far easier to collect death benefits if my father was unfortunately killed during the war and the parents’ surnames of the deceased child matched. I thought that that was pretty greedy and sick of his mother. She wanted to be sure to get his last penny.

My father completed his basic Army training in Abilene, Texas, and was immediately shipped overseas in 1944 to serve with the Army’s Medical Corps.

During my father’s enlistment in the Army, he received approximately $175 per month. His mother demanded that he send his paychecks and savings bonds home so that they might be put in a bank account for him when he returned home from the war.

My father was stationed in Berlin, Germany, for the duration of the war. Since he sent his entire money home, he had very little spending money. As a result, he purportedly ran a black market operation that consisted of trading in cigarettes, food, and other miscellaneous supplies that were in demand. He was able to blend in with the locals because he had studied French and German language courses in high school.

At this point in his delusional and twisted life, he became very sympathetic toward the war-ravaged German citizenry and began to admire their vanquished peoples’ culture, history and ideology. He began to idolize the Nazi party and their infamous leader Adolf Hitler. He truly believed that the Aryan race was the master race and that the extermination of the Jews was absolutely necessary to preserve the identity and culture of the white race.

His distorted views turned him into a crazy lunatic. His warped sense of the true history of World War II and what the United States was fighting for totally had eluded him. He tried for years to indoctrinate me into his way of thinking. I never bought into a single word he said, and they were just the ramblings of an insane madman as far as I was concerned.



A moment in time. Living in the shadows, lifting up the curtain from a lifetime of silence . . . after surviving child abuse.

by Randy B. Fowler

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