November 24, 2004
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A Spenard Divorce Story
A Spenard divorce is when one spouse gets totally fucking fed up, and kills the other one, usually by shooting him or her. This bit of Valley trash-speak comes from the fact that Spenard, a rather rough neighborhood in Anchorage, is known for the incidence of various and sundry white-trash type crimes, at least the ones that don’t get perpetrated in Mountain View, which used to be a fairly solid blue-collar community, but now is rife with crack houses and drive-bys. But I digress.
Anyway, there was this rich white couple–jointly owned a real estate business–and they were in the process of divorcing legally, got to bickering over who would get what. Hubby thought he was being screwed, so he got his piece and plugged the missus. Took a pot-shot at her best friend, too, who happened to be in the house at the time. The perp was sitting quietly, staring at the floor, when the cops arrived. Nothing unusual so far.
The remarkable thing about this story is the ages of those involved–husband and wife were 72 years old. Jaysus, talk about when old farts go bad! I mean, what the hell was he thinking? Or did he just forget to take his Prozac that day? Whatever. Heck, any prison sentence he gets is liable to be a life term. But it gets better.
Here is the really sad, pathetic part of this whole sordid tale. The wife’s best friend was quoted in the paper and was talking about the deceased. “She always dressed so well,” the grieving friend said. “And she lived in such a beautiful home.” Helloooo! The woman lived for 72 goddamn years and the best thing her best friend can say about her is that she had a big clothes closet in a big house?
Maybe she’s better off dead. Maybe she will reincarnate into someone who can accomplish something worth mentioning besides being a clothes-horse. Maybe I should have my head examined.
Comments (6)
Come a little closer… let me take a look at that head.
I guess that’s one way to go about it….
…and, lol, those are 2 things that won’t be said about me when I die, LOL. Especially if it’s anytime soon. Tiny apartment, and most of my clothes were stolen last week.
sad…so many people like this too…material items and image mean everything to them…if her best friend is like this one can only imagine she might be proud of this ulogy(sp?) now just how sick is that…great blog…Sassy
Happy turkey day AM!
You are a great storyteller. I dont think you need your head examined at all…
I was born in Anchorage in 1957. My parents homesteded in Spenard. Here are the facts regarding the term “Spenard divorce.”
Spenard originally consisted of Joe Spenard’s 5000 acre homestead which included Lake Hood. It lay 8 miles southwest of the city of Anchorage.
When Joe died his homestead was sold and parceled out into smaller homesteads and eventually subdivided. The community which resided there took the name Spenard in honor of Joe. It was not always a “white trash” community and the term does not rise out of the cultural aesthetics–or lack thereof–of the currrent area residents. It goes back to the 40′s and 50′s. My parents had a homestead in Spenard on what is now known as the corner of 36th and Arctic blvd.
Spenard divorces occurred when one or both spouses–or their lover–shot each other. The person left alive got the kids and the property. I witnessed several in my childhood–including my own parent’s Spenard divorce.
The term is not assciated with anyone person or couple and it is decidely NOT an urban legend.