An unsolved mystery is a thorn in the heart. After all this time, a strange fairy-tale sounding name that still makes us happy/sad to say out loud. We talk about her like schoolgirls sharing a long-kept secret or whispering a dimly remembered incantation.
Renetta Flowers. Renetta Flowers. Renetta. Flowers.
Many years we have thought of this ghost girl. Our curse.
The vivid memories of those hectic several weeks has come back to us at randomly spaced intervals over the years: during class reunions, weddings, those occasional funerals that we seem to attend more frequently these days. Endless questions of what sort of awful fate might have befallen Renetta Flowers were discussed at the beauty parlor as we got our hair styled or at bridge luncheons with old friends in the dining hall at the country club. The topic is rehashed once more at holiday gatherings or at a great grandson’s bar mitzvah, or during some late-night phone call when one of us can’t sleep.
Whatever happened to that poor girl?
So long ago. Another lifetime.
She would have gotten married to a wonderful man, probably had children and grandchildren like the rest of us. It’s such a shame, you know. Never a chance to be happy.
No one ever found out what happened to her.
Frightening how people can just disappear like that.
Here one minute, gone the next.
Renetta Flowers. Forever in our hearts.
We still talk about her, stringing bits of facts together like glass beads on a necklace. For us, it is always winter. A certain frigid/frozen winter, circa 1948. A few weeks before Christmas.
Sometimes one of us will bring along their D______ University yearbook. The cover slightly discolored with age/pages smelling faintly of basement mildew. We scan the black & white photographs, the faded handwritten signatures & notes, all full of adolescent hopes for the future.
We find her almost immediately. Flowers, Renetta. Part of the CLASS OF ’49, just like the rest of us. Flowing blonde hair & blue eyes, the familiar cleft of her chin. Inconspicuous amongst the other young smiling faces. We would linger over her photograph, trying to discern anything in her eyes/expression that might convey some sort of inner desperation unknown to all of us back then for our futures seemed expansive & full of promise. A useless endeavor in the end.
We memorized her quote soon after she was gone. Ironic, a bit sad, somewhat chilling in its sense of foreshadowing: Memento vivere – “remember to live.”
D_____University. Founded in 1889. Coed. Progressive. The quote on the front of their brochure reads: “Molding our leaders of tomorrow.”
That is where we all came to know each other back in those bright, shining days.
How effortlessly we can recall that place! More real to us now than our own homes. The cold, rarefied New England air. Wide sidewalks strewn with those fiery autumn leaves. We can conjure up the tall stone buildings, test each other’s memories on those austere names that seemed so mysterious to us during our first weeks there as freshmen. Dorrance Hall. Foxworth Lecture Hall. The John Farrell Memorial Library. Forsythe Science Building. Copeland Dining Hall. We can sometimes taste the bleachy floor polish in the backs of our throats even now, brush the invisible chalk dust from our hands.
It was here that Renetta Flowers moved amongst us during those four years. Making her way across the Commons in the early gray light of morning, books like a shield at her chest!
Innocuous & easily forgettable as one’s own shadow.
Until the day she disappeared.
Much would become known about her in time.
Renetta Flowers. Born July 10th, 1927 in Stamford, Connecticut. 20 yrs. & 5 months old at the time of her disappearance. Eldest of three sisters.
Parents: Arnold (1900-1970) & Vivian Flowers (1901-1976).
Father was a gregarious/successful businessman. Head of management at the prosperous Fullerman Copper & Brass Company over in Bridgeport. Active in the local Democratic Party. A fevered supporter of Harry Truman following F.D.R.’s death in ‘45. It was speculated that Arnold Flowers might have had political aspirations of his own had things turned out differently.
Vivian Flowers, much like our own mothers & women of that time, was a housewife. Demure. Very little in the way of any formal education. A life given over entirely in service to the family. Wife. Mother. She thought of herself only in those simple terms. Seeing her picture in the newspapers, we would comment on how weathered/matronly she appeared in pillbox hat & mink wool coat, considerably aged by unforeseen tragedy. Face sallow, dark eyes sunk in deep sockets. Not surprising to any of us that she would “live” only a brief 13 months longer than her husband.
The other two sisters were 12 & 14. It’s a struggle to recall their names. They don’t factor into our memories at all. Those girls exist to us like half drawn sketches in a notebook.
Renetta Flowers was a 1944 graduate of Stamford High School.
Enrolled at D_____University as an English Literature major. On track to graduate with the rest of us in the spring. Professors would confirm that she was excelling in all her classes.
No known past history of melancholy or any serious bouts of despondency as far as her parents/younger sisters could recall to investigators & the (ravenous) press. Nothing at all to suggest that she would want to walk away from her life.
Had she walked away? Or was she taken away?
Such a crucial distinction!
Sometimes we would see her with a boy.
Yes! Bobby Hull. A tall, lanky thing. Big round glasses. Crew-cut. Smart kid. Studying architectural design or something. Met him only a couple times at few fraternity parties.
He loved her. She was pretty crazy about him.
Heard he might have gotten her pregnant.
There’s no truth to that. He cooperated fully with the police investigation.
There were still those who thought he knew something. People stared at him, whispered behind his back. It really destroyed him little by little.
Poor Bobby. Forever marked after that.
Rumors can destroy a person.
Has anyone stayed in touch with him?
No. Have no idea whatever happened to him. He’s just another ghost now.
RAVENWOOD NATIONAL FORREST PRESERVE. What we would come to think of as the scene of the crime, even though it was unclear if an actual crime had occurred there.
Located 2.5 miles from the campus of D_____University.
Brackish streams. Dense piney New England woods & beautiful scenic vistas that run for some 235 miles before eventually joining with the Appalachian Trail somewhere between Vermont & New Hampshire. One of the Most Spectacular Sights in America!
Nancy Cunningham & Joyce Lakeland pinned up a large map of the area on the wall of their dorm with thumbtacks. We studied it often as winter transformed into spring.
Names like those you would find in a children’s storybook: Bear Peak, Mount Arawak, Sawyer Falls, Indian Lake.
It was here that Renetta Flowers, 20 years & 5 months old, English Lit major vanished on a bitterly cold winter afternoon on December 1, 1948.
It was here that the rich damp earth supposedly opened up & swallowed her.
She existed at the periphery of our vision, like some kind of beautiful iridescent butterfly fluttering past in the dazzling golden light of a spring day. Blink once and she would be gone.
There would be LAST KNOWN SIGHTINGS & POTENTIAL SIGHTINGS.
Evelyn Cross recalled seeing Renetta Flowers studying in that hushed still atmosphere of The John Farrell Memorial Library one evening. Midterms were fast approaching in the next week. Evelyn said she saw her sitting alone at one of the round tables at the back by the big picture window overlooking the manicured quadrangle below, textbooks & papers strewn all over the place. A sad scene. The beautiful butterfly under a glass jar.
Hazy orange winter light pressed on the cold windowpanes. Those glass globes hung from the ceiling & were burning halogen bright as if bathing Renetta Flowers in a sort of heavenly glow.
Other sightings were slowly pieced together at random over the next few days.
A group of several Pi Kappa Sorority Sisters would tell a young/eager (male) reporter from The Daily Standard that they had seen a young college girl fitting a description of Renetta Flowers shopping at a Woolworths Department Store in town the day before she vanished. This would have been the thirtieth of November. Nothing out of the ordinary. The college girl was glancing at stockings & garter belts, the jewelry in the long glass case. Taking her time. No obvious signs of emotional distress, no unwanted attention/sidelong glances from any of the (male) customers in the store. Here the glass jar had been lifted! The butterfly free to flutter once more!
Sylvia Greenway claimed that she stood behind Renetta Flowers in an excruciatingly slow line at the university drugstore that same afternoon, waiting for a refill on her sinus medication. Took notice of the Navy-blue reefer coat/brown pumps/black gloves. Sylvia couldn’t help but stare at the gorgeous flowing mermaid hair.
The girl glanced over her shoulder, smiled briefly at Sylvia as if in recognition (though they didn’t know each other), then walked up to the counter where the pharmacist with the pallid moon face was waiting at the register.
I was sort of taken with her as we stood there, Sylvia would tell us later. Reminded me a bit of Gene Tierney. She was that striking in a way, even though she wasn’t what I would consider beautiful. Not in the traditional sense at least. I kept thinking about her even after I left the pharmacy. I have a habit of dwelling on people in this sort of strange, fevered way. Don’t ask me why. Some people just take up residence in your imagination. Later on, I saw her picture in the newspapers like we all did back then. I remember thinking that it just didn’t make sense. It still doesn’t. How does a girl like that simply vanish into thin air?
It all comes back to us in a tidal wave. Memories like a violent/swift moving current. We are (continuously) dragged beneath the water by the powerful undertow.
December 1, 1948. Sky a hard vivid blue. No ominous-looking rainclouds. Leaves scattering/crackling like fire across campus. Mid-forties for most of the morning & early afternoon. Temperatures were going to drop. Snow expected after midnight.
Later the local & state police were able to create a TIMELINE OF THE LAST KNOWN WHEREABOUTS OF RENETTA FLOWERS. It would be published verbatim in the newspapers.
• 7:00 A.M. – Arrives at Copeland Dining Hall where she worked Mon. – Thurs. as one of several cashiers during the breakfast shift.
• 1:45 P.M. – Ends shift. Two other cashiers, Faye Daniels & Janice Schmidt, report there is nothing strange in her demeanor when she left the mess hall.
• 2:05 P.M. – Arrives at dormitory in Bowen Hall. Jan Pierson (roommate) states that Renetta Flowers changed into a blazer/tan slacks/tennis shoes. Asked Ms. Pierson if she wanted to accompany her on a walk at Ravenwood National Forrest Preserve. Ms. Pierson declined the offer in favor of studying for a French midterm exam. Ms. Pierson states that as far as she was aware, Ms. Flowers took no extra money or clothing. It appears she did not expect to be gone for more than a few hours.
• 2:25 P.M. – Seen by a group of sophomore boys playing a scrimmage football game walking towards the entrance towards the university.
• 2:38 P.M. – Picked up by a polish farmer, Kurt Nowak, on Purgatory Road not far from the entrance to the university. Nowak later told investigators that he gave the girl a ride to the Ravenwood National Forrest Preserve located 2 miles from the college. She was friendly, grateful for the ride. He remembers telling her of the dangers of hitchhiking alone.
• 2:53 P.M. – Nowak drops Renetta Flowers off at entrance to the Ravenwood National Forrest Preserve. Remarks to investigators that the temperatures had dropped. He would not recall the girl again until hearing about her disappearance on the radio a day later.
• 2:57 P.M. – Last known sighting by a group of Boys Scouts walking along Bridle Path.
• 6:00 P.M. – Does not return to campus. Temperatures are continuing to drop. A deep freeze is expected that night. College administrators would be notified by Jan Pierson of her roommate’s disappearance early the following morning.
What drama! What chaos!
The thrum of gossip like a buzzing electrical current. Did you hear? Girl missing. Yes, from Bowen Hall. Renetta Flowers. Apparently never came back to her dorm last night.
Classes canceled. Banal routine disrupted. We watched the police/detectives in trench coats & fedora hats invade the snow dusted campus like an infestation over the course of the morning.
So many theories! A bombardment of horrendous speculations like one of those air-raid strikes during the war that would turn a German city to dust. She had fallen & was lying unconscious in a weedy ditch. She had gotten lost. She had succumbed to the harsh elements.
Other possibilities that were simply too frightening for us to imagine or dwell upon for too long.
Suicide. A callous/vicious assault by some sex maniac. Her nude & violated body dumped into one of the freshwater streams.
There would be FLASH NEWS bulletins over the airwaves: “Local College Girl Missing! HUNT CONTINUES FOR MISSING COLLEGE CO-ED.”
A rather large search party was formed that afternoon made up of faculty/students. We formed into tight-knit groups. Scoured the frozen grounds of the campus for several hours.
Pheasant hunters beat the brush at Ravenwood National Forest Preserve far into the night.
We would find nothing on that first long day or those long days & weeks that followed. No articles of clothing. No strange footprints. No beaten/battered young girl body laying like some fallen angel upon pristine snow.
To be lost & never found. To be dead & eventually discovered.
We could never be sure which was worse.
Arnold Flowers arrived on campus like some regal king early the following morning after driving through the night. Took a room at the respectable/historic Crown Hotel where he would remain for nearly a month. He wanted to know everything. Any details/potential leads. He would imbed himself into the investigation like a nail & made appeals to the governor in the search for his daughter.
D_____University closed for several days.
We seemed to exist in some weird dreamscape. Weary of each other. Nervous. There were warnings to girls not to wander alone at night/make sure your boyfriends walk you to your dorm.
The case had become our obsession. We hung on any development(s). Local authorities had turned their attention to the Polish farmer that had given Renetta Flowers a ride to the Ravenwood National Forrest Preserve on the afternoon she disappeared.
According to the press, he was considered a person of interest.
Detectives didn’t entirely believe Kurt Nowak’s account. He was a foreigner. Something not trustful in that ice pick stare. Nowak denied any wrongdoing.
He insisted he had nothing at all to do with the missing girl. He wasn’t a rapist/murderer as detectives were insinuating. He had two daughters of his own & followed the word of God like a good Christian man.
He claimed the police assaulted him, pinned him against the wall & gave him a black eye.
The investigators denied Nowak’s account. No charges were filed against the police department. Most likely, Kurt Nowak knew, as a polak, it would be his word against the (American) authorities. Eventually, he was dismissed as a suspect for lack (as yet) of any physical evidence.
It could be that someone had been watching her.
A stranger or a person she knew.
Bobby Hull. That boy she had been seeing. There were those whispers about him getting her pregnant.
No! Not possible. He was a good kid. Had to be someone else.
A drifter. Someone off campus.
Whoever it was probably followed her into the woods that afternoon. Perhaps it had been a mistake. Maybe he had only wanted to take her money.
She refused or panicked. Thoughts of rape. Things had spiraled out of control.
Probably put a hand over her mouth to stop her from screaming. Hit it her across the head with a branch or rock. Perhaps he killed without meaning to kill. Hid her body off some forgotten trail.
Terrible. Can’t think about it.
Imagine the guilt!
Never.
She would never have to grow old.
She would never have to see her face/body change.
She would never have to experience divorce or miscarriage or the abandonment from one’s own children in some nursing home or “care” facility.
She would never have to suffer the cognitive decline of one’s own mind.
She would never have to trace the painful/spidery varicose veins with an arthritic finger.
She would never roll over in bed/feel the cold spot of the mattress where her husband used to sleep before he died. Never have to think of life as something fleeting.
She would never have to grow up like the rest of us. She would remain young forever.
How easily people fade from our memories. Slowly, irrevocably, almost like they never existed at all. They appear every now & then like a mirage, a dream.
The investigation during that winter of ’46 brought no answers. Leads were sporadic over the next few months. Where there should’ve been an end to such a story there is only an ellipsis.
Arnold Flowers would eventually leave the Crown Hotel without his daughter. Reporters would move on to other tragedies. There were always other tragedies.
Spring would come, like always, melting away the last of the winter snow.
There would be a memorial for Renetta Flowers towards the end of April. A week before graduation. We gathered on the bright green of the Playing Fields. Sky like pewter & the sun masked by dirty rags of clouds. There was the foretaste of rain in the air. We all held red (her favorite color) balloons. We let them go. Watched them drift off into the clouds.
Renetta Flowers.
Forever 20 years & 5 months old. Never found.
Our mystery. Our curse.
(…)