I am SO relieved that this despicable "alleged"rapist is, at long last, going down down down.
For the most part I've avoided reading about this story for years. Too maddening and sickening that he was being given a pass, not just for his "alleged" crimes, but also for defaming his victims, simply because.......well, why again? Because he helped sell a lot of jello and pudding pops? Because he starred in TV shows which made him rich? Because the success of those shows increased the wealth of various corporations and agencies and individuals? Revolting.
DECADES of crimes committed, far more victims than we'll ever know about, and without the exceptional courage of Andrea Constand, the "alleged" rapist would still be escaping all consequences. I admire her more than words can express.
Here's where I say, with my heart literally pounding, ridiculous as that is, that I understand the reluctance, and for most, the refusal of his victims to step forward. This is only the 5th time in 40 years I have said: I was raped, at the age of 17, by a police officer.
I didn't know him at all. He just happened to be the officer on duty who took one of my closest friends into protective custody when he saw and heard her, in the middle of a complete breakdown in public, threaten to hurt herself. He released her to her family, who he had called. My friend told me that she felt this officer had really listened to her, and that he had understood what she was going through. I didn't understand, but I sure wanted to, and when she told me the officer had given her his home phone number, I asked her for it. And then I called him.
He told me that my friend had shared with him things he was sure I knew nothing about, but that I should know. And that he would tell me. Because he knew I would want to help my friend. Of course I wanted to help my friend. He told me I would have to come to his house, when he was off-duty, because he was helping me personally on his own time. He gave me his address and told me to go there the next night. I agreed. I went there. I didn't tell anyone where I was going.
I was 17. The first thing he did was to give me a quick friendly hug, at the same time he was saying how sorry he was about my friend and what she was going through. Then he offered me a drink...vodka and orange juice. I accepted it even though I never drank, not only because I was under age, but because I was an athlete actively involved in national level competition at the time. I accepted it because it felt like to refuse what he was offering would be extremely rude, in part because he had already made it and was handing it to me as he asked if I wanted it.
I remember the drink tasted very strong, but as a non-drinker, most likely any drink would. He asked me a lot of questions about my friend as I drank it, and as she had said, seemed to be an exceptionally good listener. He put another drink in front of me, and I drank that too as he kept encouraging me to talk. It occurred to me around the time of a third drink that he didn't know anything about my friend that I didn't already know. But, by that time, this realization didn't change anything. I didn't even think of him as a police officer anymore. He just seemed like someone who really cared and who was cool (having me drink with him, even though I was underage! Wow).
I was completely drunk, of course, and when he knew I was, he told me that it wasn't safe for me to drive, and that he had a spare room I could and should use. It was at least 2AM or so by then. I told him thank you, but that I needed to go. He became more insistent that I stay. I told him I needed to call my mother to ask permission. He didn't blink...he handed me a phone. I called. Nobody answered the phone. Despite that, the fact that he didn't have any problem with my calling my mother made me feel entirely OK with staying. He was a cop, after all, a cop who was trying to help me, who had gone out of his way and who had taken a lot of his own time to make me feel comfortable, and who now was just trying to keep me safe.
I stayed. I went into the spare room and closed the door. He came in a few minutes later and raped me.
After he raped me he told me--look over there on the wall. I did as I was told, and saw many (a dozen or so?) certificates. He said- get up and read them. I did. They had all been issued by his police department, all were acknowledgments/awards for outstanding bravery and dedication in the line of duty.
Next, he said exactly this- "Who are they going to believe?" Told me to take a shower, left the room. I heard him waiting on the other side of the door. I took a shower, dressed, fled. He smiled at me as I left.
I got home before the sun came up. My mother was still asleep. I never told her what happened, never, not to this day. I didn't tell anyone for over a year, and I only told my boyfriend after a year because he demanded that I tell him why I couldn't bear to be intimate with him in any way. Forty years later, married to someone else, I still consider that boyfriend a wonderful friend, one of the kindest, warmest, most compassionate people I've ever known. And yet.....back then, after I told him, after he raged, he asked-- but why did you go to his house? Didn't you think it was weird he asked you to go to his house?
I can't count the number of times in that first year I considered reporting the rape. I believed he would rape again if I remained silent. I'm still ashamed, 40 years later, that I didn't have the courage to at least try to get an accusation on the record. But I didn't, couldn't. I blamed myself (why DID I go to his house?). I felt ashamed for my stupidity, responsible for putting myself in that situation, guilty for accepting the drinks, guilty, guilty...my fault, and since it was my fault, could I really call it a rape?
Even on the rare occasions when I knew it wasn't my fault, I also was absolutely still convinced he was right when he told me that I wouldn't be believed. He was a decorated police officer of many years who had been repeatedly acknowledged for exceptional service. I was just a teenager with a mentally disturbed friend, and I had chosen to go there, chosen to drink, chosen to spend the night.
The man who raped me was "just" a police officer, and though that meant he had power I didn't, obviously his power was nothing in comparison to the power, wealth, and endless resources of the "alleged" rapist Cosby.
It is truly remarkable just how brave Ms. Constand was in coming forward. I hope she feels some consolation in the fact she is essentially responsible for holding the "alleged" rapist accountable at long last, at least in the court of public opinion. May he remain a pariah until he draws his last breath, and, shame on his enabling wife who dares to attack her husband's victims rather than to acknowledge the truth.
