23 March 2005
Laura T. Stone dies at 65
Laura T. Stone died suddenly after speaking at a conference in New Mexico. In addition to serving as the director of The Waite Home for Women which she had operated since its inception, she was a member of several women's rights organizations.
Born in rural Alabama, Ms. Stone worked in brothels and as a call girl, arriving near here in 1967.
Never one to conceal her past, Ms. Stone always spoke candidly about her profession as a prostitute. She often referred to herself as an old whore when addressing women's professional organizations and she was proud of the more than three decades she called her benevolent period. She championed women's rights, serving on the Governor's committee on battered women.
She was preceded in death by her husband, C.C. Stone who died at sea a number of years ago.
She leaves one brother, Randolph P. Tucker, a nephew, Stone Tucker and two nieces, Mrs. Laura Stephens and Mrs. Karen Pringle, all of this area.
In addition to operating the Waite Home, Ms. Stone was Vice President of Tucker Enterprises, a local Real Estate Management Company which she co-founded with her brother.
Funeral Services will be private. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to The Waite Home for Women.
~*~
Epilog
"I'm tired Randy."
I looked over at Laura. She was pale, drawn and gasping. I pulled the big Lincoln off the road and turned to her, knowing she was serious. I had never heard her say she was tired before. I released our seatbelts and unbuttoned her collar but it didn't seem to help.
We were on our way home from Albuquerque where Laura had delivered a speech to a women's group. Laura's message never varied. She always talked about her life as a young woman. She never apologized for her early decisions or painted those days as colorful. She spoke candidly about her whoring days and what she had learned from her clients. "I got my education while on my backside, not that I would recommend that position for any of you," she would joke.
Once she had the attention of her audience Laura launched her message,
You Can Do It!
She never boasted about her own accomplishments; she didn't need to, her self-assured demeanor told them she had been successful with everything she had undertaken. All of us, her family and friends, tried to slow her down but the invitations to speak kept coming and she nearly always accepted.
I dialed 911 and explained where we were, 50 miles from nowhere. They wanted a description of the car. I said it was a black Lincoln with dealer's plates and that I didn't know the license number. Rosita had insisted we take a car from the lot because it would be comfortable for Laura.
She complained that the air conditioning was too cold so I shut down the car's engine and tried to make her as comfortable as possible. She refused the pill I offered.
"You'll see to everything?" Her voice was weak and halting.
"Don't talk that way. The ambulance is on its way."
Her hand reached out to grip my tie. Her body was frail and her lips quivered but there was no mistake about her request. I looked into her eyes and nodded. "I'll see to everything," I conceded.
"Tell the kids the truth." She had released her hold on my tie but not her hold on me. I knew I would feel her hand there every time I wore a tie for the rest of my life.
"I will not," I declared, thinking how ridiculous her request was.
"Tell them; make them understand how it was with us. I loved you so much, so much that I pushed you away. Tell them I was content to be your second piece of ass."
"All right. I'll make them understand," I said to appease her although I had no intention of doing such a thing at the time.
Laura's body slumped against me. I cried.
Several minutes must have passed without a thought coming to mind, me holding Laura's body and weeping. But when I realized I was feeling sorry for myself, selfishly for my own loss, it revived me enough to make me assess what had just happened. I looked around and tried to get my bearings. The car was stuffy so I started the engine and the air conditioning came back on.
Somewhat revived, I propped Laura up, buckled her seatbelt and adjusted her seat into the reclining position. She looked peaceful, drawn and frail but calm. Her eyes were closed. God, how I loved her! I should be doing something but what? Should I call and cancel the ambulance? Should I drive her body directly to the funeral home? Would it be accepted without a doctor's declaration that she was really dead? I didn't know.
I phoned Rosita because, deep down I knew it would be easier than telling her in person and because I needed to talk to someone. She went to pieces, blaming Laura for speaking that day, blaming me for taking her and finally placing the blame on God before she ended the conversation.
Two minutes later my phone rang. It was Rosita, calling back to apologize for blaming everyone and wanting to know how it happened.
"She asked me to tell the kids."
"Tell them what? About she and you? That she wasn't really their aunt?"
"I think she wanted me to tell them about her past. She said to tell them that she was content to be my second piece of ass."
"Oh, I think they know. How could they grow up so close to her and not know? She never tried to hide it. I'm sure they heard it all along the way."
"I suppose you're right but I still have to tell them. It was her only request."
Rosita begin to cry again and hung up. Then she called me back. "Are you all right Randy? Is there something I can do? Should I phone Petri?"
"Yes, if you will, please tell her I'll call her after I've called the funeral home," I said and heard her begin to cry again. It went on like that until the ambulance arrived and I told Rosita I couldn't talk for awhile. Her being upset was draining me. I had to stay strong because there was so much to do.
I gave the ambulance the address of the Sperry Funeral Home. We had entrusted them with every funeral I could remember. The Judge had used them first when Mollie, the first madam I ever met, died three years after her stroke. Laura called Mr. Sperry each time a woman at the home passed away. It was natural that we arrange for the Judge's funeral to be held there and later when Mrs. Waite died. When Ollie was found dead in a New York City hotel room we arranged for his body to be shipped to Sperry because Rosita had a relationship with them. Her parents, Maria and Raphael Hernandez had died two years earlier. We used Sperry again when Ollie's mother passed away four days after his funeral. We had developed a relationship with the funeral home over the years although, until now, it had never been for a member of my immediate family. I phoned the funeral home and Fred Sperry said he would arrange for a doctor to issue the death certificate.