I moved into a fleabag hotel, and for two weeks I survived on hotdogs and marijuana. (4)

“Bruce arrived in New York in late November, 1977. I was glad to be free, but I was still in a tough spot. I had to build a life from scratch. All I had was $100 in small bills, a single pair of clothes, and a brand new name. I moved into a fleabag hotel, and for two weeks I survived on hotdogs and marijuana. Then my money ran out and I started sleeping on the trains. I had to figure out a way to get a foothold in life. I wasn’t even a person. I had no papers, no ID, no nothing. Believe it or not, the first thing I got was a social security number. 

I walked up to the window and told the lady a story about losing everything, and she gave me a card. On the spot. I still have it today. Next I got hold of an original birth certificate, scratched out the name, and typed ‘Bruce Sam’ on the line. Then I took it to a print shop and copied it so many times that it didn’t look fake anymore. It didn’t take me long to find a brother at the funeral home who agreed to notarize it. He wouldn’t sign it, but he’d stamp it. And that was enough for me-- because I found a brother at the DMV who pretended not to notice. And that’s how I got my drivers license. Then I used all my new papers to get a job working in the cafeteria of the Baptist Medical Center. And that’s where I met Katy.”

“Katy was innocent. The opposite of me. And that’s why I was so attracted to her. I never wanted to date someone like myself: who drank, and smoked, and had a past. Katy was soft. Almost naïve in a way. I never told her about my history, and she didn’t really press me. I did tell her that I grew up in the South-- which was true. And that I’d come to New York City to try something new. That was true too. But I never told her about Robert. I didn’t see the need. Robert died a long time ago, on that Greyhound bus out of Raleigh. I was a new man. I was Bruce now. And if that was enough for her, why complicate things? We got married in 1985. Time went by. We raised four children together. 

I just couldn’t risk it. My family in North Carolina kept telling me: ‘You’ve got to come clean. You’ve got to tell her.’ But they didn’t know my wife. Not like I did. Katy is a righteous woman. Most people, when they see a dollar dropped on the street, will put it in their pocket. But not Katy. She will stop everyone on the sidewalk, looking for the owner. She’s that kind of woman. And that’s not the kind of woman who could keep a secret like this. I’m not trying to say that she’d have called the cops on me. But she’d have made me call the cops on myself. She’d turn up the heat. So I just couldn’t tell her about Robert. And there was no need. Bruce didn’t have a criminal record. Bruce was a family man. Bruce was a deacon at his church. Every Sunday our pastor would preach about forgetting the past, and forgiving ourselves, and looking ahead. And that’s exactly what I was doing. That part of my life was buried back in North Carolina. And it wasn’t coming back.“

“There was a piece missing. All these years I loved my husband. And he loved me— but something was missing. First, he never liked to be in photographs. And he always thought people were watching him. But I just thought it was vanity. I kept saying: ‘C’mon, Bruce. You aren’t that exclusive.’ But then there was the deeper stuff. We had some beautiful love making. But other than that, there wasn’t much affection. Not many hugs. Not much cuddling. 

Not much communication. I could only get so close and he’d shut down. Sometimes, when we were arguing, I’d be pouring myself out to him. And he’d just sit there with a scowl on his face. I thought it was me. I kept thinking: ‘Maybe he doesn’t want to be here.’ But Bruce was a provider. He was always working two or three jobs. He’d cook, and do laundry, and spend time with the kids. I thought to myself: ‘Everyone is different. People have different upbringings. This might be how Bruce shows love.’ But it was hard. It wore me down. I cried so many tears about it. I remember during Christmas of 2014, I was on my knees in church, saying: ‘Lord, please, I can’t do this anymore.’ I begged God to change my husband’s heart. I’d reached the end of my rope. That was a few weeks before everything went down.“