Johnny's Girl: A Daughter's Memoir of Growing Up In Alaska's Underworld

Johnny's Girl: A Daughter's Memoir of Growing Up In Alaska's Underworld

by Kim Rich
Johnny's Girl: A Daughter's Memoir of Growing Up In Alaska's Underworld

Johnny's Girl: A Daughter's Memoir of Growing Up In Alaska's Underworld

by Kim Rich

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Overview

Johnny’s Girl the nationally acclaimed memoir of growing up in Alaska’s underworld as the only child of gambler John F. “Johnny” Rich and exotic dancer, Frances “Ginger” Rich. It chronicles Alaska’s mean streets and her parent’s tragic lives that were cut short. 

Kim Rich was an ordinary girl trapped in an extraordinary childhood, someone who dreamed of going to parties and getting good grades while living in an after-hours hell of gamblers, pimps, and con men. She longed for normalcy, yet she was inescapably her father's child, and she had no choice but to grow up fast. Her mother, who suffered from mental illness, was a stripper and B-girl: her father was a major player in the underworld of Anchorage, Alaska in the sixties, a city flush with newfound oil money.  Only after her father was gruesomely murdered when she was 15, and Kim became a journalist, was she able to fill in the missing pieces of one American dream gone horribly wrong. Kim's true story is a tale of a woman's search for her parent's secrets. What she finds is both shocking and tragic, but in the end she's able to discover her true self amid the remnants of her parents' lost lives.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780882409764
Publisher: Alaska Northwest Books
Publication date: 09/01/1999
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: eBook
Pages: 304
Sales rank: 797,627
File size: 3 MB

About the Author

Born in Hollywood, raised in Anchorage, Alaska and with an MFA degree in writing from Columbia University, Kim M. Rich has taught at Alaska Pacific University. She now lives in the lower 48, outside of Alaska.

Read an Excerpt

“My father always had a lot of girlfriends, women in their early twenties who had come up from Seattle or Portland to work in Anchorage’s strip clubs. Most looked older than their actual age, or maybe they just looked tired. Many were bleached blondes who wore too much makeup and went by names as phony as their hair color. Usually I didn’t have much of a chance to meet them unless you count the times when my father poked his head into my bedroom to show them his sleeping daughter before they would head off to his room. I resented those early morning show-and-tells with total strangers. These women were a mixed blessing for me. I was afraid to get attached to any one of them because they might not be around long. Yet the ones who lasted longer than a one-night stand provided a welcomed female presence in the house and acted as intermediaries between my father and me on subjects I was too embarrassed to broach, such as asking for money to buy my first training bra. They also gave me clues as to who my father was, or as it sometimes turned out, who he wasn’t: One girlfriend insisted I wish my father a happy Hanukkah one Christmas, adding to the store of evidence that my father was a Jew.”

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