Preface
A Cry No One Heard Preface
One nonchalant day, while lounging in my recording studio, I received a call from a familiar, raspy voice saying, “Hey, girl, it’s Bonnie.”
The universe must have sensed that I was telepathically searching for her, and behold, the phone rang.
Bonnie and I have always had a twin-flame connection; I sensed a kindred spirit in her. I’ve been fortunate in my life to have had a few wonderful home-girl relationships with amazing women, but Bonnie was the first. She has always been my rock, and we rolled together like the older gangster sister I never had.
We hadn’t spoken for decades but connected as if time had never passed. Bonnie’s change in voice took me aback; her tone was different but memorable. Sensing ill health, I asked, “Bonnie, how has life been treating you?”
Well, that question led to her many ailments, and she began our chattering on the phone for at least four hours. The story of Bonnie’s life after our earlier time together began to unfold, with my mouth agape during the entire conversation. Quietly, I would repeatedly mouth, “Oh my God.”
Bonnie has always been a loving and caring person who would give you her last dime. Although I was a few years younger than her, we had lots in common, including soul music, laughter, and the love of animals. I envisioned forming an all-girl band during my teenage years, and Bonnie was my support system.
I found my calling early as a child and was passionately addicted to music. Having my own apartment at sixteen, my mother convinced me to move back home. When my mom expressed issues about me pursuing music, I flew the coop. Not even scrutiny by the Queen of England could change my passion. Bonnie invited me to live with her, along with her two small children. She unconditionally supported me spiritually, musically, and financially. Above all, Bonnie encouraged my dream, which became hers. She is an intricate part of my success in forming the all-girl band KLYMAXX.
I know Bonnie well. She is not a fabricator for the sake of bad theater, so when she began telling me her life’s adventures, doubt never entered my mind. However, I could not fathom what I heard this 1970s Hollywood model saying.
I had committed to memory her baby daddy drama with one of the Jackson Five because I was her chauffeur who waited in the car during a few of their rendezvous. Then again, I had to stop and ask Bonnie to repeat the part about her jumping out of a high-speed vehicle on the highway to get away from a John who premeditated killing her (yeah, a John as in prostitution). She described her escape by leaping out of the vehicle, and the consequences were brutal, as one entire side of her face was raw, with bones exposed because of the continuous rolling onto the highway pavement, and most of her skin was stripped off of her body. I listened in horror.
In a separate scene, two hours into our conversation, she admitted to murdering her shell-shocked Vietnam vet boyfriend and getting away with it. Bonnie continued and elaborated on her Cocaine, Heroin, and Crack addiction and her connection to the serial killer Kenneth McDuff. And this was only banter from the first three hours.
We spent the last sixty minutes discussing the unthinkable portrayal of her enjoyment as a Hollywood pass-around fetish, the premeditated sex games, and the various elaborate schemes, cons, and strong-armed robberies that she boldly committed all in the name of a crack pipe.
Lastly, my friend, a graduate of higher learning, described her adventures as an inmate at the Women’s Texas Penitentiary. Being put on the Texas chain gang, shackled, and in prison garb led her to violently hack a female prisoner to keep from marching in the brutal heat.
Reflecting on Bonnie’s past, she held esteem positions as an A&R for a record company, a publicist to the stars, and a pre-law student. She was the first multiracial woman in Waco, Texas, to win a lawsuit against the United States government without an Attorney; she represented herself. Also, she was the first African American host, who happened to be a woman, in Wichita Falls, Texas’ cable history. Yet, the battle for stardom was her oxymoron.
Bonnie was a country girl to the bone with a thick southern accent and bowlegs who acquired-champagne taste. Although quite the brainiac, she often, subconsciously, masked it with naiveté, as in “blond wig,” a mix between Lucille Ball but with the girl quick-wittedness of Mae West. What made her a double threat was what one would call street smarts. She just had a second sense!
In my opinion, Bonnie was the definition of a female gangster—one of those girls who tell it like it is with a slight edge of danger. If a guy wanted to date her, she had no problem requesting that support (as in rent and bills) was necessary upfront. If he agreed to these terms, only then could he date her—and he better be on time with the rent. I will revisit one of her famous one-liners: “Hi, I’m Bonnie. I hope you’re rich because we don’t do poor over here.” This conversation usually occurred within the first five minutes of their meeting as I stood on the sideline, watching and listening in disbelief.
Bonnie was gorgeous and never had a problem achieving benefits from men because she was every man’s fantasy. However, abuse, heartache, and her off-kilter ness came into play because of that old generational curse; she desperately desired to be loved. Bonnie had to have a man in her life, or she did not feel complete. Unfortunately, Bonnie used the rich ones but fell in love with the troubled penniless.
During our conversation, Bonnie said she had written her life story with events and dates scrambled and scribbled down on hundreds of loose-leaf papers. She wanted no one but me to read and write her life story. Her faith and belief in me remained after years went by.
I received the notebook of her journey, assembled all the pages on my kitchen floor, and put her life in chronological order. I read every chicken scratch, making sense of the rapture and the pain, and then I channeled her and began theatrically writing.
The book of Bonnie’s life is mind-bogglingly; as you will read, page by page, the exploitation and the trauma she endured as a child that shaped her life Yet laid the foundation and ignited the fire of her desire to be a star.
The adventures and chapters called ‘Bonnie and Bernadette ‘Clyde 1 and 2 portray our shenanigans as extended sisters who personify true friendship.
I enlisted the expertise of Raina Shaw, a historian of times, periods, and music, to help me capture the true essence, tranquility, and excitement of each era.
If you follow the winding chapters of Bonnie’s early family years, the unbelievable adaptation of her life will unfold and keep you captivated.
Although it is evident that life has a beginning and an end, this novel is the quintessence of change. It displays that no matter what adversity you have endured in your life, you have the power to overcome and amend the ending of your story. My friend Bonnie was living proof of all the above.
A Cry No One Heard is a loving, albeit heartbreaking story of friendship, women empowerment, and the determination and grit of one woman, Bonnie Thompson, the beauty contest winner, who always wanted her marquee to read Small Town, Local Girl Bonnie Thompson Makes It Big in Hollywood. It was her dream by any means necessary.
Bonnie, this is a labor of love. Rest in power, my friend.
Bernadette Cooper