Katherine Sterling News Archives - 2004
See also: Sterling 2003  Jill Abbott  Art Hendricks

Nov 26, 2004
Desperate Dowager Blows Last Chance for Happiness
by Michael Kelly

The GCN has written extensively about what a missed opportunity and overall fiasco the Arthur Hendricks saga has been but this reporter has come to the conclusion this insipid story line deserves one last kick in the ass before we wish the beleaguered Judge a bon voyage.

For a woman desperate to convince a man she supposedly loves that she trusts and wants nothing more than to share a life with him free of nagging, character assassinating allegations and any kind of doubt and cynicism regarding an alleged role he played in his first wife's death, dotty Duchess Katherine Chancellor really blew it when she blew into the Athletic Supporter to convince Arthur Hendricks to remain with her in Genoa City.

Putting her foot not only in her mouth but shoving it deep into her wrinkled gullet, Chancellor told Hendricks in so many words to forget all about the fact their daughter Jill Abbott wonders if he's a fortune hunting killer because they would run away together just the two of them only after she sells Chancellor Industries, her mammoth mausoleum and anything else that isn't nailed down, which meant dear Artie would have all the money his cold, greedy little heart could ever desire. Thus, he wouldn't have to dirty his liver spotted hands trying to kill her! 

Hendricks, no dummy despite his advanced age, realized the old hag was grasping at straws, would never be completely secure in his innocence and followed through on his intention to leave her, their neurotic bitch of a daughter and Genoa City behind for good. Perhaps if Chancellor had chosen her words more carefully so that it didn't appear she was bribing the last man likely to consider having sex with and marrying her into sparing her drooping, elderly hide, the fossil wouldn't now and probably forever be every bit as unhappy and lonely as she deserves.

Nothing To Fear But Fear Itself

October 27, 2004
by Brent Kellogg

What a way to run a private detective agency. Instead of actually getting off his lazy ass, going to Seattle to perhaps speak in person with police detectives who looked into the death of Mrs. Arthur Hendricks or at least sending his good for nothing PI in-training [who helps plan weddings and will become the first male bridesmaid ever], Paul 'Clueless' Williams reported this week that most of the information he has on Judge Hendricks came from Seattle newspapers!

Clueless told Katherine Sterling that "someone" he presumes works out of the police department there sent him what are alleged to be court documents confirming what the man claiming to be Hendricks' step-son has been saying is true.

While Hendricks was investigated for the mysterious death of his former wife no indictment was ever returned.

Asked what he makes of it all - as if the lack of an indictment shouldn't let Hendricks off the hook - Clueless said, "I don't know what's true" but added that whenever he sees smoke the private investigator living inside him says there must be a fire. If Mrs. Sterling can't comprehend that she has nothing to fear but fear itself, Clueless told her to think about what he'd said and decide later what should be done about it.

Done? As in, well, we don't have any concrete evidence to support our suspicions so let's make some up?

Sterling, God help her, concluded that after living with Hendricks all this time and never once seeing him show a propensity for violence, that the judge can't be a killer and let it go at that for the time being.

Meanwhile, Harrison Bartlett had the wherewithal to know that Sterling's daughter had returned from that faraway spa the women of Genoa City visit whenever the stress becomes overwhelming and that Jill Abbott would be at her office on this particular day at this particular moment.

Bartlett spun his yarn around Abbott too telling her that Hendricks killed his mother who, for the record, had died after a botched routine surgery and that he knew it was murder because potassium chloride was missing from a drug cabinet. Bartlett admitted he can't prove anything because Mrs. Hendricks was cremated before he could alert the authorities. And, presumably, while there was an investigation the medical examiner never inspected the body before it was cooked in the oven much like his half-baked story.

Despite not having more than a hunch to go on Bartlett has been dogging the judge since his mother's death except for a nine month or so time gap and only recently got around to warning Sterling and now Abbott. What bums Bartlett most is that the judge spent his part of the insurance money. How that could be possible Bartlett isn't saying.

The mere suggestion that her father could be a killer left Abbott in a daze. Could it be true? Should she be very afraid? Should she maybe check with the clueless detective to see - as Bartlett claims - Clueless checked him out and what, if anything, he found? Does the PI know why Bartlett likes to hang around hospitals?

No. Instead, there are sneers. Hatred. Fear. More increasing anti-everything attitude, the general feeling that as a misguided fear-hammered city the ideology alone that someone might be thinking of harming them is enough to drive people like Abbott and Sterling into a crazed state of paranoia.

It's a good thing Judge Hendricks will be leaving Genoa City soon. How nice it would be to hear him tell these women that their evil eyes are enough to constipate Satan; that he's sick of their sheepish who will protect us from the unknown manufactured dread. He's tired of the openly sad scorn at the expense of their integrity, their intelligence all based on the if it walks like a duck it must be a duck mentality of a clueless detective who profits from the perpetual scare tactics.

"You people want to live in fear all the time? Fine. But do it without me. I'm blowing this pop stand. Maybe the next time you waste a year trying to find your mother you'll think, Jill. Think real hard. You want to know the truth? You can't handle the truth," Hendricks is not likely to say. But it would be nice.

Fear Is Everywhere
September 10, 2004

A man-boy knocks on your door one day. You open it to find one Harrison Bartlett standing outside swearing up and down that he's the step-son of the man you are about to marry and warns that the man is planning to kill you. Harry, he wants to be called Harry, says too that Judge Arthur Hendricks is not his biological father, did terrible things to his mother and if given the chance will do terrible things to you like, kill.

What do you do?

If you're Katherine Sterling you ask the stranger if he's insane. You tell him you don't know him from a bar of soap and if he'd be so kind as to leave his number you'll maybe have the judge call him so that they can get together at some later date to discuss these atrocious allegations.

The man blocks you out and goes on to say that he knows what the judge did; that the judge is evil, married his mother for her money and that the otherwise healthy woman in the prime of life dropped dead soon after. But Harry isn't out for revenge. Oh no he's not! That's why he came all the way from who knows where to tell you all this.

You, a recovering alcoholic, can't believe your ears. Instead of calling security because, unlike the wealthy Newmans, you don't have security you don't slam the door in the man's face but rather continue the conversation by telling the man that when the judge finds out he'll wash that potty-mouth out with soap and make the man out for the liar he is.

The man isn't listening to you. Now he's saying that what the judge did was in all the Seattle papers; made big headlines and that the ring on your finger is the same ring the judge gave his mother. You have thusly been warned that something very scary may be living under your roof and God knows you've already had enough horror in the past year alone to last a lifetime. But, you know, why stop there? You finally tell the man to go away and he does giving you a chance to think.

You mind drifts back to January 21 when the odor first slid under the door. There was something about Seattle Appeals Court Judge Arthur Hendricks that didn't smell right. The old man told you about his wife Eleanor who he said had been "lost" two years ago and of the estranged son wandering around out on the highways probably hitching rides with Diego Guittierez and Victoria Newman. The judge said then that he hadn't been able to stop thinking about you since you showed him a good time right there on the mausoleum floor.

A romantic at heart, the judge said that no matter how stressful life gets he's ready to become a family since learning that your daughter, Jill Abbott, is his daughter too. He knew this to be true because before going to Seattle in a sex-crazed stupor where he later became a judge, you gave him a quickie.

Pregnant and alone, you pawned the baby off on a woman who it was hoped would sell it to Indians or something so long as you never had to take responsibility for your action. One day while walking alongside the God Have Mercy Medical Center, known back then as the Center 4 Disease, cancer-ridden Bill Foster noted the big sign out front.

GOOD HOME WANTED FOR CUTE BABY - INQUIRE WITHIN.

Moments later Foster presented the baby wrapped in a blue blanket to his wife, Liz, whose last wish before her eggs stopped fertilizing was to have a baby girl. And because the adoption process can be such a pain in the ass and take so much time and the lines at the agency are so long, the Fosters by-passed all the legal stuff and named the baby Jill.

Slowly returning to real time you recall the judge has been in your home, living and sharing the good times and the bad and never once was there so much as a hint that he would ever harm you. In fact, the judge was willing to walk out - and did for a brief time - when you refused to get help for your drinking. Is that something a man planning to kill would do?

Clearly, it isn't. But you decide. You let some hippie-looking dude you've never met before scare you because fear is still in. Fear is the new black. Spritz it on your face and neck, walk around the mausoleum all quivering and waiting to be crushed by some dark massive throbbing wall of evil at any moment.

Fear is everywhere. Don't vote right - get attacked. Fear is the prime motivator in Genoa City. Just look: Nikki Newman and Damon Porter are but two of those banging the drum of fear loud and hard and nonstop, smirking all the way. Fear knows it's all about convincing you that horrible accidents and ungodly pain are inevitable, even if they're not.

Fear means never having to dig very deep, never having to ask serious questions. There, there now Mrs. Sterling. Don't bother thinking for yourself. Harry Bartlett will make it all better.

Drunk Makes Amazing Recovery
July 27, 2004

Common alcoholics in Genoa City are demanding to know; just where is that miracle rehab center the elite in this city get to go to when they've decided to stop drinking? Wherever it is, the likes of Neil Winters and Katherine Sterling aren't saying. Suffice it is to know that the center can cure the most severely addicted drunk in about two weeks.

That's how long it's been since Sterling entered rehab on July 7.

And seemingly overnight the old woman was back at the Chancellor Mausoleum on Tuesday sputtering about how nice it is being home albeit the mausoleum seems "different" somehow.

With trusty slave Ether Valentine at her side muttering how going through rehab makes everything fresh and clean, Sterling couldn't help but recall how badly she treated those who had tried to help before she found God - or something.

What a time of desperate hopelessness that was when former booze-hound, pill-popping Nikki Newman hacked away at her that making the choice to keep drinking was a bad one. How Arthur Hendricks had oozed that if she wouldn't stop drinking he'd walk out on her too and did just that to show Katherine what a worthless bastard he is with all his useless nostalgic balm of lost love.

How sad that Gina Roma, claiming to be part of the family and professing to love Katherine so much but only seeing her those times Katherine fed her face at the RoadKill or Athletic Supporter Club, had come by on the day of the "intervention" to give Katherine the boot along with the other hypocrites.

How pathetic that croaking like an old frog Liz Foster shook her head and wondered how Katherine could allow those liquor stores to sell their legal poisons to her?

And two-faced Valentine, puking senseless dialog right along with the rest of them that she had given up too, tried Tuesday to redeem herself by going to the mysterious rehab center to fetch her employer.

That Valentine was relegated to this chore was truly jaw-dropping given that Sterling's loving daughter should have been camped outside the rehab when the call came in that her mother was being released. But Jill Abbott couldn't be bothered with such trivial matters. Jill had more important things to do like, going to the Abbott Hotel to squawk that she'd had a run-in with the CEO of Chancellor Industries and the "slick" Elliot Hampton was a force to be reckoned with and after years of running the empire without a hitch has suddenly become a vulture out to feast on Sterling's legacy.

Wringing her hands and wondering what will become of them should Hampton get his hands on mother's fortune, Jill announced to Jack and John Abbott that Katherine was being released from rehab. Oh, that's nice, the Abbott men may have thought for all of two seconds as neither had bothered to attend Sterling's intervention or had shown any interest at all when the drunk was falling down. It was especially odd given that the old drooling in a cup 'Yawn' Abbott has always professed to be one of Katherine's best friends and that Jack is now porking Yawn's former wife.

Told to work out her own problems Jill did go home to welcome her mother back and to say that she'll be with Katherine "all the way" so long as the way doesn't involve picking her up from rehab or buying a welcome home bouquet of flowers.

And where were all of Katherine's so-called friends? Not a one was there to welcome her home.

Divine Intervention
July 6, 2004

Oh right like this is exactly what we need.

An intervention.

Let us imagine the discussion: "Thank you for coming to my intervention. The city's in massive reeling mind-bending moral decline. Greed and flagrant cronyism and corporate chemical profiteering is booming. Our city is gasping and surgical procedures on demand have become commonplace. We've mauled credibility beyond recognition, and we're plundering the living hell out of socially accepted family values, urging people to lie and decrying the truth as cruel. What's to be done? What could rally my friends and family during a time of humiliated need and force-fed ignorance? What could turn my troubled life around in the face of toxic chemical addiction at a time when my disposal income is at an all-time high? Intervention!"

Thusly, it was Katherine Sterling' day to shine.

Gathered together at the Chancellor mausoleum on Tuesday were all of Katherine's friends and family not counting John 'Yawn' Abbott, who Sterling has said is one of her most "dear" friends, Victor Newman and Jack and Billy Abbott to name a few of those who couldn't be bothered with a friend's drinking problem.

Of all the people who have been an integral part of her long life, Katherine picked her recently-discovered granddaughter, Mac Browning as VIP.

As for her newly-discovered biological daughter and the son who has put up with her crap since birth, Brock Reynolds and Jill Abbott played second and third fiddle respectively.

Told what a "strong" a woman she is and that she doesn't need a crutch to hobble through life's little ups and down, Katherine cried out in pain. Damn it, she's hooked! She's addicted to America's legal drug sleazy corporate slugs profit billions from each year while cheering that the "war on drugs" is working and must go on.

It was so sad everyone attending the intervention began bawling at the same time.

A sniveling Brock couldn't understand why his mother was choosing booze over those who love her. He couldn't comprehend that alcohol and tobacco are deadly addictive drugs and that millions of people world-wide are hooked like helpless fish.

While former booze-hound, pill-popping Nikki Newman hacked that Katherine had made a bad choice, Arthur Hendricks oozed that if Katherine won't stop drinking then, by god, he'd walk out on her too. That would show Katherine what a worthless bastard he is with all his useless nostalgic balm of lost love.

What a time of desperate hopelessness it was.

Standing on the sideline with the rest of the pack of hypocrites was Gina Roma saying "so long" and maybe asking why this was the only time she'd been at the mausoleum in something like the last five years. Croaking like an old frog, Liz Foster shook her head and wondered how Katherine could do this? How could she let those liquor stores sell their poison to her?

Puking senseless dialog along with the rest of them was Katherine's slave, Ether Valentine. Oh my, it was so tragic. What was happening to employer wasn't covered in the 8-hour course she took to become an accredited drug counselor and subsequently, Ether was giving up on Katherine too.

Oh yes, they all love Katherine so much. That's why they're walking out. But don't worry, Katherine. Nikki said you'd be in her prayers "forever." Wasn't that comforting to know? Wasn't it reassuring when Brock bailed out too noting that it was his desire that God be with the Duchess?

And for all the months she moaned and groaned about wanting to find her mother, Jill said it was curtains. My, my, but they'd had some "good time together" and she wished "it could be longer" but now Jill was so outta there.

But the most pathetic of good-byes foamed from Mac's vile mouth.

"You've obviously made the choice to die" she puked.

Still in a collective bawling fit everyone left including members of Katherine's otherwise invisible staff. To hell with their paychecks.

If anything, Katherine should have said good riddance to bad rubbish. With friends like those hypocritical weasels who needs enemies?

Thank God for drug-induced dreams. Alone, Katherine began nodding out and soon, there they were! Rex Sterling and Phillip Chancellor #3 sputtering that this could have been - drum roll please to enhance the oldest cliche in the book - the first day of the rest of Katherine's life!

First day. Rest of life. Hmm.

Thank the soap gods Katherine didn't start chanting, "I think I can. I think I can" for it was at that moment, thanks to a divine intervention, that Katherine made her decision. Sweet Jesus, she'll quit! My, but what God doesn't work in mysterious ways. Now, if only He could do something about those toxic drug dealers like R.J. Reynolds and Anhesier-Bush.

The Intervention
June 30, 2004

by Brent Kellogg & Michael Kelly

Come one, come all! To the Intervention!

Yes folks, it's what you've been waiting for, what's it been, a year? Is that how long Katherine Sterling has been stumbling around in an alcoholic stupor for no good reason? Seems longer, doesn't it?

This grand event, this intervention as it's been dubbed, was best summoned up by Sterling's like a daughter best pal and drunk herself when Nikki Newman was summoned to the Chancellor mausoleum on Wednesday by Sterling's biological daughter, Jill Abbott.

Told again by Abbott that the old woman is drinking herself to death and that the only hope to save her is by rounding up friends and family members to maybe sit around a Ouija board hoping to conjure up ghosts from Sterling's past, Mrs. Newman asked, "How do you feel about this?"

Oh God, let's pray. No, let's not. Surely members of the intervention team will do that when they turn to God in a last ditch effort to find a miracle for Sterling. Instead, let's look at Newman's moronic statement.

Just how does Abbott feel about it? She apparently feels so strongly she's calling in the reserves. Brock Reynolds will fly in from Louisiana at a moments notice. Liz Foster will zoom in all the way from London. Even Gina Roma, who only sees Sterling on those rare occasions the old hag goes to the Athletic Supporter will be there along with Lauren Fenmore!

The veritable who's who will also include Sterling's granddaughter, the evil Mac Browning who Abbott says the entire intervention hinges on.

It's true!

Abbott told Browning personally, "You are the key" and added that if Browning doesn't go along with the intervention like the rest of the clan, "I'm afraid our plan will fail."

It's often said that many of the events that take place in Genoa City are sad. But this one has to take the prize. Imagine the incredible weight on Browning's shoulders? Why then, one might ask, if the intervention depends on Browning are all the others going to be there? Why not just have Browning work her saintly magic? Who needs God when good Jesus, Browning need only e-mail Satan for a special favor.

And perhaps because she's in line to takeover the role as the town's newest redeemer and do-gooder at large, Browning said she isn't completely convinced that intervention is the way to go as it could be harmful to her granny.

What, exactly, is intervention? Is it like when wayward Christians turn to people like Jim Jones and happily drink the Kool-Aid? Is it like the Man With the Golden Arm or the Days of Wine and Roses? Will Sterling's caring family take turns dogging her every attempt to hit the bottle? Aren't there laws governing elderly abuse? Nobody seems to know. For now, it sounds cool to say intervention so intervention it shall be.

In short, if not for Sterling, Mac Browning would have to cease putting on airs of charitable and spiritual superiority and get a real job. Of course, since the eavesdropping imbiber herself is aware of the intervention and is determined to derail it, a prolonged discussion of who will be present and why is almost moot. Let these buttinsky boobs learn the hard way that separating an ancient woman from the fire water she values above all else is an exercise in futility.

Kill Me Now!
June 14, 2004

As we learn that Jill Abbott will turn to alcoholic Nikki Newman for advice on how to handle Katherine Sterling's drinking problem the question must be asked again: who in hell cares?

If Sterling must resort to drinking fire water to cure whatever ails her why not get the old broad to a shrink (where is Dr. Carter when you need him?) who can put her on some nice 100mg Prozac?

The makers of Prozac swear their drug is significantly better than talk therapy so it's not like Sterling would have to actually speak during sessions with the shrink. She probably doesn't want to talk because if someone were to ask, Katherine dear, why are you killing yourself, what would she say?

What rich person would say, you know, I've got more money than I'll ever be able to spend, a daughter who wants me in the worse way, a man in my life for once, a maid who became a drug counselor overnight just to save me and not a worry in the world so I think I'll slowly kill myself.

If Sterling must bounce off the walls for no justifiable reason why can't she be creative about it? Why not smoke reefer? A stoned Katherine would be much more entertaining. Imagine the possibilities when she goes out to score a few lids of Maui Wowie or takes to growing her own crop near Phillips Chancellor's grave. When she's busted, Katherine claims a medical need and vows to fight the government for the right to possess marijuana.

But no, there can't be any logical reasons to explain why the people in this city do what they do. There has to be the illogical notion that Nikki Newman's giving the woman she says is her "best friend" a lecture on drinking will change anything.

If Sterling must drink there is only one logical way to snap her out of the bottle. The Betty Ford Clinic.

But for all the yapping, not one person has had the guts to haul this woman out of that mausoleum she lives in and dump her ass in a clinic. As a judge, Arthur Hendricks could pull a few strings to make this happen overnight.

Sterling could easily be declared temporarily incapable of handling her own affairs. It's happens every day in America. Old people are declared too old to drive and their licenses are taken away. They're declared mentally unstable and their homes are taken away and given to their kids.

So while we keep hearing about "tough love" for Sterling it's all a ruse to dredge up sympathy where none is deserved. Hello Katherine. How are you today? Sad? Depressed? Hitting the bottle? Jesus, Katherine, I came all the way over here to have a conversation and you reek of booze. You're slurring your words, not making any sense at all. Call me when you're sober, or, have somebody call me when you die.

Years ago the feel sorry for Katherine chant worked because like so many ignorant people she fell and couldn't get up. People said, isn't it sad and offered their condolences and when Katherine made it back said, you done good, Katherine.

But people are short on patience. Like when their kids are caught stealing the first time they usually give the child a free pass on the presumption that they learned a lesson. If they steal again there are stiff penalties, however.

This is how it is with Sterling. She had her chance. The band-aid approach only prolongs the inevitable. If this rich, supposedly intelligent woman wants to drink herself to death - leave her alone or have her committed.

Days of Wine & Roses?
June 2, 2004

Let's go to the videotape again. How long has Katherine Sterling been drinking? How long has she and Jill Abbott been fussing about this?

It was January 7, 2004. Sterling had just turned to her old pal, firewater as a means to cope with the horrifying realization that her newly-found daughter was turning the Chancellor mausoleum into something resembling a bordello/adult book store.

For months since then both she and Abbott have attempted to heal the gaping bleeding wounds sliced deep into their souls and slashed across their psyches. Sterling's old maid went so far as to become a chemical abuse counselor even though Sterling has repeatedly said she drinks because she wants to and will stop when she wants to how she wants to. And until now she hasn't wanted to. That is, until Wednesday when Sterling announced she hasn't taken a drink in an entire 24-hours.

"I'm already seeing pink elephants on the walls," Sterling cackled, as those around her wrung their hands, wondered what is to become of the old drunk and warned of the danger involved with going "cold turkey."

Pausing to reflect, Abbott told her mother that in return for chasing that teenage terrorist out of the mausoleum she will abide by Sterling's decision to ignore good medical advice and will stick by her while she goes through the DTs.

"Hang in there, Mother," Abbott said, as though Sterling were one of the flying monkeys swinging from the chandelier.

Then Sterling paused to reflect. Isn't that special? Gosh, who would have thunk that it would take crawling into the bottle again to bring she and her daughter together.

Isn't that just the dumbest thing you ever did hear? It's a rhetorical question. Let's just hope they aren't planning on subjecting us to the Genoa City version of The Days of Wine and Roses. Watching Sterling go cold turkey while Abbott wipes her forehead with a wet towel is not something anyone should see.

Put a Cork in It
February 19, 2004
by Vicki Johns

So far, Seattle Judge Arthur Hendrick's feet have not been seen. One can only hope that they are somewhere in the neighborhood of size 14D, that he was a kicker on his college football team, and that he works out on a Stairmaster now and then to keep his leg muscles firm and strong because Katherine Chancellor fully deserves a catapulting, swift kick in the ass from nothing less than that, and one that will propel her clear into cavities of the fourth planet of our solar system that the Mars Rover has yet to discover.

Why is this woman drinking? What has happened in her life that is so earth-shattering?

Her beloved husbands Phillip Chancellor and Rex Sterling died. She was kidnapped. There was a time she thought she had cancer. She also thought, for a spell, that her only child (at that time), Brock, was dead. She chooses, of her own free will, to live and keep in her employ the most obnoxious maid since Florence worked for the Jeffersons. All of those events could actually be reasonably argued as stressful enough to lead a recovered alcoholic to start drinking again. But they didn't.

Now, let's look at the good in Katherine's life. She's a billionaire. Now, all of us altruistic individuals out there know that money cannot buy happiness or health. But it sure as hell can pay for the best healthcare available – and health insurance for Katherine Chancellor? Unlike the millions of America's underinsured elderly and retired, she doesn't need it – she can just write a check every time she needs a script or tests run, and never feel the tiniest of pings in her bank account, let alone toss a coin to determine whether food or medicine wins out with this month's Social Security check.

She's got a marvelous son who makes the world a better place. True, he doesn't hang around much, but why should he? His mother is fully capable of caring for herself and a staff of people around to assist with her needs.

And how many women, at the age of 70 plus, learn that they have a grandchild? And one who isn't strung out on drugs, carrying an STD, clothed in Goth, and with holes pierced through their eyebrows? Granted, Mackenzie Reynolds is not around right now, but what? Kate can't have Robert drive her to wherever Mac is?

Okay, let's take a look at the present set of circumstances. Her beloved home is being remodeled. Oh, my, that is a cause for downing every bottle of Kettle One in the county. When millions are homeless or living in sub-human housing in the richest country in the world, this woman climbs into a drunken oblivion because her house is being redecorated? Huh? Good Lord, it almost makes you feel sorry for Martha Stewart.

Or, is the real reason she's drinking because she discovered her arch enemy is the very own daughter she gave up years ago because of her adulterous behavior? Granted, the daughter is no prize, but she's not exactly an axe murderer or child molester, and she's even actually demonstrating a teeny weenie bit of compassion for a mother who basically deserted her. Oh, the horrors! Really, it could be much worse. It could have been that Esther Valentine was the forsaken daughter. Maybe Kay would feel better if she considered that alternative.

And to make matters even worse, a dashing, darling, sophisticated, caring man by the name of Arthur Hendricks has re-entered her life. Well that just does it! Indeed, what 75-year-old woman would not return to the bottle when faced with the possibility of an available, handsome, and intelligent man who could easily pass for 15 years' her junior, coming back into her life to ease the pain of loneliness and provide compassion and love for the remainder of her September years? When one speaks of such evil, surely, that's an order for Chivas if there ever was one, by God!

Ironic thing is, if anyone should be stocking up on Absolut, Grey Goose, or Glenlivet, it's Jill Abbott. The magnitude of finding out that the woman who's responsible for the death of the love of your life is your own mother, for having spent needless years struggling and clawing financially as a single mother because of that death, and to consider all of the missed opportunities that, as a privileged youth, you had every right to enjoy - those are horrifically huge and valid reasons to hit the sauce.

Katherine Chancellor, is nothing but a self-absorbed, wrinkled up old ingrate who should take a lesson from her daughter. And it's a sad commentary that anyone could actually learn something from Jill Abbott, but it's exactly where Katherine is right now.

Liquor stores ordered to halt deliveries
February 11, 2004

An all points bulletin was issued this week to all liquor stores in the Genoa City metro area. Requests for the delivery of alcoholic beverages to 12 Foothill Road are to be denied. Severe penalties will be handed down to those stores failing to comply. Please direct all questions regarding this matter to Mrs. Jill Abbott.

The shocking discovery that liquor stores are apparently connected to this huge network of computers where people can just submit their non-delivery orders was lost on Foothill Road resident Katherine Sterling.

So desperate for a drink she'd gulp lighter fluid were it readily available, Sterling called Genoa City's Wal-Mart of booze, the House of Liquor on Wednesday pretending to be Mrs. Abbott ordering a case of the very finest rot gut. As a token of her appreciation for fast, speedy delivery, Sterling, um, Abbott, offered what she called a "big tip" if the deliveryman were to get to the Chancellor Estate in say, an hour.

The HOL clerk taking the order was about to confirm that the booze was on the way when he noticed the bulletin.

"Hey! If you're Mrs. Abbott why did you put this APB out? Says right here by order of Jill Abbott. No booze is to be shipped to Foothill Road. Are you circumventing your own order?" the clerk did not ask because in her alcoholic fog Sterling had hung up the phone in frustration before the clerk could say another word.

"No Booze? How stupid is that?" Sterling did not ask, but should have considering the farfetched notion that anyone, anywhere in any lifetime could order any store to deny service.

Before Sterling could call another store, maybe one not connected to the network, or see if she could borrow the Newman jet and have it fly to Canada and back in about an hour, she was interrupted by the arrival of Judge Arthur Hendricks.

When Sterling shouted at the door that she'd be right there, the old judge could tell merely from the sound of her voice that Sterling didn't seem like herself.

"Are you upset?" Hendricks asked when the door was finally opened instantly surmising that Sterling needed a fix. Was the old woman looking for a bottle? Had Mrs. Abbott not moments earlier told him a million times that Sterling had fallen off the wagon and needed his help?

For a Supreme Court judge, Hendricks wasn't being very bright, but he did notice the junk strewn all over the place. Why the mess?

"My whole life has been a mess," Sterling whimpered, adding that she started drinking again because life can be so cruel. Yes, when you're handed a gazillion dollars, and never wanted for anything except a man, life can drive you straight to the bottle.

It was then that Hendricks realized, gosh, the reason Sterling is drinking and hadn't told him that Abbott was her daughter was because Abbott is his daughter too. It all made perfect sense, but talk about inopportune.

The one and only time the sleepy judge was able to get his ass off the bench and away from Seattle, damn but what he hadn't come to Genoa City to learn he has a daughter coping with an alcoholic mother. It was enough to drive a man to drink. But if Hendricks had any plan to start boozing he'd have to hurry. There was no telling how long before Jill Abbott found out and had his name added to the do not deliver alcohol list, too.

Community pillar buckles under pressure, turns to booze!
January 7, 2004

Without at least one or perhaps 38,000 charmingly depressing or otherwise finger-flicked anecdotes to warm the heart and make those in desperate need of leadership blissfully happy to be part of Genoa City, pillar of the community Katherine Sterling has reportedly turned to her old pal, firewater, as a means to cope with the horrifying realization that her newly-found daughter, Jill Abbott is turning the Chancellor mausoleum into something resembling a bordello/adult book store.

Forgetting that she legally owns one-half of the property and could hire a lawyer to find a sleepy judge willing to issue a restraining order and make the remodeling project stop in a heartbeat, Sterling has chosen instead to sink into the familiar if you can't beat 'em, join 'em syndrome by allowing Abbott to trash the mausoleum at will.

Toward healing the gaping bleeding wound sliced deep into her soul and slashed across her psyche, Sterling stopped by the mausoleum on Wednesday for a look see and was so stunned she blamed what Abbott is doing - to the only home she's ever known outside the shelter - on the booze Abbott has being swilling of late by the gallon.

Sterling's regurgitation of the dangers of drinking alcohol did not faze Abbott in the least. She drinks because she wants to drink. So what if booze is so bad and causes the death of thousands each year? Why is it legal?

As her daughter sped off to the popular Athletic Club where she's rented a room until the remodeling is complete, Sterling did not think, "Katherine dear, you've got enough money to buy a million castles. Why are you fussing over this dump? If Jill wants to destroy it, let her. Why get all worked up over nothing? Aren't you too old to be wallowing in self-pity? For years you knew Jill was your daughter and could have given a rip. Why the guilt trip now? If Jill can't accept you as her mother just move the hell on."

No, Sterling couldn't bring herself to do the wise and prudent thing. She turned to her old friend, booze. Surely, two drunks are better than one and becoming a falling down woman ignorant of the rampant toxin she's pumping into her blood system is exactly the conduit needed to connect her with Jill. After all, doesn't misery love company?