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| ISBN-13: | 9781475999754 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | iUniverse, Incorporated |
| Publication date: | 07/31/2013 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 208 KB |
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OUR ABANDONED CHILDREN
History of the Child Welfare System
By RON HUBER
iUniverse LLC
Copyright © 2013 Dr. Ron HuberAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-9974-7
CHAPTER 1
The scope and breadth of the cruelty I suffered as I was being carted from one foster home to the next after I was abandoned by my impoverished, troubled, uncaring alcoholic mother and father and raised by couples who were ill equipped to accommodate the emotional needs of a child was so staggering that the hurt never went away, nor did the secrets I still keep inside my emotional prison. On this day—my very first day at school—it cut like a bare bodkin deep into my flesh. The humiliation of it all struck like a stake through my heart as I stood embarrassed in the middle of the classroom and the echo of children's laughter rang like a moving freight train in my ears. I was living in my second foster home, and my initial excitement about the first day of school quickly diminished. My face felt flush, and my tongue would not work. The teacher, after what seemed like forever, allowed me to sit down. But the damage had already been done; being branded as stupid by my peers for not knowing my own mother's name burned an indelible scar on my heart. What they never knew was that my ignorance of who my mother wasn't on account of a faulty memory or being some mentally retarded misfit. I didn't know my mother's name because I had never gotten a chance to ask. Her name was Helen Mae Somerville, but to Vic, Ralph Jr., and me, she was a ghost, a shadow. The local bar saw more of her than we did. It was very clear that this strange woman did not want us. A letter written by the caseworker of the Peoria Red Cross dated November 10, 1948, read,
Mrs. Ralph Somerville had come to the Peoria Red Cross office for advice and help in solving her problems regarding family finances and care for her three children, ages 4 years, 3 years and 10 months, all boys. Mr. Somerville worked on a boat earning $75 every two weeks. They had been living in a seven room house in Bureau, Illinois, paying $75 a month rent and $30 a month for electricity. The house did not heat properly and the landlord refused to make the necessary improvements. The family had many debts and Mrs. Somerville was embarrassed to go into stores in Bureau. Mr. Somerville was a veteran, and it was thought by the Peoria Red Cross Worker that the family would be eligible for planning on the Illinois Soldiers and Sailors Children's School (I.S.S.C.S.) program. The mother was said to be quite upset by the whole situation and became emotional during the interview in Peoria. The mother seemed to want to place her children temporarily until the family could get along financially. No relative could or was willing to help the family.
And in a letter dated November 18, the caseworker expressed further concern over the family's emergency situation.
The children were sleeping on the floor in a house that had no heat, and it is necessary that they get out of the house.
All of the children are sick with colds and Mrs. Somerville was so sick the Red Cross sent her to the doctor. The doctor reported afterwards that Mrs. Somerville needed rest and that she was not strong enough at this time to work, although the mother said she has a job in Joliet. As for Ron, the records show his mother describes him as "having no illnesses." The only difference she has noticed about Ronald from the other children is the fact that he drags one of his legs from running. As yet she has never taken him to the doctor to find out what was wrong with it. She describes Ronald as a very nervous child.
My grandfather was our primary caretaker. Unfortunately, he was an alcoholic as well and only looked in on us from time to time. On a good day, when he was sober, he would bring us something to eat. If he was feeling especially kind, he would take the extra time to clean our bodies of the horrible stench that developed from sitting in our own excrement for several days. I imagine, though, that it was more for his personal comfort rather than a result of any sympathy he had for us. Our pained whimpers were ignored as he roughly raked soap and water over our little bodies, irritating the sores that had developed on our tender backsides. Then he dressed us in clothes that he'd bought from the Salvation Army. They weren't quite as dirty as the ones we'd taken off, so it was a bit of an improvement. After a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of water, our moment in the spotlight would be over. With so much attention having been doted on us at once, it would often be several days before we saw him or ate again. The rats in the building lived better than we did. My father, Ralph Wesley Somerville, worked for Federal Barge Lines on a boat named the Montgomery over in Chicago. He was often gone for weeks at a time, sending his paychecks home without any thought as to how they were spent. I'm sure he had to know that my mother and grandfather were drinking them up. Perhaps he didn't care, but I am more inclined to believe he forgot we were there. He stayed gone so long that he barely noticed us when he was at home.
Because of our parents' absence, we spent most of our days amusing ourselves on the cold and dirty linoleum floor in the kitchen. Vic and I, ages four and three, didn't talk much but developed our own method of communication. The two of us did our best to keep our younger brother, Ralph Jr., content. We knew he was just as hungry as we were, but he was usually too weak to cry even if he was upset. In the Red Cross entry from November 30, 1948, Mrs. Booth described our mother as an irresponsible person who was completely uninterested in her children and thoroughly inadequate as a mother. The housekeeping standards were poor; she said we children were as dirty and poorly clothed as one could imagine. Apparently, there was very little for us to eat. All three of us were like little animals over our food after the placements were made.
Those days were a dismal existence for us, but then life changed on one blisteringly cold November day in 1948. It was nearly noon, but the sky was dark and menacing. The wind outside was biting, and it swirled threateningly against the window of our front room, making a loud whirring sound. A battered heater stood in the corner of the room, sputtering and creaking, but it failed to emit any significant warmth. We could see our breath float across the room like puffs of clouds. According to the records of the Peoria Red Cross, Mom stated that she and our dad wanted very badly to be able to provide a good home for us. But she added that because of a change in plans in the Bureau, they were not able to. She felt that putting us in the ISSCS program had been in our best interest until she and Dad could get established and get a home for us, at which time she would want to have us back. The record said,
Mrs. Somerville was rather emotional about the fact that the Red Cross throughout their contact with her implied neglect of her children and said that was because of this the state would come and take her children away. She emphasized the fact that this was only a temporary arrangement until she and her husband were ready to move into their new home and one of them could be home. Mrs. Somerville put no length of time to this proposition.
It was one of those rare days that my mother was at home. Each of us vied for her attention, but she batted us away like flies. When we begged for something to eat, she turned a deaf ear and looked right through us as if we weren't there. Her stare was glassy. It was the look of someone desperately trying to remain sober but coming precariously close to losing that battle.
Sometime around midafternoon, a large black sedan slowed to a stop in front of our house. Curious, we perched on the worn sofa and looked out through the living room window. We watched as two husky-looking women emerged and struggled purposely against the wind toward our front door. We rushed to tell my mother but found that she was also watching from behind a curtain in the other room. When the ladies reached the walkway, she rushed to the door and let them in.
The room seemed to disappear when they stepped inside. Their faces were fixed in scowls, and they didn't say a word. They looked in our direction and then followed my mother into the kitchen. I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold.
Once inside the kitchen, they spoke in hushed tones. Occasionally, someone's voice would rise slightly and cause us to watch the door anxiously. Vic and I were too young to consider eavesdropping and probably would not have comprehended the deal that was being made behind the door anyway. They all returned to the front room a few minutes later. The room remained quiet, and I shifted uncomfortably. I was so nervous; suddenly, I felt warm wetness trickling down my leg. Embarrassed, I tried to cover the wet spot. Everyone turned in my direction. My mother stared through me and made no move to clean me up. Both women frowned at me and then shot my mother an irritated glare.
Then, to my surprise, the smaller of the two women marched over to the crib where little Ralph was sleeping. She stared down at him for a moment and then turned and nodded at my mother. Grabbing a blanket that hung across the railing, she wrapped him tightly. She placed a tattered hat on his head, picked him up and headed toward the front door without saying a word.
Vic and I whirled around in my mother's direction, expecting her to protest, but she remained mute. Her gaze was fixed on the floor. Confused, I ran to the window and watched as the woman continued to walk down the sidewalk to the car, carrying my brother in her arms.
I'd been so preoccupied with Ralph's fate that I gave no thought to what was about to happen to Vic and me. A commotion stirred up behind me and regained my attention—I'd completely forgotten about the other woman in the room. To my dismay, I turned to find her tugging insistently at Vic's arm. He cried and squirmed desperately, trying to resist. I looked from the scene before me to my mother, who still had not moved. It seemed as though her feet were glued to the floorboard. What was going on? I spun back around in my brother's direction just in time to see this hulking woman crouch down to his eye level and glare menacingly into his face.
"If you don't shut up right this second, I'll smack the daylights out of you!"
The sharpness of her tone stopped Vic midway. The woman straightened back up, yanked his arm, and motioned for me to follow them. My eyes were as wide as saucers, but I didn't say anything. Any ideas I may have had about disobeying faded quickly after hearing her threaten my brother. My eyes welled up with tears, which fell silently down my cheeks. I hung my head and began to walk slowly behind them down the sidewalk to the car. The huge car door loomed ominously before me. With one final gust of hope, I glanced back toward the front door, only to be chilled by the coldness of my mother's indifference. Reluctantly, I climbed inside. A feeling of hopelessness and abandon swept through me as the car door closed us inside, and our front door disappeared from sight.
We rode through the city in silence except for Ralph's occasional squeals from the front seat. Our stomachs grumbled loudly and drew disapproving frowns from the woman who had finally identified herself as Mrs. Booth. Vic and I tapped each other, pointing and straining to look out of the window. As we continued along the highway, we watched the scenery change from rural fields to bustling city streets. It was early evening when we pulled up in front of Covenant Children's Home.
Covenant Children's Home was a huge, two-story, beige brick establishment that stood on the corner of a middle-class neighborhood. The cloudy sky cast a gloomy shadow over the building, giving it an uninviting appearance. When Mrs. Booth opened the door and instructed us to get out, I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. What was this place? More importantly, why were we here? The Peoria Red Cross documents tell the story.
The two older Somerville children were placed at the Covenant Children's home on 11-19-48 and baby Ralph Somerville wad placed in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Johnson on the same date. It had been arranged by Mrs. Booth that the two older children should go to the Covenant Children's Home while Baby Ralph could be taken care of temporarily by a family with whom the mother has made arrangements at [the] Bureau [of] Illinois.
Reluctantly, we got out and peered up the stairs leading to the strange building. Mrs. Johnson, the smaller woman, stayed in the car holding Ralph Jr., while Mrs. Booth walked quickly toward the steps, grumbling over her shoulder for us to come along. She never noticed that we had not moved from our spots on the sidewalk. When she reached the top step, the front door opened, and a man emerged. He spoke briefly to Mrs. Booth and then looked down at us. Reverend Videen was a tall, thin, friendly-looking man. He smiled warmly and motioned for us to come closer. It was the first inviting look we'd seen in quite some time. Vic rushed toward the stairs. I was right behind him, but before I could reach the first step, I let out a faint squeal, and my poor malnourished body collapsed. Vic rushed back to my side but was unable to be of much help. He was just as frail as I was. Upon seeing my difficulty, Reverend Videen came down, scooped me up in his arms, and carried me inside.
A small hallway and several flights of stairs later, we entered a room filled with several round tables covered with red and white tablecloths. The delicious smell of freshly baked cookies wafted in from the kitchen, and my stomach pitched hungrily. The reverend took us to a nearby sink and helped us wash our grimy hands before seating us at one of the tables. We sat there expectantly, not saying a word. Minutes, which seemed like hours, later, a smiling, heavyset woman wearing an apron came out of the kitchen and placed two plates of steaming food in front of us. Both Vic and I sat there, momentarily stunned. Hot food was a luxury that we had not had on a frequent basis. The aroma of the hot turkey and mashed potatoes was intoxicating. I looked anxiously at Reverend Videen. Were we supposed to eat this? Was it okay?
"Aren't you hungry?" he asked with a puzzled expression. I nodded vigorously, unable to make a sound.
"Please," he urged softly, "eat up, boys."
No further prompting was necessary. Hovering protectively over our plates, Vic and I immediately began shoveling food into our mouths with our hands. The hot potatoes and gravy burned my tiny fingers, but I barely noticed as I continued to rush scoop after scoop into my mouth. It couldn't have been more than five minutes before the cook returned from the kitchen with a small basket of rolls. Her eyes widened in amazement at our nearly clean plates. She glanced at Reverend Videen, who shook his head sadly. After placing the basket down on the table, she disappeared into the kitchen once more, returning with two glasses of cold milk. By that time, we'd eaten everything that had been placed before us. I licked my gravy-covered lips and fingers. My stomach groaned loudly for more, but for the time being, that was all we would get.
Mrs. Porter was a petite woman with graying hair and a pleasant smile. Reverend Videen introduced us to her after dinner. Her hand was warm and soft, and my small one felt good inside of it. She led us into a bathroom upstairs and deposited us into a warm tub. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been completely immersed in water and certainly had not seen bubbles in years. Mrs. Porter showed us how to put them in our palms and blow them at each other. We laughed as the white foam landed on our noses and foreheads. Her touch was gentle as she soaped and rinsed us off. The color of the water when we emerged was a dingy gray.
Clad in warm pajamas, we padded down the hall behind Mrs. Porter to a large room with many twin beds filled with little boys who were already sleeping. She pointed to two empty beds and turned back the covers on each bed. We slid happily into the clean, sweet-smelling sheets. My face sunk into the big, fluffy pillow, and I sighed deeply. Vic fell asleep instantly. Before I drifted off, I thought that if this was only a dream, I didn't ever want to wake up.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from OUR ABANDONED CHILDREN by RON HUBER. Copyright © 2013 Dr. Ron Huber. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse LLC.
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