The Girls Who Went Away (28 page)

Nobody talked about legal rights in those days. They told you the baby was adopted right away. They didn’t tell you it takes a while, and they didn’t tell you that you could legally change your mind. You didn’t have an attorney, you didn’t know what your legal rights were, and they lied to you. I don’t know if it would have
made a difference. It’s real hard to say years later. But there was a miscarriage of justice there. You
do
have rights.

—Diane II

Women who wanted to parent were often subjected to a humiliating competition of sorts with the prospective adoptive parents. It was routine for agency workers to provide trumped-up descriptions of the adoptive families. Many women were told their child would go to a family where the husband was a doctor and the wife was a housewife. It was suggested that if the mother loved her child she should not deny him or her this wonderful opportunity. The agencies, of course, did not foresee these mothers reuniting with their children twenty, thirty, or forty years later, and learning that the profile of the adoptive parents had been untrue. Many women I interviewed have met their child’s parents and some have built wonderful relationships. They feel that, given the circumstances, they could not have wished for a better family or outcome for their child. Others, however, were unequivocally not pleased by what they found.

When you give up a child, you certainly hope that they get better than what you could have done. My daughter certainly did not get better than what I could have done, even as a child myself. The original adoptive parents had adopted one child prior and then adopted my daughter within a short period of time. Within a couple of months after adopting her, the husband left the wife with the two kids. Apparently, the wife had some mental-health issues and so at some point she was institutionalized and the kids were put in foster care. My daughter remembers her grandparents being integral in making sure that they got food and were bathed and stuff, even before the mother was institutionalized. She remembers how her grandmother took care of them, because sometimes her mother just couldn’t.

—Wendy

The “better life” argument was made all the more compelling by the fact that so many couples were clamoring to adopt in the years following World
War II; for every healthy baby available for adoption, it is estimated that there were ten couples waiting to adopt. As word reached the public that unwanted babies were available and in need of homes, millions of couples flooded adoption agencies with applications. The number of nonfamily adoptions per year went from approximately 8,000 in 1937 to over 70,000 in 1965.
¹

With so many couples in competition for babies, social workers could be selective. Agency workers vetted prospective couples and placed children in homes for a trial period, usually six months to one year, to ensure that both parties were adjusting to the new arrangement before the adoption was finalized. During this temporary-placement period, social workers conducted home visits to make sure the baby was thriving. If the prospective adoptive parents changed their minds before the adoption was finalized, the child could be returned to the agency.

Interest in adoption had increased, in part, because of the availability of newborns rather than older children. But couples of this era did not make the decision to adopt in a vacuum. Social acceptance of adoption needed to be cultivated. Adoption had not been a common way to build a family in previous generations. Families needed assurance that babies available through adoption agencies were healthy babies of normal intelligence who were otherwise unwanted. Social acceptance was predicated on the idea that these babies were unwanted. This belief eliminated a potential moral dilemma, especially for adoptive families: most couples, no matter how much they wanted a child, would not want to be involved in taking a child away from a mother against her will. But given the secrecy and the social stigma of the time, adoptive parents were never exposed to the story of the pain and grief felt by so many of the mothers. And as more and more couples adopted, social acceptance grew apace. People read stories about Hollywood stars like George Burns and Gracie Allen and Roy Rogers and Dale Evans adopting children. Popular magazines promoted adoption by publishing articles that further confirmed the practice as an admirable and joyful way to build a family.

The February 19, 1951, cover story in
Life
magazine provides an example of the dissemination of these ideas on a massive scale, and of the reassuring language used to describe the experience of adoption.
²
What is interesting about this article is that it also purports to tell the story of the surrendering mother.

The cover of the magazine displayed a full-bleed photograph of a child’s face with a title to the left, “The Adoption of Linda Joy.” Inside the magazine, readers encountered a seven-page picture story that included thirty-two pictures, extensive captions, and a narrative that offered statistics and answers to concerns that might be on the minds of prospective adoptive families. The pictures and text chronicled the entire process, from the paperwork required of the adoptive family to the follow-up home visits.

A sequence of five images with captions is meant to tell the story of the eighteen-year-old unwed mother who gave birth to Linda. In the first image, a noticeably pregnant woman is standing outside a building, suitcase in hand, looking at a plaque that reads
WOMANS HOME.
The caption explains that after traveling 175 miles by bus, she has arrived at the Salvation Army Home in Los Angeles to have her baby. It then shows her meeting with her caseworker at the maternity home and the caption explains that at the maternity home the expectant mother “while awaiting her baby, decides she cannot keep it.” She says, “It hurts, but I have a long life ahead of me.” The third image shows her with her newborn in the hospital after delivery and explains that during her stay in the home “the case worker came regularly to help her decide baby’s future.” The fourth depicts her kissing the baby’s face as she says good-bye. The caption reads, “She says goodbye to baby five days after birth. Unlike many unwed mothers, who are too chagrined to care, she took deep interest in the baby, liked to dress her.” The caption under the fifth and final image about the mother explains that “she has a few weeks to change her mind and keep her.” The only other reference to surrendering mothers is included in the beginning of the main story, in a passage warning potential adopters to avoid black marketers, “who charged as much as $5,000 to close the gap between couples who wanted babies and the mothers who wanted to get rid of them.” The circulation of
Life
magazine at the time this article was published was more than five million.

A close reading of the feature reveals much about a series of assumptions that came to be commonly held during this time. First, the pregnant woman arrives alone “by bus.” She has not been driven to the home by her family or boyfriend, who may later have a change of heart and come to claim her and the baby. Second, she has reached this decision on her own and has based it on the fact that she has “a long life ahead,” which clearly suggests
that she does not want to burden herself with a child at this point in her life. Third, she acknowledges that “it hurts, but…” The simple phrase “It hurts” does not adequately convey a life-defining decision or indicate any real depth of feeling. Fourth, the caseworker “helped” but does not pressure her about her decision. Fifth, “unlike many unwed mothers” she has a “deep interest” in the baby. In other words, many other unwed mothers do not have a deep interest in their babies. Evidence of her “deep interest” is that she likes to dress the baby. This observation makes her seem shallow and immature. If the only evidence of the mother’s “deep interest” in the baby is dressing her, perhaps she likens motherhood to playing with dolls. Sixth, the story indicates that she has an opportunity to “change her mind.” This phrase reinforces the predominant view that the decision made by unwed mothers at the time was a personal one, that they simply made a calculated choice to keep or not to keep their child.

The scenario presented suggests that the mother made an uncomplicated decision that was not influenced by outside forces such as social, economic, or family pressures. It is presented as a matter of her deciding whether she prefers to parent or not. She is given time to change her mind and the implication is that if she does not keep her child she will ultimately belong to the same category as the other mothers mentioned, who “wanted to get rid of” their babies.

So convincing was this popularized story, and so silenced were the women about how they really felt, that this basic scenario is still widely accepted by the public and by many adoptees, who feel they were unwanted by a mother who abandoned them because she had a lot of living left to do and they were a burden. The reality was that the mothers often found themselves up against people who knew just how uninformed they were. Carol, one of the women I interviewed, returned to her home state after giving birth in California to learn that the father of her child wanted to reconcile and marry. She wrote her caseworker to ask if, under the circumstances, it might be possible for them to get their child back. The caseworker’s written response offers insight into the professional thinking of the time. In the 1960s, many states still did not place a baby with an adoptive family until he or she was two to three months old, and when Carol contacted her caseworker her child was still in temporary foster care. The caseworker stressed
that in
her
opinion Carol had made the right decision the first time and that it was still the best decision for
everyone.

Despite the fact that Carol was writing because circumstances had changed, the social worker continued to affirm the “decision” Carol made earlier when her situation was entirely different. She mentions nothing to Carol about her rights or about procedures for revoking consent. The caseworker writes:

I believe that it is still the right decision for [the baby], for you, as well as for [your husband-to-be]. [The baby] will have a wonderful, stable family who will love her and be able to give her everything—emotional and financial security. You and [your husband-to-be] need time to adjust to each other, build a stable relationship and then start building your family.

Interestingly, the letter was typed and dated but not mailed immediately. Carol contacted the caseworker once again and she finally responded by writing a little handwritten note at the bottom of the original typed letter, congratulating Carol on her upcoming marriage. By the time the letter was actually sent to Carol, her daughter had been placed with an adoptive family.

Given the gravity and consequences of the legal transfer of a human being between natural and adoptive parents, it is surprising that a mother is permitted to relinquish all rights to her child without separate and impartial legal counsel. There was no requirement for social workers to inform the women of services available to them through county, state, or federal agencies. Surrendering mothers were not given clear, written information about time limits for revoking consent, which vary from state to state and change year to year as laws are revised. They were not given copies of any of the papers they signed, so they were unable to review them afterward. Social workers are still not required to provide women with information about state and federal resources that might enable them to keep their child.

Many of the women I interviewed describe being emotionally shut down when they signed away their child. They had papers placed in front of them, they were told to sign them, and they did.

I remember the social worker’s face and I remember going into the nursery. I don’t remember having feelings on that day about anything. I just went in and somebody blah-blah-blahed some words to me, but I don’t know what they said. They threw the papers in front of me, I signed them, and I walked out. I didn’t read them. I don’t know what the woman said to me. I’m sure she was telling me what was in them. I mean, logic dictates that she was trying to explain it to me, but I don’t remember what she said. I just signed the papers and I left. My family didn’t talk about it. It never came up again. On Mother’s Day, my mother gave me a sweater and a skirt with a Mother’s Day card. She didn’t say anything to me; it was just sitting on my bed.

—Maggie

Any of my conversations I had with the social worker before giving birth were basically trying to help me understand why I couldn’t keep my son. Afterward, I had to go to the district court in Augusta and sign the papers. The judge was not friendly; he was being very businesslike. He put the papers in front of me to sign and I just kind of stood there. Finally I said, “What happens if I don’t sign?” He got very angry with me and said that I’d already cost the poor, honest, hardworking taxpayers enough time and trouble and if I didn’t sign the papers he would declare me incompetent, and how would I like my son to know that about me?

—Connie I

Young women in the 1950s and 1960s had little experience with being assertive. But regardless of whether they tried to fight the system or accepted their fate, they discovered that moving on and forgetting was impossible. The full emotional weight of the surrender affected some immediately. For others, it came later. Feelings of loss and grief were compounded by a sense that they had been lied to. Some thought that they had been duped out of their child. The damage in many cases was lifelong. These women had not just surrendered a child. They had surrendered control over the most important
decision they might ever make to people who they felt did not necessarily have their best interest at heart. The shame was no longer about being single and pregnant. The shame was that they had given away, or not fought hard enough to keep, their child.

One of the questions that come up when you go to court and relinquish is they ask you if you have been coerced in any way, and I thought it was the height of hypocrisy. Of course, you’re coerced. You’re coerced by your parents, who said, “Don’t come home again if you plan to keep that child. We’re not going to help you.” You’re coerced by everyone around you because of the shame and the lack of acceptance by society and your community. You’re not acknowledged as a fit mother because you had sex before marriage.