Fraud on the Court Page 4

  Glenn and I clearly did not consider ourselves brothers in any sense of the term. But I hoped that in the spirit of human decency, he might be persuaded to forward the small number of personal records that I hoped still existed from my childhood. I’d worked hard for the grades and the accolades (including my Eagle Scout award), and I had children whose baby pictures I’d enjoy comparing with my own. With these goals in mind, I picked up the phone and made a wish for luck.

  “Hey Glenn,” I said when he answered. “It’s Mike.”

  “Mike…” Glenn replied warily. “What do you want?”

  “Thought I would touch base,” I said. “And ask about something that’s been on my mind. I’ve been wondering if we could arrange a way for me to get back some of my personal belongings, stuff from when I was a kid, you know?”

  Glenn let out a huff of breath.

  “I don’t know if any of that stuff is still around,” he said.

  “Could you check? I just want school records, anything from the scouts, the awards from the track team. I’d guess Adela would have kept it all in one place.”

  “I suppose I can give it a look when I have time,” Glenn finally replied.

  “I’d appreciate it. Need my address?” I asked.

  “No, I’ve got it from Dad’s will,” he said.

  “Ok, well thanks. I really would love to have those things back.”

  “Sure,” Glenn replied.

  The conversation had clearly reached its end for us both. We said goodbye.

  I never received the items, or any other contact from Glenn. He moved, changed numbers, and as far as I can tell has made every effort to ensure I never locate him again. None of his few living relatives know of his whereabouts, or will admit to it.

  I made one other significant call as a result of Al’s passing and my receipt of the will. The call was to Al’s brother, Bill Chalek. Although Bill’s name showed up nowhere in the legal documentation, I knew he had been the one responsible for supplying the advice and terminology that resulted in Al’s amendment to the will.

  Colonel William “Bill” Chalek was none other than the successful, highly decorated and powerfully connected war hero and former POW who was known for having authored a memoir of his own experiences as a captured fighter pilot in WWII. He retired from the military after some 28 years and then opened up a private practice law firm in Florida. Al wouldn’t have filed a single document without first running it by his big brother, the lawyer.

  I couldn’t get the question out of my mind as to what Al had meant by the mean-spirited and rather obtuse reference to “all good reasons” in his justification of my $1.00 inheritance. If anyone could tell me, it was my good old uncle Bill. Whether he would tell me was highly doubtful, but as I was now in a habit of pursuing every open avenue to its furthest end, I made the call.

  “Colonel,” I said when I reached him at his home.

  “Who’s this?” he asked.

  “It’s Mike Chalek,” I answered. “Al’s adopted son.”

  “What in God’s name do you want now? You got your dollar didn’t you?”

  I resisted, for the time, engaging in a battle of tempers. I needed to know what only he could tell me.

  “I don’t want money,” I replied.

  “Then what is it?”

  “I just wanted to know about Al’s will, about the sentence you put in there that says he had all good reasons to leave me that dollar, and that everyone knew them.”

  Bill wasn’t pulled in by the bait.

  “I didn’t write that will, Mike. Al did that all on his own.”

  “Bull crap,” I replied. “And I’ll tell you, whatever that’s meant to imply about me and my choices, I resent it. I haven’t ever been the one who’s behaved criminally, or stolen a thing from anyone. You want to know about that kind of thing, just take a look at their real son.”

  I was irritated enough to let Bill know that I had heard about Glenn’s adult behavior and brushes with the law (including armed robbery). I hoped that by bringing his nephew up now I could rankle the old man just enough to get him talking about the Codicil and its meaning.

  “What do you want, Mike? You want the truth, is that it?”

  “Well Colonel, I think there’s this assumption among your type that the rest of us, the general public, can’t handle the truth. But I think that you are the one who can’t handle it,” I said.

  Yes, I enjoyed myself and my little movie reference. It wasn’t an accidental quote.

  And, ridiculously, it worked.

  “Alright,” Bill said. “Alright.”

  He sighed.

  “I did help your father, I mean Al, with the Codicil. But I just offered general advice,” he said.

  “He had to have told you what he meant by that, though,” I objected. “I mean, it says right there…known to all of us… If you aren’t included in that statement then who in the world is?”

  “Mike, I’m telling you, I don’t know. And I don’t know who would.”

  * * * * * *

  As 1994 ended and we celebrated the dawn of a new year, I was drawn once again into the world of adoption search and reunion. The Glenn/Bill/Al ordeal had lit a fire within me that, despite many future obstacles and delays, would never again fail to burn. More than ever, I was glad that I could say to the world that no Chalek blood actually ran through my veins. But that left me with nothing, no identity at all to fall back upon.

  I spent much time during these intervening years in thinking about adoption procedures and the current legislative environment. I’d decided where I stood on a few important issues. One of those issues had to do with the suitability of adoptive families from a compatibility standpoint. I wondered if I could see into my adoption record, whether anyone responsible for my placement had looked at my birth parents and analyzed their interests, background, talent, intelligence and other personality traits and said, “Yes, this child might predictably be expected to fit well into the personality and lifestyle of his adoptive home.”

  I guess you could say that, in the debate of nature versus nurture, I was leaning toward saying “both” with a slight advantage to the genetic component.

  How else could one explain the extreme disparity between my love of academic pursuit, learning, mathematics and engineering when compared to the interests of the people who raised me? Neither of my adoptive parents were highly educated, they were aggressively anti-religious (I found absolutely no guidance in seeking to understand my beliefs on deity or spirituality), and no matter how much I tried, I could not connect with any of the three other members of my family. There was a clearly marked difference between me, and them.

  Some of these thoughts were also responsible for driving me back to my quest to reunite with my birth family. Since I was nothing like my adoptive family (the nurture side of the equation), was I anything like my biological one?

  It was a good time to be getting back into the business of searching. In 1995 a new tool appeared that would connect me to an unprecedented number of other adoptees, with equally unprecedented information sharing and access. In other words, I received a free trial of AOL.

  Anyone who owned a postal address during the heyday of AOL will remember the cardboard CD cases that showed up almost monthly, begging you to install their software and find out just how wonderful cyberspace could be. Jokes abounded on late night television about the discs and the various possible uses that might be made of them, or about the strain they were placing on landfills nationwide.

  I took that first disc I received and immediately popped it into my computer. I’m a software engineer. I couldn’t help myself.

  Within a few hours of use of that thirty day trial, I made one of the first major strides in reopening my search. I joined some genealogy related web rings, hoping to dig up more on any families in Florida with the last name of Barnwell. It was still the only name I had to work with, and my hope was that my birth mother was actually from the area and hadn’t be
en shipped there from out of state (I also believed at the time that she was only 16 when she had given birth to me).

  I can’t now recall exactly how it happened, but in one of those online chat rooms I met a man named Doug Diamond. He was also an adoptee from Florida who had searched for—and found—his birth mother. As we chatted about my own efforts to date and what I knew, he expressed incredulity at the amount of information I had wrung out of the hospital records department. When I brought up the name of Mrs. Fielding (the caseworker listed in my hospital records) it sparked a new intensity in Doug’s responses.

  “I know Mrs. Fielding,” he wrote. “At least if it’s the same woman who was involved in my own adoption.”

  “What?” I typed.

  “Yeah. She was a famous baby broker in the area during the 1950’s. She brokered my adoption. And quite a few others under the table.”

  I stared at the screen, perplexed. I hadn’t seen anything in my search so far that led me to believe I had been a party to that type of transaction. My adoption was legally finalized, my birth certificate amended. A judge had signed off on all of it.

  “How did that work?” I asked.

  “Mrs. Fielding, Lenora was her name, enticed young unwed mothers into her home, kept them as boarders until they gave birth. Then she sold the babies to waiting couples,” Doug explained.

  I was incensed. No wonder Al and Adela had always referred to “purchasing” me.

  “I got in touch with Mrs. Fielding’s daughter a few years ago,” Doug continued.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “She confirmed that she remembered how her mother had kept pregnant women in their home when she was growing up. I guess we’re not the first people to go looking for information. She said that as far as she knows, the records are gone. She checked with her sister, too.”

  “So there’s no help for me there,” I said.

  “You know what you need to do?” asked Doug. “Write to the reunion registry people again. There’s a new woman in charge up there, and she seems to be much more sympathetic to the adoptees.”

  “What would be the point of that?” I asked.

  “You never know. She might put something more into her letter. Something you could use to get going again.”

  Despite my reservations, I did just that. I sent off a new request to the adoption reunion registry, complete with a copy of my driver’s license as required. I didn’t hold out much hope, but you can’t ever prevent a tiny little flame from kindling with every new attempt.

  While I waited for a response, Doug agreed to do a few little inquiries of his own into the matter. He lived in the Jacksonville area and because of his adoption experience, he was just as diligent and persistent as I could have been myself. He made copies of contact info for anyone with a last name of Barnwell in the local directories who were also listed in 1951-1953 (yes, he went to the directory archives for me). Despite his generous assistance, the research led nowhere.

  My letter requesting information was sent on July 20, 1995. The response was dated August 15th of the same year. The difference between the response from Mrs. Marquess and the letter from her predecessor was nearly comical. My new letter of non-identifying information was a full five-pages long. I flipped quickly through the pages just to get an idea, then began reading.

  A few things popped out at me immediately, some phrases I marked for review later:

  When you were born, your birth mother was 22 years old. She was married, but had been separated from her husband for four years…Therefore, your birth mother’s husband, your legal, but not your natural father did have to give his consent for your adoption.

  While all of this info was contradictory to what I had received from the hospital, it did not cause anywhere near the stomach-clenching frustration I experienced when I read the next paragraphs.

  Your birth mother signed her Consent for your adoption…using an assumed name. [but] the consent was allowed to stand.

  Your adoption was arranged by an Adoption Broker by the name of Mrs. Fielding who operated in Jacksonville at the time of your birth. This woman was particularly uncooperative with the State Welfare case worker and it took several weeks for the case worker to locate your birth mother after the Chalek family filed their petition to adopt you. The record indicates that it was this woman who advised your birth mother to enter the hospital under an assumed name and to also sign her Consent using an assumed name. The Broker told your birth mother that this was being done to assure her confidentiality [emphasis added].

  Your birth mother was interviewed by the department case worker on September 9, 1952. Your birth mother did ask the case worker if there was a chance you could be returned to her [emphasis added]. In the record the worker stated that “It was difficult for the birth mother to discuss this situation at all as she manifested a great deal of feeling about having placed the baby and frankly stated that she could not discuss it at all without crying.”

  …

  Your birth mother was unwilling to name your natural father in the case record…[she] related to the case worker that she had ended her relationship with your natural father. He did not know of the pregnancy, of your birth or that you had been placed for adoption…that your natural father had first told her he was unmarried. However, after the pregnancy occurred, your birth mother stated that she had found out that your natural father was in fact married, and was the father of two children.

  …

  In discussing the plans she had made for your adoption, your birth mother stated that she had told several of her girlfriends about her situation once she realized that she was pregnant with you. Your birth mother stated that it was during this time that she saw an advertisement in the local paper regarding persons who wanted to adopt and also release a child for adoption. Your birth mother called the phone number and was eventually put in touch with the Adoption Broker. Your birth mother stated that after she talked with this woman she felt that she would be doing the best thing for both of you. Your birth mother stated that the woman told her that your adoptive parents would pay her doctor bills and her bill for the hospital.

  Your birth mother stated that she stayed with her friends throughout the pregnancy and only contacted this Mrs. Fielding when she went into labor. Your birth mother stated that Mrs. Fielding had advised her not to see you after birth as this would be easier later on. Your birth mother stated that this had not been the case and she had continuously worried how you were getting along.

  …

  [She] further explained that she had wanted to register your birth in either her married name or in her maiden name. However she stated that Mrs. Fielding would not allow this and thus your birth was registered in a purely fictitious name. As far as I can determine, though the matter was cleared up for the court, there was never any effort undertaken to correct your original birth certificate to show the correct information. The Adoption [sic] told your birth mother that by continuing this ruse, no one would ever know that she had given birth to you or had placed you for adoption.

  I needn’t mention that by this point, not only was my gut clenching, but my blood beginning to boil. I was being talked about, and bartered, like an art print or a collector’s item. My birth mother, who wanted to do the right thing by me, was being bullied and defrauded and pressured into decisions that were not in her best interest, or mine, but clearly only in the best interest of the baby broker and the unnamed adoptive parents.

  I wasn’t the only one who saw the injustice in this whole situation. My birth mother had some choice words about Mrs. Fielding that the case worker summed up this way:

  Your birth mother reportedly was quite upset with this woman [the broker] and felt that at the very least she had been taken advantage of. Your birth mother felt that this woman had also taken advantage of your adoptive parents as she was sure that this woman had not spent all the money they gave her for hospital and doctor bills.

  …

  Your adoption
by Mr. and Mrs. Chalek was finalized in the Circuit Court of Alachua County on May 5, 1953. The case number is 6815-C.

  This is all of the non-identifying information about your birth family that is contained in the closed adoption record. I hope that it is helpful to you in understanding the circumstances of your adoption.

  After re-reading the letter several times with a highlighter in hand and a paper close by for taking notes, this is what I had determined.

  1) My mother had wanted me, and the separation was painful for her.

  2) All of the information I had been using to search was incorrect, at least regarding her last name.

  3) I didn’t know what her correct last name might be.

  4) She was not a pregnant teenager, just a young woman separated from her husband and living on her own.

  5) No one knew who my natural (biological) father was, except my birth mother.

  and

  6) Mrs. Marquess must have known well the types of worries that plague adoptees. She had the wisdom to include a description of my birth mother’s grief and ongoing concern for me, her relinquished child.

  I had been wanted. I had been loved.

  The unfortunate reality, though, was that I once again faced an apparent dead end. I no longer had any name that I could use to continue my search. I had five wonderful pages of new information. And I was farther from the truth than ever. My hopes were dashed by a single phrase.

  Your birth was registered in a purely fictitious name.

  Chapter 4

  I had nothing but the comfort of Mrs. Marquess’ letter to get me through the next three years of fruitless searching. No matter how much the internet opened up the adoption search possibilities, I had nothing on which to base my inquiries. Many of the major players in my adoption were all dead. The doctor, the baby broker, the adoptive parents. Very possibly, my birth parents could also be dead, one or both of them.