by K. D. Alden
A man waited for them outside of the double doors. Mr. Block introduced him as Mr. Shaw, her state appointed guardian, who had filed a legal petition for her against Doc Price and the board of the Colony.
“A what?” asked Ruth Ann.
“It’s a request to the judge. It asks him to stop Dr. Price from doing the salpingectomy operation on you.”
She shivered. The s word. Sounded like a cross between a scalping and somethin’ worse.
“That’s why we’re all here today,” Block continued. “Mr. Stringer will argue that Dr. Price should be allowed to do the surgery. I will argue that he should not. And then the judge will decide.”
She nodded. “All right.”
Inside the courthouse, which smelled of books and scrolls and philosophy, sat a clerk who asked their business and directed them to a room paneled with rich wood and filled with benches made of the same. In the middle of the room was a gate, and behind it were two long tables for lawyers. At the front was an elevated platform with a massive desk on it. Mounted behind it were the state flag of Virginia and the U.S. flag. It was all very official-looking. And it made Ruth Ann nervous.
Mr. Block instructed Mr. Shaw and her to sit at one of the long tables, and he sat there, too, placing a pile of books and papers in front of him.
Ruth Ann sat awkwardly in the wooden chair and wondered what she should do with her hands in a court of law. Clasp them in her lap? Place them flat on the table? Hide them in her skirts? Steeple them and pray?
The doors at the rear opened and Doc Price came in, along with Mr. Stringer. They nodded at Mr. Block but barely gave her a glance.
A group of young men entered next and sat on the benches.
“Law students,” Mr. Block told her.
“Interested in my case? Why?”
“They just like to watch the law being created. This is like a classroom to them.”
“I see.” But she didn’t.
The next to arrive was a group of three journalists. Block, Stringer and Doc Price all went over and shook their hands. But Block didn’t offer to introduce her, so she sat glued to her chair, looking at nothing in particular while her hindquarters got heavy and then drifted off to sleep. She shifted her weight, to no avail. The carpenter had built extra discomfort into the seats.
When Mr. Block returned, he had some advice for her. “Now, there may be things said today that hurt your feelings or that you do not agree with. But under no circumstances should you open your mouth. Trust the lawyers—me and Mr. Stringer—to do the talking. Understood?”
“I guess so.”
“Otherwise the judge will get angry. Don’t make the judge angry, Ruth Ann.”
“All right.” She didn’t want to make anyone angry. Seemed like God an’ everyone else had been angry at her all her life; she wasn’t sure why. An’ now even Glory was mad.
At last a door in the front of the room opened, and a clerk leaped to his feet. “All rise. The honorable Judge Peter B. Watkins, presiding.”
Everyone in the court got to their feet while the judge, in his funereal black robes, made himself comfortable. “You may be seated.”
Rustles and creaks and whispers ensued, and then there was silence.
Judge Watkins ordered the two lawyers to proceed, and they were off to the races. Ruth Ann learned a lot of stuff she hadn’t known she didn’t know.
“Very recently,” Mr. Stringer announced, “the Commonwealth of Virginia passed a law authorizing the compulsory sterilization of the intellectually disabled. This progressive and ultimately compassionate statute is based on sound legal precedent: similar laws were adopted by Indiana in 1907, California in 1909, Nevada in 1911, Kansas in 1913. Several other states are in the process of enacting them.”
What a load of mumbo jumbo. She sure would love to get her some of that commonwealth. She didn’t have a penny to her name.
“In September of this year, Dr. Eugene Price filed a petition to his board at the Virginia State Colony for Epileptics and Feebleminded. This petition was to perform a salpingectomy upon one Ruth Ann Riley. Your honor, Miss Riley is seated at the plaintiff’s table in front of you, along with her state-appointed guardian, William Shaw, and her attorney, Mr. Wilfred Block, Esquire.
“The reasons for the petition and the decision to sterilize Miss Riley are manifold. Miss Riley is the daughter of one Sheila Riley, also a resident of the Colony, who is both mentally and morally defective. Dr. Price estimates that she has the mental capacity of an eight-year-old, is prone to violent verbal and physical altercations, and has a liking for strong spirits and foul language. Moreover, she has a record of prostitution and has given birth to three children without sound knowledge of their paternity.”
Ruth Ann’s mouth dropped open. That’s a lie! Our daddy was Cullen Riley. And he died, an’ left Momma and the rest of us without any money…She poked Mr. Block in the ribs, wanting to tell him so. But he put a finger over his lips and shook his head.
“The eldest of these children is a boy of twenty. He might, in a decent family, have stood in for his father as its head and provider. But he is nowhere to be found. The second eldest is seventeen-year-old Miss Riley, who is estimated to have the mental capacity of a nine-year-old—”
Nine? Then how in blazes did I pass the fifth and sixth grade?
“—and who has been removed from a respectable foster home due to incorrigibility and immoral behavior.”
What’s incorrigible mean? How was I immoral? These are lies! Ruth Ann poked Mr. Block again. And again, he shook his head and put his finger over his lips.
“Miss Riley was admitted to the Colony recently, unmarried and pregnant. She has, in turn, given birth to an illegitimate daughter, Annabel Riley, who represents a third generation of mental defectives. She has been described as ‘not quite right’ by the social worker who placed her with her foster parents, and according to the esteemed Dr. Arthur Estabrook of the Eugenics Record Office in New York, she displays ‘backwardness.’”
Horsefeathers! Nothin’ at all is wrong with my Annabel. She’s as bright and beautiful as any child can be. Bring her right into this courtroom and let the judge see her.
But Ruth Ann knew better than to poke Mr. Block again. And the judge had frowned at her the second time she did so.
“So there can be no doubt,” Mr. Stringer continued, “that in the case of the Riley family, we have not one, not two, but three generations of mental and moral defectives, women who have a high probability of continuing to breed in this strain, producing more and more unfortunate creatures who cannot or will not care properly for themselves or their progeny, pollute the gene pool of the great state of Virginia, and endanger the public welfare. The Rileys, like the Kallikaks, the Jukes and the Tribe of Ishmael, are manifestly unfit to live in decent society. Shall we turn a blind eye while they continue to breed? Shall we let their offspring continue to live in state-funded colonies, off the taxpayers, while they provide nothing of value in return?”
Ruth Ann wanted to throw one of Mr. Block’s law books at Mr. Stringer’s head.
Livin’ off the taxpayers? Providin’ nothin’ of value? Hadn’t she just washed Doc Price’s shirts and drawers the other day? Darned his socks? What was she, a boil or a pustule?
“Your honor, I submit to you that we should not turn a blind eye. We should put a stop to the breeding of this sort of person. But Mr. Shaw has filed a petition with the court to object to the salpingectomy, on the grounds that it denies Miss Riley due process and equal protection under the law. Where is the people’s due process in this case, your Honor? Where is the equal protection for society?”
Mr. Stringer, having spewed his lies and distortions, smugly went back to his chair.
Ruth Ann had to content herself with the fantasy of Sheila headbutting his nose, and spilling his blood all over his papers. Momma wouldn’t stand for this nonsense.
Now it seemed to be Mr. Block’s turn. “Your Honor, may it please the court, I wi
ll submit that the aspersions cast upon Miss Riley’s mother are hearsay, as well as the aspersions cast upon her own character. Furthermore, Miss Riley’s daughter is not of the age to be asked questions or answer them. She is an infant.
“I will now demonstrate exactly how this operation would violate the rights of Miss Riley to due process under the Constitution of the United States of America and to fair treatment under the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment.
“The Constitution declares that all men are created equal. This extends to women of this country as well. It is a basic and fundamental right for an adult to marry and have children, to create a family unit. The salpingectomy, so ordered by Dr. Price and the board of the Virginia Colony for Epileptics and Feebleminded, curtails Miss Riley’s ability to have children and thus reduces her chances of making a marriage and living outside the Colony.
“The proposed surgery would also treat Miss Riley inequitably in terms of the Fourteenth Amendment, since not every inhabitant of every institution similar to the Colony is forcibly sterilized. Nor is every woman living outside of such institutions.
“I would further argue that while this country does indeed strive to uphold the ideal that all men are created equally, God himself does not create each man, or woman, equally. Ruth Ann Riley has never been blessed with above-average intelligence, a stable home, adequate nutrition or proper parenting. I submit that to take away her right to create a family of her own is cruel and unusual.”
There was a rustle among the law students at this. He isn’t making her shine, one of them whispered. Whose side is he on?
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Mr. Block said. And he sat down.
Ruth Ann was dumbfounded. That was all he had to say on her behalf? She couldn’t help it. She poked him again and leaned forward to whisper into his ear. “But Mr. Block—we do know who my daddy is. And I finished the sixth grade, and—”
“That’s not really the issue here, Ruth Ann. It’s about whether your constitutional rights are being violated.”
“Order in the court!” Judge Watkins thundered. He pounded his gavel for good measure.
Ruth Ann was confused. Didn’t it violate her rights for a man like Mr. Stringer to tell lies about her and her family? “Forget about the Constitution,” she said. “I was violated. By Mrs. Dade’s nephew…I wasn’t immoral. I told him no, but he didn’t care.”
“Silence. Order in this court,” the judge said again, with a stern look right at Ruth Ann.
I cain’t even talk to my lawyer? What kind of justice is this?
“Mr. Stringer, do you wish to produce any witnesses to buttress your arguments?” the judge asked.
“I do, Your Honor. I wish to call Mr. Gilbert Trench.”
Block looked down at his papers and squared them, as the bailiff went to get Mr. Trench, whoever he might be.
Gilbert Trench was not an aromatic individual, nor was he a natty dresser. His hair, though combed, lay in strings upon his scalp, and he did not seem to be a regular user of tooth powder, judging by the grayish-blue hue of his remaining teeth and the angry color of the gums that’d been divorced by the missing ones.
Ruth Ann wished that she didn’t recognize him. But she did.
Judge Watkins grew ruddy as he gazed upon the man. His eyes bulged in their sockets. “Mr. Stringer, what is the meaning of this?”
“One moment, Your Honor. Mr. Trench, do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“Yeah.”
Please don’t tell the truth. Please lie.
“And is it your testimony that on the afternoon of May 17, 1914, you visited the home of Mrs. Sheila Riley?”
Ruth Ann swallowed, hard. Yes. Among other things, to knock my brother, Wally, into the dirt…leave him lying there all bloody.
“Yeah,” said the witness.
“And what was the purpose of that visit, Mr. Trench?”
It was the awful man’s turn to flush. He sent a sideways glance toward the judge. “You promise I won’t get in no trouble, Mr. Stringer?”
“You have paid your debt to society, Mr. Trench. Now, why did you visit Sheila Riley?”
Trench ran a finger around the inside of his collar. He looked quickly at Ruth Ann, and then away. “I, ah, purchased her, ah, services.”
“And were those services sexual in nature, Mr. Trench?”
He poked his tongue into his cheek. “You might say that.”
“But do you say that, Mr. Trench?”
“Yeah.”
“And do you know of other men such as yourself who regularly visited Mrs. Sheila Riley for similar purposes?”
“Yeah.”
“Would you care to expound?”
“Huh?”
“Details, Mr. Trench. Who were these men?”
“I promised I wouldn’t name no names.”
“How many were there?”
“’Bout eight. Ten, mebbe.”
“And you personally saw them coming and going from Sheila Riley’s home?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you, Mr. Trench. That will be all.”
Judge Watkins looked like he had gas. “Mr. Block? Do you wish to cross-examine the witness?”
Block shifted in his seat. He made a show of squaring his papers again. “No, Your Honor.”
Good. Ruth Ann agreed with him this time. She didn’t want to know any more. And she didn’t want anyone in the court to know more, either. This was humiliating and shameful.
Trench was led back out of the court by the bailiff. The judge glanced at Mr. Stringer. “You have another witness?”
“Yes, Your Honor. I wish to call Mrs. Gertrude Jenkins.”
Ruth Ann shrank back in her seat. Why is Mother Jenkins here?
The bailiff brought her in, looking thinner and older and even meaner than she used to, what with her nose now being crooked.
After she swore the oath to tell the truth, Stringer led her through his series of questions.
“Mrs. Jenkins, you were formerly the house mother at the Virginia Colony for the Epileptic and Feebleminded, were you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And were you familiar with Sheila Riley and Ruth Ann Riley while you worked there?”
“Indeed I was.”
“And what was Sheila Riley like, in your experience?”
“Crazy and violent and…loose.”
“Can you give some examples of what you mean, Mrs. Jenkins?”
“Well. I found her in flagrante delicto with the junior gardener, at one time. She traded for cigarettes and gin.”
Ruth Ann didn’t know the Latin, but she could imagine what it meant. She cringed, sliding lower in her chair.
“Ah. Go on.”
“The last time I was in her presence, she said things of such a vile nature, in such foul language, that I cannot repeat them in this court.”
“And?”
“She was also physically violent. She smashed my nose. Broke it.”
Let’s talk about why, you old battle-ax!
Mr. Block said nothing.
Ruth Ann kicked him in the ankle, tried to get his ear, but he shushed her. And the judge glared.
You tried to choke the life outta Momma! Tell that to the court.
She was sorely tempted to stand up and explain the nature of the last encounter between her mother and Mrs. Jenkins. But she didn’t want to make the judge angry. So she sat there mute and boiled inside.
“Was Sheila Riley often restrained because of violence, Mrs. Jenkins?”
“Yes. Constantly. She had to be put in a straitjacket, lest she hurt others or herself.”
“And what was your impression of Ruth Ann Riley, while you were employed at the Colony?”
Mother Jenkins turned her crabby eyeballs toward Ruth Ann. “She’ll turn out just like Sheila.”
Banana oil, I will! How dare you?
“And upon what do you base that a
ssessment?”
“She’s dumb as a brick—”
Oh!
“—and about as motivated. She was infernally slow at any task given to her. Oftentimes she’d do idiotic things, like leaving laundry hung out in a rainstorm…”
How can you blame me for a sudden squall that blew in? Ruth Ann almost flew out of her chair and punched the old witch.
“And she arrived at the Colony pregnant—big as a house. We all know what causes that condition, and she most definitely was not married. So she is following in her mother’s footsteps, you mark my words. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
I’m-a throttle her, see if I don’t…I’m-a shove that apple up there with the bats!
“That will be all, Mrs. Jenkins. Thank you.”
“Your witness,” said Judge Watkins to Block, who was scribbling something in the margins of one of his papers. He didn’t appear to be listening.
“Eh? Oh. No questions.”
No questions? Was he deaf and dumb? Ruth Ann kicked him again. How could he not give her the chance to tell her side of the story?
He glared at her and shook his head.
Don’t make the judge mad, Ruth Ann. He had the power to sign off on the surgery, or even put her in jail if he wanted.
“Mr. Stringer? Any further witnesses?”
“Yes, Your Honor. I’d like to call Mrs. Betty Lou Parsons.”
What on earth is Mrs. Parsons doing here?
The receptionist and her lace collar marched in, all prim and proper, and sat down.
“Mrs. Parsons, you work as a receptionist and administrator at the Virginia Colony for the Epileptic and Feebleminded, is that right?”
“Correct.”
“And in your position there, have you had occasion to be in the presence of Ruth Ann Riley?”
“Yes, sir. On more than one occasion.”
“And it was on a recent occasion that she was in the room with you and Mr. Block, her lawyer.”
