I Speak For This Child: True Stories of a Child Advocate

by Gay Courter

  Ruth agreed to ask Mitzi to sign Cory up when she returned from her vacation. In the next few weeks, Ruth called me frequently about Cory’s tantrums. After one fight over the last scoop of ice cream, Ruth had to grab Cory’s shirt and tell him to settle down.

  “It isn’t until after I get really fed up with him that he backs off, like he’s waiting for me to provide external control. Then he becomes very obedient and docile. Why do you think he does that?”

  “Maybe this is a pattern that developed with his father, or maybe he really can’t restrain himself. That’s why he needs to be seen regularly at the clinic and possibly given the appropriate medication for his condition.”

  “I’ve already made dental and doctor appointments, and I’m waiting until Mitzi gets back to get him to mental health. Also, he’s interested in music,” Ruth said. “I showed him Milo’s electric guitar and said that if he got through one week without a tantrum, it was his to play. After that, he can use it any day he is in control of himself. He told me that our home is the best place he’s ever been and that he plans to stay no matter what it takes.”

  “What does Milo think?”

  “So far Milo is getting along great with Cory and is looking forward to giving him guitar lessons.”

  My next call to Ruth was to inform her that the trial date had been postponed again, this time until mid-August. She reported that Cory was “an angel.” When he steamed up, she reminded him about the guitar and he simmered right down. “He’s very affectionate and hungry for big bear hugs. There hasn’t been a single tantrum lately and even Larry is doing better.”

  “All that peace and quiet can be addictive,” I warned.

  “One thing …,” Ruth added cautiously, “my suspicions about some sexual acting out between the boys have increased.”

  “Who’s Larry’s therapist?”

  “He doesn’t have one yet either.”

  “With his background!” I shouted. “What is HRS waiting for?” I seethed. “Call Mitzi’s office and make certain it is the first thing on her list when she gets back.”

  “Yo, Gay!” It was Cory’s voice on the phone, bright and chipper.

  “What’s up?”

  “Do you have my mother’s number in Washington?”

  “Sure. But Alicia has it, doesn’t she?”

  “Ruth told me to call you first.”

  “What’s going on?”

  From across the room I heard Ruth’s voice: “Tell her about the smoking.”

  “I was caught smoking in the house.”

  “Tell her you can only stay if you follow the rules,” prompted Ruth.

  “I heard that. Do you think you might smoke outdoors? Remember Ruth has allergies.”

  “I want to go to Washington.”

  “Listen, Cory, I’m going to be in your neck of the woods after lunch. I’ll stop by and talk about it with you then.”

  An hour later Ruth Levy was on the phone herself. “Don’t bother to come later because Cory won’t be here. He smoked again in the bathroom and I have had it. I’m taking both him and Larry to HRS.”

  “But Ruth—” I started.

  “Gotta run,” she said, and then she hung up.

  By the end of the day I had caught up with Cory at a new foster home less than a mile from my office. The Castillo family had two grown sons, one of whom was in the military. Living with them also was their daughter-in-law and small baby. Cory was happy to be back in the Sawgrass school district.

  When Cory first came into foster care early in the fall, he was transferred from Sawgrass Middle School, where he had been attending eighth grade. In his four shelter stays he had missed at least six weeks of classes. In between he had attended three other schools that year but never satisfied the requirements for eighth grade, which would have to be repeated.

  “In the fall Cory will be in the same place he started, so maybe he can just disregard his horrible year,” Marta Castillo suggested. Also, she pointed out that Cory was closer to Stevenson Groves than he had been before. “I don’t care what the father has done, he still is the natural parent, so if Cory wants to see him, it is fine with me,” Marta said, then watched for my reaction.

  “Cory is very attached to his father. He needs to be permitted to have contact with him.” I filled Marta Castillo in on the plans for the trial.

  “We’ll be there for him,” she said firmly.

  “Mrs. Castillo, you’ve only had Cory a few hours, and lots of people have made promises they haven’t kept.”

  Cory came into the room flipping a pack of cigarettes. “They said I could smoke here,” he said, baiting me.

  I shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to think of some other way of getting thrown out.” Cory’s jaw dropped. “What are you doing tomorrow?” I asked. Cory looked at Mrs. Castillo, who said she didn’t have any plans. “I’ll pick you up at one. Be here.”

  “Where we going?”

  “You and I are going to sign up for counseling at the mental health clinic.”

  That evening Ruth Levy phoned. She sounded guilty for not keeping Cory. “It was Alicia who tattled on her brother for smoking. You’d think those kids would have protected each other, but they were always on each other’s case.”

  I had no response. Ruth, my last hope for Cory, had let him down in the end, and over what? Smoking! Cory’s classic test.

  “In the last week Milo and I had some heart-to-heart talks about the kids, especially Larry and Cory. We realized that we resented the fact that HRS tricked me into taking Larry for a few days, and months later he was still here. Then Cory landed on my doorstep and I thought that it was a sign that I should have him, if only for Alicia’s sake, but now I see that was wrong. I should have wanted him for himself.” Ruth sighed. “Even so, I tried. You know I did! The last straw was the way he treated Alicia, always teasing her and then hurting her feelings. She’s getting panicky about the trial and I heard Cory calling her a liar and asking her to recant so they both could go home, which is the last thing Alicia wants. Now she is afraid that if her father is acquitted, she’ll have to return to him.”

  “I can assure her that won’t happen.”

  “She’ll be hard to convince. Anyway, Milo and I got to thinking that it would be a big mistake having both kids here during the trial, what with one of them testifying against the other. We are committed to supporting Alicia’s side, so we wouldn’t be there for Cory anyway. Do you see what we mean?”

  “I suppose …”

  “You know, when Cory left, Alicia didn’t even say good-bye to him. Later she said she was happy to see him go, so for her sake, we made the right decision.”

  “I hope so,” I said, but I could not agree with Ruth any further than that.

  The next afternoon I drove Cory to the county clinic, filled out the required paperwork, and handed over copies of his other psychological reports and relevant papers. When his turn was called, I went with Cory to meet the therapist, Dr. Herb Farrington. When Cory walked in his office, Dr. Farrington tossed Cory a foam basketball, then pulled out another and aimed for the net centered over his wastepaper basket. The psychologist made an easy basket. Cory tried, but missed.

  “Keep at it while I talk with your mom,” he said.

  I rapidly explained my role, then gave him a rundown on Cory’s situation. “He’s just made his ninth move in less than a year, and other than his court-ordered psychological tests, he has not had a single hour of therapy.”

  Since I wanted Cory’s therapy to be fruitful, I thought it would be helpful for Dr. Farrington to know about Tammy’s reappearance, the home study in Washington State, Rich’s checkered history, Alicia’s situation, Cory’s smoking, profanity, and tantrums. Every few minutes I would stop and ask Cory if my explanations were accurate. He would nod, but rarely added anything.

  Then Dr. Farrington began to ask Cory some questions. “What do you think of your father?”

  “He’s a cool dude,” Cory said, and finally made a
basket. “Yes!”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Who else do you love?”

  “Gramps, and my sister, I guess.”

  “What about your older brother?”

  “He’s a cool dude too, when he isn’t being an asshole.”

  “He’s been in trouble a lot.” Cory juggled the ball from one hand to the other. “What about you?”

  “I’ve done some stuff, but not as much. I’m the good one.”

  “But sometimes you like to be the bad one too.”

  Cory startled. The ball fell from his hands and he did not retrieve it.

  “Do you drink alcohol?”

  “A few beers only.”

  “Do you take drugs?”

  “I’ve smoked a joint now and then, that’s all, except for sniffing gas and glue.”

  “Do you feel that life is worthwhile?”

  “Not most of the time.”

  “Ever think about killing yourself?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “No, but I could find a gun, I guess.”

  Then Dr. Farrington gave Cory a questionnaire to complete in another room.

  When we were alone, Dr. Farrington asked, “Do you think Cory was sexually abused by his father?”

  “Cory denies it vigorously, but he has a lot at stake in keeping his father out of jail.”

  After that, I left the room and Cory spent the rest of the time in private with the doctor. Before we left, we booked the next month of sessions. In the car Cory showed me a baseball card Dr. Farrington had given him. “I’ll bring him a really sharp one next time,” he said, smiling brightly for the first time that day.

  After I returned Cory to the Castillos, I phoned Mitzi Keller to tell her I had signed the papers for the initial visit, but that she needed to get to mental health in the next three days to sign the consent forms for the ongoing therapy. “I’m leaving for a two-week vacation tomorrow,” I said sternly, “and I don’t want him to miss a single session while I am gone.”

  Lillian swore to me that she would monitor Cory’s situation. I had insisted that the appointment clerk at mental health put a sticky note on her calendar with Lillian’s phone number and to call her if Cory missed an appointment. I also informed Dr. Farrington of my trip and told him whom to contact if Cory had difficulties or was moved. Perhaps the mental health folks thought I was obsessive, but I didn’t care. Somebody had to be there for Cory while I was away and I wanted backups in place, just in case.

  My first call after I opened up the house after our trip was to Marta Castillo. “Hi, is Cory still there?” I asked, betraying my anxiety.

  “Sure. He’s doing very well. He’s calling me ‘Mom’ and I call him ‘son,’ which he really likes. However, I do have one complaint and it is not about Cory, it’s with Mitzi Keller. I am sick and tired of her putting down my kid. It’s like she’s waiting to prove that we’re going to fail like everyone else.” Marta gave a throaty chuckle. “My plan is to have her eating her words by Christmas.”

  I asked about school, which began at the end of the week. Cory was registered, but Marta didn’t know if they were putting him in the remedial program the therapist had recommended.

  “Since I am acquainted with the counselors at Sawgrass, I’ll check up on it for you,” I said.

  When I discussed this with Lillian, she reminded me that this was not a Guardian ad Litem’s obligation.

  “What else can I do? I’ve called, written letters to Mitzi Keller—with copies to her supervisor—even put my recommendations in the court reports. Nothing has happened, not even one hour of therapy until I marched him to the clinic.”

  “Okay,” Lillian said with a mock resignation to her tone.

  Since this was my first case, I had innocently believed that the caseworkers and foster parents who were paid to care for foster children would be diligent and compassionate. I could never have anticipated the numerous excuses the authorities might invent for neglecting their charges. Soon I learned that it was far more expedient to do it myself than to try to flog someone else, and my experience with Cory proved the point for me.

  I made myself available to drive him to therapy if it didn’t fit into anyone else’s schedule (though this was frowned on, because HRS is not supposed to rely on guardians to perform their transportation duties). I went to see his guidance counselor, checked with his teachers, and then got busy on his teeth. After Cory finally was taken to a dentist by Ruth, I asked about two extra teeth overlapping his lateral incisors. The dentist stated this was “a cosmetic” problem, one that would not be covered by Medicaid. I disagreed, because even my untrained eye saw that this was a structural problem that would worsen if the teeth continued to grow downward on top of the others.

  The next time I took my son to the orthodontist I asked his doctor if he would examine Cory for free, then if he felt the problem would have a long-term effect on his oral health, give me a written evaluation for Medicaid.

  “No,” the orthodontist said, grinning mischievously. “If it is as bad as you suggest, and you think he is needy, I’ll do the correction myself at no cost.”

  Two weeks later Cory and I were in the orthodontist’s consulting room looking at molds of his teeth and a panoramic X ray. Indeed he had a serious condition that required extractions and several years of orthodontic correction. The doctor talked to Cory about his poor dental hygiene and the need for his cooperation if this was going to work. Cory agreed to do his part and the two shook hands.

  Next I concentrated on school. The guidance counselor had never heard of the Guardian ad Litem program but was intrigued. “The more help the Stevensons can get, the better.” She made certain Cory was in the appropriate classes for the emotionally handicapped.

  After explaining that the trial would be coming up shortly, I said, “I expect Cory might misbehave in school if he gets upset, but I would appreciate it if you would not discipline him in the usual way.”

  “You mean paddling?”

  I nodded. Florida permits corporal punishment in schools at every grade level at the discretion of the local school board. Our “progressive” educators reviewed the issue often but always voted to retain the right to paddle children as a discipline alternative. I have never been able to comprehend the schizophrenic thinking that makes it illegal for a foster parent (state employee) to spank a child but recommends a teacher (also a public employee) hit. “Because of the abuse in that family, paddling Cory might have extremely adverse results. Also, he shouldn’t be suspended or punished too severely until he finds out what is happening to his father.”

  “What do you think he would most likely do?”

  “Smoke probably.”

  “How should we handle it?”

  “If he is caught, could he be sent to guidance and then could you contact me? My office is only three blocks from this school and I’ll come and discuss it with him.”

  “That would be fine with me,” she said. “Do you think he could end up with his father?”

  “That’s up to the jury.”

  I knew that Grace Chandler had been lining up her witnesses for the prosecution, and her case was stronger than we had thought. She had convinced one of Red’s ex-wives to testify and was going to attempt to get the judge to permit Sunny Rhodes to take the stand as well. Rich and Janet were married and seemed more stable than ever before, so Grace felt Rich would be a credible witness. Grace was satisfied with Alicia’s grasp of the facts and not particularly worried about Cory’s testimony. So it appeared as though Red Stevenson would be spending most of the rest of his life in prison, which would simplify Cory’s options. But first Cory, Alicia, Rich, and I would have to survive the ordeal of the trial. For over six months we had been expecting it to be scheduled. First it had been postponed from April to June, then every time we planned the trip to Washington State, the trial was rescheduled to conflict with the visit. There were two
switches in July, a last-minute postponement to August, and finally, a date had been set for mid-September.

  Tammy had been bitterly disappointed. “If we’d known this ahead of time, they could have spent the whole summer with me.”

  I had commiserated with Tammy, and told her that we would work something out as soon as possible. I made no promises though. The new school year was in full swing and the trial was definitely going to begin the following week. I felt as if we were drifting in a hot-air balloon. The wind seemed to be blowing constant in the direction of Red Stevenson’s guilt, but until the verdict was in, we would have no idea of our final destination.

  4

  Shampooman and Lollipop

  The Stevenson Trial

  But the hearts of small children are delicate organs. A cruel beginning in this world can twist them into curious shapes.

  —CARSON MCCULLERS

  WHAT DO YOU THINK IS GOING TO HAPPEN?” RUTH LEVY had asked me as we looked over the clothes she had bought for Alicia to wear in court.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never attended a criminal trial before, but Grace Chandler thinks she has a strong case. However, she warned me that the only thing that is predictable is that everything is unpredictable.”

  “What worries her the most?” Ruth wondered.

  “She isn’t certain how the children will react during testimony and cross-examination, whether Red Stevenson will take the stand in his own defense, and especially how the jury will perceive a teenage girl accusing her father of incest.”

  “She doesn’t think Alicia will be credible?”

  “She’s mainly concerned about the first time Alicia had intercourse with her father in the bathroom of the marine shop.”

  “That worries me too,” Ruth said.

  “Grace has a different concern. She thinks that bathroom sounds like one in a home, not a mechanic’s shop. She’s afraid Walt Hilliard is going to make it seem as if Alicia were confusing the location of the rape, or worse, that she has made up the whole incident.”