by John Coston
Ellen left to call her mother to tell her about David, and as Deanne approached, she overheard Ellen asking her mother to put Stacy on the line. Deanne could tell from the way Ellen was talking that she was getting ready to tell the seven-year-old about her brother, and Deanne stopped her in the middle of a sentence.
“Ellen, you can’t tell those kids over the phone. You’ve got to be at home with them, where you can hold them and explain to them what happened.”
Deanne was adamant about this, and Ellen relented, telling Stacy only that she would be home soon, and that she should take good care of Stevie.
A few minutes later, the doctor came over to Ellen and told her that David was gone, and that she could see him. To Deanne, Ellen seemed to be taking everything in stride, because there was nothing emotional about her response. If anything, it was one mechanical move after another, even when they walked into the room where he lay. As Deanne experienced it, here was a little boy lying there in his pajamas, perfectly still. Ellen just looked at David as she stood on one side of the bed, with Deanne on the other. Ellen still hadn’t shed a single tear, but Deanne was sobbing uncontrollably.
“Do you want to hold him?” Ellen asked.
Deanne’s first reaction was fear. She thought Oh, God, no. But then she thought again. This was David, her godchild, and she nodded. “Yeah.”
Deanne picked him up and held him close. He was still warm. Someone brought in a rocking chair for Ellen, so she could sit down and hold him. Deanne was blinded by the tears that ran down her face, but Ellen was perfectly calm.
She sat down and Deanne handed him to her.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Deanne said.
“Yeah,” Ellen said, and she started rocking David.
Then she started talking to him. “David, Mommy loves you. David, Mommy loves you.”
Like the freakish smile that Ellen had given her only an hour before, Deanne was struck by how fake Ellen’s cooing sounded. In fact, it was sickening.
“Ellen, I’m going home,” she said.
Ellen acknowledged her, and they said a quick good-bye.
“David, Mommy loves you …” Deanne heard again as she exited the room, and she was glad to be out of there.
It was close to four o’clock by the time Deanne was on her way home, and she was overwhelmed by everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. She found it very hard to believe that David was now dead, or that it had been a crib death in the first place. She was stunned by Ellen’s behavior, and found it hard to credit that someone could be in so much shock that they didn’t react at all. As she crossed back into Illinois, she remembered one other odd thing Ellen had done that day. At one point, she had had the eerie composure to inquire of the doctors whether or not they wanted any of David’s organs—his eyes, Ellen mentioned specifically—for science.
“In this case, we wouldn’t be able to do that. It’s because of his fever,” she was told.
Deanne didn’t know what to think.
At 3:40 P.M., November 26, 1988, Dr. James Grant pronounced the boy dead. As was routine, the hospital would notify the medical examiner’s office, but there was no reason in this case to notify the police.
The following Monday, at 10:30 A.M., Dr. Michael Graham, the St. Louis medical examiner, performed an autopsy. He obtained numerous samples of tissues, blood, bile, and urine for further analysis.
That afternoon, Deanne was back at work when Ellen called. Ellen said she was taking the day off to make arrangements for David, but that wasn’t the only reason she was calling. This was the first day tickets were going on sale for a December 30th wrestling match at Kiel Auditorium, and Ellen wanted to make sure they got seats. “I’m on the way to the funeral home, but I could swing by and get the tickets.”
“Oh, no, Ellen, you’ve got so much on your mind. Don’t worry about it. I’ll go get them.”
“Why should you have to take off from work?” Ellen said. “I’m out, and I’m on my way to the funeral home anyway.”
Deanne tried again to dissuade Ellen, but when she saw how persistent Ellen was about it, she started to feel awkward. What was she going to do, keep on arguing with Ellen over the issue?
When she relented, Ellen made some comment about the fact that she knew exactly where they wanted to sit anyway.
Deanne got off the phone, dumbfounded all over again. How could you even be thinking about getting tickets for wrestling when you’re making funeral arrangements for your little boy? she said to herself.
Death Benefit
At the funeral service, Ellen’s friends and coworkers were choked with tears when they saw the tiny casket. Deanne just couldn’t face the ordeal, and she told Ellen beforehand that she wouldn’t make it. Ellen understood, she said. She knew how Deanne felt about her godson. Deanne also knew that all of Ellen’s friends were rushing to support her at this tragic time.
Some of them, though, were puzzled at Ellen’s behavior at the funeral. To most onlookers, she appeared to be like any grieving mother who had just had a son snatched from her. Though she was stoic, cool, at times tears did run down her cheeks. But those who knew Ellen, noticed something odd. She seemed almost devoid of real emotion at the service.
To them, Ellen also deserved sympathy because the ex-husband had not met his obligation to provide child support, and the outlook for that to change was dim. No one even knew where to find him. Those who worked all day with Ellen didn’t even know that Ellen delivered pizzas at night, and had been doing it for almost six months.
A few days after the funeral, Dr. Graham, the medical examiner, would make a finding in David’s death. He ruled that the cause of death was sudden death of undetermined etiology following an apparent viral syndrome.
The inexplicable and sudden nature of Ellen’s tragedy inspired her friends at Andersen to raise a collection that would ease her burden. They had passed the hat, and handed Ellen a little more than $1,000 to help her with the bills. They were impressed by the resolve Ellen showed in making the arrangements, and in the way she managed to return to work almost without missing a beat. It was obvious she was making a valiant effort to hold herself together through this ordeal. Ellen would take a break, too, from her nighttime job, and she told Mike, the manager at Elicia’s, that she would be taking a couple of months off. He was sympathetic, as were the other deliverymen who had come to know Ellen. She was a hard worker who got along with everybody and fit in with the gang.
Was Ellen merely a stalwart, suffering heroine, though, or was she just devoid of feeling? At least one of her acquaintances got a glimpse of a more frightening side.
Lisa Schneider had been doing Ellen’s nails for the past three years. Ellen regularly made the drive out to Webster Groves, a pleasant suburb west of downtown, to Lisa’s nail salon. Often she booked several appointments in advance so that Lisa could give her a manicure every two weeks on schedule. Deanne had recommended Lisa, because Ellen had been going to a more expensive place, but they both agreed that Deanne’s manicures were better. So, no matter what condition her finances were in, Ellen always managed to find the twenty dollars Lisa charged.
Wrestling was the usual topic of discussion. Though Lisa knew next to nothing about the subject, she would listen politely as Ellen rattled on about this wrestler or that, about her latest trip, or about whether Ted DiBiasi, The Million Dollar Man, was interested in her. To Lisa, it seemed that Ellen had a bit of an imagination, but what of it? So what if Ellen fantasized about going out with wrestlers? A short, fat woman was not likely to have more realistic prospects come her way.
In fact, most of the time when Ellen had anything to say, it was about wrestling. Otherwise, she was a relatively quiet customer. So Lisa was surprised when Ellen came into the salon—on schedule—only a few days after David had been buried. First off, Lisa noticed that Ellen was acting as if nothing had happened. The manicurist didn’t say anything about Ellen’s demeanor, because she realized she didn’t have any
real idea how such a death would affect someone. When Lisa said how sorry she was, she was shocked by Ellen’s response: “All I have to do is get rid of his toys.”
It was the kind of defensive statement someone might make if they were trying to shield themselves from some awful, unthinkable truth. Since there was nothing Lisa could think to say in response, she let it pass.
Paul and Teri Boehm had recently moved into the Sierra Vista Apartments in Tucson, Arizona, and were beginning to feel that they were getting settled for the first time in months. Since they had left St. Louis, only days after David had been born, they had lived in Dodge City, Kansas, and then in Grand Junction, Colorado. Upon arriving in Tucson, they had received help from city social services to get an apartment. Paul had just found employment making thermal windows for Robert Lee Industries, and it was important to get established: Teri was pregnant. They moved into the new apartment on November 1st, but had only had the phone hooked up two or three days when it rang the night of Monday, November 28th. They couldn’t imagine who would be calling.
“Who knows us here?” he said, looking at Teri quizzically.
“Nobody,” she said back.
Teri’s mother had located Paul and Teri through the Red Cross, and was arranging an emergency, operator-assisted, collect call. When he accepted, the operator said that Teri’s mother had called and asked that a message be given to Paul. He was informed of the death of his son and was told that he should get in touch with Ellen as soon as possible.
The three-hour telephone conversation that followed seemed to last a lifetime to Paul. Ellen told him what happened: “They ruled it as crib death.”
Paul didn’t know what to think. David was well beyond the crib stage. He knew that much, because he could count backward to add up David’s age, which was twenty-eight months. Paul wasn’t aware of the medical findings surrounding Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, which rarely strikes after nine months of age. Though Paul was still disbelieving, he had to swallow the news.
Then Ellen started asking about money. She told him that she didn’t have any money to bury him. Could the fact that he was a Vietnam veteran help in any way?
“Yeah, as a matter of fact—” Paul started to say.
“He’ll be kept at the funeral home for a while, until we come up with the money to have him buried.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I know I can have him buried at Jefferson Barracks, because you’re a vet.”
“That’s right. Do that. It won’t cost you anything. Or probably very little.”
“I don’t want that,” Ellen said back.
“Why not.”
“Well, I have a very good friend …”
“Who?”
Ellen hemmed and hawed. It was a wrestler friend, she said. She never did tell Paul who it was. She just kept repeating the fact that this friend had lots of money, and he could help her out. Paul was getting tired of the whole bit.
“I don’t want to hear about some guy that’s got piles of money,” he barked, raising his voice. “David’s my son.”
The argument then circled some more, until Ellen finally made a flat statement that she wanted David buried in Trinity Cemetery.
“I have something to say about it,” Paul said heatedly. “It’s my son!”
In the end, Ellen did exactly what she wanted. She told the Gebken-Benz Mortuary, where David’s funeral was held, that he should be buried in Trinity Cemetery, south of the city. He would be placed in a treeless section at one edge of the cemetery that was reserved for young children. The gravediggers called it “Babyland.”
Though Ellen never said anything about being dissatisfied with the arrangements, she refused to pay the bill, which came to $2,348. It was the funeral home’s policy not to take any action against unpaid bills for at least a year. So, out of sympathy for the bereaved, the unpaid balance lingered on the books. And, in the weeks that followed the funeral, Deanne would press Ellen about dragging her feet about paying for David’s headstone.
Through her job Ellen had a $5,000 life insurance policy for each of her children. Such an amount was considered to be little more than a burial policy. The carrier that Andersen used for employee coverage, United of Omaha, had paid the claim for David’s death right on time.
So, between the $1,000 collected by her friends and coworkers and the $5,000 insurance policy, Ellen had more than enough to cover the funeral expenses and purchase a proper headstone. David’s medical bills had amounted to approximately $30,000, of which Mutual of Omaha paid all but $500. Instead, she had other plans for the money. In the early days of the New Year, she would take Stacy and Steven on a trip to Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida. After that, she and Deanne would make another road trip. This time it wouldn’t be so far, only across the state to Kansas City.
It occurred in the third week in January. Ellen was still interested in Paul Ellering, the Road Warriors’ manager, who was staying at the Howard Johnson’s Hotel. Deanne was still a little puzzled by how well her friend was coping with the Thanksgiving tragedy. She knew about the insurance policy from work, and that there was a collection taken up for Ellen, but she was unaware that Ellen had walked out on the funeral bill, or that Ellen had tried to collect from another insurance company for David’s death.
But this was not a time to ask questions, or dig into someone’s finances. They were on the road, and Deanne knew that Ellen was troubled. Wrestling made her so happy. This was their great escape.
Teri Boehm, Paul’s new wife, was scheduled to visit her obstetrician on the Wednesday after Paul had talked to Ellen. She knew little more than he did about crib-death cases, but it seemed just as strange to her that a child who had passed a second birthday could suddenly die this way. She asked her doctor about it.
“Crib death at twenty-eight-months old. That’s impossible,” was what she was told. “There’s something wrong.”
Paul and Teri Boehm now knew that David’s “crib death” was certainly unusual, if not suspicious, but there was little they could do but accept Paul’s ex-wife’s explanation. Paul was in Arizona with his own problems. Ellen was in St. Louis. He certainly didn’t have the money to get back for the funeral. He would have to let it ride.
Party Girl
In the early days of the New Year, Ellen had blown most of the insurance money she received from David’s death, and she called the John Hancock Life Insurance Company, trying to collect even more. Policy No. GG221379, in the name of David Brian Boehm, carried a death benefit of $10,000, and Ellen wanted, and now needed, the money. The only problem was that she had let the premiums lapse. Ellen had similar policies on Stacy and Steven, and they had also lapsed due to nonpayment.
John Hancock denied the claim, and there was nothing Ellen could do about it. It was just another one of Ellen’s financial trials and tribulations, and surely it was the kind of thing she might have mentioned to Deanne, who would occasionally lend Ellen money when she needed it. Both women knew what it was like to make ends meet on a small salary, and usually Ellen would need no more than $100 or $150, quite often so she could get her car fixed. Ellen always paid Deanne back right after payday, and Deanne was grateful, because she was making the adjustment following her divorce of downscaling from a $40,000-lifestyle based on two incomes to living on her own $14,000 salary.
Deanne also respected the fact that Ellen always had good jobs, and was good at what she did. Ellen seemed to be able to pick up anything on a computer, and was well-versed with whatever system it was she was working on. She knew about tax matters and taught Deanne some things about software applications. Ellen also wasn’t lazy. She would volunteer for overtime, because she needed the income.
It was only natural that Deanne would offer to help, and when she decided that she was going to do something about her weight, and started to lose the pounds, she would offer clothes to Ellen.
Deanne first got the idea from watching a segment on the Oprah Winfrey show about a diet calle
d Optifast, a liquid-based diet that Oprah herself was on. It was going to be expensive. Deanne would have to spend a substantial part of her limited income. She even started seeing a psychiatrist to help her through the program. But she could no longer face the fact that in the years between graduation from high school and now, she had ballooned from a size 14 to a size 28. Her five-feet, six-inch frame supported more than 330 pounds.
When Deanne started on Optifast, Ellen was interested, but she couldn’t afford it. As Deanne started to shed pounds, she would give Ellen some of her sweaters and pants. Ellen wore the sweaters, but she never took the time to hem Deanne’s pants. Ellen also looked into another liquid diet, Medfast, which is administered, as is Optifast, under a doctor’s care, but she didn’t stick with it, mostly because of the money.
Ellen was very supportive of Deanne’s dieting. Whenever Deanne had the urge to cheat, Ellen would admonish her not to give it up. Ellen didn’t take the advice herself, and Deanne understood that because all of the stress Ellen faced. It was also clear to Deanne that besides Ellen’s support, there was a certain amount of envy. Deanne didn’t have the responsibility of children. She was able to afford nicer clothes. Deanne also knew that in some ways Ellen wanted to be like her, because Ellen went out of her way to imitate Deanne.
Whenever they were heading out to a wrestling match, Ellen would inquire about what Deanne planned to wear, specifically what color. If Deanne wore blue, sure enough Ellen would show up in a blue outfit. Once on one wrestling trip, Ellen asked about Deanne’s cologne.
“It’s Giorgio,” Deanne said. “Try it and see if you like it.”
The next thing Deanne knew, Giorgio became Ellen’s fragrance, which didn’t exactly go over well with Deanne. She didn’t think it was necessarily a good idea for two women who were out to have a good time to also be wearing the same scent. Ellen spared no expense in copying Deanne this way. A one-ounce bottle of the cologne spray, which was what Deanne typically bought, cost forty-two dollars at Famous-Barr downtown.
