If Blogspot Was Around In 1958

This all started with an interview request from Johnny Down To This, China dad, and blogger extraordinaire.

Johnny wanted to interview an adult adoptee who had decided to adopt from China. I poured out my heart and just typed and typed, fueled by coffee and emotion.

One of the things that swam to the surface was my anger and bewilderment at being told, over and over and over and OVER again, that my birthmother LOVED me so much. She loved me even though she gave me away. She made the "ultimate sacrifice" so that I could have a "better life."

So, what are you saying to a child when you tell him that her birthparents loved her?

Love isn't enough.

Love doesn't stop you from being given away.

Maybe one day YOU, adoptive parent, will give her away if you get sick, divorced, widowed, broke?

I don't even know if I was potty trained when I first heard this. All I know is that I hated it. Hated it then. Hate it now....

At the same time my parents pumped the propaganda they tactfully let me know that I probably was not going to have a happy tearful reunion with my birthmother. The adoption records were sealed. Dr. Reuben F. Simms of Richmond, Virginia arranged the adoption. He knew my parents from church. He told my parents that he had never seen a birthmother less interested in her child's future placement or more anxious to get away from the whole miserable situation. She wanted to know nothing about the "new family" and passionately begged him to NEVER tell them ANYTHING about her.

When I turned 18 I wrote Dr. Simms and received a nice letter confirming this and suggesting that I be happy with my adoptive parents. He might as well have reached out from his office and slapped me in the face.

I had an ace in the hole, however.

The judge had accidentally spoken the name of my birthmother during the adoption hearing.

The Backstory

1. Dr. Simms was a Southern gentleman whose roots stretched back to the Revolutionary War. He was, from all accounts, as decent and honest a doctor as walked the earth. He did not choose wealthy parents who were able to slip him a finder's fee. My parents owned a 900 sq. foot house at the time. Mom had quit work in 1957 to relax and conceive. (She's still waiting).

He did not push adoption. In fact, he encourged mothers to visit and hold their babies before deciding to sign adoption papers. This comes straight from the mouth of another birth mother who used him.

2. He also told my parents a lot of details, rare for this time period, I gather.

3. My birthmother, Elaine OldSouthernName, was from a wealthy Virginia family. She was a college student at William & Mary. A music major.

She was raped by her date, found out she was pregnant, and didn't tell her parents. She begged her uncle to support and hide her. He did, telling her parents that he had decided to send her on a....


wait for it, people....


ROUND THE WORLD CRUISE.


4. In 1988 I hired a search firm and they found her. I had her name, and her address in Richmond. How did I get that? Simple. I lied. I wrote the hospital pretending to be her and ordered a copy of "my" records.


5. I sat on it for 4 years, knowing in my heart that this would not go well.


6. I got engaged in 1992 and wrote her a nice letter. I received a polite brushoff. She was married. She never told her husband about me. I'll share the letter at the end of the story..


7. I have not contacted her again. I know nothing at all about my birth father. He probably doesn't know I exist.


8. I do not believe that my birthmother loved me in 1958 and I do not believe that she loves me today. I believe that her blood flows in my veins and I must try to understand and make peace with the past.


And...after all, I was there.


So tomorrow I'm going to go on a journey deep into my imagination, beginning with imagining that the internet existed in 1958.


I'm going to pretend that I'm her, and it's 1958, and I'm blogging from my lovely dorm room in Virginia, staring at the beautiful spring blossoms, realizing that my pink chiffon dress is torn after a dance I attended and that I am...


late.

Not That Kind Of Girl: My Birthmother's Story (maybe) Part 1

May, 1958*Dillard Hall
William & Mary College*Diary of Margaret Elaine Talbot
I can't believe what happened last night. Ordinarily I'd keep it to myself, but I feel compelled to warn other girls.


Jack picked me up for the dance. He looked so handsome in his tuxedo and brought me a beautiful orchard corsage. I have to say I looked pretty sharp too in a swoony pink chiffon dress that Mums and I picked up at Thalheimers.


We danced and danced, what a beautiful night! But Jack kept bringing me cup after cup of Purple Passion. I usually don't drink so much, but heck, my Sophomore year is almost over and my recital went well, and I was in a festive mood.


Suddenly I began to feel sort of dizzy. I asked Jack to take me back to the dorm. Just as well because it was late. We do get to stay out till 12 on weekends now that I'm a soph, but it was getting towards the witching hour.


Jack tried to neck with me but I pushed him off.


"You know I'm not that kind of girl," I slurred.


"I know, sweetie, but you just don't know what you do to me. See?" He pushed my hand down there.


"AAARGGGH!" I opened his car door and heaved up about six gallons of Purple Passion. I must have passed out, because the next thing I remember was feeling a hand pushing up my dress and the worst pain ever. I passed out again. The next thing I remember was somehow managing to sign the dorm registry and getting to bed. My rooms was already asleep.


What a wolf. I cannot believe it. My dress is torn and I bled all over my pretty slip.


I hope I'm ok.


one week later
My finals went ok and I'm packing up to head back home. Thank God I didn't get the curse during finals. I'm sure I'm ok. Unlike Sally and Susan, I'm all over the place. I'm just going to go home and enjoy the summer. I will never drink around boys again.


July, 1958*Lynchburg, Virginia
I'm in trouble.
I still haven't gotten the curse and I feel sick as hell all the time. Last night I tried to join Mums and Dad for dinner. The cook made salmon croquettes and just the smell wafting from the kitchen made me toss my cookies. My breasts are sore and the smell of cigarette smoke makes my stomach turn cartwheels.


OhGodOhGodOhGod this cannot be happening to me! I'm Margaret Elaine Talbot! I'm not some trampy little whore. I'm a good girl. What if I am that way? No decent man will ever look twice at me, much less marry me. I'll be the laughingstock of the school! All those girls I giggled and whispered about--now it'll be ME they talk about.


WHY DID I DRINK ALL THAT PURPLE PASSION?????????


one week later


I borrowed Mum's car to go to the doctor. I didn't know who to see. After all, I can scarcely skip into Dr. Thompson's office can I? I bet he won't give me a lollipop like he did after I got my polio shot. And hell, if he finds out I might as well go out and buy a billboard because it'll be the same effect. Yes, I can see it now: MARGARET ELAINE TALBOT IS A WHORE. SHE'S CARRYING A BASTARD CHILD.


Yes, that ought to go well with the "Welcome to Lynchburg" signs.


I drove 50 miles until I came to some stupid little neck of the woods. I went to Woolworth's and bought a wedding ring. I asked around until I found a doctor.


I registered as Mrs. Charles Parker. I made up the name. "We just moved here, Doctor," I said, smiling angelically. He bought it. I pulled my hair up in a twist to look as old as possible and borrowed one of Mum's old dresses.


"Congratulations Mrs. Parker!" he boomed.


"You're going to have a baby!"


Next installment coming soon: I contemplate buying a shotgun, not for a wedding, but to splatter Jack's brains all over the car upholstery where he stole my precious virtue. I contemplate ending it all with sleeping pills. I contemplate the fact that my life is ruined forever.

Not That Kind Of Girl: My Birthmother's Story (maybe) Part 2

Pregnant!


I expected it, but hearing it confirmed by a doctor threw me into a state of shock. Tears spilled from my eyes. The doctor passed me a clean handkerchief.


"I understand, Mrs. Parker," the doctor said reassuringly. "This is such an emotional time for you."


You have no idea, I thought, dabbing daintily at my eyes. "Thank you, Doctor," I sniffed. Right away I knew that I had better be a better actress than Grace Kelly!


Just thinking of Grace Kelly made me sob even harder. I wanted to have a big, big wedding with a dress just like Grace Kelly's. I saw my Dad walking me down the aisle to give my hand in marriage to a faceless prince. I remembered dreaming of my wedding night. My husband would carry me over the threshold, I'd change into a lacy negligee, we'd sip champagne from an iced bucket...


I snapped back to a country doctor's office, unwed, pregnant, and all alone. "I..I..guess I'm so emotional because I haven't been sleeping well," I murmured softly. "Is...there anything that you could do for me?"


"Why sure, honey," he replied, scribbling out a prescription. "These pills will fix you right up. And here's your prenatal vitamins. We want a big, strong baby!"


"When is the...um....baby (I had a hard time even saying that word) due?" I asked.


"I'd say the stork should come calling about Valentine's Day!" he smiled. I'd like to blow that damn bird away with my daddy's hunting rifle, I thought.


"Thank you, Doctor," I said, rising. I knew that I would never look at his face again, but it would haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. I paid the nurse and raced for my car.


I had a long time to think on the drive home. I was trying to decide if I should just kill myself first, or go to Jack's house, find him necking with another innocent girl, and take him to Hell with me. I clutched the bottle of sleeping pills tightly.


Then I began thinking about my family.


My family had endured war, suffering, the Depression, illness....My Daddy always talked about how his friend's father had shot himself when the stock market crashed and how his friend's mom had to go to work as a maid to feed her son. How his friend had been devastated. I thought about Daddy fifteen years earlier, flying all over Germany while the Krauts tried to shoot down his plane. I thought about Great Grandfather Hampton I writing home that he had dysentery while trying to fight the Yankees.


I was alive, safe, loved, and had a shining future.


No baby was going to stop me from having the life that I deserved!


I could still have the college graduation ceremony. Even the wedding night. Maybe, one day, far, far into the future, my husband and I would hold hands as the doctor told us we were expecting....


What could I do? Where could I go?


My girlfriends knew how much I loved college. I loved it all. Shopping for books. Having a coke at the diner, feeding the jukebox. New plaid skirts and loafers. The long hours practicing the piano. Even the boring, tedious Music Theory classes. What excuse could I possibly give them for leaving for a year?


I had to talk to wiser heads. I couldn't tell my parents. Seeing the light die in their eyes as I stood before them a broken woman. No!!! No!!!! I clutched the bottle of pills. I would rather die than face my parents.


I decided to drive to Richmond to talk to my Uncle Hampton IV. He'd know what to do.


Next: Uncle Hampton has a plan.

Not That Kind Of Girl: My Birthmother's Story (maybe) Part 3

I tossed the prenatal vitamins in the nearest dumpster and drove home. The next day I called Uncle Hampton IV.

"Princess! How are you?" he said. Princess? How ironic. I was about as far from Princess Grace as humanely possible.

We arranged a visit the following Saturday. I barely made it in their front door before I collapsed, howling. The relief of finally being able to share the pain, guilt, terror, and shame was almost overwhelming.

Aunt Mary folded me into her arms and we went into the library. Uncle Hampton sat down and drew on his pipe, just like on Father Knows Best. I inhaled the pungent aromas of brandy, tobacco, and leather. Mmmm. I felt better already.

"I was at this...spring dance..." I bawled. "My date....well.....he.... TOOK ADVANTAGE of me and I'm....I'm in big trouble. The worst kind of trouble there is." (I thought it best to omit the Purple Passion part of the story).

Their eyes widened with horror.

"Is there any chance of you marrying the boy?" began Aunt Mary. "Who's his fam..." I cut her off. "Aunt Mary," I said as forcefully as I could. "I am not marrying a cad like Jack. I want to have a real wedding to a man who really loves me."

"I understand dear," she said. "Well, I suppose the child will have to be put up for adoption, then."

I didn't even bother to discuss the cherished dream I had. That Uncle Hampton would miraculously whip a five hundred dollar bill from his wallet and suddenly remember that one of the members of their country club performed safe abortions. I knew it was just a fantasy.

Plus, I was naive but I wasn't totally ignorant. I'd heard the whispered stories at school of girls who died going to back alley quacks, or who couldn't ever have kids after a botched operation.

Oh, what a dream it was! If I could only skip away to Puerto Rico or somewhere and return with a healthy tan and not pregnant anymore. Sadly enough, I didn't have access to that kind of money or know how to even begin to do this on my own.

Uncle Hampton seemed lost in a daze. He poured himself a drink and handed one to me and Aunt Mary.

"All right, Princess," he finally said. "Now first of all, I don't want to put you in a home somewhere." I sighed with relief. "This is a terrible shock," he continued, "and requires some thought."

We all went out to dinner. We discussed everything except for the baby. We discussed college, family, world affairs, music, television, radio, the upcoming Presidential race, somebody named Jack (sigh) Kennedy, the redecoration of their dining room, on and on until I thought I'd go crazy (er).

We arrived back at the house and Uncle Hampton picked up the phone. I heard him ask the operator for my Dad's number and almost fainted. He winked and held up a hand motioning for me to be quiet.

"I think our Princess should do a JUNIOR YEAR ABROAD," he said. "She wants to be a concert pianist, right?" I heard my Dad chuckle indulgently. "Probably end up a church organist with a family," I heard him say, and squirmed in my seat.

Uncle Hampton, undaunted, continued on. "I'm going to send our girl to Europe on a cruise! She'll see the great art works of the world, hear the finest musicians....she'll learn more than she would at college, and the college will be there when she returns home."

Oh! Oh! I could hardly think. Uncle Hampton hung up the phone, smiling.

"We'll get you a little apartment in town," he said. "I have a friend at the club who is a lady doctor. He'll find the baby a good set of parents, and maybe...just maybe....if you're a very good girl...you'll really be sailing in March!"

I threw myself on him, bawling even louder. This time, however, they were tears of relief.

Later, at bedtime, Aunt Mary paid me a visit. We clasped hands and she leaned in.

"Don't worry about your wedding night," she whispered. "Huh?" I replied.

"Well, dear, a baby.....changes things....you know," she said, raising her eyebrows. Oh. I guessed she was right.

"Riding accident!" she said. "You'll just tell your husband it was a riding accident!"

Okay.

Next: Exiled!

Not That Kind Of Girl: My Birthmother's Story (maybe) Part 4

December, 1958
Richmond, Virginia

Merry Christmas.

I'm blogging from my apartment, and I'm fat as a cow and completely miserable. The baby is due in about 6 weeks.

It's been a long fall.

My family was so excited when Uncle Hampton decided to send me on a "cruise." Mums went crazy shopping, filling a wardrobe trunk with clothes that I couldn't get my arm into right now. They're all sitting in a closet, staring at me hopefully. I stare back.

All my girlfriends wanted to come with me to board the boat, but I told them that I was sailing out of New York, so that was that.

Dear Lissy, Having a great time in Paree! Sorry I won't have time to look up your cousin until later on this spring. I'm so busy touring Europe right now I barely have time to think! It's everything you can imagine and more. The croissants are so good, I'm gaining weight just from looking at them. Tell everybody back at school that I love them and can't wait to see y'all next fall.
Mary Anne told me that Jack and Susan were engaged. I wish him the best (painful death possible). No, seriously, give him my best wishes. I'm meeting lots of charming French men who kiss my hand and buy me coffee in the cutest little cafes. Love, Lainey

Dear Mums and Dad, I am loving every second of Europe. Wasn't it great of Uncle H to do this for me? I'm learning a lot. Can't wait to see you soon. Maybe we can talk transatlantic on Christmas Day. Can't wait to hear your voice! Love, Laines 

Instead of strolling the streets of Paris, I'm waiting out my exile in a small, lonely apartment in Richmond.

Uncle Hampton & Aunt Mary have been so good to me. They even rented me a piano so I could keep practicing. I ought to blow the socks off my professors next year, because that's about all I do. I read library books. I watch TV. I sleep late. That was fun--the first three days, anyway. I even miss 8:00 classes.

I begged Uncle H to let me enroll in an extension class or something to keep busy but he says, and rightly so, that I need to stay as hidden as possible. Who knows who might see me? Everybody knows everybody it seems.

I have made a couple of friends among the housewives at the apartment complex. Uncle H would die if he knew, but I've got to talk to somebody. I asked Uncle H for a picture of his son and I keep it on the coffee table. I tell the girls that this was my husband and he died in a tragic um, riding accident. They bought it.

I don't think there's any danger that I'll see any of them again. To be honest, they're not...ok...this sounds sort of snobby...but they're not really my type. All they talk about are babies! Geez! And since I'm "expecting" they think I want to talk about babies too. Ick.

Every Sunday afternoon after church Uncle H & Aunt M drive over for a visit and I cook dinner for them. I'm learning how to be a good cook. At least that ought to come in handy one day, when I have a real family.

Uncle H's doctor friend has been very nice to me. He won't talk much about the future plans for the kid. He just tells me that we'll discuss it after the baby comes. He said he's seen girls hold their babies and change their minds. 

What does he think? Will the heavens open up, will a rainbow appear over my hospital bed, will a trumpet blow and an angel appear with a diamond wedding ring (at least 1 carat, please), lots of thick dark hair, twinkling blue eyes, a college degree, and a secure future? Because then I might think about keeping the baby. Maybe. This kid is kicking me so hard that I don't think it likes me much either.

Otherwise, I'm counting the days until I'm dancing on the cruise ship.

Sipping from a champagne flute.

Holding ginger ale.

Next: The pains are coming every five minutes.

Not That Kind Of Girl: My Birthmother's Story (maybe) Part 5

February, 1959
Richmond, Virginia


Any day now. I cannot wait to get this thing over with.


I had a rough time last week. Aunt Mary drove me to see my obstetrician, Dr. Reuben Simms.


"We need to discuss your future plans," he began. "I believe that I have found the perfect little couple for your baby. But before we go any further down that path, Miss Talbot, I need to ask you if you are sure that you want to place your child for adoption. It isn't fair to get their hopes up and then you change your mind."


"Yes, sir," I nodded. "I am absolutely, positively, 100% sure."


He nodded. "I understand. Well, let me tell you a little bit about your baby's new Mommy and Daddy!"


Do I have to hear this? I thought. Trained in politeness since birth, I refrained from saying it.


He smiled happily. "They go to church with my daughter Joyce. I know how important education is to you, so here's good news. They're both scientists with masters degrees from the University of North Carolina." He chuckled indulgently. "In fact, they met while they were doing laboratory experiments. Surprised Dad didn't blow up the lab. She's a looker. In fact..and I told her the same thing....she looks just like you."


I just kept nodding politely.


"They have been married almost ten years and can't have kids of their own," he continued. "She even quit work to try. She says she's been taking some extension courses..."


Extension courses? I snapped to attention. I could have run into her if Uncle H had let me enroll.


"..but of course she'll stay home with the baby until he's in school," Dr. Simms continued. "Both are from fine Southern families. His father's a doctor in South Carolina and her father is a prosperous North Carolina farmer...and by the way, I've asked them to give your baby piano lessons since you're a music major, and I told them how well you had done at William & Mary..."


"Dr. Simms!" I exclaimed. "You told them where I go to college?"


"Don't worry," he said dryly. "You don't have to jump if you see a lady pushing a baby carriage around the campus. Look, Miss Talbot, they have a right to know something about you, also."


"Please don't tell them my name, or tell me theirs," I begged.


He leaned foward. "Miss Talbot, I've delivered thousands of babies. You have about the least amount of curiosity about your baby's parents of any mother-to-be that I've ever seen."


I considered faking interest.


Then I reconsidered.


I was so tired of lying. So tired of writing letters about my fabulous cruise. So tired of faking enthusiam for motherhood with my new friends at the apartment complex. I was still reeling from the Christmas Day phone call with my parents. I actually wrote down the museums I'd visited, the tourist places I'd been at, the names of my new friends in Europe....


"I'm not that kind of girl," I said. "I was just attending a college dance. I wanted to be pure for my husband. It's not my fault that I was attacked....I just want to get this over with. I'm a nice girl!"


"Miss Talbot, do you think you're the first 'nice girl' that has been in that chair?" he asked.


I left shortly afterwards. But I think I'll be seeing him soon. I've been having pains all day long. They are five minutes apart. I think I'd better call Aunt Mary.


Next: Baby blues

Not That Kind Of Girl: My Birthmother's Story (maybe) Part 6

February 9, 1959
7309 Vernon Road
Richmond, Virginia

Diary of Ruth, prospective adoptive mommy
4:45PM Dr. Simms called to tell us a beautiful baby girl (6lbs, 9 oz) had arrived! I just couldn't help it---had to cry on Grady's shoulder!

February 9, 1959
Retreat For The Sick Hospital
Richmond, Virginia
Diary of Margaret Elaine Talbot, prospective ex-mommy

4:45PM I awoke from the anesthesia a few hours ago. I can't believe it is over. My life is back.

I arrived at the hospital last night when it finally occurred to me that the cramps I'd been experiencing were, in fact, actual labor.

The nurse got a wheelchair for me and wheeled me to a room where I was told to wait. I am afraid that I wasn't exactly the Southern lady at this point. My God, I couldn't believe how much pain I was in. It seemed to me, in the haze of pain, that God was sitting up there laughing sadistically at me. It wasn't enough to be raped, oh no. Nine months of becoming a huge, fat, uncomfortable cow weren't enough, oh, no. Now I had to be tortured some more. Fabulous.

"Please get this thing out of me," I asked, okay, screamed.

"Just be a good girl and the doctor will be with you soon, dear, " she said after checking me.

I cannot repeat what I said to her.

They finally wheeled me into a room and put a mask on my face.

"Just breathe deeply and count backwards to ten," a voice said.

"I think God hates me," I confided to the voice before everything faded to black.

I feel absolutely incredible. I can see my toes. The horrible basketball is gone, forever and ever.

The nurse helped me to the bathroom where I received a shock that transcended any that I had received before.

Where was my 110 lb body? Wait a minute! The baby is gone. Where is my figure? I thought of the tight little dress with a belt that I had excitedly thrown into my suitcase. I had no idea...nobody had told me...

Aunt Mary and Uncle H came bustling in, all smiles.

"It's a GIRL!" Aunt Mary said. "She's so cute....I almost wish that we could take her home with us, but I'm almost 50 and too old to be a mother again, of course." I knew Aunt Mary had always wanted a little girl after raising two sons.

"That's nice," I said. I had no desire to see her. "Aunt Mary, where is my figure?"

"Oh honey," she said, rubbing my shoulder. "You'll be back to normal in a jiffy, I promise."

"You'd better be," rumbled Uncle H, handing me an envelope containing a ticket to sail out of New York on April 15, 1959.

They left.

Later that night I was trying to decide which museum to see (really see!) and which musician to hear first (really hear!) and all of a sudden, out of the blue, I began crying my eyes out.

I cried for an hour. I started with the fact that my dog had died when I was six and worked my way right up to now with my swollen, leaking breasts and enormous, saggy stomach. I cried so hard that the nurse finally gave me a shot.

"Baby blues," she said consolingly.

Baby blues? I don't think so. I hope she has a good life. I hope her parents are enjoying visiting her on the 4th floor.

And I hope I never have to think of her again.

Next: Back to the future.