Closure: Finding Polly

Copyright © 2012 by B.R. McCoy.

Cover art by Angelica Evangelista.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2012905132

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Contents

Forward

From the desk of the Editor

Prologue

Chapter 1    Innocence Lost

Chapter 2    The Bow Tie Effect

Chapter 3    Lessons Learned

Chapter 4    Dad’s New Family

Chapter 5    Tub of Mirrors

Chapter 6    Another Beating

Chapter 7    Desperate Measures

Chapter 8    Going Home

Chapter 9    Mystery Admirer

Chapter 10    Ready Made Christmas

Chapter 11    Signed, Polly

Chapter 12    Some Good

Chapter 13    Finding Faith

Chapter 14    A Brush with Death

Chapter 14 1/2    A Lethal Weapon

Chapter 15    Brotherly Love?

Chapter 16    Seeing Her

Chapter 17    Murder on the Minds

Chapter 18    Going Home… Again

Chapter 18.25    I Was Accused of a Killing

Chapter 19    103 ° and Rain

Chapter 20    An Angel

Chapter 21    Crossroads

Chapter 21.5    Spinning

Chapter 22    The Visit

Chapter 23    They’re Finally Getting Married

Chapter 24    O.M.G

Curiosity Killed…

Mountain Blues

As I first give honor and thanks to God, I would like to thank Angela and Kim for their unconditional love, their values and their dedication to family. My children, Princess Cindi, Princess La’Kim, Prince Michael, and Princess Lacy, My Dad, Robert and Mother Mary. Without your love and understanding, this book would not be possible. As I often stood at the crossroads of life, your sincere love for me commanded a clear and decisive path. THANK YOU!

I would also like to give a very special thanks to my brothers Sam, Tony, Charles, Michael and Kenneth. I would also like to give that same special thanks to my dear sisters Deborah and Rhonda. With out you all, there would be not me. I would also like to thank Leslie and Gary, Aunt Evie, and my brother Tony. I love you all, and may God bless you.

Forward

A t the age of 26, I found that things in my life were a total wreck. I was broke and living at home with my Dad and Step-Mother. I had a hard time moving on with life. I seemed to be stuck in a swirl of trouble, the facts concerning the abuse I suffered in my past, and the tragic death of my dear Mother.

The holidays, especially Mother’s day were extremely difficult for me to deal with emotionally. Living with Dad did not make my perspective on life any better. Dad never talked about my birth Mother nor did he ever say anything about the time he had spent with her. In fact, my Dad said very little in the way of reliable information and that always seemed very strange to me.

My step-mom was cautious in what she would say about my mother anytime I tried to ask, but I knew that she would have told us if she truly knew anything. At this point I really needed positive change in my life. I desperately needed to get my life on the right track. I also knew in my heart that before I could build a future of my own, I needed to uncover the truth of my past.

I needed to understand why my life seemed stranger than fiction. Why did the dark clouds of sadness and pain linger everyday? Would I ever achieve the goal of closure? Only time would tell.

And so the journey began

The most difficult of my life

So intricate the pain of truth

So monotonous the darkness of not knowing

I had to find the light

I had to stop the agony

And so the Journey began

From the desk of the Editor

This journey has brought pause to my life as an individual. No one who reads what is within these pages should ever be the same. This story calls, compels, and yes even dares us to view the truth through the eyes of one who has suffered intolerable heartache and yet emerges from the ashes in victory. I challenge everyone who picks up this book. Listen. Listen to the story. Listen to the message. Listen to its messenger. Find yourself within these pages and then pause and reflect. Accept the change within. Find the courage as I have to seek your own form of closure, and don’t stop until your journey is complete.

I’ll see you on the side of victory,

Should you choose that path.

Asia J. Smith

Editor – In - Chief

Prologue

T his is an amazing, true story that chronicles the dramatic and often tragic events of a young family in crisis. There was turmoil from the start of this ordeal, as young lives and the mystery of love came together in the 1950’s. My Father Lewis was born on June 9, 1924 in Texarkana, TX. Back then life was hard to say the least, especially for him.

Forced to leave school after finishing 7th grade to help provide for the family, Lewis, now 30 years old, found himself running from his horrible life in Texas and, years later in the mid 50’s, eventually ended up settling in his new Fresno, California home. Soon after, Lewis met a young and vibrant woman who stole his heart.

Polly Lorraine was stunningly beautiful, full of life, and the Mother of three young boys. Lewis and Polly Lorraine soon became an item and this story was born. In 1957, Lewis and Polly decided to add pressure to an already stressed situation by having their first child together. The following year they had another child who sadly passed away at three days young.

Over the next five years, Polly Lorraine would give birth to three more children. The love and fun that had once sparked the relationship was now drowned in absolute chaos. Lewis was physically abusive to Polly Lorraine on many occasions. We were all terrified and traumatized, often caught in the crossfire as witnesses to much of the violence.

Polly Lorraine enjoyed having house parties and drank excessively. The challenges that Lewis, Polly Lorraine and the children faced were sure to take its toll. This set the stage for one disaster after another with devastating and long lasting consequences being inevitable. Shortly after I was born on June 9, 1963, Lewis and Polly Lorraine decided to separate. Polly Lorraine took all seven of us and went to live with a male friend.

Evidently, Lewis was not happy with the fact that Polly Lorraine was living with another man. In addition, there was the sinful gossip that disseminated throughout their circle of family and friends. Having heard enough of these nasty rumors, Lewis showed up at Polly Lorraine’s house looking to fight and ultimately, ended up taking his biological children thus leaving her with her original three boys.

I was two years old when our parents decided to separate for good. Shortly after that painful separation, the Department of Social Services, in the name of doing their honorable duty but showing no respect for the principle of stability, took all of us into protective custody for neglect. Seven innocent young lives were split from each other and shipped all over the county, moving us from one foster home to another.

Polly Lorraine, now alone and without her family, sadly fell into a deep depression while drowning her pain in alcohol. The family divide would only get deeper; the pit of despair darker. The environment, their behaviors, and seemingly bad habits would get the best of both Lewis and Polly Lorraine, leaving the children’s lives to plummet into utter despair, causing all to suffer immensely.

On July 1, 1967, just 18 months after her children were taken, Polly Lorraine was rushed to the Fresno General Hospital by ambulance. She was in full cardiac arrest. C.P.R was administered without result. William, a long-time loyal friend of my dear mother, gave an official witness statement of facts to the hospital authorities. There were suspicious circumstances that surrounded her last days but this was grossly overlooked and ignored by the investigating authorities and the Fresno Police Department.

My beloved Mother, Polly Lorraine, was pronounced dead at thirty-three years old, on July 1, 1967, at 2:38 PM. I was four years old when my Mother tragically died but was not told of her death until I was 10 years old. For many years all I could do was wonder.

I spent eight long years in foster care. I recall many horrifying beatings and other methods of punishment that were simply driven by cruelty and an insatiable taste for torture. I am quite sure that someone in authority over the years knew that we were being severely mistreated and badly beaten by our foster mother and did nothing. After going home to live with Dad and his new family, I thought I was going to finally be able to ask the one person that should have known her, my Mother, his wife, better than anyone on earth, just what happened to her?

I was sure that Dad of all people would tell me all about her. I soon found out that talking about my mom to him only made him agitated and I knew in my heart that he was being evasive. I had learned from painful experience that there were inherent dangers involved when messing with an angry adult.

I didn’t continue to ask questions for my safety’s sake which was probably at risk. I learned about risk management at a very young age and tried to be as normal a child as possible by staying clear of my Dad and trouble. I soon learned that trouble would often find me, calling to me from the deep hole of confusion as I continued to try and reach out for help. I was much too young to deal with this deep and empty pain I felt everyday. As the years progressed, I slowly began to think that I was actually hated by my family.

The savage beatings I endured at the hands of my foster Mother brought me close to death on many occasions. I thought I had escaped from all of the pain endured in foster care, only to find myself in the so- called safety of my own home going through the same horror. I often wondered if it was because I seemed to be the only one out of all the children that would dare question Dad directly about my Mom. As I grew older, my entire being was consumed with the facts of what really happened to my Mother and why we had to suffer, in the way we did. The information that I was able to obtain over the years was sketchy at best. No one seemed to care about her life, her spirit, her death or even her final resting place. I had lived in a world of total confusion and painful uncertainties.

For many years I harbored a lot of hate and resentment toward my family and others that were close to me. I was often told to just get over it. but as I constantly discovered, there are some things in our lives that we will never, no matter how hard we try, just get over. In 1993, information started coming forward about my family’s past and the death of my mother.

Some of the facts that surfaced about my mother’s death was by far, the most unforgiving act by a family that I have ever or will ever hear about. I will never understand the way my mother was treated at her untimely death. It was then and is still despicable to my soul and painful to remember.

This story covers 3 generations of dysfunction, poverty, neglect, abuse and seemly untimely deaths. Chaos and deep depression were slowly eating away at me and I didn’t even know it. My life as an adult was filled with great pain, dysfunction, and uncertainty. Terror of the unknown was an everyday occurrence for me. I did my best to run from the many questions that continued to haunt me. I tried to fill my time with the frivolities of childhood and later on the feigned responsibilities of adulthood; but the mystery of who I was, who my Mother was caused hopes to crumble, many times causing my dreams to slip through my fingers like silky sand through the hourglass of time.

I knew that I didn’t want to continue on this path of total despair. What I needed, what I was desperately seeking was closure. This story chronicles my own personal journey through many forms of abuse and dysfunction and my personal quest for closure.

All the world’s a stage

Sing with me the song of my life

All the world’s a tragedy

Sing the sad song of my life

They stole my dreams and crushed them

With a smile they tore my heart

They clapped their hands I danced their dance

Hid my tears with paint and makeup

All the world’s a stage

Sing with me the song of my life

All the world’s a tragedy

Sing the sad song of my life

With words they cut

With the mouth they mocked me

Their hands were weapons

Their eyes the knife

And I nodded

Closed my eyes

And wept.

All the world’s a stage

Sing with me the song of my life

All the world’s a tragedy

Sing the sad song of my life

Victory will yet be mine

Triumph will I yet attain

Though you try me

God is there

Where you see a loss

I see gain

Sing a song a song with me

Sing the story of my life

All the world’s a stage

A living stage

Sing with me the story of my life.

Innocence Lost

Chapter 1

I distinctly remember always feeling an overwhelming sense of discontent in my youth. I never felt safe unless I was with Nelson, Erik or Grace. After the tragic and violent separation from our parents, we resided in foster homes all over the valley. I lived with the Hamilton family in West Fresno. I lived there with my older brother Nelson. I cherish the memories of Nelson and me spending a considerable amount of time together exploring the great outdoors.

Nelson and I had many fun adventures. He taught me a lot about the world of insects among other things. I would follow Nelson wherever he went. One of our many hobbies consisted of collecting a wide variety of bugs and spiders and putting them in jars. On one occasion, I took a jar that contained two spiders into the house. The jar was left in our bedroom. Unfortunately for me, I forgot about it.

Over time, the spiders were able to breed. One morning, we were inundated with little white baby spiders all over our bedroom. The infestation was so bad the house had to be fumigated. I got in a bit of trouble for that.

One day after school, Nelson told me he had a secret surprise for me. He made me stand by the side of the house with my eyes closed until he got the secret ready; it was well worth the wait. He had taken an old wooden door from the yard and put it in the ditch just across the street from our home.

I was amazed and excited at the discovery. He then put me on the grand floating door and took me on a scenic ditch tour. What an adventure! It was a magical moment; I will never forget the fun we had that day.

I vaguely recall attending Sunset Preschool, however I do remember coming home and eating scrambled eggs and fried rice for lunch. I also remember the theme song to As the Tides Change a well known soap opera, playing in the background. One afternoon as I went about my day, I noticed that Nelson had not returned from school. Later, I found out why. He had been transferred to another home. Just like that, my brother was gone. I was completely devastated.

The very next day, I walked across the street to the ditch and went on another scenic tour, but this time without my big brother. Brokenhearted, I cried the entire time. The tour was just not the same without him. I spent the next few days lost in my own mind, not knowing what to do. I often blamed myself for the fact that all of my family continued to leave me. Then out of the blue, I discovered that I would be reunited with Nelson and even better, my sister Grace would be there as well.

I was overjoyed to know that I would be with them soon. My brother, Erik, who is just one year older than I was residing in a permanent home across town though I did not find this out until after my arrival. I can’t begin to tell you the growing anticipation I experienced waiting for the day that I would be reunited with my brother and sister. Little did I know, I was literally on my way to Hell and the devil’s name was Fannie.

The Agency had made a recommendation on my behalf and thought that I would be better off with Grace and Nelson. Due to the death of our Mom, it was decided that this transition would be in our best interest. I was unfortunately labeled as troubled and was often accused of what they called acting out. Little did the agency realize that in doing what they believed was their rightful duty, they put me directly in harms way. I suppose the Social Worker shared my troubles with Fannie and she wanted to set the record straight as to who would be in charge of her home.

Fannie, was by far the worst person in the entire world. She should never have had the opportunity to scar the lives of the children in her care. What we had to endure is too horrific to describe. Ironically, she was selective in her abuse. She had one child of her own named Brandie. She protected Brandie with fierceness, making sure that she was in no way involved in the torturing of the children. Dennis, Fannie’s husband also somehow managed to ignore the ongoing abuse in the home.

I met Fannie for the first time in her kitchen. I was sad to leave the Hamilton’s home; however, knowing that I would soon be able to see Nelson and Grace again overshadowed the sadness. When the Social Worker and I arrived, we went inside to meet my new family. As the Social Worker and Fannie spoke privately in the kitchen, I noticed Fannie gazing at me.

The evil look I saw in her eyes made me nervous. Love and affection were non – existent, thus leaving a void in her expression. The Social Worker told Fannie that she would be right back and returned to her vehicle to retrieve my belongings. I wanted to go with her but the she told me to stay put.

I just wanted to get out of Fannie’s face as she did not seem at all nice; just being in her presence caused an uneasy feeling to form in the pit of my stomach. I just knew that something was very wrong, although I had no idea of what it was.

I watched as the front door shut behind the worker entrapping me in the same room with this evil. I turned around and was startled to discover Fannie towering over me. I was a small guy, only 5 years old, so Fannie seemed like Godzilla to me.

I still have flashbacks of the knots and varicose veins in her legs, the flowered apron, the multicolored dress, and that face! That face still haunts me to this day. As I peered up at her, she asked me, Do you want to call me Mom or Fannie? How was I supposed to know? I was still confused as to why we were being shuffled around like cattle from home to another. Not sure of how to respond to the question, I simply replied, Fannie.

I still can’t fathom what happened next. She slapped me hard across my face. The sheer force of her blow sent me crashing to the floor with a thud. When I came to my senses, I realized that I was on the floor, dazed, confused and bleeding. The side of my face began to swell as excruciating pain shot through my body. I put my hand to my face only to feel a warm substance. As I pulled my hand away, I looked in horror as blood slowly crept down my fingers, winding a wicked path to the palm of my hand.

Fannie leaned over to say something when suddenly the front door opened. The Social Worker strolled in with my belongings and some paperwork. As she entered the front room, she continued her conversation with Fannie as if she had never left.

Fannie walked up behind me and began helping me to my feet while the Social Worker clucked, You have only been here 5 minutes boy, and already you are starting to act up. But don’t you worry young man; Fannie will put a stop to that. You are going to be here for a long time. This is the best place for the likes of you. As I looked up at Fannie, she just stared right through me, her gaze dark, void of emotion.

At that moment I knew this was going to be hard living… for all of us. I just wanted this nightmare to come to an end. I just wanted to be with my Dad, at home, where I belonged. The Social Worker grabbed me by the arm along with my bags of clothes and led me to a room next to the kitchen.

There were three beds in the room, my bed being on the north wall. I was not sure who the other beds belonged to. I just sat on my bed looking around the room as the Social Worker and Fannie finished their talk in the kitchen. After a while, the Social Worker came to the door and told me that she was leaving and would see me again soon. To be honest, I really didn’t think I would ever see anyone again. Fannie walked the Social Worker to the door. I could still hear them talking but could not understand what they were saying. I was able to look through the crack of the door and assumed that they were probably talking about me as they glanced back towards the room.

Fannie opened the front door and let the worker out and then, with an air of finality, closed the door sealing my fate. I ran and sat on the bed. I waited for her to call out to me or maybe storm into the room; but she didn’t… at that moment. Just when I stopped thinking about her, she abruptly pushed open the door. I was so startled, my very breath froze, making it hard to breathe. She stared at me with an air of contempt, her hands on her hips.

With an evil yet well-defined look on her face, she began to tell me that I had a playmate. His name was Joshua. Joshua would be sharing the room with Nelson and me. She made it quite clear that Joshua was her baby and that we were to treat him like royalty or there would be trouble. As she started putting away my clothes, she proceeded to recite some of the other rules that I would be expected to remember and follow.

She then told me that Grace and Nelson would be home soon, and wanted to remind me of her being in charge. She asked again, So Mr. Gage, do you want to call me Fannie or Mom? I quickly answered Mom. With just a hint of a smile, and a chilling stare, she slowly left the room. It was only then I was able to breathe again.

Fannie viciously beat and tormented her foster children usually within minutes of their arrival to the residence. I guess the sooner she beat us, the sooner we would fear her which was just what she wanted. Nelson, Grace and I endured unbearable and unimaginable physical abuse over many years by this woman. She used many forms of abusive punishment.

Many times, this was done so cunningly, that no marks would be left on our little bodies but the pain lingered. I will never understand how the Department of Child Services, Social Workers, Teachers at school, or anyone of authority could have pretended they were unaware of the fact that we were being savagely beaten and severely abused. There were many days we went to school hungry, traumatized, confused and badly injured.

Some time later that day, Fannie came into the bedroom and told me that my sister would be arriving soon. Nelson had track practice and would be home later that evening. I jumped to my feet and went outside. I immediately ran to the front gate. I looked to my left and then to my right. I think I even looked up and down. I was excited beyond belief.

Fannie pointed to the West and told me to shield my eyes from the bright evening sun. I looked desperately through the sun’s rays to see this bus. I had never seen a big yellow school bus up close before so this was a very special time for me.

As the rays of heat levitated from the pavement, the glare of the bright sun and a desperate hope captivated my entire being. The pounding of my heart was so fierce, I was sure it was about to jump right out of my chest. Finally, a silhouette appeared in the distance, growing larger and larger, the sound of its rumble closer with each passing second.

I was amazed to see the actual size of this huge yellow bus as it roared to a dusty stop just west of the property. I began to cry in anticipation, and then, I beheld my sister, my Grace. I was not allowed to leave the property, so I waited just inside the front gate. Grace exited the bus and ran toward the yard.

As she came into the gate, we grabbed and held each other tightly. Great sobs caused my little body to quake as I looked into the face of the one person who I knew truly loved me. I wanted so much for this moment to last forever.

My heart was filled with joy and I prayed that my sister would never go away again. Fannie told Grace to take her stuff into the house, and then she could show me around. I was so excited about being with my sister that the horrific events that took place earlier in the day seemed far away.

As Grace and I ran freely in the yard, Nelson soon came home to join the reunion. When I asked about Erik, they told me that he would not be living with us but we would see him one weekend a month. Erik was staying with a good and faithful Christian family in West Fresno. Fortunately for Erik and unlike us, he was introduced to God, stability and love at a very young and impressionable time in his life.

I would miss Erik, but this would have to do for now! Being the youngest of all the children, I didn’t have the privilege of knowing my mother and could not remember anything about her. I was never able to grieve or understand the loss because I didn’t know that she was gone. I really needed to be close to my sister at this time in my life.

No one would tell us anything about our mom and we had not seen our father in months. Why we were not living with Dad was another mystery to me. I often wondered where Mom and Dad were and why we were not able to be with them. I had many questions about my parents but wasn’t sure if it was safe to ask anyone about them.

And so began my horrific stay in the worst home in the world. We lived in the outskirts of Fresno County. Nelson, Grace and I attended Union Elementary School. I was in Kindergarten and I don’t remember much about the class; however I do recall making a little girl cry on my first day there. I spotted her from across the classroom and thought she was beautiful. I just had to ask her to marry me. She was very pretty and I just knew that I would be the answer to her dreams.

The poor little girl was probably devastated to say the least. I was pulled from the class and remained out of school for a while. I don’t remember her name, but to this day I am very sorry for the trauma I put her through. I also remember the first and last time I played on monkey bars. I remember falling backwards and landing very hard on my backside. To this day, I don’t like monkey bars.

My favorite song in class was Birdie, Birdie, where is your nest? My favorite color was blue. My favorite number was five and I loved story time. One of the most enlightening treasures of my life is the Children’s book by Dr. Seuss, Are you my Mother? I would often stay late after class and have the teacher read that book to me over and over again. I could never get enough of the absolute faith and determination of such a small newborn baby bird looking for his mother.

The little bird and I shared something in common. We both began to seek out our Mothers and had no idea of what she looked like or where she was. I thought to myself that if it worked out for the little bird in his story, it would surely work out for me in real life. In spite of having the companionship of both my siblings, I was beginning to develop a great sense of loneliness and fear. I was always afraid and confused on account of Fannie. Nothing was normal… not even the food. One dreadful night shortly after moving in, we were eating dinner. It consisted of red beans and rice. I had never tasted food quite like this before and decided not to eat it.

Nelson and Grace pleaded with me to eat so that I would not get into any trouble. I was getting quite upset with Nelson and Grace because I thought they were trying to boss me around and tell me what to do. I didn’t realize that they were only trying to protect me in the only way they could.

After a while, Fannie came into the kitchen. She was extremely angry when she discovered that I was not yet finished with my food. Nelson and Grace moved away from the table while displaying their plates and putting them into the sink. Grace and Nelson had a look of great concern as they quietly left the kitchen.

I was totally unaware of the fact that Fannie had retrieved her strap which was about three feet long, sturdy and wrapped with black tape. This device was used for only one thing; to beat children. It would inflict severe pain, long-lasting welts, sores, and scars that would never heal. As I look back, I truly believe that Grace and Nelson were really trying to help me. They just wanted to keep me out of harms way. I was caught completely by surprise as Fannie began to strike me.

Horrendous pain shot through my body as she continued to hit me on my back, arms and legs. I had never felt such pain in my life. I tried to get out of the chair, I tried to escape the pain; I didn’t understand why she was beating me. Fannie angrily grabbed me and forced me back into the chair. I was crying, screaming, and very frightened. She stood over me and told me that I had to clean my plate and that I only had a few minutes to do so. I crammed my mouth with the red beans and rice.

I tried to eat as fast as I could. It was by far the nastiest combination of food I had ever tasted. She continued to hit me on various parts of my body. One of the blows landed on my hand that held the spoon filled with food. I tried to retrieve the spoon as it flew across the table, but she just continued hitting me.

The beating intensified and now I had made a mess all over the table. She hit me a time or two more and then she stopped. She put a few minutes on the