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

by Gay Courter

  “Although her parents don’t want her, Lydia is not yet a legal ward of the court,” I explained.

  “Aren’t there any other alternatives in your community?” the doctor asked before hanging up.

  From experience I knew that once HRS was in control of a child, they could move her without anyone’s permission. My work with other guardian children had taught me that confused teenagers were the least likely to last long in one foster home. There were a million excuses for dumping them. A caseworker might determine that another child would do better in the home, and move the teen, or the foster parents could change their mind at any point. One call to the caseworker and the child was on the move again. So what other possibilities were there? Lydia was not a bad child. Maybe I could find an idealistic, affectionate family with a spare bedroom.

  Barely containing my enthusiasm, I called Nancy. “Would it be permissible to place Lydia informally with another family?”

  “As long as they did not expect state reimbursement, I don’t see why not. Just remember Lydia has been adjudicated to the Tabernacle Home, so we have to deal with them first. I am supposed to call our friend, Mrs. Shaw, and tell her what rules we are going to stipulate. What should I say?”

  “There’s no reason to capitulate to them, is there?”

  “Absolutely not. It would set a bad precedent.”

  I scribbled a list and recited it. “Initially I want to see Lydia two to three times a month, once outside of the facility, with arrangements beforehand about where and when it will be. The other times I want to see her alone either in a private office or outside on their grounds. I want to be able to call at an appropriate time to make these arrangements and I want her to be permitted to phone me whenever she wishes during her free time. She can call the guardian office collect so it won’t cost them anything. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Not at all. That’s what any other guardian would want.”

  However, despite Nancy’s optimism, Alice Shaw’s response was that she would get back to us with their counterproposal.

  Nancy would not retreat. “I told Mrs. Shaw that since this is court ordered, and not some privilege Lydia has to earn, our points are not negotiable.”

  “How did she react?” I asked.

  “Mrs. Shaw’s voice was icy and very formal, and she said, ‘We’ll have our decision by Wednesday, but I must ask that you warn your guardian to refrain from contacting Lydia before then, for the child’s sake.’ Since I didn’t want Lydia to suffer because of our stance, I agreed.”

  A few hours later the phone rang. “Gay? Nancy. I just had a call from Mona Archibald at HRS. Pastor Shaw called her a few minutes ago and informed her that they will ask Lydia to leave unless we back off from our unreasonable demands.”

  “What should we do?” I asked.

  “You can modify your requirements or …” She drifted off. “Just a moment, Calvin Reynolds from HRS is calling on the other line. You want to hold?”

  “Sure.” I closed my eyes and wished I had turned the case back to Lillian when the religious question was raised. Another guardian more acceptable to the Shaws might have protected Lydia better.

  Nancy was back on the line. “There’s going to be an emergency hearing next Monday to allow the judge to determine whether Lydia will remain in the Tabernacle Home under their rules. That gives us a few more days to find an alternative for Lydia.”

  Here was a challenge I relished. Producing films often brought the same rush, especially when something that had been set up for a long time fell apart at the last minute because of weather or a technical problem or an illness and I had to use all my wiles to save the day by lining up a completely different program. I called several former Guardians ad Litem, the heads of two neighboring programs, the director of a girls’ school upstate, the district manager of several special HRS programs, a few wealthy women in a nearby city who might know someone who would take Lydia in. Then I started on my personal list of contacts. I picked two families, one in our community, one about fifty miles away.

  “I would take her myself,” I told my friends truthfully, “but it is a hard-and-fast rule that guardians may not even bring their clients to their homes.”

  Both families showed some interest but wanted to know more. My immediate concern was where Lydia would sleep Monday night if the judge ruled that she should leave the Tabernacle Home at once. Perhaps the Shaws would keep her a few more days, but based on their behavior, I thought that unlikely. I called Becky Morse, the foster mother of one of my other guardian children, and asked if she could act as an emergency shelter.

  “Sure. Tell Mona Archibald that I will expect the group rate for her care, which is what I get for short-term kids.”

  “Becky, she’s not in the system, so maybe they won’t pay anything. If it turns out that way, couldn’t you give her a few days without payment?”

  “No, even if I would like to help you out this once, I don’t dare, because then HRS would constantly be asking for freebies and favors.”

  “But if the judge orders her in shelter care, then HRS is obliged to pay you, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, if that happens, would you take her in?”

  “Yes, of course I will.”

  I awoke Monday morning dreading the shelter hearing. Before I went downstairs for breakfast, I pulled out the encyclopedia and looked up the Constitution of the United States. I opened to the preamble, something I had not read since the sixth grade.

  The words “in order to form a more perfect Union, establish justice …” came alive for me. I turned to the amendments and scanned the Bill of Rights: Freedom of Religion, Speech, and the Press; Rights in Criminal Cases, Rights to a Fair Trial, Women Suffrage, and Civil Rights. What seemed to be missing, however, was children’s rights. Even though you couldn’t legislate love, why, at the very least, weren’t children specifically given the right to safe, permanent, healthy homes? Just as women were no longer considered chattel, shouldn’t there at least be an amendment listing the basic entitlements of every American, no matter the age?

  At that moment, though, my immediate concern was a home for Lydia. I had no firm offers for Lydia, only a few ideas of places she might visit. Anyway, there was always the possibility that Judge Donovan, who had ordered her to the Tabernacle Home to begin with, would agree to the Shaws’ demands, discharge his guardian—or suggest only the most minor supervision—and leave her where she was.

  Nancy Hastedt and Lillian Elliott greeted me on the courthouse steps. “I didn’t expect you both to come.”

  Nancy grinned. “I never turn down a ringside seat.”

  “We’re waiting for Thorn,” Lillian said, referring to Kit Thorndike, the lawyer who worked half-time for the Guardian ad Litem program, and whom we liked to think of as a “thorn in the side” of our opposition.

  “Do you think the Shaws will bring their attorney?”

  “Nothing would surprise me,” Nancy said, her eyes gleaming.

  I knew that Nancy relished this sort of challenge and that there were possible precedent-setting legal issues, but all I could think of was Lydia’s reaction to having her life turned topsy-turvy once again. After Thorn arrived, I briefed them about the shelter bed at the Morses’ and some of my possibilities, then we went upstairs to the courtrooms.

  As we passed through the metal detector, we were greeted by Mona Archibald, who acknowledged Thorn and Nancy with a sardonic grin. “Why all the big guns for the microwave case?”

  “Lydia Ryan never put anyone in a microwave oven!” I seethed.

  Mona shrugged at Lillian. “That’s what’s in my file.”

  “I don’t think you’ve ever read that file,” I snapped, “or you would realize that a ten-year-old can’t fit in a microwave and that Lydia wasn’t even in the house when the incident occurred.”

  “I just don’t understand why you are so hell-bent and determined to destroy this placement,” Mona sputtered.

/>   As Mona left to talk to the HRS attorney, Nancy rolled her eyes. “A bit hostile?” she asked rhetorically.

  “Speaking of hostile, look over there.” Lillian’s eyes indicated the Shaws, who were standing at the far end of the corridor with Lydia in between them. She was dressed in a loose-fitting flowered dress, two sizes too large, with a soiled white collar. Her eyes were downcast and she was clasping a Bible.

  “I should talk to her,” I said.

  Nancy pulled me back. “Not until the judge rules.”

  I smiled in Lydia’s direction, but Alice Shaw blocked me, then took Lydia’s hand, bowed her head, and said a prayer.

  The bailiff called the Ryan case. We trooped into the judge’s chambers. I was relieved that Judge Donovan preferred to hear juvenile cases privately. He also felt that black robes frightened children, so he wore cowboy shirts with pearl buttons and string ties with fanciful ornaments on the slide.

  “Anyone else?” the bailiff called before closing the door. A short man, with a square frame, appeared from the waiting room. “Who are you?” the bailiff questioned.

  “Stuart Ryan, the kid’s father.”

  I looked around for Catherine Ryan, but she had not accompanied him. The guardian’s chair was to the right of the judge, who sat at the end of a long conference table with the court reporter on his left. I deferred to Nancy, expecting—even hoping—she would take my place as spokesperson, but she gestured for me to be seated. Thorn pulled out the chair to my right, facing Calvin Reynolds, the HRS attorney, who had his paralegal at his side. Since there were not enough seats at the table, Nancy and Lillian stood behind me. Mona Archibald sat on the HRS side of the table, along with her supervisor. Stuart Ryan took the head of the table directly across from the judge. The Shaws, with Lydia between them, were given the bench behind Lydia’s father.

  Calvin Reynolds introduced the case while the judge thumbed through his papers.

  “Who speaks for this child?” the judge asked. Calvin pointed to me. “Where’s the guardian’s report?”

  Calvin indicated which document it was. Since this was an emergency hearing, the judge probably had not read my report ahead of time. Instead of skimming the introductory paragraphs, then skipping to the recommendations as he usually did, Judge Donovan leaned back and began reading the pages word for word. Those who had official copies read along.

  My report first reviewed every court action and placement in chronological order, then was followed by a list of the people I had interviewed and the records I had in my possession. Next, I gave a factual account of the information I had received, the points of view of the people I had interviewed. In giving my impressions of the Tabernacle Home, I reported my observations in a flat, unemotional style. As to the educational program, I stated:

  A girl is not given any schooling until she has committed herself to changing her life and turning herself around. This takes a year. Only counseling and various therapies, combined with spiritual work, are undertaken during that time. Once a girl has been in residence for a year, she will be tested by the Accelerated Christian Education curriculum to determine where she is in school. Then she will begin her studies with individual tutoring. Since no one has been in the program longer than nine months, no one has received any education yet.

  Regarding the strict rules, I quoted from the Tabernacle Home manual and summarized Mrs. Shaw’s explanations.

  The girls have very limited contact with the outside world, see only their parents under supervised conditions, have no money, and are restricted in their fraternizing with members of the church communities they visit for worship. This isolation is considered important in having them give up their old, destructive ways and building a new positive future for themselves.

  I factually described when and how I had been permitted to be in contact with Lydia, quoted from my discussions with her psychiatrist, and included copies of the clinical notes Valley View had sent in response to the court order. These medical files were not circulated to the others but were available for the judge to read and would become part of Lydia’s sealed file.

  Determined to set the record straight about the microwave oven, I retold that incident in some detail, quoting from police files, and went on to say:

  Lydia Ryan was sent to the juvenile detention center and release 45 days later. The Ryans were very upset with Lydia. They did not visit her in JDC because they felt she allowed this situation to happen, even if she did not fully participate. “She crossed the line,” reported Catherine Ryan. At the time of her release her parents refused to allow her back in the home and she was placed in shelter care. Lydia ran away from there, but then found the Tabernacle Home through a friend and her parents signed her in. Lydia Ryan was deemed a Child in Need of Services (CINS), was placed under Protective Services of HRS, and adjudicated to remain at the Tabernacle Home and complete their one-year program. She was also ordered not to run from tat placement.

  I recounted my visits to the Tabernacle Home and described its amenities and cleanliness, then noted the problems I had experienced in trying to see Lydia.

  Alice Shaw explained that if the rules of the Tabernacle Home were violated, they would rather dismiss Lydia Ryan from the program than bend to the Guardian ad Litem’s request. Since Lydia Ryan has been unable to speak freely to her Guardian ad Litem yet, her real wishes and desires are not known at this time.

  Kit Thorndike had faxed me some legal points he wanted included in the report and I had been careful to use the language he proposed.

  The Florida Supreme Court Administrative Order for the Guardian ad Litem program states in Standard 5.3 Guardian ad Litem Right of Access to Child:

  “The circuit director shall assure that the Guardian ad Litem’s access to appointed children is not restricted by any agency or person. Visitation by the Guardian ad Litem, which includes transporting the child away from placement, should be arranged with the caretaker or supervising agency prior to the visit.”

  At this time, such access is being willfully withheld by the Tabernacle Home, which makes it impossible to continue oversight by a Guardian ad Litem. Lydia is thus denied protection of her civil rights. There is little or no supervision of this program by any outside licensing or unbiased authority. However, Lydia is involved in a rigorous conversion program that could have positive benefits for this fragile young woman.

  Everyone in the room turned to the final page, my list of recommendations. I glanced at Lydia’s father, whose beefy face had reddened from his neck to the top of his almost-bald head.

  As Guardian ad Litem for Lydia Ryan, I make the following recommendations:

  That, if she wishes, Lydia Ryan be allowed to remain at the Tabernacle Home temporarily until a better situation can be found. This desire to remain should be communicated, in private, to her Guardian ad Litem and another witness of the Court’s choosing.

  That Lydia Ryan remains, if possible, in Child in Need of Services status so that an appropriate placement outside the traditional foster care system can be found.

  That if such a placement cannot be found within 30 days, that Lydia Ryan shall be adjudicated a dependent of HRS.

  That if she is adjudicated dependent, HRS should endeavor to find her the least restrictive placement that meets her needs.

  That she receive a psychological and educational assessment to help place her in the most appropriate program and environment.

  That she be placed in a non-punitive program that will help her prepare for independent living, while catching up on her high school education.

  That the appointment of the Guardian ad Litem be continued in this matter.

  Judge Donovan put down his papers. “I would like everyone to leave the room, with the exception of Lydia Ryan and the court reporter.”

  Calvin Reynolds started to say something, then thought the better of it, and stood.

  We stood in predictable clumps in the judge’s antechamber, a room too small to comfortably hold this diverge
nt group. The Shaws took one corner while the HRS attorney, paralegal, Mona, and her supervisor conferred in the other. Stuart Ryan crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling while Nancy, Thorn, Lillian, and I formed our own tight circle.

  “Is this usual?” I whispered.

  “Never saw it happen before,” Nancy replied.

  “What do you think she will tell the judge?” Thorn asked me.

  “That she wants to remain where she is.”

  “But do you think she can speak honestly?” Lillian wondered.

  “It is all she knows right now.”

  Since we were the only ones talking, it was hard to be certain our words weren’t overheard, so we fell silent too. After an interminable fifteen minutes, the court reporter opened the door to the inner office. Sitting where her father had been, Lydia looked shattered. As she clutched her Bible, tears streaked her face and her nose was running. I waited for the Shaws or her father to hand her a tissue, but nobody offered her one.

  We were barely seated when the judge gave his ruling. “I have decided that the Tabernacle Home is too restrictive for an almost seventeen-year-old girl, and I am removing her from that facility. She is going to have to make her way in the real world soon enough and needs proper preparation for that challenge. Any comments?” He looked directly at me.

  “I want to make it understood that I am not asking for her removal from the Tabernacle Home, and have only requested traditional access for her protection.”

  “Anyone else?” He raised his eyes toward the Shaws, but they didn’t respond.

  Stuart Ryan cleared his throat. “As her father, I do not understand what is going on. She is our daughter, and her mother and I want her home.”