In September, as the monthly visits with Floyd continued, Michael was enrolled in a special class for developmentally and emotionally delayed children at the Choctaw Elementary School. He had made progress in his two years with the Bean family, who provided a loving and nurturing environment. Now four years old, he was finally potty trained, and his vocabulary was improving. His first real word was directed toward Merle, and it was momma. Several days later he began calling Ernest daddy.
But Michael continued to exhibit strange behavior, having become phobic over dirty hands, which caused him to go berserk, off the wall. Choctaw school officials said they would work with Michael.
The Beans were troubled by Michael’s monthly visits to the El Reno prison, though they had no choice but to prepare Michael, who was picked up at home by a DHS social worker, driven an hour away to El Reno, then returned later in the day. For six months, Michael resisted the visits and, as in his first trip, had to be physically removed from the Beans’ minivan. The visits eventually became a matter of routine and Michael was less resistant, though following his time with Floyd, Michael would become sullen and withdrawn.
The Beans relayed their concerns to DHS officials, complaining that the visits were hurting the boy. But DHS officials were receiving decidedly different opinions from their caseworkers. In one report, a caseworker observed two visits at the prison and did not see “any signs of distress” in Michael.
“Michael was very willing to play with his father and asked to play specific card games,” reported the caseworker.
Michael also displayed affection to his father, frequently sitting in Floyd’s lap. In DHS interviews with Floyd, he expressed a willingness to do “anything the court says” to retain custody of his son upon his release. Floyd was obsessed with his son, and fully expected to have custody the second he was released from prison.
The results from the paternity test were mailed to DHS in the fall, and DHS attorneys immediately went to court to request a signed order terminating Franklin Delano Floyd’s rights as Michael Hughes’s father.
Testing revealed that Floyd was not Michael’s biological father.
Floyd was irate, claiming the testing was flawed and that he was, indeed, Michael’s father. In December 1992, the state trial court agreed with the findings of the paternity test and terminated Floyd’s visitation and all contact and rights to Michael Hughes.
Floyd was also ordered to stop paying child support.
Floyd’s attorney challenged the ruling, claiming the court erred by failing to conduct an evidentiary hearing, which would have given Floyd opportunity to challenge the paternity test. Floyd also argued that regardless of the paternity test he had a common-law relationship with Tonya and a two-year statute of limitations for any challenge to Floyd’s claim as Michael’s father had expired.
Floyd, through attorney Mack Martin, took his case to the Oklahoma Supreme Court.
The Beans put adoption proceedings in motion.
CHAPTER 12
When Franklin Delano Floyd was released from the Federal Correctional Facility at El Reno on March 30, 1993, after serving thirty-three months, his first order of business was to visit his parole officer.
Generally a parolee would return to the district from which he had been sentenced, which in Floyd’s case was Tulsa. But since Michael was in foster care in Choctaw, Floyd argued that his continuing litigation demanded his presence in Oklahoma City. He requested and was accepted for parole supervision in Oklahoma City.
Waiting for him was United States Probation Officer Gary Homan. A short, round man with a friendly disposition, Homan was a native Sooner who began his career as a correctional officer at El Reno in 1975. He worked his way up the ranks, was promoted to the education department, then as a counselor and case manager. In 1986, he was appointed to serve as a U.S. Probation Officer for the Western District of Oklahoma, where he supervised federal inmates on parole. In 1991, he received a promotion to specialist over dangerous offenders, including gang members and sexual predators.
Upon his arrival, Floyd was overly cooperative, signed all the necessary documents, and relayed that he understood the terms of his supervision, which included finding a job and a place of residence. Floyd said he had great plans and would work as a paint contractor.
“Nothing doing,” said Homan. “You’re not going to be self-employed. You’ll get a job and will bring me your pay stub.”
Homan wasn’t big on treatment. He had worked with convicts and ex-cons for eighteen years and concluded that in most cases the die had been cast. To Homan, Floyd was nothing more than a pedophile and convicted felon, and nothing was going to change that. Homan was also puzzled and concerned by the sixteen-year gap in Floyd’s file, with no reported activity from 1973 to 1989.
What did he do? Where was he? Homan had questions but no answers. Homan also knew that Floyd was flush with cash, the proceeds from the $80,000 insurance policies. With no charges against him, Floyd eventually collected, and used the money to hire Mack Martin.
“I want to see you here in my office every week, and every Wednesday night at the halfway house,” said Homan.
Wednesday was special offenders night at the Oklahoma Halfway House, where Homan conducted weekly group therapy sessions. Pedophiles, rapists, and bank robbers—twelve in all, and all with multiproblems—gathered to discuss life on the outside, their progress, and, if they had one, their futures.
They were Homan’s Dirty Dozen.
Floyd had no trouble discussing his sorry life. He was a natural talker and, during the hour-long sessions, he talked about his childhood at the Baptist Home, his prison years at Lewisburg and Marion in the 1960s, and how he gave in to sexual predators to stay alive.
Floyd’s problems were no worse or better than some of those shared by the other members of the group, but it was clear after two sessions that there was something seriously wrong with Floyd, who stood out even among a group of ex-cons.
Floyd talked about his family, saying his mother was a prostitute living in Indiana, and he talked about his dead wife, Tonya, saying he believed that organized crime figures killed her. Most often, though, Floyd talked about Michael, his anger over losing the boy setting him off on a tirade. One minute he was a bizarre character, flailing his arms and raising his voice as if he were preaching at a church, screaming about the injustice of the world. The next minute he was Mr. Milquetoast, a regular guy who could be anyone’s next-door neighbor. Floyd connected with no one at the sessions, and he soon became an outcast, even in a group as sordid as Homan’s Dirty Dozen.
Joining Homan at group sessions was William Schmid, a veteran psychologist and vice-president of Hillcrest Behavioral Medical Center, which was contracted to provide psychological services for the Oklahoma Halfway House.
Schmid served as co-leader for the group discussions but also met with Floyd individually at his Hillcrest office. Initial testing indicated that Floyd was antisocial, a nondescript man who could be easily ignored if not spoken to. But once engaged, it was clear to all he was dangerous. Floyd was also highly intelligent, and during his weekly meetings with Homan and Schmid, he talked about his pending appeal to the Oklahoma Supreme Court. The paternity test and decision to terminate his parental rights were a severe blow to Floyd, who was so depressed during one meeting he threatened to kill himself. Homan once asked Floyd for the identity of Michael’s real father, and whether his wife was having affairs. Homan, like the various police agencies investigating Tonya Hughes, knew nothing about her, only what Floyd would offer, which wasn’t much.
In July 1993, the Oklahoma Supreme Court reversed the decision of the trial court to terminate Floyd’s parental rights to Michael. The court ruled that Floyd’s rights were violated when the trial court refused to hold an evidentiary hearing to allow Floyd to contest the paternity test. Visitation was restored, though the date for the hearing had yet to be determined.
Believing he was now on the road to regaining custody of Michae
l, Floyd charged that Merle and Ernest Bean were abusing Michael. Floyd presented no evidence, yet claimed that Michael alleged the Beans were “mean” and tried to choke him. The Beans denied the charges, yet were helpless, even when Floyd sought a court order preventing the Beans from giving Michael a haircut.
As the matter of parentage was to be decided by the courts, Floyd called Mack Martin fifteen to twenty times a day to discuss the case.
In the spring of 1994, five-year-old Michael visited with Floyd in Martin’s downtown office. Martin excused himself, leaving them alone for twenty minutes. When Michael returned to Choctaw, he went to bed with his shoes and socks on. Merle asked him to take them off, but Michael said he couldn’t, that Floyd said not to.
Merle took off the shoes, and inside a sock was a photo of Floyd.
“He said it was our secret,” said Michael.
Floyd gave up his odd jobs with various painting crews to accept a single position as a maintenance man at the Lyrewood Pointe Apartments in Oklahoma City, a shabby, low-rent complex. Floyd believed that the steady, forty-hours-per-week schedule, along with the regular paycheck, would influence the court in his battle for Michael. Floyd was also given a residence at the complex, which in his mind provided even more stability for Michael. Prior to Floyd’s hiring, Gary Homan informed the apartment manager of his criminal past, including the rape conviction from 1962.
With a steady income, an apartment to call home, and a glowing recommendation from his supervisor, who described Floyd as a “model employee,” Floyd sought psychiatric testing, ostensibly to prove he was a qualified parent and to seek approval for an increase in visits from one to two per month. Dr. Bruce Pickins, who supervised Floyd’s monthly visits with Michael, recommended the additional visit as a means toward working for reunification, but was overridden.
To help his cause, Floyd turned to Dr. Eleanor Jessen, a clinical psychologist referred by Dr. Schmid, his group counselor. Floyd underwent testing on May 28, May 30, and June 1.
Jessen’s three-page report commented on Floyd’s nervousness and defensive nature, which included a compulsion to explain his situation. By the third session he felt more comfortable, and the defensiveness melted away. Floyd spoke freely and was cooperative. Jessen noted that Floyd’s years at the orphanage and in prison had taken their toll. His self-esteem was damaged, although not morbidly so, and he was easily depressed. Jessen also noted that Floyd could be “expansive and can get pumped up with his own sense of competence, a common defense against the pains of disappointment in self.”
Jessen determined that Floyd was “not criminal in character—not antisocial.” She recommended that “reunification of Mr. Floyd and Michael should be actively pursued and should be brought about as soon as possible.”
Carrie Box spent the Fourth of July holiday at a friend’s house, and at the end of the day decided to race her boyfriend to their home at the Lyrewood Pointe Apartments. Box, in her mid-twenties, would run the few blocks home while her boyfriend would run to their car, and try to beat her to the front door. Box won the race, and upon entering her apartment saw a man standing in her bedroom, rummaging through her dresser drawers.
He held a pair of Box’s panties in one hand, close to his nose, and a knife in the other hand. He saw her standing there, ran toward her, and knocked her to the floor. As Box tried to fight him off, her arms made contact with the knife, producing deep gashes. The man punched her in the eye, then reached for her panties, saying, “Your boyfriend paid me to do this.”
Box continued to fight, fearing for her life. Her boyfriend arrived and tried to pin the man down, but he managed to run out the door. The boyfriend followed, tracked him down, and held him until police arrived.
Gary Homan returned from a festive Fourth of July holiday to learn that Franklin Floyd had been arrested and charged with aggravated assault for his attack on Carrie Box.
Floyd’s position as maintenance man required that he have master keys to all the apartments, and Floyd used his key to let himself into Box’s apartment. Police found a pair of panties in his back pocket.
Homan knew, despite Floyd’s talk to the contrary, that he was dangerous. Homan now believed that Floyd was pure evil, even after listening to Floyd scream during a meeting at the county jail.
“It’s a bum rap. I was framed,” yelled Floyd.
Homan had heard enough.
“I’m going to hang you out to dry.”
Homan returned to his office and told his bosses that under no circumstances was Floyd to be freed on bail, and parole officials had to find some creative loophole to keep him there. His parole could not be revoked until the assault charge was adjudicated, and that was not going to happen anytime soon. Mack Martin made an appearance before the Oklahoma County district judge, and to Homan’s disbelief Floyd was released on seven thousand dollars bail.
Floyd returned to the Oklahoma Halfway House, and his activity was dramatically curtailed. Floyd was fired from the apartment complex and found a job as a painter. He was allowed to leave the home in the morning to go to work, but ordered to return at the end of his day.
On the heels of his arrest, the state court scheduled the evidentiary hearing for September 23, and would deliver its decision on Floyd’s bid to regain custody of Michael.
Floyd knew that if he was found guilty of the assault charge he’d have no chance at ever receiving custody of Michael. Desperate and obsessed with the boy he called his own, Floyd decided to take matters into his own hands.
CHAPTER 13
With the start of a new school year, six-year-old Michael Hughes woke up each morning at 7 A.M., dressed, ate breakfast, washed his hands, and brushed his teeth. Then, under the watchful eye of his foster mother, Michael would leave the house, walk down the driveway to the street, turn to the right, and walk to the corner, where a yellow school bus would pick him up at precisely 8:20 A.M.
Michael was a first-grade student at the Indian Meridian Elementary School in Choctaw, which was two miles down the road from the Bean home. When he cheerfully left for school the morning of September 12, 1994, he was far different from the emotionally disturbed basket case the Beans had received four years earlier.
Michael’s speech had improved tenfold, and his crying spells were long gone, as was his bed-wetting. No one called him Pookie, a name from his distant, troubled past. He was simply Michael, and he had gained a normalcy in his life, having responded to the loving and nourishing environment Merle and Ernest provided. Michael had grown into a handsome boy, with a mop of brown hair and big, brown eyes. He smiled easily, laughed loudly, and enjoyed being a member of the Bean family. He fished with Ernest and sang “Dear Mr. Jesus” at church on Sunday with his foster family.
Legally, though, Michael continued to be a ward of the state as the Beans’ efforts to adopt him were stymied by the courts, which were still wrestling with Franklin Floyd’s petitions to be recognized as Michael’s father.
That prospect, however slim, worried the Beans. They had always been leery of Floyd, whom they believed was nothing more than a predator. His arrest in July simply confirmed what they already knew while recent events in August heightened their awareness, and deep fear, of Floyd.
Early one morning they were awakened by the incessant barking of their dog, which noticed something in the back-yard. Ernest investigated and followed as the dog led him two hundred feet into the woods, where they found a fresh campsite.
That same week Merle thought she saw Floyd driving by her home in a pickup truck. She quickly called DHS.
“He’s looking to get Michael,” said Merle. “I’m telling you he’s going to take him.”
The Beans remained protective and kept Michael within eyesight. They avoided any mention of Floyd in Michael’s presence, even when the youngster began to articulate events from his past. He said he had dreams, and remembered being in a dark place, maybe a closet, for long periods of time. He was scared and he would cry out for his mother. But she was g
one. It was Floyd who’d eventually come to his aid.
Merle relayed the story to a DHS staff member, who suggested that Michael was recalling real events, theorizing that Floyd locked Michael in a bedroom or even a closet whenever he would leave the house, perhaps when he drove Tonya to work.
They were distant, disturbing memories, but they seemed real nonetheless. Merle comforted Michael, holding him in her arms, lightly kissing his head, and gently telling him to forget those bad dreams.
“You’re with people who love you, Michael,” said Merle.
Michael nuzzled into Merle’s embrace, comforted in knowing he was safe and secure.
Nearly five hundred students were enrolled at the Indian Meridian Elementary School, all of them in grades kindergarten through third. Of the thirty teachers on staff, eight taught first grade.
Classes were already under way on Monday, September 12, when Franklin Floyd entered the school at 9 A.M. and walked uneasily to the office of Principal James Davis.
Floyd was disheveled and wore a rumpled dark gray suit and a brown felt hat with a narrow brim. His salt-and-pepper hair matched his mustache. The door to the office was open and Floyd walked in, only to see Davis sitting behind his desk conversing with Gary Berland, the intermediate school principal.
Davis did not recognize Floyd but he said his meeting would be over in a minute and politely asked him to wait outside. Floyd stood in the hall, next to the doorway, and when Davis concluded his meeting, he motioned for Floyd to come in. The two men shook hands and Davis closed the door. Davis, fifty-four, was a big man at six-feet-four and 215 pounds. He sat in his chair behind a desk topped with papers. Floyd sat opposite Davis.
“This is something that’s hard for me to do,” said Floyd. “I’ve been grieving for four years, and I’m ready to die. I want you to help me get my son.”
Floyd reached into his front pants pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a gun, exposing the brown handle and trigger. Davis had no doubt it was a gun, probably a .25 or .32 caliber automatic.
A Beautiful Child Page 9