by Lee Barnett
I thanked him and left with the pills and an uneasy feeling.
Harris phoned that night and was unusually kind, asking if I had got my medicine and wanting to make sure I had taken it. I wondered how he knew, but his kindness reassured me that I should indeed listen to Dr Bjorksten and my husband. I began taking the Navane.
The following day, I had dinner with a good friend, Kinga, an infectious diseases specialist. We chatted about my situation and I told her about the psychiatrist and how he had prescribed Navane.
‘Navane!’ she shouted. ‘You can’t be on that! How many have you taken?’
I had taken three tablets so far, but I had sixty.
Kinga was visibly shaken. ‘Lee, don’t take another pill. Navane is an anti-psychotic drug used for paranoid schizophrenia, it’s not for you.’
So I stopped taking Navane and Harris’s concerned phone calls morphed into something quite different – a weird, whispered voice that told me to ‘take your medicine like a good little girl’. Even Mom called to ask how I was going on the tablets.
Soon after this, I went to a nearby island called Folly Beach with friends and bumped into some acquaintances of Harris’s. They expressed concern about my health and I assured them I was fine. They said they had heard I suffered from a manic-depressive illness; there were even rumours that I was insane. How could ya’ll think that? I asked. Apparently, Harris had shown them books on mental illness including one he was given by Dr Bjorksten about the actor Patty Duke.
The very next day I confronted Dr Bjorksten. ‘Lee,’ he tried to calm me, ‘you do not have manic depressive illness. You have a high intensity personality.’
I thought about that for a moment and agreed with that description, and yet he admitted that he had given the book to Harris.
‘But if you recommended Brilliant Madness and it’s about manic-depressive illness then why are you now saying I don’t have it?’ I asked. ‘And if I have it, why did you give the book to Harris, instead of me?’
Things didn’t add up, but Dr Bjorksten would not be drawn any further on my questions.
About a month after our marriage counselling with Dr Bjorksten had begun, Harris arrived a little late to our appointment. He stood in the office doorway and said he couldn’t take it anymore, that he wanted a divorce. And with that said, he left.
Immediately my tears started. Dr Bjorksten asked me quietly if I had a lawyer. I shook my head no, still crying. He pulled out a business card. ‘Here, take this and call Lee Robinson. She’s a wonderful lawyer who will help you.’
Lee Robinson did become my lawyer and she represented me for around seven or eight months, from late January or early February 1993. And I continued seeing Dr Bjorksten for another couple of months. He told me that Harris was now seeing a psychologist, Dr Susan McClure. He had said he would help me through the divorce and pregnancy, though he was unhappy that I had stopped taking Navane. He also said he hoped that the day I gave birth, my milk would dry up, because then he could put me on lithium.
8
IN FEBRUARY 1993, I WAS IN THE HOUSE WITH MY FRIEND TRISH Stone and her baby. She was helping me decorate the nursery when we heard a car door close. I wasn’t expecting anyone and was surprised to see Harris’s black Mercedes. I saw him in the outside workshop pulling some insulation away from the unfinished workshop wall, grab a handful of papers and wrap them in his leather coat.
I went outside onto the porch. ‘Harris, what are you doing? What’s hidden behind the insulation?’ As I approached the door handle to the back seat, Harris grabbed me and slammed me against the car. With one hand he clasped my wrists together over my head and held his left fist in the air. It happened so fast at first I was out of breath.
‘Do it, Harris,’ I goaded. ‘Go ahead and punch me.’
As he stared down at me, his face close to mine, I saw for the first time the pure hate he had for me. He didn’t hit me. Instead he pointed at my belly. ‘You took away the only thing I love. So I will take the only thing you love from you.’ Then he pulled me away from his car, got in and drove off.
I walked back inside the house trembling. Trish was concerned and hugely apologetic. ‘I saw the whole thing but I was too frightened for my baby to do anything.’
‘It’s okay,’ I said, my mind still swirling with his threat. ‘I’ve stayed in his house – the place he worshipped – and because of that he is going to take my baby.’
On 10 March 1993, Lee Robinson and I attended a hearing to do with the divorce. Harris’s lawyer, Joe Runney, stood and announced that they were countersuing for divorce on grounds of abuse, alleging that I had beaten my husband so badly he now suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. When I turned my heavily pregnant belly towards Harris, the look on his face was so dark I knew that he was out to destroy me.
Things got really scary after that.
I spoke to my ‘other mom’, our family friend Ann Chabot, about what had happened and she told me I needed to come up to see Mom at my grandmother’s house where Mom now lived. I needed to come immediately … there was something I needed to see. I heard the gravity in her voice and drove there with trepidation.
‘Dottie,’ Ann called in a raspy, smoke-ladened voice, once I’d arrived, ‘Lee is here, you need to bring the letter.’
‘Letter? What letter?’ I asked.
Mom danced around the question and started to get angry at Ann for needling her, until at last she picked up a piece of paper from her desk and handed it to me.
March 3, 1993
Dear Dottie,
I thought a letter would be a more appropriate means of asking you to help me. Please know I’m very grateful for your help in the past, because, even though you and I went together to see Dr Bjorksten and he clarified a great deal about Lee for both of us, I don’t think I could ever have convinced her to see him without your support.
Harris had written to my mother with declarations of how much he respected her and her opinion. Dear God, I remembered thinking, this was ego stroking of the highest order: a man who had hated her early on and wouldn’t even allow her to visit his house was now flattering her.
He wrote about how he could not longer take the violence and that:
… our doctor has told me that Lee has a treatable disease … I scarcely know what to believe myself anymore: this is all like a nightmare. Please call Dr Bjorksten if you wish or anyone else who knows both sides. Or call Lee’s lawyer, Lee M. Robinson. But you know your daughter. And you know me.
We are scheduled to go to court on March 10, 1993 unless we can work out a temporary compromise. Anything you can do on our behalf will be greatly appreciated.
Your friend (whatever happens),
Harris
There were no words to express my pain on reading this letter. If I hadn’t been eight months pregnant and responsible for my unborn child I don’t know what I would have done.
‘Mom, how could you? How could you do this to me?’
True to form my mother went on the attack, saying that I had been violent to Harris, had followed him around and was stalking the poor man. It was plain how Harris had manipulated her. Or how she allowed herself to be manipulated.
Ann then stepped in to fill the blanks.
Harris had called my mom on 31 October, one of many such calls he had made during the couple of weeks after he had left me. He told Mom he had ‘the papers’ and was going to bring them by for her to sign. These were papers to institutionalise me. Instead of being outraged, Mom had simply said she thought a doctor was needed to make it legal. That was when Mom and Harris set me up with Dr Bjorksten. Actually, I don’t think that Mom knew that Harris had been seeing Dr Bjorksten long before her 13 November 1992 meeting with him, which was when they called Harris to join them. But Harris also had another cunning card up his sleeve – not only had he got Mom onside with his attention and sympathy, he also used her as an exhibit, to show Dr Bjorksten that there was something ‘wrong’ with her, adding fue
l to the fire that the person he had yet to meet – me – had some sort of genetic disorder.
There was no question that Benjamin Harris Todd III played a good game.
I had appointments with Dr Bjorksten from 2 December 1992 until 23 March 1993. On that March morning a couple of days after reading Harris’s letter, I stormed into his office and confronted him about his unethical behaviour. Then I fired him and threatened to take him to the ethics board. I needed to find another doctor, but someone reliable this time. I called a retired psychiatrist friend of mine, Dr Jimmy Shecut, explained my situation and asked if he would be prepared to recommend anyone. He was, and his name was Dr James Folk. I made an appointment at once and found Dr Folk calming and kind. He was not a chatty man like Bjorksten but just what I needed. I told him about everything that was going on and left feeling a little more relaxed.
My next stop was to Lee Robinson’s office, where I told her that we needed to subpoena Harris’s medical records from his psychologist Dr Susan McClure and our records from Dr Bjorksten – we needed to know what was going on. Over that period there was a lot of to-ing and fro-ing within the courts. From March 1993 until January of 1994 there were multiple depositions, especially from the several psychiatrists involved, and from Harris and myself and others. These depositions weren’t conducted in a courtroom before a judge, but were instead taped interviews in a room with both lawyers present – and they cost a significant amount of money. From memory there were around eight or more of these.
And squeezed in between all of these legal goings-on were my ongoing preparations for the baby. My girlfriend Patty stepped in and became a surrogate partner, accompanying me to every class available to pregnant women and regulary shopping for nursery items. I was so blessed to have such a close friend to enjoy this with. I was still pleasant to my mother but had distanced myself from her to avoid any unnecessary conversations about her involvement with Harris to set me up. Dr Rumble had said I needed calming influences around me, especially on the big day, so I decided to wait and call my mom after the birth, while those closest to me, including Patty, Ann and Aunt Clara, were by my side.
Harris had a restraining order out on me. Lee Robinson and I discussed this and took one out on him as well. So given this spectacular breakdown in communication – and a startling claim made to Dr McClure that he doubted the child was even his – I felt no guilt in keeping my imminent delivery from him. After all, I only had to remember the time I had asked him how I could reach him if there was an emergency with the birth and he had replied, ‘Call an ambulance.’ Or if I could buy a crib out of our joint account, to which he replied, ‘Stick it in a drawer!’
A few weeks prior to the birth I decided to start a diary for my baby – a keepsake for her to know just how much she was wanted and loved by me. I wrote in it regularly and on 5 May 1993, the night before my scheduled delivery, I wrote to remind both myself and her:
Dear Savanna,
I feel lonely tonight but I do know that after tomorrow I’ll never feel that way again. I wish you knew how many people already love and care for you. We are so lucky to have such good friends around.
I wish I could have had you in the conventional way – with a father – however, you’ll learn someday that you have to always make the best of what you’ve been given. You and I will be fine. More than fine, we will be great. This is the last night you will be moving around inside of me. You’ll take the world by storm. Please always know that having you is the most important thing in my life.
The next day, two weeks past my due date, I went into Roper Hospital in Charleston. Patty, my friend Jimmy, Ann and Aunt Clara were among the many friends who flooded in and out of my private birthing room. I had thought inducement was going to be a breeze; however, I soon learned it was an excruciating and rapid form of torture. After thirteen hours of painful pushing, even with an epidural, Dr Rumble gently said the baby was too big and we needed to do an emergency C-section. Holding onto Patty’s hand, I was wheeled into theatre while Patty assured me that security knew of the restraining order and that Harris would be notified as soon as I gave birth. Patty beamed down at my beautiful 9lb 3oz daughter as she handed her to me. I was then given general anaesthesia before undergoing surgery to repair some persistent bleeding.
I awoke to a sound I had never heard before – Patty was yelling at someone.
‘You have no right to be here!’
I squirmed in my bed while a nurse told me to lie quietly.
‘My son has every right. He is the father.’
‘He gave up those rights the day he walked out on Lee and Savanna,’ Patty retorted. ‘And he has done everything in his power for the past eight months to make their lives miserable. You need to leave! I’m contacting the security guards, they have all the correspondence between the lawyers.’
‘Come, Mother,’ I heard Harris say. ‘We don’t want any trouble.’
Later, Patty told me what happened in more detail and that when she told them they had no idea what I had just been through, and had indicated her hospital-issued scrubs stained red with my wet blood, Mrs Todd had barked, ‘You have no idea what my son has been through!’
It had been decided months earlier through the lawyers that Harris could visit the hospital once my lawyer contacted them, but that he had to come alone; I didn’t want to risk him coming with a friend or family member saying that I had beaten or abused him. On Harris’s second visit I asked him to step out of the room while I nursed Savanna. He said he wouldn’t interfere but would look out of the window, so he stayed. As I was feeding Savanna I heard a mechanical click and looked up to see Harris snapping photos of me. I was furious and demanded he give me the film. Later, I phoned my lawyer and she too demanded we get the photos and negatives from Harris. I felt violated that this man who tried to get me locked away, who refused to speak to me except to torture me with sick cruel whispers, would somehow be allowed to have such an intimate part of me. He relinquished the photos and negatives but much later, copies of these pictures were shown to Judge Mallard.
Having being discharged from hospital, when Savanna, Patty and I headed back out to Johns Island, I felt like the happiest woman alive. I was going to build a wonderful life for the two of us. And this was just the beautiful beginning.
Harris began to visit Savanna. During these visits I was not permitted to speak directly to him and there had to be a witness. This was Nadine, a lovely lady who lived on the island. Harris would arrive carrying a large duffel bag filled with God-only-knows what. I had to breastfeed Savanna before he arrived, something Nadine was also privy to. If Harris was late, as he often was, I made allowances in spite of the inconvenience. He would then close the door and for an hour Nadine and I would hear Savanna crying without being allowed to help calm her. It all seemed very strange, but then suddenly and without warning the visits stopped. For four to five weeks neither Lee Robinson nor I heard a word from Harris’s lawyer. Naturally I was delighted by all of this and thought about taking Savanna on a holiday to Belize, or even further away, for us both to get a well-deserved break from the madness we had endured. In talks with Lee Robinson, she agreed that Harris must have decided to relinquish his paternal rights and that I would walk away with Savanna. I learned that his mother was also keen on this idea. I started to make plans.
One July evening, Patty, Savanna and I were at a restaurant when I bumped into one of the secretaries who worked at Merrill Lynch. ‘Hi,’ she said tentatively as she approached what she believed to be Harris’s violent and mentally ill wife. ‘Oh, is this the baby? My word, she looks so much like Harris.’
‘You can tell him that when you see him because he hasn’t bothered to come and see her for almost five weeks.’
As soon as those words had left my mouth I knew that I had said something very wrong.
The surprise on her face made it plain that Harris would have lied to his whole office, keeping up the facade of being a loving father. It soon transpired tha
t the mistake I had made was absolutely colossal, because within twenty-four hours, on 22 July 1993, Lee Robinson received a phone call from Harris’s new lawyer Graham Sturgis, saying that Harris was going for full custody of my little girl. Graham also said there needed to be a paid guardian ad litum assigned. Jania Sommers was who they chose.
I was devastated but to add to it, soon afterwards Lee Robinson came to me and said that she didn’t think I could manage to pay her fees any further. She actually said something like, ‘I know you have $7500’ or a similar amount ‘in your bank account. I don’t think you can afford me for the custody hearing.’ I wondered how on earth my lawyer knew how much money I had left in the bank and realised that the only way she could have known was through Harris, because he still had access to my personal Merrill Lynch account.
Lee then tried to soften this astounding declaration by saying she also felt that there was a conflict of interest because she was representing a man called Gordon King in his divorce. Gordon was my dear friend and previous boss, and poor Gordon had been named as one of my supposed paramours. So I jumped on this, happy enough for us to end our arrangement.
And yet when Lee suggested a new lawyer for me, I naively didn’t stop to question it. Mendel Rivers had been a Family Court judge who was now getting back into practising law, and Lee felt that he would be perfect for me. Naturally I planned to counter Harris’s claim for full custody and needed experienced representation, but my first meeting with Mendel Rivers was truly bizarre.
I had a 7 p.m. appointment with him on a wet, wind-squalled evening. I bundled up my six-month-old daughter, trying to keep her both warm and dry as we got into the car for a white-knuckle drive to his offices.
I opened the front door and shook off the excess water from my umbrella and jacket. The reception area was very dark and I quietly called out, but was sure I wasn’t heard over the thunder. Finally there was a woman’s voice from the other end of the long hallway. ‘I’m coming, just a minute.’