I Have a Story to Tell

After doing some checking in the streets, Willie, Jr. discovered that they couldn't just go and turn the kids in to the Foster Child Care Program folks. In fact the only way kids are in the program is if the state takes the kids from the parents for some reason. Little did he know that had the authorities been notified of their neglect a couple of months earlier, their issue would have been resolved. Willie, Jr. and Augustine had already had several run-ins with the Gary Police and concluded that the wrong type of abuse or neglect could lead to a police problem. Their heroin soaked minds decided that abandonment would not cause police problems. So, on a windy, gray, and chilly mid-October afternoon Willie and Augustine gathered us into the car and drove to and Broadway in downtown Gary, Indiana. They parked across the street from the front entrance of the city courthouse and jail. The car was just a few feet beyond the stairwell that led down to the Chili Bowl Diner. This diner was below street level so the stairwell led down. They took us out of the car and walked us across the street to the steps that led up to the court house. They lined us up side by side and Augustine said, “I know you boys are hungry, so I want you to stand right here and don't move, your daddy and I'll go and get you something to eat.” They walked away and never returned. My memory of the event is foggy but my oldest brother Montclair recalls the incident with bone chilling clarity. He remembers watching as they went back across the street and down the stairwell into the diner. He remembers how one or the other would stand in the stairwell and peek out at us and then look at their watch as if to say how long before the Foster Child Care Program folks come out and get them. He remembers how they both came up the stairs of the diner and how Willie, Jr. got into the car and Augustine came back across to us and said, “They ain't got nothing good for y'all down there, so we're going to go someplace else, but y'all just wait right here and we'll be back.” He remembers tears forming in her eyes as Willie, Jr. called out to her to hurry up and come on and how she said, “Now y'all be good and stay right here, cause we'll be back, I promise.” Chapter 4 Brother Montclair recalls how we stood in that spot for more than another two hours. Three little boys ages 2, 3, and 4 just standing there on the steps of the city courthouse, cars driving past on the street. People coming and going, passing us by and looking. Not at the three little boys standing there alone with no adult supervision. They were looking because our clothes were old, torn, and dirty. Montclair recalls how the evening sky began to approach and the courthouse employees all filed past us without a word. It seems as if we all recall the next event as if it happened just a day ago. Maybe we remember because it was a miracle that we were a part of. A car pulled up in front of the courthouse and stopped almost directly in front of us. Within two or three minutes a woman scurried down the courthouse steps past us to get into the car, but she paused and gave us a glaring look. The car drove off, but they must have only circled the block because within two or three minutes the car was back. The lady got out and approached us; she spoke to Montclair, “What are you boys doing here?” Maybe it was the expression on his face or the tone of pain in his voice that alerted the lady, or her professional training, but somehow she knew our plight before Montclair could explain. She said, “Well my name is Mrs. Fletcher and I think you should come with my husband and me.” She then gathered us together and walked down to the car. Michael began to cry and complain that we would be in trouble if we moved because, “Mommy and daddy are coming back to get us and they won't be able to find us if we're gone.” I said nothing as I crawled into the backseat of the big sedan with Michael. Montclair got in the front seat between our rescuers. Although we were too young to realize it at the time, God had intervened and a miracle had been performed. Think about it, of all the people that saw us that day, vehicles that passed us by, the person that noticed three little boys standing alone was not a pedophile or a child molester. It was not some individual that would have sold us into black market slavery or worse. The person happened to be a Social Worker and representative of the Foster Child Care Program.