While Mrs. Murphy and her home in the story are fictional, Rill’s experiences there were inspired by those reported by survivors. There were also many who, due to abuse, neglect, illness, or inadequate medical attention, did not live to tell their stories. They are the silent victims of an unregulated system fueled by greed and financial opportunity. Estimates as to the number of children who may have simply vanished under Georgia Tann’s management range as high as five hundred. Thousands more disappeared into adoptions for profit in which names, birth dates, and birth records were altered to prevent biological families from finding their children.
One would assume, given these awful statistics, that Georgia Tann’s reign would have eventually ended amid a firestorm of public revelations, police inquiries, and legal action. If Before We Were Yours were entirely fictional, that’s how I would have written its end, with scenes of swift and certain justice. Sadly, this was not the case. Georgia’s many years in the adoption business did not draw to a close until 1950. At a press conference that September, Governor Gordon Browning skirted the heartbreaking human tragedy of it all and instead discussed the money––Miss Tann, he reported, had benefited illegally to the tune of $1 million (equivalent to roughly $10 million today) while employed by the Tennessee Children’s Home Society. Despite the revelation of her crimes, Tann was, by then, beyond the reach of legal action. Within days of the press conference, she succumbed to uterine cancer and died at home in her own bed. A newspaper exposé ran opposite her obituary on the front page of the local paper. Her children’s home was closed and an investigator appointed, but he soon found himself stymied by powerful people with secrets, reputations, and, in some cases, adoptions to preserve.
While the closing of the home gave grieving birth families reason to hope, that hope was quickly snatched from them. Legislators and political power brokers passed laws legalizing even the most questionable of her adoptions and sealing the records. Of the twenty-two wards remaining in Tann’s care at the time of her death, only two—who had already been rejected by their adopted families—were returned to their birth parents. Thousands of birth families would never know what became of their children. The general public sentiment was that, having been given over from poverty to privilege, the children were better off where they were, no matter the circumstances of their adoptions.
While some adoptees, separated siblings, and birth families were able to find one another through pieced-together memories, documents spirited from courthouse files, and the assistance of private investigators, Georgia Tann’s records would not finally be opened to her victims until 1995. For many birth parents and adoptees, who grieved their losses throughout their lifetimes, that was simply too late. For others, it was the beginning of long-delayed family reunions and the opportunity to finally tell their own stories.
If there is one overarching lesson to be learned from the Foss children and from the true-life story of the Tennessee Children’s Home Society, it is that babies and children, no matter what corner of the world they hail from, are not commodities, or objects, or blank slates, as Georgia Tann so often represented her wards; they are human beings with histories, and needs, and hopes, and dreams of their own.
For the hundreds who vanished
and for the thousands who didn’t.
May your stories
not be forgotten.
For those who help today’s orphans
find forever homes.
May you always know the value
of your work
and your love.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Story people are a bit like real people—no matter where their humble beginnings may lie, their journeys are shaped by family, friends, neighbors, co-workers, and all manner of acquaintances. Some encourage them, some guide them, some offer them unconditional love, some teach them, some challenge them to be their best. This story, like most stories, owes its existence to a village of unique and generous individuals.
First and foremost, I am thankful to my family for supporting me through all these writing years, even when it meant late nights, crazy schedules, and foraging for whatever was left in the kitchen. Particular thanks this year goes to my eldest son for falling in love and finally adding a girl to the family. Not only is a wedding a great distraction from editing, writing, rewriting, and editing some more, but now at long last I have someone who doesn’t mind riding to book events with me and talking all the way there and back.
Thank you to my mother for being my official assistant, and also a fabulous first reader. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a helper who will tell you when your hair or your last chapter needs a little spiffing up. Thank you to my sweet mother-in-law for helping with address lists and for loving my grown-too-soon boys, and to Paw-paw for making sure that the next generation of Wingates knows how to tell a great tale around the dinner table. Thanks also to relatives and friends far and near for loving me and helping me and hosting me as I travel. You’re the best.
I’m grateful to special friends-who-are-like-family, especially Ed Stevens for research help and constant encouragement, and Steve and Rosemary Fitts for hosting us on Edisto Island. If there’s a better place to go for a research trip, I haven’t been there yet. Thanks also to the fabulous team who help with early readings and tour plans: Duane Davis, Mary Davis, Virginia Rush, and last but not least, my wonderful Aunt Sandy, who has a great sense of plotlines and an equally great sense of humor. To Kathie Bennett and Susan Zurenda of Magic Time Literary, thank you for having planned great book tours in the past, for jumping behind this book from its earliest stages, and for working with gusto to bring it to the world.
On the publishing side, I am forever in debt to my fabulous agent, Elisabeth Weed, for encouraging me to write the book and then working expertly to make sure it found just the right publishing home. Thank you to editor extraordinaire Susanna Porter for pushing me to deepen the experiences of the Foss children and Avery’s journey into her family’s hidden past. Thank you to the fabulous publishing team behind this book: Kara Welsh, Kim Hovey, Jennifer Hershey, Scott Shannon, Susan Corcoran, Melanie DeNardo, Kristin Fassler, Debbie Aroff, Lynn Andreozzi, Toby Ernst, Beth Pearson, and Emily Hartley. There are no words to express how much I appreciate each of you and your bringing this story to the market with such tender loving care. Loads of gratitude are also due to the teams in art, design, production, marketing, publicity, and sales. Thank you for contributing your incredible talents. Without your work, stories would literally sit on shelves undiscovered and unread. You connect books to readers, and in doing that, you connect people to one another. If books can change the world, those of you who help bring them to the world are the change agents.
Lastly, I’m grateful to the many readers who have shared past journeys with me and are now sharing this one. I treasure you. I treasure the time we spend together through story. Thank you for picking up this book. Thank you for recommending my past books to friends, suggesting them to book clubs, and taking time to send little notes of encouragement my way via email, Facebook, and Twitter. I’m indebted to all of you who read these stories and also to the booksellers who sell them with such devotion. As Mr. Rogers once said, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”
You, my friends, are the helpers.
And for that, I am most grateful.