The Scrapbook

My latest sleuthing adventure has sent me on quite an interesting and thought-provoking journey. It all began with an early morning email message on a Wednesday in July. “I have something I want to run by you,” began Michael Vorndran from the Allen County Genealogical Society of Indiana (ACGSI). “I picked up a scrapbook at a local estate sale . . . ” continued the intriguing message.

Michael had come into possession of a scrapbook, circa the 1950s, that recorded details and displayed black and white as well as colored photos of infants born in Fort Wayne and fostered by a local family. Michael recognized immediately the treasure he’d found tucked in the bottom of a chance box at a random sale—one of the many he attends as he routinely makes the rounds of such events, hoping to glean items of historical significance to Allen County. While immensely interested in the scrapbook’s contents, he didn’t have the time to pursue the project in the way he felt could explore its true potential.

My thoughts as I read his email aligned perfectly with his: “I would think that the children, now adults, would love to see these pictures and know a bit more about their stories.”

I squealed with delight as I typed a calmer-than-I felt response, inquiring if he would feel comfortable sharing the treasured find with me. His quick reply expressed appreciation for my interest and an offer to put the scrapbook in the mail the following morning.

The carefully wrapped and packaged softcover scrapbook arrived on Saturday, and I slipped away to my office to devour its contents. I took in the farm-like setting depicted on the cover, noting the 25¢ price in the upper left corner. I carefully lifted the thin cover to find the first unlined page filled with a small, cursive, handwritten script that noted birth and early-life particulars for Penney—birth date and weight, feeding schedule, growth achievements, and progress notes. Two mentions of baby clothes received from the baby’s “real mother” at four months and six months of age. The diary-like summary captured the details that a “Baby Book” inquires after. It concluded with expressions of love for the baby the family had fostered for 7½ months. Fifteen pictures of a smiling baby were black-photo-cornered to the next three pages.

I reread the Penney page, marveling not only at the intricate details but also the abundantly-obvious care, time, attention, and love this family had showered on this baby girl. Nine entries followed, highlighting the young lives of four baby girls and five baby boys who spent time with this family. The summaries grew shorter as time went on. Still, the details captured noted significant aspects of these young lives and a depth of care that stirred me.

Per the pictures scattered throughout the scrapbook, the family included a father, a mother, and two children—a daughter and a son who appeared to be elementary-school aged. The first summary began in late December 1959. The last entry seemed to end abruptly after just one sentence for a boy born in 1963. One page in the back of the scrapbook noted briefly the children who had been cared for on a very temporary basis, with 5 single-paragraph entries. Another page recorded updates on the children from some of those temporary stays, specifically those that involved another foster family.

Although Michael thought he remembered the auction where he had purchased this treasure, his first thought was incorrect. The same for a second consideration. Then, the third lead went cold. As I noted earlier, he attends a lot of estate sales. The scrapbook itself offered zero clues as to the identity of the foster parents, with the pictured adults being labeled “Mommy” and “Daddy” with no names given for the couples own children either. While Michael combed through his records for names and addresses that might relate to this purchase, I took notes from each summary, so I could put the bound pages aside for safer keeping. Recording the baby’s birth date, name bestowed by birth parents/hospital personnel/foster parents, name-changed-to _____________ by adoptive parents, tidbits of info—but no names—about the adoptive parents. I also jotted down the mention of three other foster couples who had assisted or been assisted by the nameless compilers of the scrapbook. I concluded that references to “our local home” likely referred to Woodhaven Maternity Home that operated for 15 years on Carew Street in Fort Wayne.

Would these few clues be enough to connect the children to their past?

As I pondered the next step, my mind wandered from the lives highlighted in the fragile scrapbook to me and my family. I remembered the pictures my parents received from the foster parents who cared for one of my brothers. Several photos of an infant being held by or propped up by person(s) careful not to be included in the picture, taken in the first four weeks of his life. As a seven-year-old, I wondered where he’d lived before he came to our family.

When my own search began in 2016, I longed to find someone whose path had personally crossed mine in the seventeen days between my being found on the doorstep and my adoptive parents picking me up. The middle-aged couple who’d found me, Andrew and Belva, had long passed. But I loved connecting with their granddaughter who shared the details her then eight-year-old-mind had stored away about that day.

I felt driven to find someone, any adult who remembered me. I’ll never forget the day that a bunch of sleuthing culminated in a telephone call to an elderly woman who’d been a Cameron Hospital employee in November 1963. While she hadn’t seen the doorstep baby in the nursery, she remembered the scenario and confirmed that Belva—her friend—visited and rocked me. “She bought an outfit for you,” she shared with confidence. Emotion caught in my throat. I choked out a heartfelt thank you for her willingness to talk with me. A total stranger inquiring about a situation dating back more than five decades.

I understood what a gift it would be to give these adoptees pictures and handwritten notes from their first days, weeks, and months of life. For them to know that they’d been well cared for and long remembered by their foster family would be meaningful.

Back to the search for the identity of “Mommy” and “Daddy.” I reasoned that if local foster parents helped each other care for the babies, that meant they knew each other well enough that their surviving family members might remember names and recognize faces. Sifting through the obituaries of the three mentioned couples led to locating their living children and approaching them about their parents’ foster care colleagues. Four calls, three recorded messages, and three return calls later, someone recognized Charles “Chuck” and Betty Foltz, and their children. Betty’s obituary stated that she and Chuck had cared for twenty foster infants. Success!

I posted a message on various Facebook groups: looking for adoptees born from late 1959 through early 1963 in Fort Wayne whose mother may have been associated with the Woodhaven Maternity Home and/or who had been fostered by Chuck and Betty Foltz. Because adult adoptees born in Indiana can access their original birth certificate and their adoption file, I hoped that some of the Foltz-fostered adoptees would recognize themselves in these details.

I then turned my attention to matching the bits of information about the relinquished babies with the adults they are today, sixty plus years later.

I’m 99% sure I found Penney, the first baby highlighted with loving care by Betty Foltz. But both she and the parents who adopted her passed, and she had no children. So, there’s no one to share the carefully penned notes and photos with.

I moved on to Mark and found a potential match that I will need to explore further. But what if he doesn’t know he was adopted? It was common in the 50s and 60s to not tell an adopted child he/she was adopted.

Then onto Danny, who was adopted by an Iowa couple, which means his adoptive birth certificate may state that he was born in Iowa instead of Indiana. Or, it may truthfully list Fort Wayne, Indiana, as his birthplace. Because adoption-finalizing-judges were permitted to change birth location or even birthdates. As if altering the facts could change the child’s DNA.

I forged ahead to Keith then Randy. Leslie, Larry, Joy. Sally Ann and Angela. The last full entry is titled Trudy (Phyllis). Maybe fostered Trudy became adopted Phyllis? Or, the hospital’s nursery staff named her Phyllis, but the foster family preferred Trudy. Who knows?

My luck at discovering potential matches seemed to diminish after Danny. As the deadline for this issue looms, I’m still 1 for 10. But I’ll keep plugging away. Due to privacy issues, I’ve chosen not to publish birthdates of the babies. But, if you or someone you know—

• was born between December 1959 and mid-1963
• in Fort Wayne, Indiana, OR possibly in Fort Wayne, Indiana
• and/or your adoption placement may have been associated with Woodhaven Maternity Home  

Contact me! Shoot me a message at bethsteury@gmail.com with an adoption-related topic in the subject line, please. (Any and all genealogy and DNA-related questions are welcome!)