The Most Dangerous Animal of All (13 page)

My father turned away, leaving me alone in the stairwell, clad only in a white towel that served as my diaper.

Decades later, I would realize that the day my father abandoned me was the luckiest day of my life.

Others Earl Van Best Jr. encountered would not be so lucky.

17

Mary Bonnette was in no particular hurry as she strolled along North Boulevard on her way home from her job at Ethyl Corporation on March 15, 1963. She had no plans for the weekend other than enjoying the St. Patrick’s Day parade that would roll in front of her apartment that Sunday. Mary liked living in downtown Baton Rouge, where politicians, lawyers, and judges mingled easily with more common folks who frequented area restaurants or sat on the levee watching boats traverse the Mississippi River. The hustle and bustle in this capital city seemed less frantic than in other, larger downtowns across the country, partly because of the beauty that enveloped the area. Although senators and representatives did indeed hurry toward the capitol steps, they were never too busy to talk with passersby who recognized them. Even Governor Jimmie Davis was never too busy to stop and sign an autograph for a fan.

Mary, the Jewish daughter of first-generation immigrants from Poland, had recently divorced. As she approached 736 North Boulevard, at about 4:30 p.m., and walked around the side of the building, she smiled, relieved that the weekend was finally here and she was home. She enjoyed her work at Ethyl but always looked forward to her weekends. Climbing the brick stairs at the back entrance, she reached into her mailbox, retrieving a single piece of mail before opening the door.

Mary had taken a few steps across the small lobby that led to the stairway to the second floor when she heard the sound of a baby crying. When she reached the landing, her heart stopped for a moment.

There, lying on the cold marble floor, was a naked infant. I was crying and kicking my feet. My soiled receiving blanket and pacifier had fallen next to me.

Mary looked around to see if she could find my parents. She knew that none of the residents in the building had children and wondered if someone had just left me there for a minute. She didn’t see anyone. Just then, I let out a scream, snapping Mary into action. She stepped around me and ran up the stairs to apartment number 8.

When she got inside, Mary dialed the number for Judge C. Lenton Sartain. She and the judge had become friends after her divorce, and Mary was certain he would know what to do.

“Lenton, there’s a baby on my stairway landing,” she told him. “I found him there when I got home from work. It looks like someone just left him.”

“I’ll get help,” the judge calmly said. “You go check on the baby, but keep your door open so you can hear the phone. I’ll call you right back.”

When he hung up with Mary, the judge double-clicked the receiver on his rotary phone and was immediately connected to the operator.

“Get me Chief Wingate White of the Baton Rouge Police Department,” he said.

“I’ll get Captain Weiner over there,” Wingate said when the judge explained the situation.

Robert Weiner, the first appointed captain of the BRPD’s newly created juvenile division, sent Officers Essie Bruce and J. Laper to the address on North Boulevard the judge had given him.

Judge Sartain called Mary and told her that help was on the way. “Keep an eye on the baby,” he said.

“Oh, I hear the sirens now,” Mary said, with relief. She went downstairs to keep an eye on me, but she didn’t pick me up. She was afraid that she might disturb some evidence the police would need.

While Laper questioned Mary, Officer Bruce picked me up. Feeling the comforting warmth of a human touch, I stopped crying. The two officers placed me in their police car and, sirens wailing, rushed me to Baton Rouge General Hospital.

After leaving me to be examined by Dr. Charles Bombet, the emergency room doctor, Laper returned to the apartment building and interviewed residents, looking for anyone who might have seen who’d left me there. No one had seen anything.

Dr. Bombet determined that I was three or four weeks old and had been born in a hospital, based on the fact that I had been circumcised. He informed Captain Weiner that I was in good condition but should be hospitalized overnight for observation.

Judge Sartain assured Weiner that he would personally contact Catherine Braun, at the Welfare Department, the following morning regarding my placement in the state’s Infant Center.

Laper returned to the police station just down the street and examined the blanket, towel, and pacifier that had been found with me. On the towel he noticed an imprint—815 la or 818 la; he couldn’t be sure which it was. He found the name national stamped on the border, and the manufacturer’s name, cannon, was attached on the back side of the towel. The items were then wrapped and tagged to be sent to the Louisiana State Police Crime Lab for examination.

The next day, the Baton Rouge
Morning Advocate
ran the story on the front page. In the article, Captain Weiner pleaded with the parents to come forward. “We don’t know if the child is on special formula or has some condition that may effect [
sic
] his health. We realize the person who abandoned the child probably thought he or she had no other recourse, but there are ways of helping these people without their having to abandon their children.”

Baton Rouge was abuzz about Baby John Doe. Nothing like this had ever happened before.

Mary Bonnette, sitting alone in her apartment, was no longer as excited about the parade as she had been the day before. She had not slept much during the night. She had been worried about me. The thirty-seven-year-old did not have any children of her own, and she had already begun to think of me as hers in a way. After all, she had been the one who found me. She had to know how I was doing, so she picked up the phone.

“How’s my baby?” she asked Judge Sartain, her first cup of coffee still in her hand.

“Your baby’s in fine hands,” the judge replied. “He’s going to have a good home, and everything’s going to be fine.”

A few minutes after she hung up, her phone rang.

“Are you the lady who found the baby?” a male voice said.

“Why, yes, I am,” Mary said. “Who is this?”

The man did not answer. “The mother of the baby is destitute. She could not take care of him,” was his only response.

“Are you his father?”

“Yes,” the man said.

“Where are you calling from?”

Again, no answer.

“Look, the mother wants the child back. She will be at the police station sometime this morning to get the baby,” the man said.

The operator’s voice interrupted, instructing the man to insert more money.

The line went dead.

It was just after 8:00 a.m. when Mary called the police. She related the conversation to an Officer Reily. “I think he was calling long-distance, because the operator said his time was up,” she said. “He wouldn’t tell me who he was, but he did say he was the father.”

Officer Reily jotted down some notes. He and Officer Reine, of the Records Division, headed to Baton Rouge General Hospital to look for birth certificates for all white males born between February 1 and March 4. Nothing matched the footprints of Baby John Doe. Records from Our Lady of the Lake Hospital did not match, either.

Captain Weiner instructed Officer Gouner to track down the laundry tag on the towel that had been found with the baby. Gouner’s first stop was Kean’s laundry. Wilber Amiss Kean, the owner, inspected the towel and informed him, “That’s from the National Linen company, out of New Orleans.”

Gouner went back to the station to share the information with Weiner, who called Major Edward Reuther, supervisor of the juvenile division in New Orleans. Weiner explained that an abandoned child had been found in his city.

“We found a towel with the baby. It has markings from National Linen. Can you help us track down where the towel was delivered?” he said.

“We’ll help any way we can,” the major said.

Other officers in Baton Rouge were busy chasing down leads that kept coming in about suspicious characters, unwed mothers, and pregnant women who might have had babies and left them at the apartment. The media was having a field day with the story, and the publicity was hampering the investigation.

By March 20 police had tracked down most of the leads, with no results. My parents were nowhere to be found. Sergeant Ballard of the Baton Rouge Police Department called the linen company and asked if the numbers and markings on the towel were traceable. The answer was no.

My mother did not show up at the police station to collect me.

For the next month, a state-appointed foster family took care of me while police in Baton Rouge continued their search for my parents, but they learned nothing new about the identity of Baby John Doe.

18

When my father returned to New Orleans without me, Judy begged him to tell her where I was.

“What have you done, Van? Where is my son?” she cried.

“He’s fine, Judy. I left him at an apartment building where someone will find him. He’ll be okay. He’ll go to a good family who can afford to take care of him. Now, stop crying. This is ridiculous.”

Judy cried even harder.

When he realized he couldn’t console her, Van promised he would get me back.

Judy didn’t believe him—she knew he hated me—and began plotting her escape.

She had met a man at the Ship Ahoy named Jerry, who flirted with her and made promises about giving her a better life. Anything was better than the life she had, and before long, Judy began flirting back.

On the morning of April 18, my mother waited for Van to leave the apartment, then she packed her meager belongings and took a taxi to 642 Dauphine Street, where Jerry lived. His apartment was small—a living room, kitchen, and bath, with a loft upstairs—but it was nicer than the places she had lived with Van. Jerry welcomed her with open arms.

Van was furious when he returned home and discovered that Judy and all of her things had disappeared. He went to the Ship Ahoy and questioned the owner, whom he had befriended when he got Judy the job there. The owner informed him that Judy had been flirting with a customer named Jerry. “Tell me where he lives,” Van demanded.

“I don’t know where he lives, but I’ll find out for you,” the owner said.

A few hours later, he gave Van the address.

Bent on revenge, Van picked up the phone and called the police.

“I’d like to make a complaint,” Van told Desk Sergeant Charles Barrett, of the New Orleans Police Department, after giving his name. “I ran away from San Francisco with Judith Chandler in August last year,” he said. “We came to New Orleans in January. She left me this morning, just called a cab and left. She’s a wanted fugitive. Check it out. You’ll see. She’s living on Dauphine Street. She took all my money and my clothes. I want her arrested.”

Barrett handed the complaint to patrolmen Roland Fournier and Charles Jonau, who checked with cab companies and discovered that a Judy Chandler had taken a United Cab company taxi from 1215 Josephine to 642 Dauphine.

“Pick her up,” Barrett instructed the officers when Van’s information had been verified.

Fournier and Jonau staked out the location, parking midway between Orleans Avenue and St. Peter Street. Facing southwest, they could not miss their suspect if she walked up Toulouse and turned onto Dauphine.

It was after midnight when they spotted Judy, walking arm in arm with a man. Before they could get inside, the officers stopped them and placed them both in handcuffs.

Jerry, a married businessman from Seattle, who had talked the teenager into sex with the promise of helping her retrieve her baby, was questioned and released. Judy was arrested for vagrancy and taken to juvenile hall, this time twenty-two hundred miles from her home.

She seemed unafraid while she was being booked into custody. She bantered with the officers, acting as though nothing were amiss. Fournier, watching her every move, would later describe her as cunning. Being arrested did not seem to bother her at all.

Aware that Van had turned her in, Judy started spilling her guts.

“I’m fifteen,” she said proudly. “I don’t know why you’re arresting me. You should be arresting the man who called you. He took my baby and abandoned him in Baton Rouge.”

Fournier and Jonau were listening.

“What baby?”

Jonau left the room to call Captain Weiner in Baton Rouge and confirm that they had an abandoned child. When he came back, he nodded affirmation to Fournier, who continued questioning Judy, who told them everything.

“We ran away from San Francisco last year,” she explained, according to police reports. “We’ve lived in lots of cities, and I didn’t want to come here. Van insisted that I should have the baby here. We got here December 30. I had a baby February 12 of this year at Baptist Hospital. I named him after Van, but he was cruel to the baby, locked him in the footlocker with the lid down. I came home from work every night and the baby was barely breathing. Finally he took him to Baton Rouge and left him on the stairs of an apartment building on the main street. And he bounced checks across the country,” Judy added for good measure.

The officers decided to hold her at the Youth Study Center while they checked out her story.

Fournier placed a call to San Francisco and learned that Van was wanted for child stealing, rape, and conspiracy. Upon verification that he was indeed a fugitive, a warrant was issued for his arrest. Fournier and Jonau went to Van’s address on Josephine Street with the warrant in hand. His landlady informed them that their suspect had moved out “to parts unknown,” assuring them that she would call them if she heard from him.

The next day, Captain Weiner traveled to New Orleans with another officer to meet my mother. He wondered what kind of person could just abandon a child like that. The captain was somewhat surprised when he learned that Judy was just a teenager. When he showed her pictures of me, Judy tearfully identified me as her own. Weiner interrogated her as he would any criminal until he was satisfied that the story he heard was the truth. He then transported her to Baton Rouge to attend a hearing about what should be done with me.