The Children of New Bethany The Girls-The Boys-Their Personal Stories I have always been amazed (when allegations are brought forward such as those brought against The Children’s Home Society; The State of Florida “The White House Boys” as well as at the New Bethany boys and girls facilities) that when hundreds of grown men and women come forward telling of the horrible abuses that took place at those compounds; those in charge only have to state that the allegations are “not true.” It appears the former children have to substantially prove the charges to be “true” while the system put in place to protect children does not require those same facilities to have to prove the charges to be “untrue.” There is something very wrong here. 1 CHILD ABUSE LASTS A LIFETIME One evening I happened across a girl on the internet who had written a story about a religious institution called “New Bethany.” I was quite disturbed after reading her account of the abusive treatment handed out by these so called “Religious leaders of God.” My entire childhood was spent at The Children’s Home Society, located in Jacksonville, Florida and was a abusive fourteen years of my life. Personally, I have found these places to be nothing more than American concentration camps used by the juvenile system to harbor “troubled children;” especially teens who actually need nothing more than to be loved, respected and given a little freedom in order to find out who and what they are as individuals. “THE NOTE” (A child) Another note is born, its crystal is clear. It awaits your words so it may hear. With beer as a thought and drugs used as ink. The note progresses and begins to think. It develops its tone, based on sight and sound. The lessons provided were never profound. A belt and a bible, at worst a sword. The note begins singing its awkward chord. With slobber on sandals it struggles to breathe. With braces on eyeballs its mind never teethes. Its crystal now clouded unable to steer. Rainbows never color when shinning through fear. From rusted suggestion it struggles to call. Another child locked forever out of Carnegie Hall.” Roger Dean Kiser, Sr. Author/Child Advocate http://thewhitehouseboys.com/AmericanOrphan/americanorphan/index.html 2 DEDICATION This book is dedicated to all the young teens that were sent (incarcerated) at the New Bethany Home(s) for boys and girls. It is heard that there are a few good stories about these facilities; however, most of the kids (now middle-aged adults) speak more about the negative aspects of this so called “Place of God.” Even after thirty years, many of them still continue to write about the unbelievable horrors they suffered. Today, many of their internet web sites clearly express the days, weeks, months and in some cases years of rape, molestations, beatings and the ungodly treatment that most of them had to suffer while under the jurisdiction of their caretakers. Most of those submitting to this book realize that the past cannot be changed, but it is hoped that by telling their personal stories that such terrible atrocities will not be allowed to continue to happen to any innocent children in the future. It is to these brave boys and girls that this book is dedicated. One day, it is hoped that at least one or two former employees of these facilities will have the guts, heart and fortitude to step forward and expose the terrible abuses that occurred at these places. Abuses that were perpetrated in the name of God while at the same time were destroying many young innocent children’s lives. This book is dedicated to all the Children who ever passed through the gates of New Bethany Homes for Girls and Boys. For the ones who were lost and never got to live into their adult years, for the ones suffering at this moment from the abuse they endured. For the ones who found the courage to move on. To the ones who have not found us yet, we are looking for you. Special Thanks Lenee Rider Clark Word Teresa Frye Cat Givens For bringing us all back together. For being the voice for those who can’t speak. You have saved the lives of many. Roger, thank-you for all you time and help in getting this book together; and thank-you for believing us when others simply did not care. You are a wonderful human being, and it is an honor for all of us to know you. 3 A great big THANK YOU to Rhonda Lundquist for all her hard work and the many hours she worked to help me get this book together. I could have completed this project without her help. Also, a big THANK YOU goes out to Dulci J. Krautsack for designing the book cover. "You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.' You must do the thing you think you cannot do" Eleanor Roosevelt INDEX Kim Holt . 06 Rhonda Lundquist . 17 Joanna Wood . 38 Jennifer Christenson-Smith . 43 Donna Morphew . 46 Amy Elizabeth Brantley Schimmel . 48 Dulci J. Krautsack . 53 4 Simone Jones . 70 Carrie Beckett . 82 Tara Simms . 85 Mistie Mayo Babin . 94 Erika Bjorklund Hollis . 99 Cat Nelson Givens . 104 Crissy Gwiegant-Anderson . 110 Clark Word . 120 Marsha L . 134 Mathew Grise . 135 There Was a Time . 146 Pictures . 147 This Is Known As “Saving Your Own Ass” . 149 Broken Flowers by Mandi . 150 5 Kim Holt From Pillar To Post I grew up in the Indiana Cornfields. My mother divorced her second husband when I was 10. Now that the bad man was gone, I didn't have to worry about getting beat with his belt anymore. When I was little He would come into my room with a belt to check to see if my room was clean. I would hang onto my mommy’s leg. His oldest boy would get in trouble and then point his finger at me. This is when I found out what happens to Liars. We would have to drop our pants and lay across the bunk bed where He would slap that belt on my little butt. Then he would ask who did what and the boy would point his finger at me then we would get more slaps with the belt. He would even get caught lying but there was no I'm sorry Kim. I lived in a small town where everyone knew everybody. I was free now to look at life without fear. I had the best little old ladies for neighbors and I would walk them to church. I loved to hear about Jesus and Loved to memorize John 3:16. They took me under their wings. I watched one guy mow their yards and he cut it to short and it burned the grass. I was determined to push that lawnmower myself. My little old ladies had flowers all around their houses and I just loved to help them. By the age of twelve I finally could push the lawnmower. My mother told me that as long as I took care of our yard that I could mow theirs. I made $4.00 a yard and $7.00 for the biggest yard. I had all the cookies and pies I could handle. Plus I had more yards to do because I did a good job. I played in the boys little league. But they got to where they didn't want a girl on their team anymore. I tried to join the Cub Scouts but the ninety year old Scout Master wouldn't let me. So I had to go to girls sports. I picked volleyball, basketball, track and finally softball. I got to go play in a lot of cool schools with cool gymnasiums. Basketball was my way of 6 escaping my mother and my half sister. If I was home I had to babysit and clean house. So I kept myself as busy as possible. Ninth grade was the greatest. I was always running up and down the court or running somewhere. I wasn't one to sit down or give up. I spent weekends at my Dad's in Southern Indiana. He was a Horse nut. We hardly ever spoke. I was on a horse all weekend at Spring Mill State Park. We would take people out on the trails. There were two trails a short one and a long one. Either my Dad led and I followed up from behind or sometimes I got to lead. I loved my time on the trails. I never thought my time on horses would come to an end. I loved it. Well our trailer caught fire in my 10th grade year and that made it tough. I stayed with my best friend Jodi until school was out. My mother decided to marry this guy she was seeing. I wasn't happy about that at all. He made sure to tell me that this was his house. I found out real quick when I got there his yard was so thick and tall. He made me mow it with a bagger, and I got nothing for the work. I found myself as their slave and babysitter. I started out by sleeping on the floor and his dog would come over to my pillow and start humping it with nasty stuff all over my pillow.