Records Room (pt3)

There’s more.  My testimony goes beyond the dates in question and is stricken because it happened outside the jurisdiction of Santa Clara County: “Over objection Jack also testified to an incident in Lake Tahoe in 1974 when Jack orally copulated appellant at appellant’s request… the trial court denied appellant’s motion to strike all of Jack’s testimony… the court ordered the testimony concerning the bathtub incident stricken.”

I feel sorry for this boy and I cry for him.  I remember how alone he felt, how terrified.  He was betrayed by the people who were supposed to protect him.  And I cry for myself because I know that the eight-year-old boy in this document is me, but at the same time, it isn’t me.  Not anymore. 

Surprisingly, I still don’t feel anger or hatred for Jim.  He’s a sad pathetic character whom I imagine cannot control his attractions.  I feel sorry for him too and for everyone he's hurt.

“The Records office will be closing in 15 minutes.”  The cute blond stands at the counter behind the Plexiglas and makes the announcement.  I glance at the clock on the wall behind her: 4:45.  I’ve been here two hours?  I check my watch not believing.  I’ve barely read the first packet of documents.  I feel like I’ve just scratched the surface and I haven’t made a single note.

“How do I get copies?” I ask the woman opposite the glass in the cubicle.  I’m in a rush now as I want copies of everything but know I don’t have time enough for it.

“Give me what you want copied” she says.

I pull the top documents, the transcripts, and slide them under.  “This.”  Flipping quickly through the rest of the pages, I pull a few more; arrest reports, doctors letters, more court transcripts; and slide them under, “And these.”  I flip some more.  When I’m done, I’ve copied two-thirds of the folder.

“That’ll be $15.00.”  She tells me.  “Do you need a receipt?”

I hand her fifteen in cash.  “No.”  I look at the clock on the wall.  It’s now 5:15.  Coping took half an hour and I’ve kept the cute blonde and her coworker late.  “Thank you,” I mumble as I stuff the copies into my Airborne bag.

Later at home I spend several hours reading and re-reading the file.  I wonder what I left behind because I didn’t copy it.  Should I go back?  There’s plenty of evidence in the documents I have now and I see no need to open up every old scar, so I decide to accept what I already have and leave the rest.  I know that soon, those records too will be destroyed as too old and then they will be gone forever.  I feel as if I’m burying something, but it’s an unknown something, and I’m strangely peaceful with that.

Included in my packet are two reports from psychologists that were brought in to examine Jim.  The doctors, both men, interviewed Jim in the Santa Clara County jail.  Neither doctor states how long they spent interviewing Jim. 

 Dr. Stein was first to visit Jim and he concluded his two page assessment in this way:

“This case can be view from two vantage points. From one point of view, an argument can be made for classification in the Mentally Disordered Sex Offender category. This is particularly so in view of his prior commitment to Atascadero State Hospital.  His present offenses would then be in the nature of recidivism, and this then could lead to his classification as a sex offender.

On the other hand, the present offenses apparently occurred within the context of the family as they did originally. This, therefore, tends to make this case more of an incest type of case. Ordinarily, such cases of incest are not classified in the Mentally Disordered Sex Offender category. While there is thus some contradictory element in this case, I am inclined to lean in the direction of Mr. M not being classified as a mentally disordered sex offender.”

They called what he did a simple case of incest?  He pursued and married a woman with five children all under the age of ten and molested each of them.  From day one he began training us to keep his secrets.  He isolated us from our mother and from each other.  He moved the family whenever the neighbors or the schools asked too many questions, or the wrong ones.   It was all calculated and systematic and two doctors spend an afternoon talking to him and determine, “He is not a threat to society?”  Were we all that naive in 1976?  As a people, as a country, were we blind to it, did we not see?  Or did we see and just refuse to believe?

Two years later, Jim would be free to walk the streets again.  The law wouldn’t start to crack down on sex offenders for at least another decade.  Media attention and public outrage lead to a series of laws and penalties for sexual predators and eventually to an offender registry and database.  All of that was much too late for me and my family.