The White House Boys: An American Tragedy (14 page)
In all honesty, I have to admit that I do hold hard feelings toward the psychologist. His perverted comments and actions combined with the pure hatred that oozed out of him toward me is more than I can stomach, and I do not believe I will ever forgive him. To think of all the children who were at this sick man’s mercy for so many years makes me shudder and weep inside.
B
ecause of the way you treated me as a young boy, I lived much of my life alone. But for some strange reason, you have made me stronger, stronger than most people I know.
The brutality you bestowed upon me as a child has given me a very compassionate heart. I have more compassion in my heart than most people I know.
Because of your thoughtless actions, you have made me wiser, wiser than most. And because of you, I have become an alert adult. You taught me to stay on guard and to never relax. I now live my life more on guard than most other people I know.
You also taught me how to feel unhappy, much more unhappy than most other people I know. For a long time, I did not know how to love, how to laugh, how to smile, how to joke, or how to fool around. But because you taught me how to be unhappy, I am able to recognize how important it is to be happy now that I’ve learned how. You’ve also taught me one other thing, the one thing I have up on everyone I know. I can cry way more tears than anyone can imagine.
T
he years of abuse I endured as a child gave me a very clear look at how cruel and inhumane people can be. Instead of the love I should have felt as a boy, I felt fear, a feeling I lived with each and every day of my childhood, a feeling instilled in me by those responsible for my care.
As a little boy at the orphanage, I heard and saw the news that millions of people were being tortured overseas. I heard that people were beaten and shot in the head and some were buried alive. I heard that my country, the United States of America, would put an end to the torture and would save all the people, everywhere in the whole wide entire world.
I did my best to believe those words, but how could they possibly be true? How could such a thing be true when we American children weren’t being saved from our own demented caretakers? There comes a time when we, as adults, have to look at what is fact and what is fiction. We must take the time to look deep within our hearts to feel what is true. I know that humankind is not perfect, and I know that mistakes are made by all. But my own country did a horrible disservice to its very own citizens who completely relied on it to take care of them.
For many years, I wanted retribution, but no one would listen. I wanted the atrocities we children suffered to come to light, to be acknowledged, so that we could move on. After years of writing about my experiences and posting them on my website, others who had endured the same tortured youth started to contact me. Hundreds of men have been coming forward, and it is only now that so many voices have joined together to shout, “WE EARNED THE RIGHT TO BE HEARD!” that people in our government will listen and acknowledge us.
From the Florida archives
********** Press Release**********
Justice Hugo Black once stated:
“T
he Press was protected so that it could bare the secrets of the government and inform the people. Only a free and unrestrained press can effectively expose deception in government. And paramount among the responsibilities of a free press is the duty to prevent any part of the government from deceiving the people.” Hugo L. Black
New York Times V US (Pentagon Paper)
There are certain accomplishments each of us wish to complete during the course of our lives. There is always a beginning, middle, and hopefully a successful ending.
For the last several months, we have done our utmost to expose the beatings, floggings, rapes and possible murders of as few as 32 and possibly many more children while in the care of the State of Florida in the 1950s and 60s. Few people want to remember, or even care for that matter, that these children’s lives meant nothing.
Each one of these was a young child, and each now lies in their forgotten grave, hidden away in the thick underbrush of the North Florida woods. We have pleaded, screamed and cried for these abandoned children and now are demanding to know who they were. We have presented this story on television, radio and it has been published in more than sixty newspapers.
We humbly hope and ask that the Governor of the State of Florida will carry forth our cause and bring justice to these children and bring peace to their families. We know in our hearts that the Governor is the type of man who will fight for what is right and just for these forgotten children. We sincerely believe the Governor and others understand the importance of this matter and that those children lying in those unmarked greaves deserve the same consideration and respect that all children should have.
Our elected officials have a legal responsibility and a moral obligation to correct the injustices these children and others have endured as wards of the State of Florida. We ourselves as victims of the abuse while at the Florida Industrial School for Boys at Marianna beseech the public and the media to demand an accounting and identification for these children, immediately before, once again the underbrush covers their graves and they are again forgotten. It is imperative that those who inflicted the abuse and even caused the death upon innocent children be held accountable for these atrocities.
The White House Boys organization respectfully requests the Governor of the State of Florida and the United States Department of Justice order and conduct a full investigation into the deaths of these children. We sincerely hope and believe the Governor will find a true sense of justice and urgency in ordering that these graves be opened and the identities of these forgotten children finally be revealed and that a proper burial be conducted. In the past history of the State of Florida they have made a concerted effort to identify the remains of early settlers, sunken ships and many remains and bounty pulled from the surrounding shores of Florida; these children deserve no less respect. We implore the Governor not to waste another day in bringing closure to this past travesty and finally make an effort to give peace to all who suffered at the Florida Industrial School for Boys.
Appendix II. Roger Dean Kiser’s
Speech, October 21, 2008
A
s I stand here before you today, the White House Torture Chamber less than four feet behind me, it is strange that the only word that comes to my mind is the word “masturbate.” Between Matron Mother Winters at the orphanage and Dr. Robert Curry, the psychologist you hired to straighten we boys out, that was the only word I ever heard come from these two individuals’ mouths. During the first twelve years of my life that seemed to be the most important thing the State of Florida wanted to know about me. It was bad enough never having had a real mother, but to have to sit through that type of degrading language was scary and disgusting. Governor, I have always wanted to say those words to you.
The term “reform school” is supposed to be a positive place not a negative. You, the State of Florida, became my parents by an order of the court and placed me in a Jacksonville, Florida, orphanage. You, not I, chose to make that decision. I, being only four or five years old, had no choice in the matter. You had a responsibility to teach and prepare me for a life outside the orphanage. For seven years, you are the one who allowed me to sit on the end of my bed with only a single broken roller skate wheel to play with. For seven years, I sat there rocking back and forth on the end of my bed, my mind wasting away while I spun that single roller skate wheel around and around more then one-hundred million times. When I was not spinning that wheel I was over at Mother Winter’s room laying naked, my little head on her bare chest while she had me masturbate her.
But because I took one of the girl’s bicycles from the dormitory, climbed a tree now and then, and went to the bathroom or got a drink of water without asking permission, you sent me way to this ungodly place. Whatever goodness might have been left of me at the age of twelve; you finally destroyed by beating the pure living hell out of me. You almost killed me. When I exited this damn building I was so bloody that no one could recogniz me. I walked into the bathroom in Mr. Hatton’s office and I screamed in horror when I saw nothing more than a bloody monster in the mirror. Shaking and screaming, I begged Matron Mother Winters to please come and save me from you bastards. “I’ll help you masturbate Mother Winters, really I will and I won’t complain ever again.” YOU CAUSED ME TO BEG FOR MY MOLESTER TO COME AND SAVE ME! THAT’S WHAT YOU DID TO ME!
Gentlemen, today, almost fifty years later, I now stand before you and I am still not sure if this building will ever allow me to smile. But that’s not the worse of it all. A secret inner hatred of society and a fear of my fellowman will forever be instilled and kept secretly hidden deep inside me because of this White House building, the Florida Industrial School for Boys at Marianna, Dr. Robert Curry, Mr. Hatton, and Mr. Troy Tidwell.
Was my secretly riding one of the girl’s bikes without the orphanage matron’s permission, or climbing up a thin tall pine tree, or stealing a candy bar from the Patio restaurant because I was hungry worth the price the State of Florida made me pay?
I was not a murderer, a rapist, or a burglar. I was a danger to no one, other than maybe myself. As a child, I had never hurt anyone, not even under the slightest of terrible circumstances. I was just an innocent, confused, incorrigible, hungry, unwanted, and unloved young boy who needed someone to let him know that he had a value to someone, somewhere in the world.
My entire adult life, those two horrendous beatings at the White House have been very difficult battles to deal with—one moment loving children, animals and most of humanity; the next moment a temper exploding into a fit of rage trying to protect myself from those who probably do not wish to harm me, but I cannot afford to take such a chance ever again.
I stand here today in remembrance of all the boys who were beaten, raped, and abused by this facility. But one that I will remember the most will be the boy who had his skin whipped off his back in one chunk from his shoulders to his knees.
I don’t know how many boys were killed here, and I don’t know if that will ever be known. But I do know this: Many a good little boy walked into this damn torture building but a lot more little Charlie Mansons walked back out than did good little boys. You should be ashamed of yourselves.
I can only pray that things have changed for the children of today.
Appendix III. Rumors,
Unanswered Questions, and
Theories
I
suppose in any situation there are rumors flying around from every direction. That is certainly the case here as the United States Department of Justice begins its investigation into the matter. However, having personally witnessed the removal of a body from the laundry room is more than speculation or rumor. Three or four other witnesses have come forward telling of similar incidents during their stay at the facility. Additional stories are beginning to surface about secret books and maps located in the attic of the chapel, books marked “Deaths and Graves.”
One ninety-year-old woman claims that her husband, now deceased, brought home several boys from the facility and molested and killed them by driving an ice pick through their heads. Stories of boys having been killed and then plowed under out in the fields of Jackson County are coming in from every direction. A former Army Ranger tells of having seen, on three separate occasions, three bodies being taken out of the White House and that there was very little doubt in his mind the boys were dead. Another account tells of a boy taken to the chamber for a beating who fought back and was beaten so badly while kicking at the guards that part of his testicles were severed from his body by the leather and metal beating strap. I recall at least five boys who simply disappeared during the night or after being taken to the White House for punishment. How many boys went missing from the facility? Who can account for them?
