LilMtnCbn
01-31-2005, 07:35 AM
http://www.nj.com/news/times/index.ssf?/base/news-2/110716237972230.xml
In one small town, two big searches
Monday, January 31, 2005
By KAREN AYRES
Staff Writer
When Shirley Crainer was 80, she gathered 200 friends and relatives in her
one-stoplight hometown in Michigan to share a startling secret.
"Fifty-nine years ago, I gave birth to a baby boy," she reportedly told the
crowd. "And here he is."
For Robert Morris, it was a momentous introduction.
"What was interesting were the gasps from everyone in the tent," said Morris, a
resident of Rocky Hill. "They had no idea she ever had me. There weren't even
rumors. It was just a total shock to everybody.
"It was the best day of my life," he said.
That announcement eight years ago marked the end of a 59-year guessing game for
Morris.
Though it was an end he welcomed, it wasn't something he ever expected growing
up like so many other adoptees across the nation who wonder about the things
nearly everybody else takes for granted.
As a youngster in a prominent Michigan family, Morris said he and his sister
Carol, to whom he is not biologically related, always knew they were adopted.
Morris, in fact, even had copies of his adoption records that his grandmother
obtained after he went home to the Morris family.
His mother, Shirley Archer, and his father, who was listed as Badiun
Houndieson, were not married. Houndieson was 20 years older than Archer.
Morris knew his adoptive parents chose him, in part, because the records showed
his father was a Columbia University graduate and a fighter pilot in World War
I. But he would later learn none of that was true.
"They were looking for a certain background - someone who might fit in the
family," said Morris, who is now 67. "I was just lucky as hell. That's all I
can say."
When it came to his adoption, Morris said his records showed he was probably
placed with two other families through a home for unwed mothers before he went
home to the Morris family at the age of 1 1/2.
"I know I was thrown back once," he said, "but I think I was thrown back
twice."
As a child, Morris said his parents and grandparents always made him and his
sister feel like the chosen members of the family, but one of his uncles
refused to accept him.
"I've always felt like I wasn't a blood relative," Morris said. "He made me
feel like I never really belonged."
Even though he had most of the information about his adoption, Morris said he
didn't want to launch a search for his birth parents.
When a friend from graduate school found the location of his birth mother's
family farm in Michigan, Morris decided against looking any further.
"I always wanted to do it," he said, "but I was always afraid of being
rejected."
Many years later, Morris' own son proposed launching a search.
"If you do it, I'll break your legs," Morris told his son. "It's my job to do
it, not yours."
In his 30s, Chuck Morris wasn't deterred by his father's threat. Fascinated by
genealogy, he went to Michigan in search of family tombstones.
As he was searching through a cemetery, Chuck Morris encountered a woman who
knew his birth grandmother and her married name, Shirley Crainer. Not only was
she still alive, she lived nearby.
When Chuck Morris knocked on the door, Crainer's daughter answered.
"She said that he asked, `Did you know that your mother gave up a little boy
for adoption?' " Morris said. "Chuck says he didn't say that, but knowing Chuck
he probably did."
Chuck Morris waited three weeks to tell his father what he did. Luckily, the
elder Morris had changed his mind about a search.
"I never would have done it myself," he said. "I never could have done it."
Morris knew that calling his birth mother was risky.
"Looking at it from my mother's point of view, when she gave me up, she wanted
that chapter of her life to be closed," he said. "She didn't want me popping
back in."
But pretty soon, he got the nerve to call her.
"Her reaction was a little cool in the beginning, but it warmed real quick," he
said. "We were feeling each other out."
Morris soon visited his mother. Along with his adoptive family, he met the
crowd of 200 people.
"People ask me, `How do you feel?' and I say it's like an Oprah moment. There
was a feeling that was unbelievable."
Though Morris' birth father was dead, Chuck Morris also discovered quite a bit
about that side of the family and the lies that helped land Morris with his
adopted family.
It turns out Badiun Houndieson was actually named Fred Houldworth. And he
wasn't a fighter pilot or a Columbia graduate. He was an ironworker who skipped
town before he even knew Shirley Archer was pregnant.
"I've always had an affinity for the iron business," said Robert Morris, who
works with computers.
He speaks to his birth mother, who is now 87, a couple times a week. But those
conversations aren't all that he's gotten out of his search.
"I've gone through life with a rejection complex," Morris said. "It's something
I'm very sensitive about. I've done a lot of things in my life based on the
feeling of rejection. I realize that now." (
-------------------------
A good friend will come and bail you out of jail . . . but, a true friend will
be sitting next to you saying, "Damn . . . that was fun!"
-----Unknown
In one small town, two big searches
Monday, January 31, 2005
By KAREN AYRES
Staff Writer
When Shirley Crainer was 80, she gathered 200 friends and relatives in her
one-stoplight hometown in Michigan to share a startling secret.
"Fifty-nine years ago, I gave birth to a baby boy," she reportedly told the
crowd. "And here he is."
For Robert Morris, it was a momentous introduction.
"What was interesting were the gasps from everyone in the tent," said Morris, a
resident of Rocky Hill. "They had no idea she ever had me. There weren't even
rumors. It was just a total shock to everybody.
"It was the best day of my life," he said.
That announcement eight years ago marked the end of a 59-year guessing game for
Morris.
Though it was an end he welcomed, it wasn't something he ever expected growing
up like so many other adoptees across the nation who wonder about the things
nearly everybody else takes for granted.
As a youngster in a prominent Michigan family, Morris said he and his sister
Carol, to whom he is not biologically related, always knew they were adopted.
Morris, in fact, even had copies of his adoption records that his grandmother
obtained after he went home to the Morris family.
His mother, Shirley Archer, and his father, who was listed as Badiun
Houndieson, were not married. Houndieson was 20 years older than Archer.
Morris knew his adoptive parents chose him, in part, because the records showed
his father was a Columbia University graduate and a fighter pilot in World War
I. But he would later learn none of that was true.
"They were looking for a certain background - someone who might fit in the
family," said Morris, who is now 67. "I was just lucky as hell. That's all I
can say."
When it came to his adoption, Morris said his records showed he was probably
placed with two other families through a home for unwed mothers before he went
home to the Morris family at the age of 1 1/2.
"I know I was thrown back once," he said, "but I think I was thrown back
twice."
As a child, Morris said his parents and grandparents always made him and his
sister feel like the chosen members of the family, but one of his uncles
refused to accept him.
"I've always felt like I wasn't a blood relative," Morris said. "He made me
feel like I never really belonged."
Even though he had most of the information about his adoption, Morris said he
didn't want to launch a search for his birth parents.
When a friend from graduate school found the location of his birth mother's
family farm in Michigan, Morris decided against looking any further.
"I always wanted to do it," he said, "but I was always afraid of being
rejected."
Many years later, Morris' own son proposed launching a search.
"If you do it, I'll break your legs," Morris told his son. "It's my job to do
it, not yours."
In his 30s, Chuck Morris wasn't deterred by his father's threat. Fascinated by
genealogy, he went to Michigan in search of family tombstones.
As he was searching through a cemetery, Chuck Morris encountered a woman who
knew his birth grandmother and her married name, Shirley Crainer. Not only was
she still alive, she lived nearby.
When Chuck Morris knocked on the door, Crainer's daughter answered.
"She said that he asked, `Did you know that your mother gave up a little boy
for adoption?' " Morris said. "Chuck says he didn't say that, but knowing Chuck
he probably did."
Chuck Morris waited three weeks to tell his father what he did. Luckily, the
elder Morris had changed his mind about a search.
"I never would have done it myself," he said. "I never could have done it."
Morris knew that calling his birth mother was risky.
"Looking at it from my mother's point of view, when she gave me up, she wanted
that chapter of her life to be closed," he said. "She didn't want me popping
back in."
But pretty soon, he got the nerve to call her.
"Her reaction was a little cool in the beginning, but it warmed real quick," he
said. "We were feeling each other out."
Morris soon visited his mother. Along with his adoptive family, he met the
crowd of 200 people.
"People ask me, `How do you feel?' and I say it's like an Oprah moment. There
was a feeling that was unbelievable."
Though Morris' birth father was dead, Chuck Morris also discovered quite a bit
about that side of the family and the lies that helped land Morris with his
adopted family.
It turns out Badiun Houndieson was actually named Fred Houldworth. And he
wasn't a fighter pilot or a Columbia graduate. He was an ironworker who skipped
town before he even knew Shirley Archer was pregnant.
"I've always had an affinity for the iron business," said Robert Morris, who
works with computers.
He speaks to his birth mother, who is now 87, a couple times a week. But those
conversations aren't all that he's gotten out of his search.
"I've gone through life with a rejection complex," Morris said. "It's something
I'm very sensitive about. I've done a lot of things in my life based on the
feeling of rejection. I realize that now." (
-------------------------
A good friend will come and bail you out of jail . . . but, a true friend will
be sitting next to you saying, "Damn . . . that was fun!"
-----Unknown
