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News

NAME TELLS SAD STORY

Ofelia Casillas

CHICAGO TRIBUNE

June 12, 2009

One night in October, a mother abandoned her daughter at a neighbor's West Side basement apartment.

Not knowing the 9-month-old's name, a child welfare investigator who came to collect her made one up: her own first name and, as a last name, the street where she was found: Arthington.

Dozens of abandoned children have been taken in by the child welfare system in the last decade. The tiniest ones are often left both without parents and an identity, and are named informally by an official. The temporary monikers are often bittersweet, reflecting the circumstances of their predicament as children are named for the hospital or church where they were found or the day or month they were abandoned.

Nevertheless, for Baby Arthington, it was a name, the start of an identity. Other children in the system have been known, for a time, as "Baby Girl," "Doe" or simply "unknown" until they are legally adopted by a family or their real identities are somehow confirmed.

"The nurses and caseworkers and other professionals who care for a child before they are legally adopted love these children and want them to have dignity, and that's why these names are created," said Kendall Marlowe, spokesman for the Illinois Department of Children and Family Services. He said officials have no formal process for assigning names, and that such is a task best left to families.

While officials stumbled upon a likely identity for Baby Arthington months after she was found, it remains unconfirmed, eight months later. So the little girl continues to go by her made-up name. The Tribune is not using her first name to protect her identity.

On that rainy and chilly October night, Robert McMath, 64, heard a knock on his door in the 3800 block of West Arthington Street. A woman he recognized from the neighborhood and her boyfriend, presumably both without a home, asked McMath if they and a baby could warm up inside and leave at daybreak.

He ushered the family to a spare room off of the kitchen, gave them blankets and went back to sleep.

At dawn, McMath and his fiance, Debra Stokes, 42, woke to the sound of the baby crying.

"The momma was gone, and the front door was open," Stokes said.

McMath, who was angry at first, checked on the baby. She was wet, and she had a cold and a rash.

Stokes said they should care for the baby until her mother returned.

As word got out, the neighborhood mobilized.

One neighbor washed the baby's things; others donated more clothes.

After a few days, Stokes and McMath realized the mother was gone for good.

"I couldn't believe that," Stokes said.

"How could you leave a baby that small?" McMath added.

Though she was sad to see the baby go, Stokes, who has three adult children of her own, called the child welfare system.

The couple handed the child over to a state worker who, records show, made the child her namesake.

In December, after the baby had spent time at a state youth shelter then moved to a foster home, juvenile court investigators, at the request of her attorney, set out to find her identity.

The investigators looked at police records then went out to the home where the baby was abandoned. No one was home. They visited nearby apartment buildings where the girl's mother could have lived.

The mystery began to unravel in January, when investigators finally spoke to McMath and Stokes. They gave investigators the name of a man who worked nearby.

Tracked down, the man confirmed that he had cared for the child when he dated her mom, a different man than the boyfriend who the mother was with the night Baby Arthington was abandoned. What's more, this former caregiver had Arthington's birth, medical and Social Security records. He also had her footprints, the smudgy bits of identity imprinted the day she was born.

He gave child welfare workers the documents.

When workers finally met with the biological mother in March, she was nine months pregnant, homeless and using drugs, according to state documents. She has not been located since.

Today, Arthington lives in a foster home, and her guardian has not yet decided whether to adopt her.

Those evaluating the child look for clues that could explain what neglect she might have endured during her short life. One hint: an evaluation in December found she was not bothered by loud sounds or dirty diapers.

They're also seeking to confirm, through additional tests, that she is the same child whose records they were given. Until then, she'll go by the name of her state rescuer and the street where she last saw her mom.

"It has a whole lot of meaning, something as simple as a name," Cook County Public Guardian Robert Harris said. "It really gives a kid a whole identity."

Just as Arthington became part of the child's identity, she left her mark on the street.

McMath and Stokes say they miss her, and are grateful the child was left in their house instead of somewhere else.

"We were at the right place at the right time," McMath said.

For a while after Arthington was taken into state custody, they kept her stroller and a few items that had been donated for her. On a recent afternoon, Stokes held a pair of tiny blue sneakers that she hadn't been able to let go.

"It reminds me of her," Stokes said, "someone who just walked into my life out of nowhere on a rainy night."