Advocacy

The call came in response to my ad for my professional organizing service. “Sanity is just a phone call away” was my moniker. That tag line,along with the graphic of the girl holding back a closet bursting with stuff, got me jobs. But I knew this one was going to be different less than five minutes into the conversation. The woman on the end inquiring about my services told me she was the mother of “little Joan” from Hillsdale. Most everyone in the towns surrounding Hillsdale, New Jersey,knew about little Joan.

In 1973, little Joan proudly went across the street in her brownie uniform to deliver two boxes of girl scout cookies to her neighbor, a twenty-six year high school science teacher. She never returned home.

The police mounted a search for her body. The community came together as a collective whole and joined the search. They could have sat back and let the police do their job, but they were worried, they were outraged. They would do more than just wait for someone to find her or her body. They would participate. They came out in mass to spend their time and energy and search until she was brought home. Her body was found three days later in a wooded section of upstate New York. She had been raped and strangled by the teacher who lived across the street.

This act of violence shook the community to its core. Things like this did not happen in 1973 – not in the suburbs. People felt safe. Mothers parked their oversized baby carriages outside the the five and ten while they went in to pick up a few things because the carriages wouldn’t fit down the,narrow,aisles. A mother never even considered the fact that someone would steal their baby. That thought was as foreign as saying a green alien would knock on your door and ask for directions.

Good mothers set up their playpens on the front lawn so their toddlers could get some fresh air as they napped. Children rode their bikes without their parents giving a moment’s concern that someone would snatch them. Little ones were sent off to the bus stop without a second thought. Playing outside was the norm.

Michelle Obama did not have to start an initiative to coax parents to encourage their children to get some activity each day.”Go outside and play” was the command. The concept of coming up with creative games that did not require charged up batteries – just a child’s imagination – I am sure seems incomprehensible to the current young generation. But telling mom you were bored while she was ironing the family’s clothing is just not something you thought of saying unless you felt like getting a list of all the chores you could help with to relieve your boredom.

But that April in 1973, the world as they knew it was rocked to its core. Little Joan’s death had a profound impact on every life in just about the entire state and beyond. Children who never thought that someone their age could die learned that cruel fact. Parents who thought they lived in a safe town learned there was no such thing.

Prior to arriving at Rosemarie D’Alessandro’s home to begin my organizing work for her,I knew this was going to be more than a “help me with my closets” job. Before we even met or spoke a word or shared a story, we shared something much more profound. We were bound by the fact that we had both said goodbye for now to a child we did not want to utter those words to.

Rosemarie suffered from fibromyalgia which often times kept her from doing all that she wanted to do so she was happy that she had found my ad and was excited to get the help she needed. The organizing process began. She wanted me to help her organize several areas of her house as well as properly organize Joan’s things.

In the normal course of helping people clean up and get rid of stuff, stuff was just stuff. But this was Joan’s things. To me it was a sacred duty. I am sure that is the way servicemen feel when they fold the flag that covered the coffin at a fellow comrade’s funeral and present it to the family. I would not throw out a pebble or a stone or a scrap of people without checking with Rosemarie first.

I would hold up an item and and find out that there was, in fact, a story behind that stone,and she would share it with me. “Here Rosemarie look at these pieces of Joan’s artwork. Let’s get a ziploc bag and get these organized and grouped together.” Notes to mom, dance recital programs and on and on. It was painful for us both, but she was glad that I was there with her. She didn’t want to do this on her own. Some things are best shared. Even though I was hired to do this job,for me it was a privilege to get to know little Joan in this process.

Drawer after drawer of a dresser were arranged with what was left on earth of Joan’s short seven years here. And then I made the big discovery. Treasure as priceless as gold. Among some other things, I found the orange necktie to the brownie uniform that Joan wore on the day she was raped and murdered. There was a moment of silence because neither of us could say a word. There was no word to say. We wrapped it up especially carefully. It would have a place of honor among the other belongings.

I had heard so many stories about Joan and her short life that I felt like I knew her. What a sweet child. We couldn’t bring ourselves to really think about her final moments. We tried to push those thoughts away when they popped into our heads or our discussions. Talk turned back to a test that she received an A on that was in the pile.

The final day came, and I brought my son, Gregory’s baby book with me to Rosemarie’s house. “Rosemarie can I share with you about my Gregory. He only lived seven weeks, but I would like to tell you about him” She listened intently as I shared about his short life and all he meant to me.

It is a priceless gift a person gives you when they give you their undivided attention as you share about your child who has gone on ahead. It is a priceless gift a person gives you when they understand the tears you cry as you share your story, or even just allow you to cry them without trying to make you push them aside for their own comfort.

Rosemarie Becomes An Advocate

Rosemarie was just a mother who buried her beloved child and got up the next day to go on with her life through her tears because life moved forward regardless. She gave birth to two special boys following Joan’s death. Then in 1993,twenty years after his conviction, her daughter’s murderer,Joseph McGowan, was up for parole.

He had never expressed one ounce of remorse to the police investigators when he told them what he had done to Joan. He did not belong on the streets. He should have been given a life sentence as far as Rosemarie was concerned, but he had not.

To have to relive the entire experience and testify at a parole hearing seemed to be cruel, inhuman and unjust. But that is what she had to do. A few years later he once again came up for parole and again she had to testify against his release.

Rosemarie did not chose to become an advocate. She felt she had to become an advocate. She would fight for a law in memory of her daughter to make sure that there was no chance of parole if a child’s murder was committed during a sexual assault.

Joan’s law was signed by New Jersey Governor Christie Whitman in l997. A federal version was signed by President Bill Clinton in l998. The law was not retroactive so Rosemarie had to continue her own battle to keep her daughter’s murderer off the streets so another mother would not know the pain she knew.

In 2009, Rosemarie once again waged her war to keep Joseph McGown behind bars. She started a green ribbon campaign (Joan’s favorite color).She started a letter writing campaign. She collected names on her on-line petition. She protested in the front of the State House with others who felt her outrage at the situation. With others who felt they should stand with her.

Joseph McGowan was denied applying for parole for another thirty years which meant that he would spend the rest of his life in prison. Rosemarie had achieved her hard worn victory. Joseph McGowan would never be a free man.

Rosemarie has since become the advocate for more legislation, including, The Combating Child Exploitation Act which enhances the ability of law enforcement agencies to investigate and prosecute internet child pornography.

Rosemarie understood that there was strength in numbers. There was strength in collective voices telling those in authority that they cared about issues pertaining to the safety of their children. They wanted to see changes. They wanted their voices heard. There was power in numbers.

So what if we banded together and let our Heavenly Father hear our collective voices? What if we banded together and told our Heavenly Father that we are desperate for a change in our country, our states, our communities and our homes? What if we joined our voices in outrage at the current day situation and events? What if we felt empowered to stand against all that needs to be stood against?

We saw a stellar example recently of the power of a collective voice when a young woman became outraged over a $5 monthly fee being charged by Bank of America. Who would have thought that by making it clear to Bank of America that they were not okay with this $5 fee, the bank actually changed their policy. Why didn’t she just write a letter on her own? You know the answer to that.

So why can’t we approach our Heavenly Father with the same loud collective voice in outrage for the state of our world? He actually ASKS US to ASK HIM. In his word God states,

So let’s do it. Join your voices with me so that God can act on our behalf to bringin His Healing Touch to a world that so desperately needs it!