Finding Edith Allen

     “Please, thank you,” said Helen, looking around at the clientele who were dressed in jean bib overalls and flannel plaid shirts. The small restaurant had four booths along the wall, a couple of tables and a dairy bar that seated six. Behind the counter on the back wall was the largest confederate flag Helen had ever seen, with deer head trophies on each side. The young waitress brought a cup of coffee and set it down in front of her.

     Stella was fresh out of high school and working at the restaurant was her first real job. Her family owned a twenty-acre farm where they raised dairy cattle and hogs. She grew up helping with the farm and going to school where she loved her drama class. Stella hoped she could save some money over the summer and go to the new beauty school in Paducah, Kentucky. Her aunt Ruth had a small hair shop in town and promised her a job if she went to school and got trained. Helen looked at Stella dressed in a light green chiffon uniform, a white apron, and a half hat stuck in her pinned up hair. She had the gift of gab, a pencil behind her ear, and charm that warmed the customers’ hearts.

     “Reckon you been on the bus all night. Where y’all from?”

     “I’m from….I just got in from Detroit. It was a long trip.”

     Helen caught herself because she was not sure where she was from. Her parents had told her from an early age that she was adopted at birth and they knew there would come a day when she would want to visit Tennessee.

     Her birth records indicated she was born at Memorial Hospital in Obion County, Tennessee, June 10, 1936. Her adoptive mother had helped her find as much information as possible. Fortunately, her brother-in-law was a law clerk who helped them navigate the system. Together, they had spent weeks reading page after page from the Childhood Welfare League of America, where they found the birth mother’s name listed as Edith Allen. That was really all the information she had, so she was on a quest to find out more.

      It wasn’t as if she didn’t have good parents. George and Mary Scott were loving and supportive parents who had been unable to have children of their own. To them, Helen was a gift from God. Over the years they provided her with a safe and secure home. She was given a private school Catholic education on the west side of Detroit. Her adopted father, George, was a bricklayer and worked in a city where the building trades were expanding by leaps and bounds. Mary, her adopted mother, worked part time as a nurse after Helen started school. Her parents had siblings that lived in and around Detroit, providing Helen with a large, extended family. She did well in school and was considered well-adjusted. She asked her adoptive mother how could a mother abandon her child? Is she married to my father? Are there siblings? Growing up, Helen had dreams that often involved a woman giving up her baby just after birth. Mostly, she wondered about where she was born and whether her natural mother was alive.

     The young waitress was talking to her. “Hi, I’m Stella.”

     “I’m Helen Scott.”

     “And you said you’re from Detroit, right?”

     “Yes. Have you been there?”

     “I’ve never been there, but I’m a big Tiger’s fan. They’re my team. Do you like baseball?”

      “I love it,” Helen said. “Have you heard of Al Kaline? He’s the toast of Detroit. He hit 357 last year and he might take us to the pennant. Do you have a team here?”

     “Just a minor league team, the Greyhounds. They’re a farm club for the Brooklyn Dodgers, but the bleacher seats are only two bucks. My daddy’s a big baseball fan. He likes the Cincinnati Reds, but my brother and I, we like the Tigers. We watch the games on the TV’s at Reelfoot Appliance, through the display window. Have you been to Briggs Stadium? It looks so big on TV.”