of Columbus. Martha visited her almost every day.
For the first time in Marthaâs mothering, a baby thrived for a few straight months in her care. But it wouldnât last.
In May, Carol Ann caught a stubborn cold and developed a persistent cough. On the morning of May 12, before his hospital rounds, a local doctor came to the house and gave her a shot of penicillin.
An hour later, the baby was dead. Martha said Carol Ann had simply choked and turned blue. She died before the ambulance arrived.
Based on what Martha told him, the doctor signed the death certificate without an autopsy and declared the cause of death to be epiglottitis, a dangerous condition that happens when an infected epiglottisâa little cartilage âflapâ that covers the windpipeâswells and blocks air flow to the lungs. He later admitted he hadnât actually observed such an infection but based his conclusion purely on what Martha told him.
Carol Ann had lived just three months and twenty-one days, the longest life span of Marthaâs three natural-born children. She was buried beside her late sister in the Beanhill Cemetery, where today they share a marker.
Martha fell into a depression bad enough that she tried to kill herself. On a morning in early December, after Stanley went to work, she pulled one of his guns from the closet. She chose an unusual one, an âover-underâ double-barreled rifle that shot .22-caliber cartridges from one barrel and .410 shotgun shells from the other. The shooter toggled between them by pushing a little button.
She lay on the bed and held the barrel against her chest as she pulled the trigger. The gun roared, but miraculously she was still alive, with only a nasty graze across her left shoulder from a .22 bullet. She ran outside screaming until a neighbor drove her to the hospital, where doctors simply swabbed her powder-burned skin with antiseptic and bandaged her superficial wound with some tape. Martha told doctors she thought she was pushing the safety button when in fact she had switched the firing mechanism from shotgun to .22.
Martha scared Stanley. She was crazy. He drove her directly from the emergency room to the Columbus State Hospital, where he committed her involuntarily for almost two months.
Home alone in the spring of 1953 after the asylum released her, Martha needed distraction. She took a job as a cottage attendant at the Columbus State School (which had only recently changed its name from the Institution for Feeble-Minded Youth). There she cared for mentally handicapped kids, aged six to nine, eight hours a day, five days a week. The perfect job for an experienced mom like Martha.
One day Martha was dandling a retarded child on her lap when she claimed he lapsed into an epileptic fit. He clamped his teeth on her fingers when she tried to prevent him from swallowing his tongue. He then just stopped breathing and turned blue. Her bosses praised Martha for saving his life.
Another time, one of her young charges was wheeled away on a gurney ⦠unconscious, not breathing, blue around the mouth and nose. He was lucky Martha was there.
Life went on, day after day. It was a strange place for strange people, so nobody paid much attention to the strange things that happened to retarded kids.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
In June 1954, Stanley was drafted into the US Army. By the time Stanley shipped out to Germany that fall, the marriage was on life support.
Twenty-five-year-old Martha bunked briefly at Stanleyâs parentsâ farmhouse in Vinton County. One day while she was there alone, Martha saw smoke billowing from the barn, so she rushed out to save all the animals inside just before the structure burned to the ground.
Although her in-laws praised Martha as a brave heroine, she soon moved back to her parentsâ Columbus house. When her divorce was final in August 1956, she rented a tiny row house that she shared with her unmarried teenage sister
For the first time in Marthaâs mothering, a baby thrived for a few straight months in her care. But it wouldnât last.
In May, Carol Ann caught a stubborn cold and developed a persistent cough. On the morning of May 12, before his hospital rounds, a local doctor came to the house and gave her a shot of penicillin.
An hour later, the baby was dead. Martha said Carol Ann had simply choked and turned blue. She died before the ambulance arrived.
Based on what Martha told him, the doctor signed the death certificate without an autopsy and declared the cause of death to be epiglottitis, a dangerous condition that happens when an infected epiglottisâa little cartilage âflapâ that covers the windpipeâswells and blocks air flow to the lungs. He later admitted he hadnât actually observed such an infection but based his conclusion purely on what Martha told him.
Carol Ann had lived just three months and twenty-one days, the longest life span of Marthaâs three natural-born children. She was buried beside her late sister in the Beanhill Cemetery, where today they share a marker.
Martha fell into a depression bad enough that she tried to kill herself. On a morning in early December, after Stanley went to work, she pulled one of his guns from the closet. She chose an unusual one, an âover-underâ double-barreled rifle that shot .22-caliber cartridges from one barrel and .410 shotgun shells from the other. The shooter toggled between them by pushing a little button.
She lay on the bed and held the barrel against her chest as she pulled the trigger. The gun roared, but miraculously she was still alive, with only a nasty graze across her left shoulder from a .22 bullet. She ran outside screaming until a neighbor drove her to the hospital, where doctors simply swabbed her powder-burned skin with antiseptic and bandaged her superficial wound with some tape. Martha told doctors she thought she was pushing the safety button when in fact she had switched the firing mechanism from shotgun to .22.
Martha scared Stanley. She was crazy. He drove her directly from the emergency room to the Columbus State Hospital, where he committed her involuntarily for almost two months.
Home alone in the spring of 1953 after the asylum released her, Martha needed distraction. She took a job as a cottage attendant at the Columbus State School (which had only recently changed its name from the Institution for Feeble-Minded Youth). There she cared for mentally handicapped kids, aged six to nine, eight hours a day, five days a week. The perfect job for an experienced mom like Martha.
One day Martha was dandling a retarded child on her lap when she claimed he lapsed into an epileptic fit. He clamped his teeth on her fingers when she tried to prevent him from swallowing his tongue. He then just stopped breathing and turned blue. Her bosses praised Martha for saving his life.
Another time, one of her young charges was wheeled away on a gurney ⦠unconscious, not breathing, blue around the mouth and nose. He was lucky Martha was there.
Life went on, day after day. It was a strange place for strange people, so nobody paid much attention to the strange things that happened to retarded kids.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
In June 1954, Stanley was drafted into the US Army. By the time Stanley shipped out to Germany that fall, the marriage was on life support.
Twenty-five-year-old Martha bunked briefly at Stanleyâs parentsâ farmhouse in Vinton County. One day while she was there alone, Martha saw smoke billowing from the barn, so she rushed out to save all the animals inside just before the structure burned to the ground.
Although her in-laws praised Martha as a brave heroine, she soon moved back to her parentsâ Columbus house. When her divorce was final in August 1956, she rented a tiny row house that she shared with her unmarried teenage sister
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