Dec. 2, 2011

“Videotaped interviews made during the early cases (alleging day care ritual sex abuse) show that when children were allowed to speak freely, either they had nothing to say about abuse or they denied it ever happened to them.

“Once it became obvious that these records would prevent guilty verdicts, prosecutors began advising investigators not to keep tapes or detailed notes of their work.”

– From “Satan’s Silence: Ritual Abuse and the Making of a Modern American Witch Hunt” by Debbie Nathan and Michael Snedeker (1995)

Perhaps the most significant difference in the two largest abuse trials was that McMartin defense attorneys were able to expose to jurors the prosecution therapists’ manipulative interview techniques, while Little Rascals attorneys were stymied by the premeditated unavailability of original documentation.

“After Bob Kelly’s indictment,” according to an article in the ABA Journal, “Bill Hart, a North Carolina deputy attorney general assigned to the case, traveled to Los Angeles to consult with McMartin prosecutors.

“He learned that McMartin jurors had criticized videotapes of therapist Kee McFarlane’s interviews with the children. She asked leading questions and rebuked children who did not tell of abuse….”

Hart could have brought back to North Carolina the lesson that interviewers shouldn’t “(ask) leading questions and (rebuke) children who did not tell of abuse.” Instead, he brought back the lesson that interviewers should leave no evidence of having used exactly those fraudulent techniques.

Jan. 23, 2012

Last week I visited Avery-Mitchell Correctional Institution in Spruce Pine to talk to Junior Chandler, who soon will have served 25 years on charges strikingly similar to those in the Little Rascals case.

Junior, now 54, may well be the last still-imprisoned victim of the ritual-abuse contagion that swept the nation’s day cares in the ’80s and early ’90s.

I’ll be updating his case soon.

In Junior’s former life in the mountain town of Revere, he told me, he was close to his parents, his wife and two boys, his two brothers.

Early on, he and his brothers helped their uncle grow tobacco and corn. Before driving a van for the Madison County Day Care Center, he had worked for the Forest Service, the Department of Transportation and Southern Railroad. At least one job he gave up because it interfered with his softball tournaments and night fishing.

In prison, visits from his family became less frequent, and eventually his wife filed for divorce. “Two life sentences,” Junior says. “She couldn’t wait, you know.” And his sons couldn’t keep watching him aging away in his prison grays.

When his father died in 1997, he attended the funeral in handcuffs. He worries about his mother, who recently suffered a stroke.

He sleeps in a bunk bed in a dorm with 33 other inmates. His assigned janitorial job is cleaning meal trays. For relaxation he plays volleyball and horseshoes, watches Westerns on TV, reads a little. His only write-up was a scuffle not long after he arrived. “It’s learning to walk away and how to carry yourself,” he says.

Of course I was touched by Junior’s deep sadness and resignation. Sometimes I find it too easy to minimize the emotional havoc wrought by incarceration of the guilty – just imagine what it must be like for the innocent.

Nov. 27, 2019

Betsy Kelly is paroled from the Correctional Institution for Women in Raleigh.

In January she accepted a plea of “no contest” and a sentence of seven years in prison. Since she had already served two years and two weeks in jail, she became eligible for parole almost immediately. But Assistant Attorney General Bill Hart, fuming over her unwavering insistence that she was innocent, reneged on an agreement not to challenge her release, and the Parole Commission kept her imprisoned another 10 months.

Betsy Kelly’s no contest plea disqualifies her from the National Registry of Exonerations, but she is surely as innocent as the rest of the Edenton Seven – that is, completely innocent, Bill Hart be damned.

June 14, 2013

Among visitors to Edenton during the Little Rascals prosecution was Margaret Leong, a Chapel Hill poet who worked with preschool children. In her book “Magical Child Molestation Trials: Edenton’s Children Accuse” (1993) she recounted this instructive episode:

“Edenton’s citizens (are neither blind nor) deaf – a fact I learned my first morning there, when I slipped on a downtown sidewalk and turned my ankle. In no time at all, several kind people helped me into a taxi. That evening, a mile away in an Italian restaurant, at least three strangers came over to ask how my ankle was.

“Thus I must conclude that the observational skills of the good people of Edenton are on a par with folks in other small towns. And if not one Edentonian saw a hint of  even one sex crime out of (the alleged) 450, then perhaps no crimes were committed.”