The Husband Who Vanished

For 15 years, Anne McDonnell lived in limbo—not knowing whether her Jim was dead or alive. Then one afternoon the doorbell rang.

By Joseph P. Blank
Also in Reader's Digest Magazine January 1987

January 1987 RD ClassicsThe Mc­Donnells lived in a small brick house in Larch­mont, a suburb of New York City. Jim was foreman of mail carriers at the post office where he had worked for 25 years. A gentle, soft­-spoken man, he had a wave­ of­ the ­hand acquaintance with hundreds of peo­ple in town. Married in 1960, he and Anne were childless.

During February and March 1971, when he was 50, Jim McDonnell suffered a curious series of accidents. None was critical in it­self, but the combination appeared to trigger a strange result.

Carrying out the garbage one evening, he slipped on ice­-coated steps, bruised his back and struck his head. A few days later, driving to work, he had a fit of sneezing, lost control of the car, hit a telephone pole and banged his forehead against the windshield. The following day a dizzy spell at work sent him tumbling down a flight of steps, and again he banged his head. Ten days later he again lost control of his car and hit a pole. Found unconscious, he was hospitalized for three days with a cerebral concussion.

On March 29, 1971, Jim borrowed a friend’s station wagon and drove to Kennedy Airport to pick up Anne’s brother and family. Then he took them to Anne’s sister’s house. When he returned the borrowed car at 10 p.m., he was unaware that the leather folder containing his identification had slipped out of his pocket onto the floor of the station wagon. Jim declined the offer of a ride home: “I have a terrible headache and the walk will help clear my head.” Ordinarily the walk would have taken about 15 minutes.

At 11:15 p.m. Anne called the owner of the station wagon; he had no idea why Jim had not yet reached home. It was unlike Jim not to telephone if he was delayed. At 2 a.m., Anne called the police and reported her husband missing.

After 24 hours, the police sent out an all­-points bulletin and began writing some 50 letters to Jim’s friends and relatives. They fol­lowed through on every anonymous tip and even checked unidentified bodies in New York morgues.

Detective George Mulcahy was assigned to head the investigation. He knew Jim was a man of probity and openness—the two attended the same church—and Mulcahy was sure the disappearance had nothing to do with wrong­doing by Jim McDonnell. Investigation confirmed that McDonnell’s per­sonal and professional records were impeccable, and turned up no tendencies toward self­ destruction or any evidence that he had been a victim of an accident or attack.

For Mulcahy, the only explana­tion was amnesia.

The phenomenon of amnesia is clouded in mystery. Why it occurs in some patients and not in oth­ers is open to medical speculation. What is known is that loss of mem­ory can be caused by stroke, Alz­heimer’s disease, alcoholism, severe psychological trauma—or by blows to the head. Any individual whose brain has suffered such inju­ries can simply wander aimlessly away from the place where he lives, with all knowledge of his past blacked out.

“For weeks,” Anne’s sister re­calls, “Anne walked the house wringing her hands and praying. She agreed that Jim could be a victim of amnesia—and she wor­ried about his health. Anne was sustained by her deep trust in God. She felt that one day he would provide an answer.”

Anne remained alone in the house, waiting. At night, watching television, she would stare at the over­stuffed hassock where Jim had dozed off evenings. She often dreamed he had come home, only to wake up and find he wasn’t there.

Soon after Jim’s disappearance Anne realized she had to earn a living. She took babysitting jobs, was a supermarket checker and worked in a hospital cafeteria. In 1977 she took her current job as a nursing attendant.

Anne fell into the habit of work­ing at the hospital on holidays be­cause it was easier if she kept busy. I’ve got to go on, live as best I can, she told herself. Through it all, she had faith that Jim would return. She kept his clothes in the closet covered to protect them from dust. His razor and can of shaving cream remained in the bathroom cabinet.

During his walk home, Jim had indeed blacked out, losing all abili­ty to remember who he was and where he lived. What happened then is unclear. He may have taken the train to Grand Central Termi­nal, then another train or a bus south. The next thing he knew, he was in downtown Philadelphia, a city he had never visited before.

Seeing signs advertising the serv­ices of a James Peters, a real­ estate broker, Jim adopted James Peters as his own name. It never occurred to him to seek assistance at a police station or hospital. He had no past; his only reality was the present.

James Peters got a Social Securi­ty card, which could be obtained at that time without showing a birth certificate, and took a job in the luncheonette of a health club. He next worked at a cancer ­research institute, cleaning out animal cages. He also got a night­shift job at the P&P luncheonette, where he became well­ known for his omelets, as well as his courtesy and good humor. After a year he felt he was estab­lished at P&P and quit his job at the cancer institute.

Jim made new friends, joined an American Legion post and the Knights of Columbus, and became an active member of the St. Hugh Roman Catholic Church.

He never talked about his past, and his friends didn’t pry. One once said to him, “From your accent, you must be from New York.”

Jim replied, “I guess so.”

To Cheryle Sloan, a waitress at P&P, Jim was special: “He loved kids. At Christmastime, he played Santa Claus at orphanages. He grew a big white beard to make his appearance more authentic. Of course we wondered about his past. My mother decided that he had to be an ex-priest or an ex-­criminal.”

Bernadine Golashovsky recalls: “Soon after Jim started at P&P, I took a job there as a waitress. My father had died and Jim apparently had no family, so we adopted each other. He became my father figure, and we—my husband, Pete, our four children and I—were his fam­ily. The children loved him.”

About a month before Christmas 1985, Bernadine noticed that Jim had grown unusually quiet and subdued. Something seemed to be turning in his mind.

On Thanksgiving Day, Jim visit­ed the family and sat watching television with Pete. A scene ap­peared in which a mail carrier was making deliveries on a miserably rainy day. Pete said, “Boy, that’s one job I wouldn’t want.”

Jim frowned and said, “I think I used to be a postman.”

“Really? Where?”

“I don’t know,” Jim answered.

“New York?”

“I’m not sure. But I think I remember my parents a little.”

Jim spent ev­ery major holiday with Bernadine and Pete. On Christmas Eve he always arrived late because the Golashovskys were his last stop on his rounds of wish­ing friends a hap­py holiday. On this Christmas Eve he never ar­rived. Bernadine and Pete stayed up all night waiting for him.

On December 22, Jim had fall­en and banged his head. The next day at work he seemed distracted, and late that afternoon he had fallen again, striking his head. On De­cember 24, he awoke feeling confused, yet elated. After almost 15 years, he knew who he was! He was James A. McDonnell, Jr., of Larchmont, New York. His wife’s name was Anne. Then, suddenly, he was scared: Is Anne alive? Has she remarried? If not, how will she greet me?

Anne had just returned home from Christmas Mass, where she lit candles and prayed for Jim. A light snow was falling, and she was in a hurry to leave for Christmas dinner at her sister’s before the roads grew slick.

Then the doorbell rang, Oh, my she thought, this is not a good time for a visitor.

Anne opened the door—and peered at a man with a full white beard. Immedi­ately she recog­nized Jim. She couldn’t speak.

To Jim, Anne looked a little older, but pretti­er too. His heart overflowed.

“Hello, Anne,” he said.

“Jim,” she gasped. “Is it true?” Her breathing came in bursts, as if she had been running. “Oh, I’m glad you’re home. Come in, come in.” They barely touched hands. They were too stunned to fall into each other’s arms. The embraces and the tears would come later.

Anne led Jim to his favorite seat, the over­stuffed hassock. They be­gan to talk, trying to fill in the gaps in time. Finally, Jim’s eyes grew heavy. Exhausted and happy, he dozed off.

After 15 years, Jim McDonnell was home at last.

On the day after Christmas, Jim reported his return to the police. That evening the Golashovskys received a phone call from a New York Daily News reporter who told them Jim was fine. Bernadine phoned Jim’s friends with the good news.

A week after his return Jim had a complete physical, including a CAT scan of his brain. The conclusion: he was in normal health, Jim and Anne have had no prob­lems resuming their lives as a married couple. “Each day we are together,” Jim says, “makes the time we were apart seem shorter.”

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  • Your Comments

    • ROCKEt

      it’s fantastic and interesting!!

    • http://mynaijathots.com/ mynaijathots.com

      Amazing

    • Peggy Wellington

      I really think he should live wearing a helmet A high impact helmet. And I am not saying that as a joke. I had amnesia once for 3/4weeks while I was in hosp. Was transferred to rehab. No signs that said hosp. No name tags that said nurse or dr. Was to scared to ask anyone where I was. It seemed like some kind of institution. I knew the doors were locked. Then I noticed I had on regular clothes, a t-shirt with writing on it. GOOD GRIEF! It said I was the worlds best mother. I could not remember my own kids! How old were they, what were their names,were they boys or girls, did they know I was here, were they okay? It was a horrible experience! Five or six hours later my bedside phone rang. I was afraid to answer it but, I did. It was my sister! I knew her voice! She knew where I was. So I asked her, where am I? Well, she was at her home 150 miles away, but had been to visit me a number of times. Well, it all worked out eventually but, let me tell you: amnesia is a terrifying event.

    • Simon

      “Lassie, did Timmy fall down the well again??” It was a nice story, but stuff doesn’t add up.

    • Trudy

      I think it’s a great story. Furthermore, this man did not have to return to his wife. He had other people who loved him. Apparently he actually loved his wife, but because of his illness he didn’t remember his past. He’s lucky that his wife didn’t have him declared dead. God Bless both of them.

    • luckydoc777

      Interesting how re-injuring the brain led to memory recovery. In high school track I had a severe tear/strain to my quadricep. When the swelling went down it was deformed, there was no muscle on top/front (posterior?). The athletic trainer said it was completely severed. That was 30 years ago. A couple months ago I was running intervals, sprinting, heard and felt a loud “pop” in that same area – thinking crap! that leg is compromised already. Next day I was sedated for a dental procedure, got home sitting on the side of the bed and I could feel the muscles in my leg shift back. It was bizarre, it is now back to normal – looks feels and functions correctly after 30 years.

    • Ben Vincent

      A story from the good old days of Reader’s Digest. When the cover was the index, before the font changes, before it slowly became a shell of its former self. I really miss the old Reader’s Digest.

      • Ariel Nonofbusines

        I know you what you mean about that and the “old Readers Digest”. I miss it too. Thing is, you can’t quite put your finger on what all is missing from what it used to me. It’s like comparing the old movies from when they all had positive messages, to those of today with much darker themes. The only thing I can think to say is that it’s become more corrupted and less innocent; as our society accepts topics not previously allowed in the past, and which now include almost anything and boundaries that keep moving farther. Perhaps our grandparents had the right idea. That is, when you consider the amount and qty of darker messages each day, it gets to be a bit much at times and you feel like you need a dose of more pleasant & positively focused themes – at least for a while to balance it all out. Thank goodness there will always be puppies, kittens, children/babies, wildlife and nature to turn to.