Day by Day
Fairview could house up to 2,700 children and adults, and was surrounded by 200 acres of lush gardens and stately pines. Molly spent her first year there in a room with 64 other children, most of them with Down syndrome. "There was only one caregiver for all of them," Cindy says. Jeff has included in his documentary actual footage from a promotional film used by Fairview in the 1950s. The film shows infants and toddlers in a stark room filled with rows of cribs. Nurses in immaculate uniforms are praised for "touching" children three times daily. In an especially poignant scene, an enthusiastic little girl with short dark hair and sparkling eyes claps her hands on the hard floor in a room devoid of toys or comforts. "The first time I watched, I cried," says Jeff. "I knew instantly that she was Molly."Jeff's father visited Molly early on at Fairview, but was eventually told by nurses not to come anymore because Molly cried each time he left. "I think that must have been hard on him," says Jeff. In fact, Jeff has learned that his father, who was a member of a charity group that put on free clown shows around town, returned to Fairview at least once more, dressed as a clown.
Jeff also learned that Molly's only other visitor during her 35 years in the institution was her grandmother. Until her death in 1988, Marie Mercer secretly visited Molly each month, pushing her on the playground swings when she was a child, then wheeling her around the gardens in a wheelchair when her legs weakened in her teens from lack of use.
Molly, whose IQ scores were between 30 and 60 in tests done at Fairview, was seldom allowed to exercise in the institution and was often restrained in her bed when she misbehaved. Records show that she was very angry at times, spilling trays of food, hitting people and plugging toilets. "She was a rebel," says Cindy. "She acted up because she was bored. It was probably one of the few times she got extra attention." In 1993, when Molly was moved to the small group residence where she lives today, her behavior immediately improved.
Jeff, who recalls teaching his little sister to take a few steps and say her first words, believes that the institution worsened his sister's problems. "She received no education there," he says. When Molly and Jeff reunited, she knew only about 130 words. Since then, he and Cindy have taught her 300 more, along with colors, numbers and nursery school songs. "All these years, nobody ever challenged Molly," says Cindy, who has also arranged for a physical therapist to visit Molly weekly to see if she can regain strength in her legs. "We see a lot of potential there."
It hasn't taken long for Molly to warm up to Jeff, despite nearly 47 years apart. "Brother," she says slowly, every time she sees him. Jeff and Cindy regularly bring Molly to their Seaside beach house to show her the ocean and shorebirds. For her 50th birthday, they took her and her friends from the residence to the Oregon Zoo, and on the Fourth of July, Molly rode next to Jeff in Seaside's parade and waved from his '48 Mercury.
In the beginning, Molly was upset whenever the Dalys took her back to the group home. "When you think about it, it makes sense," says Jeff. "She felt abandoned again." But because she is comfortable in Hillsboro, the Dalys don't plan to remove her from the group home (where her care is paid for by the state), and she has come to realize that Jeff will be a constant in her life.
On a gray, windy afternoon much like the day when Molly vanished, Jeff lifts Molly up the stairs of his Seaside cottage. "Wheeee!" Molly squeals, clapping her hands as they go one step at a time. After she's settled on the floor in front of a picture window with a view of the roaring surf, she goes to work making green squiggles with a crayon in her favorite coloring book. Sitting next to her, Jeff picks up a black-and-white snapshot of him and Molly hugging and laughing together just one day before she was taken away. There are almost 50 years of missing moments in his photo albums. But Jeff and Molly are slowly making up for lost time, day by day.



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