POWER IN THE NAME

POWER IN THE NAME

An Almost-tour of the Edna Gladney Adoption Museum

by Marlena Villers

On a lark one recent afternoon, I loaded up my video camera and headed over to Ft. Worth for the "Topping Out" ceremony at the new Gladney Center for Adoption. I didn't really have a plan. Just thought I'd show up, tape the doin's, and then maybe work it into something later if there was a story there. So in my mind, while I was there, I was Objective Journalist. I had no axe to grind with Gladney. I was sporting no BastardWear nor did I show any outward signs of Bastardy. I was one of three videographers in attendance. There were also a couple of still photographers with really large lenses so I assumed they were professionals as well, either with a newspaper or hired by Gladney to document the event.

I quietly set up and began taping. When the speaker said we could come forward and sign the beam that would later be hoisted to the top, I resisted the urge to scrawl, "Equal Rights for Adult Adoptees" and "Bastards Rule!" in large black letters on their lily-white beam. I even maintained my composure and did not chuckle out loud when the speaker said, "...as you'll see by the erection behind me...".

The ceremony ended and I began packing up my gear before heading inside to tour the Adoption Museum. A woman who identified herself as being with the Gladney agency, actually their Public Relations person, asked if I was with the media.

Me: Yes. I'm an adoptee and I write for an adoptee newsletter.

Gladney PR: Oh, which one?

Me: The BQ.

Gladney PR: I'm not familiar with that.

I continue packing up and she leaves. Then a second person with Gladney on their

nametag approaches me. We have a similar conversation, but this person also asks if I'd

like a press packet. I say yes I would, and she heads off to get me one.

By now I'm almost packed when a third person -- who has been standing to the left of me

while these two other conversations took place to my right -- asks who I'm with. Again, "I write for an adoptee newsletter, the BQ."

She: Well where would I get that?

Me: You can find it on the web.

She: So it's a webzine?

Me: No, we mail it to our members, but back issues are on the web.

She: And what's that site?

Me: Bastard Nation.

Now I'm standing maybe three feet from her, but I swear I could feel her sphincter tighten as she pursed her lips and said, "Well I'll never see it then!" I'm thinking, "so you don't have a computer?" but say nothing.

She continues: I'm a birthmother. I've had a very positive experience.

Me: That's good.

She: I've always gotten a very negative feeling from them.

Me, quizzically: Have you actually been to the website?

She: Yes. It's so negative.

Me, shrugging: I'm sorry you feel that way. We have birthmothers as members. And adoptive parents. We take all kinds.

She: I'm happy. I've had a reunion.

Me: That's nice. I'm reunited as well. But that's really not the Bastard Nation mission. All we care about is restoring our rights to our documents. We want our birth certificates.

We both sort of stare at each other for a couple of seconds then I begin walking to my car. By now I'm feeling paranoid enough to have the foresight to remove the tape from my camera and put it in my purse before closing the trunk of my car just in case my car had been broken into when I returned. I turn to head back to the building entrance, but the PR person is at my car, between me and the building.

Me: Where do I go to take the tour?

Gladney PR: <pause> It's already started. I think you've missed it.

Me: Ohhhhh, I was really wanting to see the adoption museum.

Gladney PR: If you'd like to schedule a private tour, call me and I'll arrange it.

Me: OK. Can I get a press packet? Your name and contact info is in there, right?

(The other woman had never returned with one.)

We begin walking back to the tented area and chat a little more. I try to put her at ease and demonstrate that I'm not a lone psycho adoptee terrorist here to disrupt their event. I humanize myself; I reveal a personal anecdote. I tell her that at one time I was a social worker at an adoption agency. That while I as there we had our 100^th anniversary and compiled a very nice coffee table book with old photos and a written history of the agency. I had worked on some of that, so I was interested in their adoption museum. Was their approach specific to Gladney history or were they looking at a history of adoption in general? I ask questions about the ceremony: the tree that was tied to the beam they hoisted to the roof (No it won't be left up there to die. It will be re-planted on the grounds at a later date.) I asked when the building will be completed. I am Objective Journalist.

One videographer is up on the hill getting a wide shot of the unfinished building and grounds. I don't know where the other one is. Still, I am not allowed to even walk through the parking lot unescorted now that they know my affiliation. PR woman is constantly at my side. Even when Official-Looking Man in Suit interrupts our conversation to ask her something important and I can tell he wants her to be inside with the group, she stays me with me. I FEEL SO SPECIAL.

I get in my car and leave. I regret not looking back to see if she was still in the parking lot, watching to make sure I was off their property.

Now, was my special treatment due to the fact that I was a Journalist or a Bastard? I'd like to think it was both. I was Bastard with a Camera. The Illegitimate Woodward or Bernstein. Personally, I love the fact that the name Bastard Nation made them wary of me. I felt powerful and giddy that I was making them sweat. Professionally, saying the B-word cost me the "tour" and so I lost whatever story might have come out of that. But I did get this story. And I can always schedule a private tour at later date, if only to feel special and powerful again.

Marlena Villers is a freelance film and video producer living in Dallas, TX.

(This feature appeared in the Winter 2002 issue of the Bastard Quarterly.)