ANNOUNCER: This program is
about unsolved mysteries. Whenever possible, the
actual family members and police officials
have participated in recreating the events. What you are about to see
is not a news broadcast. ROBERT STACK: What
happened to Amy Billig, a pretty 17-year-old
who vanished without a whisper in 1974? Told that her daughter had
been abducted by a renegade motorcycle gang, Amy's mother
infiltrated the dangerous biker world, only to come up empty
handed time and time again. Then, in 1992, new
evidence surfaced that Amy Billig was
still alive, more than 18 years after she disappeared. In life, Walter Rice
was a reclusive loner. In death, he became
a beguiling mystery, a man with no known
heirs and an unclaimed estate of more than $140,000. Perhaps someone
watching can solve the riddle of Walter Rice. It was a car of his dreams,
but Oliver Munson never imagined when he
bought it that he'd become a key witness
in the prosecution of a suspected auto thief. However, Oliver never testified. Just days before the
trial, he disappeared and his family fears he became
the victim of foul play. Also tonight, we'll take
you to Syracuse, New York, for a heartwarming reunion. Thanks to our viewers, a
woman's search for her past has finally come to an end.
Join me. Perhaps you may be able
to help solve a mystery. [THEME MUSIC] Thousands of people are
reported missing every year. Most come home safely
within a few days. Those who do not are
eventually presumed to be dead. However, in the bizarre case
of Amy Billig, who vanished in 1974, the passing
years have produced a convincing chain of evidence
that she is still alive. Tonight, we join her
family in their search-- one of the strangest and
most provocative cases we have ever profiled. Amy Billig was 17 years old when
she disappeared from her home in Coconut Grove, Florida. Amy was an accomplished
musician and singer who also wrote
poetry and adhered to a strict vegetarian diet. March 5, 1974, Amy
came home from school at around noon as usual. She planned to meet
friends downtown for lunch. Before leaving, she called
her father Ned at work. Hi Dad, it's me. I just got home from school. I'm going to go meet
Kurt and Kathy for lunch, can I borrow $2? ROBERT STACK: Amy
never did arrive at her father's
business, and she never showed up for her lunch date. All right, I'll see you soon. Bye. SUSAN BILLIG: I started getting
a little frantic when I hadn't heard from Amy by dinner time. And I called the
friend that she'd said she was going
to be meeting, and the girl was quite angry. She said Amy never showed up. We interviewed all of her
family, all of her friends, all of her acquaintances. We did a lot of canvassing
of the neighborhood where she was last seen. We did everything we
could to try to find her. You know, we checked with
the hospitals, and morgues, and police departments
all over the state and all over the country. I remember the house was
like a flurry of activity and people were coming around. There was a lot of people around
the house trying to help out, manning the phones
because there were so many telephone calls coming in. The phone seemed to be
ringing off the hook. ROBERT STACK: 12
days after Amy's disappearance, a
frightened woman phoned with shocking news. The anonymous caller claimed
to be a member of a motorcycle gang known as the
Outlaws, and she claimed that the Outlaws had taken Amy. Where? What? ROBERT STACK: During the
1970s, renegade biker gangs unnerved communities
across the United States. Susan Billig learned that
a chapter of the Outlaws, one of the most notorious
gangs, had indeed thundered through Coconut Grove
about the time Amy disappeared. MIKE GONZALES: We
had to consider that maybe Amy was
abducted, kidnapped, taken away by these bikers. But it was always
controversial with the police, because these leads concerning
the bikers were always vague and usually ended up nowhere. ROBERT STACK: However,
to the Billigs, the biker connection
offered a ray of hope. A family friend who had done
legal work for the Outlaws arranged for Amy's parents to
meet with two gang members. Hi, welcome to my house. I'm Susan. Pleasure. Won't you have a seat? SUSAN BILLIG: I was frightened
because I had never seen people like this before in my life. And here they are,
in my living room. I got a feeling of revulsion and
hate and love at the same time. I wanted them to give me
information about my child and that was paramount. I didn't care what
they looked like. These are pictures
of my daughter. She's missing. I ain't seen her. Nope. Look, look she's got
brown eyes, long brown hair, she's 17, and she's
tall and thin. SUSAN BILLIG: They told me
that these things do happen, that the bikers will
take girls and will sell them to one another for
very little, like a credit card or-- it takes very little
to buy a girl. I was told that
you would help me. We'll take the picture, and
if she's in the Outlaw nation, we'll let you know
within two days. We'll let you know. ROBERT STACK: The two bikers
promised to ask other gang members about Amy, but they
were never able to provide any information. CARL CARRUTHERS: Amy could have
been abducted and then sold from one individual to another. The old lady has a
way of making money. They put her out making the
money, either topless dancing, hooking, ripping off credit
cards, anything that she can do to bring home the money. ROBERT STACK: To many bikers,
women, or as they called them, old ladies, were nothing
more than property. Susan was stunned to learn
that if Amy had been abducted, she wouldn't have been
the gang's first victim. Before I turned 13, I
had been sold four times. ROBERT STACK: Gina
Andrew was abducted by bikers at the age of 12. She escaped five years later. I mean, I was sold for money,
I was traded for a motorcycle, I was traded for leather chaps. And that was like
all I was worth. ROBERT STACK: For Susan Billig,
the thought of her daughter in the hands of the
bikers was unbearable, but that was were
the leads pointed, and that was where she searched. Three months after
Amy's disappearance, her mother, Susan,
tracked the Outlaws to Orlando, 160 miles away. There, she questioned
dozens of people. Finally, the manager
of a convenience store told Susan that Amy had come in
several times, always escorted by at least two bikers. How long ago? Oh, I don't know,
maybe a month or so. She came in here a couple
of times with some guys. Did she say anything to you? No. But I remember her,
because she was-- each time she came in, she
about vegetarian vegetable soup, and that stuck out my mind. ROBERT STACK: Vegetarian soup.
- That's her. ROBERT STACK: A small
but stunning detail. Amy had been a
committed vegetarian, and Susan was now convinced that
she had picked up Amy's trail. Thank you very much. I'll do whatever
if see her again. Thank you. Hope you find her. Thanks. ROBERT STACK: However,
another year and a half would slip by before Susan
got another significant lead. On January 9, 1976,
Amy's 19th birthday, a biker whom we will call Dave
contacted Susan after seeing this picture in a newspaper. Dave claimed that he had
actually owned Amy at one time. He agreed to talk to Susan,
but only at his house, and only if he
drove Susan there. SUSAN BILLIG: I thought I might
never see my husband again when I got the back of the bike. I thought I would never see
Josh and never see Ned again. But I put it in the back of my
head, and I got on the bike, and I went. Nobody better follow
us back here, lady. SUSAN BILLIG: He was
very nervous about it, he kept looking out the window
to see if I had been followed. Just look at this picture
and tell me if that's her. Whoa, that's her. That's her. Can you tell me about
her, can you describe her so I'll know that you know her. Yeah, she-- when
I first bought her, she had lumps and was all
drugged out and didn't talk. SUSAN BILLIG: He
said she was quiet, that she didn't speak
to anybody, that she was afraid of everybody. He said she was like
mute, and the word kept coming up in descriptions
of her through everything. And uh, there was
a scar down here. SUSAN BILLIG: The most
pertinent information that he gave me was
that Amy had a scar, and it was a scar that
was hidden on her body that I had never divulged to the
police or the press or anyone. You've got to
help me find her. You're my last hope. All right, when I went
into Detroit, I left her and my bike with a bro. I got to find him. When you find them,
I got to see her. I've got to talk to her. We'll see. No, no, I have to see her. I said we'll see. SUSAN BILLIG: I
wanted to kill him. I wanted to tear
pieces out of his skin, but I didn't, because
it was important for me to relate to him on
a one to one level. Otherwise, I would
never find Amy. ROBERT STACK: Susan
could do little but wait while Dave
made cautious inquiries. Finally, he called
with dramatic news. Amy was with the Outlaws
in Tulsa, Oklahoma, some 1,200 miles away. Susan agreed to meet him there
to press the search for Amy. MIKE GONZALES: We were
concerned about her safety. We were concerned about
the investigation. We didn't think it
was a good idea. But it was impossible
ever to try to discourage her from following
up every lead, no matter how dangerous. She didn't care. ROBERT STACK: June 1976, Tulsa. Amy had been absent now
for more than two years. The moment Susan
had long dreamed of seemed to be at hand. Dave told Susan
that Amy would be delivered to them at a tavern
in the roughest part of town. If Amy's in there,
I want her to see me. SUSAN BILLIG: I was
extremely excited. I called home, and I
packed my bags at my hotel because I thought I'd have to
run to the airport with her. And we went to
this dark bar where there were just
bikers and people drinking, drunk and everything. And he sat me down
somewhere, and then he walked away from me. A few minutes after
he walked away from me is when all hell broke
loose in that bar. I was afraid that I
was going to killed. ROBERT STACK: Susan was hustled
out, where as if by plan, a taxi was waiting to whisk
her back to the hotel. No! Amy! ROBERT STACK: If Amy had
been anywhere near the bar, Susan never caught
a glimpse of her. And Susan never again
saw Dave, although she learned that both his knees had
been broken during the brawl. And of course,
at this point, he didn't want to help me anymore. But he did say to my attorney
that the only information that he would give me is that he
has heard that Amy was possibly in Seattle at this point. ROBERT STACK: In
November of 1977, Susan went to Seattle, even
though she had suffered a heart attack just two months earlier. Susan began to frequent
tawdry bars, tattoo parlors, and motorcycle shops. SUSAN BILLIG: I showed lots
of photos to street people, to shop owners, to topless
dancers, and I said look, there's no police involved. It's just me. I want my child back. If you have any
information, please help me. And you have to understand,
these people all have mothers, and that's how I affected them. ROBERT STACK: Several people
recognized photos of Amy, and they describe her as always
quiet, as if she were mute. But in the end, Susan
returned home empty-handed. 18 more months would pass before
news of Amy surfaced again. It was the dead of winter
in 1979, the fifth year of Amy's absence. An anonymous male caller claimed
Amy was at a remote truck stop just outside Reno,
Nevada, and that she desperately needed help. The information was
that I'm here now, I know who Amy Billig is, I
know she's been beaten up. She has been drugged, and she's
here now at this truck stop. And if you want her, you come
get her now because her life could be in danger. Just respond and you
might be able to find her. ROBERT STACK: FBI agents learned
that a biker gang had indeed been at the truck stop briefly,
but there was no way to verify whether Amy had been with them. Years passed, a decade,
still no word of Amy Billig. Then in 1992, a full
18 years after Amy disappeared, Susan was
contacted by Virginia Snyder, a private investigator
in Florida. Tell me more, I want
to hear about this. Did she play music. Yes. ROBERT STACK: Snyder had
stunning news from England, halfway around the world,
that stirred hopes Amy Billig might still be alive. A British investigator had
been working with Snyder on an unrelated case. According to Snyder,
her colleague was in a post office in
Falmouth in the south of England when he was approached
by an American biker. Hey, Pops. Yes? You look like you could
use a little companionship. I'm afraid I don't
quite understand you. Look, I got a girl for you. It won't cost you much. What do you say? VIRGINIA SNYDER:
The investigator, being a good investigator,
engaged the man in conversation, as
far as I could gather, to get as much information
as he could about the girl that was being offered to him. Then, of course,
he didn't buy her. He wasn't interested. And then he passed the
information on to me. It's very interesting, but
what kind of a girl is she? American girl or English? - American girl.
- Oh. Oyster Bay. Really?
That's very interesting. ROBERT STACK: Oyster
Bay, New York, was the birthplace
of Amy Billig. What's her name? Mute. ROBERT STACK: Once again,
the word "mute" had surfaced in connection with Amy. Perhaps you have a
photograph you could show me? SUSAN BILLIG: It
sounded like Amy, and the fact that they called
her mute really affected me. Because here, all these years
of my search, she had been mute, had not talked. And here I was faced
with the same situation, but in another country. I didn't know what to do. ROBERT STACK:
Tragically, one year after his strange encounter,
the British investigator passed away. The tantalizing
incident became just another painful near-miss in the
endless search for Amy Billig. Some people speculate that
Amy Billig would be dead. But she's a young woman. She would be in her late 30s. If she survived the
first four years, they would be the hardest. And I think she survived. That makes me believe
she's still alive. I also feel that the information
that we have from over there coincides so much with the
information about Amy over here that I believe
she's still alive. It's unlikely that she would
be alive after all these years unless she is making them-- still making them good money. She could still
be doing something with drugs or
prostitution or dancing, but again, I don't know
the physical backbone of Amy Billig. If she's a strong individual
and if she has a strong will, she could survive. ROBERT STACK: When we
return, viewer tips bring about an unexpected
family reunion, and the mystery of an enigmatic recluse who
left a substantial estate that is still unclaimed. Perhaps someone
watching is his heir. In November of
1945, a young woman named Dorothy Johnson
her 11-month-old daughter were on a cross-country train
heading to Utica, New York. Dorothy was just 17, single, and
struggling to make ends meet. On the train she met a young
sailor named Donald Caffrey. When we get to Utica,
I'm going to have to put her in a foster home. ROBERT STACK: Donald, who was
on his way to Omaha, Nebraska, proved to be patient and
sympathetic, more than willing to listen to Dorothy's troubles. I'm sorry. I talked quite a bit to her. And as we started
getting closer to Omaha, why I asked her if she'd
like to have me take the baby home with me until
she got settled and could send for the baby, or
maybe I could bring it to her. And she agreed on that. ROBERT STACK: A few days
later, Dorothy wrote to Donald that she wanted her baby back. However, when circumstances
prevented Dorothy from returning to Omaha, Donald
and his wife adopted the infant and named her Sandra. When Sandra was a teenager,
she learned the truth about her background and began
to look for her birth mother. I think she got scared. I think-- she wanted
me, but I don't think she had any help,
maybe, from her family to help her try to get back to me. ROBERT STACK: On the
night of our broadcast, Sandra Lee Nelson's long search
came to a bittersweet end. A viewer called our phone
center with the sad news that Dorothy Johnson
had passed away in 1968. However, Sandra was
overjoyed to learn that she had an uncle Mickey, and two
aunts, Jan and Alice, who had always wondered about Sandra
and were anxious to meet her. A month later, on
December 20, 1993, Sandra and her husband Chet
arrived in Syracuse, New York, to receive a most
remarkable Christmas gift-- a house full of
relatives waiting to meet Sandra for the very first time. SANDRA LEE NELSON: I didn't
think I'd ever find anyone. It just gave me chills. It just made me feel
real warm, like oh gee, what a nice family. This is Dorthy here, that's-- That's Wayne. ROBERT STACK: Sandra
and her new family began to compare notes on
Dorothy Johnson's life. Although Sandra was unable to
learn the identity of her birth father, she did discover
that in the early 1950s, Dorothy had married a
man named Wayne Rogers. Sandra now would like to
find Wayne Rogers in the hope that she can fill in the
remaining gaps in her past. Now, this is the only
picture I have of me. SANDRA LEE NELSON: I'm
getting little bits and pieces from friends and
relatives, telling me a little bit about her, and
which-- these little things mean a great deal to me. I have found a family, a
wonderful family that I never thought I'd ever have. This is the best holiday. One more hug. OK. SANDRA LEE NELSON: It's
the best time of my life. ROBERT STACK: You would think
that a willing relative could always be found to step forward
and claim an inheritance, but every now and then,
even exhaustive research will fail to turn up
any heirs whatsoever. Tonight, the case
of a mysterious man named Walter Rice,
who left a legacy of unanswered questions and an
estate worth nearly $145,000. Walter Rice lived alone in a
modest trailer on Oak Street in McCormick, South Carolina. No one ever came calling. but Walter seemed to
prefer it that way. RONNIE KIDD: Walter Rice
was quite a mystery man. Apparently, he was just
a reclusive person. He kept to himself. He didn't-- he
didn't have anything to do with his neighbors. He never ventured out to
meet and of his neighbors. ROBERT STACK: On
January 25, 1992, Walter took a cab home
after his own car had been wrecked in a traffic accident. Sometime during the next week,
Walter suffered a heart attack and died before he
could summon help. Incredibly, a full year would
pass before Walter's body was even noticed. The power company and
the cable TV company turned off service
to his trailer. Eventually, the post
office began to stamp his mail return to sender. In a bizarre, improbable
twist, it was two strangers who finally made the discovery. Two strangers who weren't
exactly on a social call. Two people attempted to
break into the trailer. They broke in the front
window and then went around to the back door,
and his body was laying right at the back door. They were frightened away
after finding his body, and sometime later-- now this
could be a month or two later-- they got a girlfriend of one
people who attempted to break in to call the police
department to notify them that there was a dead body
in the trailer on Oak Street. ROBERT STACK: Walter Rice was 73
years old when he passed away. Judge Kidd took on
the task of sorting through Walter's possessions. RONNIE KIDD: I started looking
through his papers, all of his effects in his
trailer, to hopefully find something that would
lead me to a relative. Now, I spent some
time on it every day. I became almost
obsessed with it. It's been very
frustrating, not being able to find a relative
when at first thought it would be so easy. Initially, I didn't expect
to find anything of value, but after searching through
Walter Rice's personal effects, papers, bank papers, I
found him to have an estate of approximately $140,000. That includes his
lot and trailer. ROBERT STACK: The judge began
to piece together the few known facts of Walter's life. Pay stubs show that from 1973
to 1983, Walter worked as a cook at the Griswold Inn
near Essex, Connecticut. Mr. Rice, you know what
tonight is, don't you? Yes, I know what tonight, is. Saturday night. ROBERT STACK: During
those 10 years, Walter live virtually without
expense in a dorm for hotel employees, and authorities
believe this arrangement allowed him to amass
a small fortune in spite of his modest wage. Surprisingly, none
of Walter's coworkers could tell Judge Kidd
very much about him, though they had worked
side by side for a decade. RONNIE KIDD: It was interesting. I found in his personal
effects indications that he had been to two
different hospitals, a hospital in Augusta and
also in Abbeyville. ROBERT STACK: On the
Augusta hospital forms, Walter listed a niece,
Jane, as next of kin. However, the name
Jane Rice appears in no other official records. OK, could you fill
out this form, please? ROBERT STACK: At the
Abbeyville hospital, Walter listed a James Edwards,
but Edwards has proven to be a neighbor, not a relative. Walter Rice was
born July 6, 1920 in Abbeyville, South Carolina,
to Edward and Amanda Rice. He was the youngest
of eight children. There is no record that
Walter ever married, and if he had no
children, any nieces and nephews who survived him
would inherit his $140,000 estate. When we return, a schoolteacher
is asked to testify against an accused auto thief. But just before the trial, he
disappears without a trace. Buying cars, polishing them
up, tinkering until they run smooth and easy-- cars were the passion of
Oliver Munson, a schoolteacher ' from Baltimore, Maryland. In January of 1983,
Oliver acquired the car of his dreams-- a fully loaded Datsun 240Z. So you like? Yeah, you have the
title and registration? Yeah, you got my money? ROBERT STACK: Oliver had no idea
that Dennis Watson, the man who sold him the car,
was the ringleader of a sophisticated
car theft operation. Oliver's new 240Z had been
stolen three months earlier. You, my man, are the
proud owner of a Z. Thanks. Enjoy. All right. Listen, you have any problem
with it over the next week or two, a couple weeks,
you give me a call, you bring it over to the shop,
I'll take care of it for you. OK ROBERT STACK: Watson's
garage was just a cover for his chop shop, where
stolen cars were dismantled and sold for parts,
or simply resold with faked ownership papers. For weeks, authorities
had been quietly gathering evidence against Watson. On March 16, 1983 they decided
to put him out of business. Police, freeze. What the hell is this, man? We have a search
warrant for your garage. Get him out of here. OK, we're looking
for registration plates, VIN plates, ownership
documents, titles for vehicles. ROBERT STACK: Police
recovered illegal titles, personally dismantled autos,
and stolen vehicle ID tags. Everything they needed to make
a case against Dennis Watson. Five Maryland plates. Five Maryland tags. ROBERT STACK: One
of the names that popped up in the confiscated
records was Oliver Munson. We continue to
check paperwork, we find that Oliver
Munson has a Z car. We go out, and Z
car is parked there. We attempted to contact
Mr. Munson, nobody home at the house, not
knowing at that time whether or not Oliver
Munson had bought this car, or if he was involved
with Dennis Watson. And as a result we took the
car as evidence until such time as we could continue
an investigation to determine what exactly
was his knowledge of the car. Oliver Munson was notified,
and later detective Goodwin questioned him in person. Are you Oliver Munson? Yeah I'm Detective Goodwin
with the Baltimore Police auto theft unit. You guys took my car. What, did I have
tickets or something? No sir, the car was stolen. A stolen vehicle. Oh no, no, I paid for the car. And how much did
you pay for the car? $1,200 and some trades. And who did you
buy the car from? Dennis Watson. Dennis Watson, do you
know this Dennis Watson or have you ever
dealt with him before? No, I'd never met him before. PHILIP GOODWIN: My
feeling was at that time, and still is, that he had bought
the car thinking that the car was, in fact, a legitimate car. So I have to go to court? Yes sir, you will
have to go to court and testify to the fact
of how you got the car. ROBERT STACK: According
to detective Goodwin, Oliver was nervous
about testifying but agreed, knowing that
he really had no choice. You have any questions,
you can call me, OK? Nearly a year passed. Dennis Watson's
trial was looming, and Oliver was scheduled to
testify on February 16, 1984. Three days before the trial,
Oliver was seen just before he left for work at around 8 AM. Oliver turned on to Orpington
Road and simply vanished. PATRICK CISNA: Oliver
would rarely miss school, and on that particular
Monday when he didn't arrive, some of the staff and the kids
started to worry that this is not a usual practice
for Oliver, and maybe something was occurring,
something was wrong with him. ROBERT STACK:
Oliver's brother James telephoned through the
night, but got no answer. The next day, he was
worried enough to visit Oliver's house himself. Oliver, it's me, James. JAMES MUNSON: When I
went over to the house, I didn't have a sense
of what was going on. I just thought maybe
that he was sick and I didn't if
he was unconscious or whatever in the house. I didn't know. ROBERT STACK: Three
days passed with no word from Oliver Munson. Then, Oliver's car was
found abandoned just a few blocks from his home. One tire was flat. School papers and a bag
lunch were on the front seat, but there was no
evidence to indicate what had happened to Oliver Munson. PHILIP GOODWIN: At
that time, I felt that there was something wrong. Then, the decision was made
here that we were looking at a kidnapping or a homicide. ROBERT STACK: Dennis
Watson became a focal point of the ensuing investigation. Only then police discovered
that this wasn't the first time something had happened
to a witness in a case against Dennis Watson. In 1973, a man
named Clinton Glenn burned to death in a vehicle
that was registered to Watson. Glenn had been
scheduled to testify against Watson in an
armed robbery trial the very next day. Based on the testimony
of another witness, Watson was indicted
for Glenn's murder. However, this key
witness suddenly died of a suspicious
drug overdose, and the murder
charges were dropped. Now, Oliver Munson had vanished,
but there was no evidence to implicate Dennis
Watson, and he was never charged with
a crime in connection with the disappearance. The Munson
investigation stalled, until police heard from a
man named Hilton Solomon. Officer, can you help me? I was just driving along, and
all of a sudden I see my car. I reported it stolen. ROBERT STACK:
Solomon's car had been stolen just hours before
Oliver Munson disappeared. Inside the car,
Solomon had found a hat that would later be
identified as similar to one owned by Oliver Munson. PHILIP GOODWIN: Hilton Solomon
took his car home after it was released by Baltimore City. And several days later, he
decided to clean the car. While he was cleaning,
he found several receipts from a video store. On these receipts was
the name Oliver Munson. When we went down and
looked at the car, there was a brownish stain on
the car at the front right hand side of the vehicle. Looked underneath
the seat, right by the track of the
right hand front seat, I found a spent cartridge case. ROBERT STACK: Red
smudges were also found on one of the receipts. Tests revealed that the
stains were human blood, type O positive. This finding strongly
suggested that Oliver had met with foul play, but
with no record showing Oliver's blood type and no other
hard evidence, the official investigation ground to a halt. As it turned out,
Oliver's disappearance had no apparent effect on
the outcome of the trial. Watson pled guilty
and was sentenced to 10 years in prison. He was paroled in 1989
after serving half his term. Meanwhile, Oliver's friends
and family have spent year after painful year without him. PATRICK CISNA: It's been
nearly 10 years since Oliver disappeared, and
the kids at school, the ones who I keep in contact
with, they'll always ask. That's one of the first things. And I just, I don't know. I don't have any
answer to give to them. In the last 10 years of
my brother's disappearance, It's been a burden
on the whole family. Today my mother is gone. She worried every day. Every night she prayed
and cried, wondering about where her first son is. If anyone knows or seen
anything that day, please, please help the family get
the burden off the chest. ROBERT STACK: Next, a woman
who was given up for adoption more than 50 years
ago needs your help to find her birth mother. During the Great
Depression, drought transformed the fertile
plains of America's heartland into a desert. Thousands of families were
forced to abandoned their homes and roam the country
in search of jobs. This is the story
of a young woman name Rose Marie Ledbetter. In the mid 1930s,
she and her family apparently left Texas and
joined the faceless army of migrant farm workers. Water? Sure, it's over there. ROBERT STACK: In
1938, Rose Marie found herself in Paul's
Valley, Oklahoma, for the cotton harvest. She was unmarried and
working up to 14 hours a day when she learned
that she was pregnant. Are you sure you're
going to be OK? Yes, I just think I need
to sit here for a little bit. ROBERT STACK: When Rose
Marie could no longer work in the fields, she packed
her meager belongings into a single
suitcase and hitched a ride to Oklahoma City. Alone, and with
nowhere else to turn, she sought refuge in a
shelter for unwed mothers called the Home
of Redeeming Love. On July 16, 1938, Rose Marie
gave birth to a daughter and placed her for adoption. Today, that daughter
is a grown woman who can sympathize with
the difficult decision Rose Marie made more
than 50 years ago. MEREDITH ATKINSON: I don't
think she had any choices. And I thank her
for thinking of me. And I had parents
that adopted me that I know they also thanked her. ROBERT STACK: In August of 1991,
Meredith Atkinson, accompanied by her husband, returned
to the place of her birth, looking for information
about her biological mother. MEREDITH ATKINSON: I have
many relatives who say, why are you trying to find out? Your parents loved you. And I said, I know
this, but it has nothing to do with them loving me. I need to find out
for my own sake. ROBERT STACK:
Meredith had grown up in Oklahoma and Kansas,
an only child, doted upon by warm and loving parents. She never got the slightest
hint that there was anything unusual about her
background until 1990, when a relative revealed that
Meredith had been adopted. Meredith immediately
tracked down her original birth certificate. She learned that the name
given to her at birth was Mary Ann Ledbetter. Her father was
listed as unknown. Her mother's name was
Rose Marie Ledbetter. Meredith, I'd
like for you to keep in mind that with
adoption, confidentiality is always very important. ROBERT STACK: In
Oklahoma, Meredith was told that state
laws prevented the opening of adoption files. But a social worker
did provide Meredith with limited information. I believe it can
give you a good feel for your birth mother. MEREDITH ATKINSON: I found
out that my mother was of Irish and German descent. I found out that she had one
sister and four brothers. They were field workers. They had to move in, full of
crops, just trying to get by. And I thought about this,
I could see her life and how rough it was. And it hurt me to think that
she maybe had a life like this. You may need it after
you see the surprise we got from Oklahoma today. ROBERT STACK: Meredith
and her husband returned to their home in
Arizona to continue the search. Several months later, Meredith
was elated when the home mailed her a copy of a letter
Rose Marie had sent there half a century earlier. Sunday, August the 25th, 1940. Dear Madames, I have been
wanting to write sooner, but have never got around to it. I'm introducing myself. I'm Rose Marie Ledbetter. I was with you all in 1938. My baby girl Mary Ann
was born July 16, 1938. I wondered, by any
chance, if you could send me a picture of my baby girl. I would not ask or
wish for anything more. I would appreciate it very much. Thank you, Miss Rose
Marie Ledbetter. MEREDITH ATKINSON: I
knew then that my mother was interested in me. She had been thinking of
me, even after I was born. I would like to be able to look
at her and tell her, mother, I understand. I know you had to do
what was best for you, and that I'd like to know you. I'd like to get to know you. As a direct result
of our broadcast, a private investigator
named Glenda Allen contacted
Meredith and volunteered to take on the search. Just one month later, Meredith
received the exciting news-- her mother, 78-year-old Rose
Marie Luttmer had been found. Though she's been in failing
health for several years, Rose Marie was anxious to
see her long lost daughter. In September of 1994,
Meredith and her two children traveled from Arizona
to Canute, Oklahoma for the much
anticipated reunion. Well hello. Hi there.
Walter? I'm Walter. Glad to know you, Walter. ROBERT STACK: Meredith's
uncle Walter, Rose Marie's brother answered the door. And i bet this Rose? Yes. Hi, Rose. I'm Mary Ann.
- Yes. Little Mary Ann. I'm so tickled. I think that finding my mother
and seeing her and her family has brought closure to my life. I needed-- I needed this. You're Even a great grandma,
did you know that? Sure. Yes. I'm just tickled
to death she's here. Yeah, I just wish
was closer together, we could visit a
little more often, you know, but I plan
to go through there and visit her in Arizona when
I go see my brothers, you know, that way. It would be kind of
on the way up there. It might be a little out of
the way, but it'd be worth it. MEREDITH ATKINSON: It's
like gaining a new family, and you know, it's just like
gaining new friends, too. Well, Albert, I think
you and I look alike, too. I absolutely am going to
be overjoyed to write to them and talk to them and
get to know them. You care if I call you mother? No. ROBERT STACK: Next week
on Unsolved Mysteries, in 1992 18-year-old Andre Jones,
the son of a local civil rights worker, was arrested at a
routine police checkpoint in Brandon, Mississippi. Within 36 hours, Andre's
parents were informed that he had been found
hung in the shower stall of his jail cell. The death was ruled a suicide,
but Andre Jones' family believes he was murdered. More than 60 years ago, a
pair of prospectors in Wyoming happened upon the mummified
remains of a tiny human being. X-rays later revealed what
appears to be a fully developed skeleton, just 17 inches tall. For some, the mummy was
proof that a legendary race of supernatural beings
known as the Little people actually existed. The skeptics, however,
are far from convinced. Join me next time for
another intriguing edition on "Unsolved Mysteries." [THEME MUSIC]
