My Time Treating Incest Families: Breaking the Cycle of Child Sex Abuse

By Jane Marchand Lewis

My BA in Psychology, Stanford, in 1954 prepared me for marriage and a family, but little more. Before marriage, I was a Social Worker in Santa Cruz administering AFDC (Aid to Families with Dependent Children). In the mid-sixties, when the children were in school, I administered AFDC for Santa Clara County. In the early seventies, I went to San Jose State University for an elementary school credential. In 1975 I began the two year masters program in Marriage and Family Counseling at the University of Santa Clara. The program was humanistic orientated and the perfect fit for me. As an intern, I joined the newly formed Child Sexual Abuse Treatment Program. As an intern, one need 3000 hours of practicum, 500 hours of personal therapy and completion of at least one years of a masters program before being eligible for licensure. There I stayed in San Jose, for 17 years, becoming a staff counselor until I went into private practice. I still see clients after 37 years.

The philosophy of Hank Giarretto, who founded the treatment program, was to treat the whole family. The focus was incest families. Hank pioneered treating sex offenders along with the rest of the family. At the pinnacle, there were more than 60 satellite programs around the world, patterned after Hanks pilot program.

All my stories are true although names and places have been scrambled. Not all my clients were from incestuous families. In all cases, there was at least some component present similar to incest families.

My hope is that people reading this will learn more about themselves and others. I remain optimistic that people instinctively drive to become more whole, and that there is a flow between their conscious and unconscious selves. The first courageous step is to walk into the counseling office to ask for help. I know people are making progress when they take what they have learned and practice it at home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479737574

Jane Marchand Lewis

BIOGRAPHY JANE MARCHAND LEWIS, MA, MFT My BA in Psychology, Stanford, in 1954 prepared me for marriage and a family, but little more. Before marriage, I was a Social Worker in Santa Cruz administering AFDC (Aid to Families with Dependent Children). In the mid-sixties, when the children were in school, I administered AFDC for Santa Clara County. In the early seventies, I went to San Jose State University for an elementary school credential. In 1975 I began the two year master’s program in Marriage and Family Counseling at the University of Santa Clara. The program was humanistic orientated and the perfect fit for me. As an intern, I joined the newly formed Child Sexual Abuse Treatment Program. As an intern, one need 3000 hours of practicum, 500 hours of personal therapy and completion of at least one years of a master’s program before being eligible for licensure. There I stayed in San Jose, for 17 years, becoming a staff counselor until I went into private practice. I still see clients after 37 years. The philosophy of Hank Giarretto, who founded the treatment program, was to treat the whole family. The focus was incest families. Hank pioneered treating sex offenders along with the rest of the family. At the pinnacle, there were more than 60 satellite programs around the world, patterned after Hank’s pilot program. All my stories are true although names and places have been scrambled. Not all my clients were from incestuous families. In all cases, there was at least some component present similar to incest families. My hope is that people reading this will learn more about themselves and others. I remain optimistic that people instinctively drive to become more whole, and that there is a flow between their conscious and unconscious selves. The first courageous step is to walk into the counseling office to ask for help. I know people are making progress when they take what they have learned and practice it at home.

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Where’s Mommy?

The Twins

Jean and Joan were identical twins. Their personalities were somewhat different, but you had to know them very well to discover that. They were sixteen but far from sweet. But how they could act! At first meeting them, the average person could be fooled into thinking they were sweet angels. They were each about 5'8", tall and willowy. They had light complexion with straight blonde shoulder length hair. Their innocent blue eyes just about knocked out the males. But inside they were black widow spiders, ready to eat any man who got near them. They told me that when they told their mother about a relative molesting them she didn’t believe them. They were already beyond control for the work-weary mom. They would stay out all night, come home smoking pot, and begin stealing money wherever and whenever they could. Their mom finally gave up. The last time she took them out of the Hall after a petty theft charge they ran away again within a couple of days.

Their mom called their juvenile probation officer and told her that she would not take them home again. They violated all her house rules. She just couldn’t stand it. So basically they were on the streets. When they were put into a foster home, they ran away from that. When I saw the girls in the Hall, I instantly liked them. Maybe it was adolescent energy that they exuded or the way they giggled. Sometimes I took them to Hank’s group for adolescent girls who had been molested. They were well liked by the group. I thought we were making progress. They seemed to have formed a bond with some of the other girls in the group. But no, it wasn’t to be that easy—more about the twins later.

Elaine

Elaine’s situation was sad. So was Elaine. This short, well-proportioned Mexican American girl was molested by her mother’s boyfriend. She told her mother; her mother reported it, and he ran away. But no matter how much the mother apologized to Elaine for having had that jerk in her home, Elaine couldn’t forgive her. In order to punish her mother, Elaine ran away just when her mom was beginning to trust her. Then, typical of girls who are molested, Elaine got into prostitution at fourteen. The crowd of boys she hung out with were drinking and doing drugs. So Elaine went along with it. She told me she felt better when drugged up and didn’t think about what had happened to her. She dropped out of school, and no matter how much counseling she had in the group or with me, nothing seemed to make a difference. I had several mother daughter sessions at their home. It was a disaster. She was unmoved. The best I could do was to keep her in touch with some of the healthier girls in the program and see her whenever she was in the Hall, not on the run—more about Elaine later.

Darlene

I met Darlene at Juvenile Hall. Darlene was short, about 5'2" with dirty blonde hair and a pockmarked face. If you looked into her pale blue eyes you could almost see the pain and suffering. When I spoke to her, she wouldn’t look me directly in the eye.

How are you, Darlene? I’m Jane.

Fine, she lied. I could tell by the haunted look in her eyes, which she tried to avoid showing me.

When are you getting out of here?

Tomorrow. I’m going to another foster home. The other one didn’t work out.

Why not?

I don’t want to talk about it.

OK. Could you tell me why you’re here?

Sure. My mother’s boyfriend screwed me. When I told my mom, she didn’t believe me so I ran away. I was doing lots of drugs and stealing, so they caught me and put me in here.

I’m sorry to hear that.

Silence.

Would you like me to visit you in the foster home and take you to a group meeting with other girls who have been molested?

If you want to.

This was not a promising start. But I followed through in a couple of weeks. I don’t know what the rules are now, but then when a kid went to a foster or group home, they weren’t allowed to have visitors for the first couple of weeks or a month. The philosophy was they wanted the kid to settle in first. It was important that I honor that. When I went to see Darlene, she was just as depressed as she was in the Hall.

How is it here?

OK, I guess.

Maybe it was my imagination, but she seemed a bit warmer toward me. She talked some more about her family but little about her abandonment. I made arrangements for her to be picked up by a driver for the clinic and taken to the group. I realized I didn’t have the time to take each one. I had my own client caseload and worked part-time and had my own family life also. But I was able to go and visit Darlene about once a month. She couldn’t drive and both foster parents worked. She refused to go to school. The juvenile probation officer either didn’t know about that or was unable to do anything about it. So Darlene sat around the house, alone every day watching the soaps on TV. Not a very exciting life to be sure.

One day when I came, I noticed Darlene was advanced in pregnancy. I asked her about it, surprised.

Since I’m so thin, I could disguise it until now.

How do you feel?

Fine. People told me I would have morning sickness, but I don’t.

That’s lucky.

I guess.

Who is the father? I asked.

Do you remember that time when you came to the Hall and were taking me out for a drive?

Yes.

Do you remember that outside of the Hall there were a couple of black guys hanging around?

Yes.

They knew me and I introduced you to them?

Yes.

Remember the one who tried to talk you into telling him where you lived? He said he could come and give you some good advice about your shelties? And I told you not to give him your address?

Which one was that?

The tall, good looking one.

OK, I remember.

Yes. I never intended to give him my address. I wondered how naive Darlene thought I was. The kid was obviously a con man, and I was sure that once he got my address he would come and rob me.

Well, Darlene continued, he’s a con man and would have robbed you. That’s why I told you not to tell him your address. He’s also the father of my baby. The jerk said he would stand by me and pay for the baby. We never wanted to get married, but I wanted this baby. Of course, he did no such thing. He’s never taken me to the doctor even though he has a car. He hasn’t paid me a penny. I’ve been saving up the allowance my foster parents give me for buying clothes for the baby when I can get to the Salvation Army.

Thank you for thinking of me. I was sincerely touched by her protective concern for me. I didn’t mention that I had the same thoughts she had. Let her think that she was the one protecting me and that I didn’t know how to do that for myself. In those days, it was politically correct to say black instead of negro or nigger.

My Memories

No one had yet thought of African American. Years later, I briefly counseled a black Caribbean man. He told me that he was offended by being called African American.

I’m not American, I’m Caribbean. Also, I’m not black in the sense of African. There is some small amount of black African in me as Africans came to the Caribbean also. But mostly I’m Carib.

I thought that all of the Carib Indians were wiped out by the Spanish, English, and Portuguese, I offered.

No. Actually many of us lived. My ancestors hid in caves and wherever they could hide from the slaughter by the Europeans. Now they are thriving and living on many of the islands. Anyway, I can’t do anything about what I’m called. People think they are politically correct, but they are making generalizations, as usual.

What could I say? I could only agree. Now we are supposed to use the term indigenous peoples. When I talk about Indians now, I differentiate Americans from Indians by designating East Indian for my friends abroad.

Darlene’s Salvation Army story reminded me of when I had stopped by a Salvation Army store in San Jose a few months before. Outside the front door, a man accosted me. He was small, skinny, and old, with a peg leg and one crutch. With surprising speed, he put his crutch into my door to prevent me from getting back in the car. Then he lunged toward me and tried to grab my shoulder strap purse. Shocked, I swung into action. Holding onto my purse with one hand, I shoved him down to the ground with the other. Then I ran inside the store and told them. The male clerk came out, but the would-be robber had already disappeared. He told me the man had been hanging around outside for months, but no one had been able to catch him, including the police. He had successfully robbed several people, all women. It was the only time in my life I had knocked anyone down. And a cripple yet! Whoops, make that physically challenged!

More Sessions with Darlene

I had gone to a psychic for a reading. I don’t remember why. But the psychic added something to the usual reading. He told me that a girl I was seeing had something to tell me. I said, What girl?

The one who’s pregnant.

How did he know that?

What is it? I asked, curious.

I mustn’t tell you. It is up to her.

I didn’t know that psychics had a code of ethics like that, but it made sense. This person had come to me highly recommended and now I knew why. I accepted his answer and thanked him. The next time I went to see Darlene I asked her about it without revealing my visit to the psychic.

Darlene, I sense you have something to tell me. Do you?

She looked at me sharply and replied, Maybe.

That was just like her.

Can you tell me about it?

Silence.

Please.

You have to promise me not to tell anyone, especially the cops.

I promise. I wondered what was coming.

Promise even if you don’t want to.

OK, OK.

My foster father is only working part-time now. So he hangs around the house in the afternoon when his wife is working.

Yes? I was beginning to get that feeling in the pit of my stomach again.

More silence.

Don’t tell me he has been molesting you! I demanded.

Silence. But the look in her eyes told me that was the case. She got up and walked into the weedy backyard and started pacing.

Darlene, we have to get you out of here, I croaked.

Oh no, we don’t, she quipped.

In heaven’s name, why not?

Where would I go to have the baby? It’s due in six weeks.

I didn’t have an answer for that.

Then let’s do something to stop it.

You can’t, Jane, she almost shouted, which was unlike her. You have to pretend I haven’t told you any of this. I just needed to tell someone.

You know it’s illegal. You know I should report it. What if he does this to someone else? Do you want other girls to suffer like you are?

I don’t care.

I was afraid that was true. There was a long straggling trail of broken promises and deep betrayals in Darlene’s past. How could I expect to fix everything up in the few months I had known her? Realistically, there was no other place to go except some kind of institution. I knew there were places unwed girls could go when they were pregnant, but to Darlene that was still an institution. As evil as this atmosphere was, in her mind it was the best she could have. Or maybe she thought it was the best she deserved. It certainly was clear to me that she didn’t expect much out of life and surely thought she didn’t deserve it anyway. She had been betrayed by the molestation, her mother, the black boy, and the whole system as far as she was concerned. All I could do was suppress my feelings and leave feeling very heavy.

Elaine

I got a call that Elaine was back in Juvenile Hall again. I hadn’t seen her since that disastrous session with her mom. I rushed over to the Hall as soon as I had time.

We didn’t say you could see her, the attendant quipped.

Why not? You called.

She’s in isolation. No visitors are allowed.

Why?

Elaine’s psychotic and she’s dangerous.

What!

The attendant explained, Elaine was picked up by the police having some sort of seizure in the street. They took her to Santa Clara County Hospital and did extensive testing on her, thinking it might be epilepsy. It turned out that there was a combination of illegal drugs in her system. They told us it was a dangerous combination and that it was lucky she didn’t die in the street. PCP was the worst. They called her mother to pick her up and her mother refused. She told us she had given up. She said that every time she brought Elaine home, Elaine would run away again within a week. So they brought her here.

Why didn’t they take her to the children’s shelter? I asked.

Because she had run away from there and was on the run at the time.

What was her crime? I asked defensively.

Underage drinking in public, taking illegal drugs, prostitution, and petty theft. Is that enough for you?

Yes. But can I see her anyway? I can’t believe she would hurt me. My god, I thought, she’s only fourteen.

I’ll have to ask the director. Please wait here in the waiting room.

A few minutes later, another attendant with a key ushered me into the Hall and took me to a barred cell that was no more than four square feet. Elaine was sitting on a chair in the cell, looking toward the ceiling.

Elaine, here is your counselor, Jane Lewis. She has come here to see you and find out how you are. Is that OK?

Silence. She was still looking at the ceiling. The female attendant thoughtfully whispered in my ear, I’ll leave you here with the door open and bring you a chair. Would you like a glass of water? Just call me when you are finished. I will be in the next room. I’ll keep the door ajar in case of emergency.

There was no emergency. In fact, there was no Elaine. What was left of her mind was somewhere else. I talked quietly to her for a few minutes and finally realized the futility of trying to communicate with her. So I turned and quietly signaled to the attendant. She must have known how I was feeling. She came up behind me and put her hand on my shoulder.

Mrs. Lewis, you should know that Elaine is much better now. For several days, she was ranting and raving and truly psychotic. Now she’s quiet, and yesterday she spoke to someone who walked by. Our main worry now is that she won’t eat and she’s already thin from lack of nutrition and all of that drug use. We don’t force-feed here. If she doesn’t get better by tomorrow, we will have to send her back to the hospital where they will feed her intravenously. And they or we will take her to the psych ward if she isn’t better soon. The reason she isn’t there now is that they don’t have a locked facility for children. She is still underage.

I understand. Thank you.

I left defeated. Hank hadn’t told me this would be so hard or heartrending. Maybe he didn’t know.

The Twins

In the meantime, the twins were busy. I haven’t told you about Anna Einfield. Hank had married her shortly before he started the child sexual abuse program. It was a second marriage for both of them. They loved and respected each other. Hank soon realized that there was too much work for him to do alone. He asked Anna if she would help, and she gladly agreed. Hank was the entrepreneur and Anna was a good administrator. One Saturday, they staged a big celebration. A grant that Assemblyman John Vasconcellos had gotten us came though. Everyone was invited—the counselors, interns, administration, and all the clients. Lunch was provided for all. Usually the groups met on Wednesday nights, but this time it would be on Saturday. The day was grand. The sun shone brightly for us. Everyone was in a good mood. I was there of course.

At one point in the afternoon, I saw one of the twins flitting around the corner of the building. Wanting to talk to her and find out how she was doing, I followed. Of course, from a distance I didn’t know if it was Jean or Joan. I couldn’t even tell them apart close-up. But I could when I was talking with them. Jean had a more positive attitude than Joan. I reached the corner and no one was in sight. That was strange. And why was I getting a strange feeling in my stomach?

An hour later, I heard Anna screech!

My wallet’s gone! she cried.

Every person stopped what he or she was doing to help Anna find her wallet. We all looked high and low. It was nowhere to be found. Anna wailed, Hank and I are going to Europe on Monday. My money, credit cards, passport are all in the wallet. We are all ready to go and just needed to pack tomorrow. She cried.

We all realized the urgency, but no one found anything. This went on for an hour or two. Finally someone looked in a garbage can. Below all the paper plates, paper cups, and food was Anna’s wallet. It was empty of course. It was then that I remembered I had seen one of the twins not far from that garbage can. There was that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach again! She had stolen the wallet. It was probably Joan. I went to find some of the other teenagers to ask them the whereabouts of the twins. Only one or two were left. It was about four in the afternoon by that time. And those two didn’t even know the twins. I approached Anna and told her my fears.

Where are they? she asked.

No one seems to know. Most of the time they are on the run, I told her reluctantly.

Hank and I are leaving for Europe on Monday, she repeated desperately.

I know. But I don’t know where the twins are or I would go after them, I explained.

It was a disturbing way to end a celebratory day. Most of the people had left before this happened, so for them the day was unspoiled. Hank and Anna had to postpone their trip for a few days to get the credit cards canceled and get an emergency passport for Anna. For once, I could identify with the twins’ mother. It seemed she timed this job to ruin a glorious day for the new clinic. It was like she threw sand in every kid’s face while they were having the best time playing in the sand box.

Darlene

Darlene gave birth to her baby in Santa Clara County Hospital. The baby came right on time. Naturally, Darlene didn’t call me as she had promised. But I had finally come to peace with the irresponsibility of the teenagers. After all, the grown-ups had been irresponsible in their treatment of these forlorn throwaway kids. What could I expect? When I was a teen, I didn’t do my chores and I had the most responsible and loving parents imaginable.

Where was Darlene? I called the hospital. She had checked out weeks ago. They didn’t know if anyone had picked her and the baby up. I called Juvenile Hall, and they didn’t know where she was. I called the foster home, and they hadn’t heard from her either. I talked to the foster mom, and obviously no one had told her what her husband had done to Darlene. I decided I best keep it that way to preserve Darlene’s trust in me. I was still uncomfortable about my silence, wondering if they would have other foster daughters whom he might molest.

Darlene had told me that she was going to apply for county welfare after the baby came. She said that if she found a roommate to share a small apartment she could live on welfare. I knew AFDC or Aid to Families with Dependent Children (which I administered in the mid-1960s) wouldn’t give me any information. Marilyn Monroe was in fourteen or more foster homes and had been molested by foster fathers. One of my college roommates at Stanford, Leslie, had a similar childhood to Marilyn’s. Leslie was afraid to have children. Her childhood fears and disappointments dominated her all of her life. Fortunately Leslie found a wonderful man she loved. He was gentle and kind. She talked to me about him before she married, and I encouraged her. After debating with herself for years, she finally took the plunge. They were happily married until she died of a brain tumor a few years ago.

There is a high rate of molestation that occurs in foster homes. Abandoned, abused, and neglected children are always at risk. Disabled children are at even greater risk.

Elaine

When Elaine got out of the Hall, she was much better. They told me so. However, no one knew where she was either. For a while all these girls were on the run. It got so bad that Santa Clara County passed a law that you couldn’t pick up teenagers just because they had run away from home. I was told the reasoning was that it was costing the county government a bundle of money. I’m sure that’s true when you count police, juvenile probation officers, Juvenile Hall, and Santa Clara County Welfare. Even Elaine’s mother didn’t know where she was. Several months went by. I heard nothing. The list of contacts that I had to trace Elaine dwindled. I turned to the work I could do and forgot about Elaine.

Then one day one of the girls in the preteen group took me aside. I wasn’t running that group at that time, but she knew who I was even though I didn’t know her.

You’re Jane Lewis, aren’t you? she asked.

Yes. How are you?

Fine, I guess. I’m Mary. I heard that you were Elaine’s counselor. Is that right?

I looked at the petite Mexican American girl and replied, Yes. That’s right. But I haven’t seen her for over six months. Do you know where she is? Do you know how she is?

Mary looked up at me with her large brown eyes. Elaine is dead.

What? How do you know? What happened? Where was it?

I had so many questions they tumbled out.

She died in Arizona. She took off with a couple of Mexican guys. You know, really from Mexico. They were members of that Norteneos gang.

I’ve heard of them. Aren’t they one of those gangs that fight with knives and guns? I heard they do drugs and alcohol. They have girls who follow them around. I think they’re called followers.

That’s right. Elaine joined them. They took her to Arizona. You remember how thin she was?

Yes. I saw her in ‘Juvie’ when she was on PCP, I replied. Juvie was the kids’ slang for Juvenile Hall.

Well, last month someone called Elaine’s mom from Arizona. They told her Elaine had died of an overdose of heroin.

That’s terrible.

I sure is. But she was headed that way. We all knew it. No once could do anything with her. She was so stubborn.

Don’t I know it? I was crushed.

Well, bye now. I have to go to the group. See you later.

Just like that she left. As she rounded the corner, headed to the group’s room, I heard light-hearted laughter from several girls. Thus ended the short, sad life of Elaine Gutierrez. Probably today her mother and I are two of the handful of people who remember that sad little girl.

The Twins

Finally, one of the girls gave me a lead as to where the twins could be found. I went to the house and knocked on the door. Either Jean or Joan answered. I explained what had happened that day months ago. As I was talking, I realized by the look on her face that I was talking to Jean.

Are you Jean? I asked.

Yes. How did you know?

I saw a look of disgust on your face but not guilt. So I figured that Joan was the one who took Anna’s wallet that day.

Right. Good for you, said Jean.

So how can I find Joan? I thought she would tell me.

I’m not going to tell you. You must understand that my first loyalty is to my twin sister. Everyone else comes second.

I understand, of course. I realized that was natural. If they had no one else, at least they had each other. They didn’t dare betray each other. Each was a lifeline to the other. Their situation was much better than Elaine’s or Darlene’s.

Would you please give Joan a message for me? I asked. Tell her I know that she did this. Tell her that I saw her turn the corner of the building on the day of the big celebration. When we found Anna’s wallet in the garbage, I knew one of you had done it because the garbage can was near where I saw Joan rush around a corner. I couldn’t find her, so I knew then something was wrong then. I just didn’t know which one of you did it. Tell her also that it was very hard for Hank and Anna. They were leaving for Europe on the following Monday and had to postpone their trip to straighten everything out.

I don’t think that Joan knows all this. I will tell her. I promise.

Thank you. Good luck.

Bye, Jane.

Darlene

It was over a year before I heard anything about Darlene. One day she called. It had been so long. I was surprised but instantly recognized her sad, whispery voice over the phone.

Jane, I’m in trouble.

What is it? Where are you?

I’m on the run. I’m in downtown Oakland.

On the run from who?

Oh, nobody in particular.

Then what kind of trouble are you in? I asked.

Did you know little Mabel is nine months already? she said proudly. And she talks. Mabel, say hi to the lady.

I heard a squeaky hi. Was this a distraction technique people used when they didn’t want to talk about the real issues at hand?

I said hi back and then got down to business.

I can hardly believe it has been so long., I said. I thought it best to go along with her so as to not lose the tenuous contact we had.

Yes. You should see her. She’s so cute. And she’s such a good baby. She hardly ever cries. She put the baby next to the phone and I heard a baby’s giggle.

That’s wonderful. Then what’s the problem?

There was a silence that seemed to last an eternity.

Then I heard quiet sobbing.

I can’t take care of her anymore.

Why not?

Jane, I’m on drugs and I’m drinking to forget. I live on the streets unless I get a man to take me in for a night or two. And you know what I have to let him do to me to get that much.

I know, I said sadly.

I can’t keep a job because of what I’m doing. I can’t afford a babysitter and Mabel and I don’t have a place to live.

Pause. More sobs.

I realized it yesterday when Mabel was crying for milk and I didn’t have money to buy any. I had to prostitute myself to get money to buy her milk. Jane, I can’t take care of her anymore by myself.

What can I do? I pleaded.

I… want you… to… take… Mabel. I heard through the sobs and gasps.

Where? You know she can’t live with me.

I know.

More silence. This was hard for me. I couldn’t even imagine how it was for Darlene.

To the children’s shelter in Santa Clara County.

It was my turn for silence.

Jane, are you there?

Yes.

Are you sure about this?

I’m sure.

More silence.

Darlene, you should do this yourself. You are her mother.

"Don’t you understand? I can’t bear to do it myself. You are the only person I can trust. And this county sucks. I know they will find a good home for Mabel. She deserves