A Call to Remember: The Girl Who Wouldn’t Testify and the Woman Who Will

By Shaina Fertig

Piper Jean Potts Streyle was brutally murdered on July 29, 1996 by serial killer, Robert Leroy Anderson. He had taken the life of another woman in 1994 and failed to take another. Streyle was abducted from her home in Canistota, South Dakota mid-morning, leaving behind two small children, who had witnessed the kidnapping. She was presumably ruined and her body has never been recovered.
I was the little girl who witnessed a kidnapping: visions of hell to always be etched in my mind. I was also the girl who would not testify in a court of law. I was the girl who hid behind her soft blanket and would not face the stark terrifying truth. I would not affirm, again, the face I knew was my mother’s murderer. I would not testify. I am that girl.
I wish to no longer be known as the girl who would not testify, but as the woman who will. I will testify. I will speak and I will tell.
This is my testimony, through the recalling of memories, answering: A Call to Remember.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Nov 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781664269842

Shaina Fertig

Shaina Fertig (previously Streyle) currently lives on the Wyoming prairie with her husband Royce and daughter. She loves scribbling down poems, working in her flower beds or garden, dancing in her kitchen and visiting the great outdoors with her family and friends. She is in love with the miracles of God’s design of creation and enjoys reading children’s books in her spare time.

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Copyright © 2022 Shaina Fertig.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

WestBow Press

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Author Photo by Isabella Irene Photography

Scripture quotations marked ESV taken from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version® (ESV®), Copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked NIV are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

ISBN: 978-1-6642-6985-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-6986-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6642-6984-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022911500

WestBow Press rev. date: 11/17/2022

Contents

Preface

Part 1: Rough Beginnings

Chapter 1 A Singular Memory

Chapter 2 Blown Fuse

Part 2: Denial

Chapter 3 Childhood

Chapter 4 Teen

Chapter 5 Stepping into Adulthood

Part 3: Everything Finished

Chapter 6 Breaking Point

Chapter 7 Trauma’s Touch

Part 4: Balm

Chapter 8 Forgiveness

Chapter 9 Adopted

Chapter 10 Discovering Her

Chapter 11 Speak

Chapter 12 A Call to Remember

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

References

To the children who have struggled to overcome trauma and to

those of us who are still battling and winning in Christ’s victory.

And to my birth mother, Piper Jean Potts Streyle—your life echoes

into many, and your death was never the end of your story.

Father,

You know my heart, my longing to glorify Your name above all. Please take this book, this writing and make it Your own. Take this pen and speak. Place it in homes and in hands that need to hear of Your love. Your mercy. Your care. Encompassing it all: Your Grace. Through my vulnerability, touch hearts, move souls, and bring hope. Bring the hope of healing.

For You, the one and only God, are a God of healing. I know this full well. Yet, I also know, You heal in Your timing, with Your gentle hands, with Your prodding, and in Your perfect way. You don’t ignore our cries for mercy or our pleas for help. You take each fleeting second and use it. And You do heal, sometimes in intangible and incomprehensible ways.

Father, please make it evident that this is Your story, not mine—that You have taken the ashes of my life and that You alone are creating something beautiful. This furnace of sanctification has been hard, this journey of healing painful; and this path of life—may it point to You.

All to You. All to You I surrender. Jesus, make Yourself known. Make my words Yours, as I answer this call to remember.

Preface

July 25, 2016

This book thing seems to press on my mind more and more. I need a positive push of encouragement. From somewhere unexpected and very to the point. Write the book.

Where Do I Start?

I’ve been reconstructing the words to this story over and over for years. I’ve always found myself at a loss for words. Like a small child trying to describe their first encounter with an authentic jar-filled candy shop. Confused and entangled in details, I would trip over emotions and start a stuttering story.

Where do I start? What do I say? How can I possibly have the words to portray what God has actually done in my life? Or my family’s? How does all this flow together in something that makes sense?

It’s just so messy. It’s so complicated. It doesn’t make sense. There are just too many memories that intersect.

Why in the world do I feel the need to do this?

I still can’t answer many of these questions.

I can’t even answer my own questions. How can I answer others’ prying inquiries?

So how did I get here if I’ve tried so many other times? Why am I writing when I still don’t know what or how to write? When I still feel inadequate, staring at this mound of, well, life? How can I take on this task, when really, I still feel just as overwhelmed as the last time I tried? Overwhelmed like a child in a sweets shop—stunned by the options, descriptions, and complexities of it all?

A few years ago I was in church, a small home church in Tennessee. The stifling heat was seeping through the cracks of the basement where we met. The air was weighted with the scent of baking sweet potatoes, simmering casseroles, and the hot sticky breath of early fall. I stood in the second row of mismatched folding chairs, office wheelers, and couches, worshiping. I was singing with my heart raised, arms lifted, and eyes closed.

It was hot. The singing, loud.

This particular Sunday as we sang with the recordings of artists like Hillsong, Jesus Culture, and Kim Walker-Smith, I wasn’t expecting anything special. I came ready to worship, yes. It felt the same. But this Sunday, something must have been different.

It was stuffy that Sunday. The potluck was practically calling my unfed stomach’s name. I was sitting between some of my favorite young ladies dressed in their summery, comfy dresses. The prayer, which started promptly at ten, had been filled with thanksgiving and intercession for our country, our world, and the various situations within the church. Normal. Everything was normal.

Until, it wasn’t.

My voice belted out a harmony, and my heart shivered with reverence. The pinpricks of emotions scratched at the edge of my closed eyes, the black screen of eyelid began to shift.

A big bold word flashed through my vision. Its letters were each pasted upon my vision in bright blood bulk. Vivid and fast. I knew exactly what they meant. It was like I had been expecting it.

"Write."

January 13, 2008

Help me find my inner writer. I want to write from my very soul, but, Lord, I do not know how, and only You can teach me.

I am a writer. I enjoy writing out my thoughts, my prayers, and my party planning. I love blogging. I love to list, to scribble down, to check off, to copy and collect, to write.

But I’m not a speller. That can never be denied. It is utterly evidenced by my hand-scrawled spell-check-less writing, my journals, and my family’s recollection.

It’s not that I can’t write. I just can’t spell.

Back in second grade, I remember being mortified when my teacher explained that I would have to stay in from recess studying spelling words. I was disappointed with the companions I was given that hour—letters, not flesh and blood peers on a bright plastic playground. That hour spent chained to horrendous spelling planted within me a menacing fear of letters, but it couldn’t stop the jottings down or the scribbling of tales.

Years have passed. I’ve read masses of books, written papers with autocorrect sharpening, and I’ve mastered words that blasted holes through my school-day spelling tests. I can use most words correctly, but my chicken scratch lists and journal jabbering still harbor the most autocratic of creative letter arrangements.

I love the art of wordsmithery.

When the word write (spelled absolutely, unmistakably in the correct fashion) crashed into my vision that muggy Sunday morning, it could have just meant that—keep writing. Do what you already do. Write that packing list. Write that blog post. Write anything. But it wasn’t the word that spoke; it never is.

Why did this vision press me into believing I was being given a renewed mission to write? Partly because I’d been trying for years.

Many trial drafts still lie in memory boxes in dusty closets, and some have been thrown in wastebasket coffins. Some flew past my pen so rapidly I couldn’t catch them before they dissolved into nothingness. Many are cryptic essays pitched into desktop files to collect cyber dust.

From a baffled elementary student to an attention-seeking preteen to an adult walking around the cusp of healing, I’ve written in anger; in funny, chipper tones; pathetically; analytically; factually; and historically. I’ve even written bits in poetry.

Slices of memories served with sides of the bitterest of bile. Fractures of remembrances pieced together with the stitching of conjecture. I’m not proud of many of these radioactive drafts or their angles.

I wrote and wrote and wrote.

Allusions are one thing. They are just passing thoughts in a paper or a poem, a comment slid in, a thought to connect a reader to the writer.

But writing your history? The whole thing? I could never get it right and there was nothing to get right.

Each time I would jot down the precious little I understood, my thoughts would become emotional vomit thrown onto Word docs. I’d give up with a fling of the page and a toss of my hair. I’d again throw up my arms in distress. I can’t do this!

And as an adult, defeated with pen in hand, I’d conclude, I’ve been writing about this since fourth grade. I don’t want to anymore. It’s too hard (2014 journal entry).

I wasn’t ready. I was oblivious to the journey I was trekking upon.

Because I had been trying for so long, I knew what that bright, dripping word meant. Write was intended for what I had always been drafting.

A Child’s Testimony

Following is the South Dakota State Supreme Court opinion piece—a few paragraphs where my name is caught up in the writings, describing the decisions made before my childhood words were even considered to be allowed in a courtroom:

Before the testimony of Shaina was to be received, the trial court conducted an in-camera hearing to determine whether she was competent to testify. At the time of this hearing, Shaina was four and one-half-years old. During the first part of the hearing, the trial court observed and participated with Shaina in a play environment. The court and Shaina’s counsel, Lorrie Miner (Miner) asked Shaina simple questions at varying points in the play session to make her feel at ease. At different times Miner asked Shaina whether she would be lying if she made certain untrue statements. For example, at one point Miner asked Shaina, [S]o if I said there was a blue cow in [the room], would I be telling the truth or telling a lie? Shaina correctly replied, [L]ie. Miner also asked Shaina, [A]nd if you are asked at some time to tell the truth, will you tell the truth? Shaina responded, [O]h, yep.

After the in-camera session with Shaina, the court proceeded with the second portion of the competency hearing. Dr. Cynthia Pilkington, Ph.D., a child psychologist specializing in dealing with children under the age of twelve, testified. Dr. Pilkington, Shaina’s treating psychologist, testified that Shaina was able to observe and recall quite accurately and was a typical communicator for her age. Defense counsel suggested to Dr. Pilkington that children of Shaina’s age are typically unreliable reporters of events. However, she totally disagree[d], stating that [t]hree year olds can relate information, personal experiences. It may not be logical, but they can certainly relate what has happened to them.

At the end of the hearing, the trial court made its findings as to the competency of Shaina. The court found Shaina had the ability to recollect certain things, referring to a specific moment during the play session where it brought out a bag of multi-colored jellybeans. The court found that Shaina picked out the right color of jellybean each time she was asked to identify a certain color. The trial court also found that Shaina remembered it preferred black jellybeans over any other color, and that Shaina did not have to be requested to give a black jellybean, but rather volunteered it to the court.

The trial court also found Shaina had the ability to communicate as a normal four and a half-year-old. See State v. Stewart, 641 So2d 1086, 1089 (LaApp 1994), cert. denied, 648 So2d 1337 (La1995) (holding four-year-old child witness to murder indicated she understood the difference between truth and lie, and seemed to have intelligence that one of a similar age and under similar circumstances would possess).

Finally, as to the ability of Shaina to tell the truth, the trial court found she knew the difference between right and wrong. The court also found Shaina was of sufficient age that any testimony that she would give would be to the best of her ability, her remembrances.

Our review of the interchange between the court and Shaina clearly indicates a sufficient ability to observe, recollect, communicate and tell the truth to satisfy the minimal standards of competence. This Court has stated there is a preference to allow a witness to testify and allow the jury to evaluate the testimony. Leonard, 244 NW at 89. In Leonard, this Court found in the cases where incompetence of an infant witness was urged, the result was to sustain the action of the trial court in permitting the witness to testify, and in [such] cases this court refused to interfere with the trial judge’s discretion. Id. (citing State v. Reddington, 7 SD 368, 64 NW170, 173 (1895); State v. Southmayd, 37 SD 375, 158 NW 404 (1916)). See also State v. Marr, 673 A2d 452, 453 (RI 1996) (explaining the general rule is that doubts [of whether a child witness is competent] should be resolved concerning minimum credibility of the witness in favor of permitting the jury to hear the testimony and judge the credibility of the witness for itself.). The trial court in this case had the advantage of having the opportunity to see and hear the child during the play session, and thus was in a better position to observe the child’s competency. After a review of the record we hold the court did not abuse its discretion in finding Shaina competent to testify. (State of South Dakota, Plaintiff and Appellee, v. Robert LeRoy Anderson, Defendant and Appellant. [2000 SD 45])(Paragraphs 25–30).

Failure to Testify

Despite being found reliable, I failed to testify in court as a young child. You can still read about it. Articles like the Los Angeles Times’ Girl, 4, Refuses to Testify about Kidnap claimed, Shaina Streyle had been brought into the town library, where she was to testify at the trial of Robert Leroy Anderson via closed-circuit TV so that she would not have to face the man (Times Staff and Wire Reports, April 24, 1997).

Another, Asked to Testify in Mom’s Kidnap, Girl, 4, Hides under Her Blanket by the Chicago Tribune News Service dated April 24, 1997, stated, [A] 4-year-old girl who saw her mother abducted pulled a blanket over her head and lay on the floor Wednesday rather than testify against the man accused in the kidnapping.

Such a harsh word—refused. Yet, that is what I am told my reaction was. You refused to speak. You refused to testify. You refused to stand before a jury, judge … a crowd and point your little finger. But who can blame a child? Surely, no one.

In this same document, which anyone can find online or in the archives of South Dakota trails, my failure to testify is set out in stark facts. I include this here as the antithesis of this very book you have picked up: a failure to speak at a young age spurring me to write now.

Anderson made a motion before trial to prevent the State from referring to Shaina’s statements which made reference to the possibility of Piper’s death. The State argued Shaina’s statements were relevant and admissible as excited utterances or present sense impressions. The trial court denied Anderson’s motion for the purposes of opening argument, but cautioned the State that the statements would be subject to its evidentiary rulings later in the trial.

In its opening argument the State discussed Shaina’s statements of July 29, 1996. During the argument no reference was made to Shaina’s identification of Anderson. The State did say that Shaina might testify during the trial, but cautioned sometime during the course of trial, we’re going to call her to testify. We don’t know what she’s going to say. She may decide to answer some questions for us and she may pull her blanket over her head.

Three days before Shaina was scheduled to testify, Vance testified about his initial failure and later success in identifying Anderson in the lineups. Vance did not refer to Shaina’s participation in any lineup. On cross-examination, after having Vance repeat that he was unable to pick out Anderson at first, Anderson’s counsel raised the issue of Shaina’s failure to identify Anderson on the first lineup. The State, on redirect, corrected the impression Anderson left that Shaina was unable to identify him. Vance testified that Shaina had in fact identified Anderson in a later photographic lineup after she had been shown his current photograph.

When Shaina was called to testify, she refused. Anderson argued to the trial court that he was misled into planning his defense around Shaina’s testimony and requested a mistrial and a new trial before a jury who hasn’t been infected with promises that the child was going to say incriminating things about Mr. Anderson. Anderson also argued Vance had been allowed to testify regarding Shaina’s photographic lineups. The State argued Anderson misrepresented the record

Reviews for A Call to Remember

[Rachel Brasington · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Shaina did an incredible job of giving all glory to Christ in her healing story. She articulated the brokenness and healing process so well. I am so grateful to have met her family for a brief season in Wyoming. Thank you, Shaina, for sharing your story! It gives much encouragement.