The Secret Storm

By Dale Berne

This is THE SECRET STORM! It is the true story (nonfiction) of a landmark child custody battle and parental abduction case. THIS IS A STORY THAT SHOCKED THE NATION AND THE WORLD.

This book, THE SECRET STORM, portrays the true and vivid accounts of child custody, visitations and kidnapping  as told by a father, Dale Berne, and a son, Scott Berne.

When the author gained legal custody of his two sons, his ex-wife and her father hired a hit man to kill him, burned down their family home, absconded with the family bank account, created personal and professional discrimination at Dale Berne's place of work, and parentally kidnapped their two sons, Scott and Mark.

The boys were taken on a two-year, three-week dangerous journey to five countries and thirteen residences while simultaneously catapulting Dale Berne into an unprecedented search culminating with national and international notoriety and mainstream media attention.

 

The voices of Dale and Scott jump off each page as they struggle to cope with the emotional roller coaster of events and their efforts to swim out of the turbulent waters of disaster and into a tranquil stream of a stable family environment.

 

"From victims to survivors."

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Santalandpublishingcompany
• Release date: Jan 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215499153

Dale Berne

Dale L. Berne, Ed.D., is a retired superintendent of schools, high school principal and science teacher who after retirement moved his career to the international arena as founder and rector of an international graduate school in the Caribbean, associate dean of two medical schools in the Caribbean and founder of the first Santaland resort in the Philippines. These experiences prepared him to write an international action novel, MIRACLE PITCH, fraught with adventure, romance and international intrigue. If you should enjoy reading MIRACLE PITCH, you may enjoy reading this author's true story, THE SECRET STORM.. Dale Berne was the victim of a parental abduction wherein his two sons, Scott and Mark, were missing for two years and three weeks.

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Copyright © 2021 Dale L. Berne, Ed.D.

All rights reserved

First Edition originally published by Page Publishing 2021

Second Edition published by Santalandpublishingcompany 2023

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the following people, who had the wisdom to make the right decisions, the experience to decipher fact from fiction, the fortitude to stand up for what they believe, and the determination to bring the Berne case to its rightful conclusion:

Judge Culver Barr

Judge Leonard Maas

Judge Richard Rosenbloom

Judge Bruce Wettman

Mr. Howard Relin, district attorney

Mr. Paul Cooley, attorney

Mr. Stephen Pheterson, attorney

Mr. John Regan, attorney

Mr. Roman Sedlickas, attorney

Mr. Charles Willis, attorney

Dr. Manfred Albrecht, physician

Dr. Werner Halpern, child psychiatrist

Dr. Frederick Remington, psychiatrist

Mrs. Bernice Rinebold, social worker

Mr. John Rivoli, children’s law guardian

Mrs. Amelia Nugent, school board president

An Overview

In collaboration with Scott L. Berne—son, first-person survivor, and board member of the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.

Scott has been working in the political arena with the National Center to upgrade parental kidnapping from a misdemeanor to a felony. This legislation would immediately benefit the fate of many children caught in the parental crossfires.

The dramatic increase in the divorce rate, dissolution of core family lifestyles, and the rapid pace of society in our technological world contribute to the societal instability that has such a dramatic effect on children.

The Secret Storm is a warning of the consequences if we don’t protect and cherish our children. You will be reading this book knowing that the fabric of our society is at stake. We can all assist to dissipate the secret storm and make this world a better place to live for our children.

Hopefully, this book helps to make the secret storm no longer a secret.

Forward

Foreword by Ed Suk, executive director, National Center for Missing and Exploited Children

The book that you are about to read is written by author Dale Berne, who brings a unique perspective of a father who endured vicious attacks, intense public humiliation, protracted court proceedings, and most significantly the loss of his two beloved sons for what was an agonizing two- year period of time when they were abducted by their non- custodial mother and taken to five different countries and thirteen residences. It is very difficult to imagine what such trauma might feel like. However, The Secret Storm takes us on this journey. This true story is so much more than a parental kidnapping case. It portrays the dynamics of fam- ily relationships from the loving interactions of father and sons to the devastating behavior of a mother out of control. Beautifully written, captivating, and detailed, this book brings forth strong emotions as it takes the reader through the events of court proceedings of this landmark case as well as through a window into the mental health treatment process to recover two brainwashed children and to return their identities. These insights are rarely seen out- side of a clinical setting. Not only is this book a captivating read, but it also provides eye-opening insights into the issues faced by left-behind parents and the traumas faced by abducted children.

We often expect that once recovered, the missing children are happily reunited with the left-behind parent, and the trauma ends. The reality is quite different. This is the secret storm that is revealed. While a relatively small percentage of missing children are ever recovered, there are those cases where the recovered child is abducted for a second time, adding an additional emotional burden to every- one involved.

Family abductions are common place with more than two hundred thousand parental kidnappings a year in the United States alone. It is estimated that there are over three hundred thousand abductions per year outside of the United States. This is the secret storm that is revealed in this book. These abductions are fueled by custodial issues, mental illness, alcoholism, substance abuse, domestic violence, malice, or sometimes simply revenge. However, the aftermath could be devastating for both the missing children and the left-behind parent. The devastation may take the form of lifelong flashbacks, substance abuse, serious issues of emotional instability, challenges in forming close relationships, deep-seated mistrust, and sustained anxiety.

Raising awareness about the issues of family crisis and parental abduction is critical. The nonprofit agency, the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children (for whom I work), deals with all the above issues. Its mission is to bring together the resources necessary to help find missing children, to reunite missing and abducted children with their custodial parents, and provide critical family advocacy services to help with the long recovery process. Contact information is offered at the back of this book.

I am delighted that this book, The Secret Storm, brings forth the above issues in a very readable fashion with first-person accounts and experiences of two children thrust into the secret storm and a father who, as a left-behind parent, stayed determined and aggressive to help the victims become the survivors.

Acknowledgments

Firstly, I thank my son and collaborator in this book, Scott Berne, for his emerging from being a victim of parental kidnapping to becoming a survivor who tries every day to bring awareness and education with the goal of prevention and keeping children safe from all predatory crimes. He is a board member of the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.

I appreciate the love, support, and patience given to me by my wife, Arleen, during the many months of writing The Secret Storm.

To my daughter-in-law, Jill-Zabinski-Berne, for her time and effort in reading and proofing this book.

To a young lady, Hannah Piper, for her technical assistance at each turn in the writing process.

And a special thanks to my publishers at Page Publishing and their diligent team of editors, formatting specialists, designers, and printers coordinated by Caitlin Hollarn, who efficiently kept everybody moving through the publishing process; her communication skills were superb!

Introduction

Life was very difficult for Dale and Scott Berne, author and collaborator, because the harsh realities of life came at them from within as well as from outside their nuclear family.

The pages of this book become testimony to the dramatic events of a custody battle (the longest custody trial in the history of New York State), the first test case of the federal law (the Parental Prevention Kidnapping Act), death threats, conspiracy to commit murder, arson, personal and professional discrimination, and ultimately the parental abduction by their noncustodial mother that took sons, Scott and Mark, into five countries and thirteen residences. While Scott and Mark were forced to become Joe and Frank King, Dale was forced to protect his life.

As bizarre and unbelievable as some incidents may appear, unfortunately they really happened. While the documentation in court records and legal transcripts are voluminous, it is the personal experiences and recollections of the author and collaborator that magnify the emotional bonds between father and sons as they attempt to survive the cataclysmic events that ripped at their bodies and souls. Their voices jump off each page as they struggle to cope with the vicissitudes of life, the emotional roller coaster of events, and their efforts to swim out of the turbulent waters of disaster and into a tranquil stream of a stable family environment.

This true story echoes that of millions of other children who experience separation and divorce, love or fear of their parents, psychological or physical harm as a result of the searing consequences of custody disputes, visitation rights, spousal and stepparent conflict, and sometimes criminal acts such as parental abduction. As this horrific story unfolds, there emerges hope for a better way of life because this book reveals how the victims can become survivors.

Note

Most people have never been in a courtroom, no less at an EBT—examination before trial. The pages in this book will bring you into three courtrooms, following the authentic discourse in a most readable fashion.

Further, no people have sat in a consultation room with a psychiatrist and his or her patient revealing the intimate symptoms causing mental distress or illness. This true story brings you into Dr. Werner Halpern’s counseling sessions with the author, Dale and Scott, and second son, Mark. Dr. Halpern, the child psychiatrist, brings these two confused, despondent, and brainwashed boys from a level of despair, self-denial, and anger to a reawakening of their true selves. You are at these sessions to witness the techniques of psychiatric medicine as applied to victims of mental child abuse.

Preface

Life was good! Eight years of a blissful marriage with a loving wife named Harriet and seven of those years with a cute little boy whom we called Scotty, a cuddly way of saying Scott. Scotty was my buddy pal, and I was his buddy pal.

We lived in Rochester, New York, in a comfortable three-bedroom colonial house with a lovely side yard that sloped down for easy sledding in the winter. I was the principal of a high school with two thousand students, and Harriet was a stay-at-home mom by her own choosing. There were hugs and kisses every day.

We took many vacations together—the island of Jamaica each February school break, New York City at Thanksgiving time to enjoy the Macy’s parade, and at Christmastime the visits with grandparents on Long Island and in New York City.

The little day-to-day problems of life were manageable. Dad coached Scotty’s Wiffle ball team, and Mom was there to cheer us on. It was time for Scotty to have a baby brother, and that is where this story of extraordinary events begins.

Chapter One

THE BEGINNING OF THE END

Mark, our second son, was born. It was meant to be a happy occasion when Scotty at age five and I visited Harriet in the hospital with flowers in hand. She looked awful, had lost much weight during the pregnancy, and upon seeing us, frowned and turned away in anger. The doctors called it postpartum depression, but after a few months, her behavior got worse. It got a lot worse, making the next two years hell on earth. There were quiet periods, and there were turbulent periods of utter chaos. I found recourse by immersing myself with schoolwork at the office. I had two little children, and certainly I could not leave them and certainly not leave them with a mentally disturbed woman. What was I to do?

One Saturday afternoon, when I was helping Scotty to get dressed, specifically buttoning his shirt in his bedroom, I heard an awful scream and a hard thump. Scotty and I looked at each other in shock. I leaped up and raced to the garage, with Scotty following as fast as he could. Harriet was on the floor with our crying baby on top of her. Her eyes were closed, and she was not responsive. I was leaning over her and calling, Harriet! Harriet! What happened? She was just lying there with eyes closed, arms flung out to the side, and one of her knees was bent toward the other.

I jumped into action, grabbing the baby and telling Scotty, Stay here. I’m going to the phone and call for help. I came running back to the garage, still grasping our baby, who continued to cry in a hiccupping fashion. Just then, our next-door neighbor, Mrs. Kroop, came running into the garage from outside. She took the baby into her arms, gasping. Dale, what’s happened to her? I was leaning over Harriet, frantically calling her name.

She tripped carrying the baby out to the car, I told Mrs. Kroop. Harriet began to make some sounds and to stir a little. I got her to sit up slightly and regain a bit of consciousness. Then I helped her into the car, and we all piled in and peeled out of the driveway.

Mrs. Kroop took charge of Scotty and the baby in the hospital lobby. In a few minutes, I came to get Scotty, and we went to the reception desk to inquire about his mother. While we stood there, hand in hand, two nurses rolled a cart toward us. As it neared, I was stunned to see that Harriet was being taken somewhere, still semiconscious. Daddy, Daddy, look! It’s Mommy! We stood there motionless.

Mr. Berne? a doctor inquired, coming up behind us and receiving a nod from me. Your wife has sprained some muscles in her back. We’ve given her a sedative. Her dazed condition is only temporary. In fact, she’ll be able to return home tomorrow. We’ll keep her overnight for observation. However, she will need to rest for the next several weeks. I sighed with a sense of relief.

When Scotty and I arrived at the hospital the next day, Harriet seemed fine. Mommy, Mommy, are you okay? Scotty chirped, climbing up into her arms as she sat in a chair beside the bed.

Yes, sweetie, I’m fine. Mommy is all right! she assured him. Give me a big hug, she said, and he did. Now go out to the receptionist, and she’ll give you some candy, she crooned lovingly.

I felt like a little boy about to be yelled at for something he’d done wrong. Where the hell were you when I fell? Harriet began at me. Her face was like a jack-o’-lantern glowing with anger. If it wasn’t for me turning as I started to fall, our baby would be dead now! I gently shut the door, and her voice melted into the sound of a muffled jackhammer. I did not know then that our tranquil life would be the beginning of the end.

Life at home was acrimonious and one long argument—a cacophony of fighting. The accusations and rebuttals were confusing and convoluted. The energy required to pursue this type of dialogue was exhausting. One day, Harriet wanted to sell our house and move to another town in Rochester. She just had an argument with our neighbor, Mrs. Kroop. Annie Kroop was a dear friend and sweet grandmother. Harriet alienated other parents in our neighborhood to the point that these neighbors would not allow their children to play with Scotty. She even upset Scotty’s school counselor, Mrs. McGoodwin, by telling her not to nosy around in other people’s business as a response to the guidance counselor’s inquiry into Scotty’s facial twitch.

Scotty’s first girlfriend, an older woman of six, was a neighbor named Kim. On weekends, she’d wander over to our house. They would chat, and sometimes I could overhear their childish conversation. Kim, do your parents fight? Scotty asked.

Well, they argue about stupid stuff sometimes. She said this with her lips curved over somewhat buckteeth in the cutest smile.

My parents fight almost every night. I think it’s because of my baby brother. I wish he was never born. If it weren’t for him—

Sometimes, my parents and I could hear your mother yelling all the way to our house, Kim interrupted.

Yep, Scotty answered her, trying not to sound concerned. "She yells a lot. She really yells a lot."

"Kim, do you know what the word bastard means? No." She looked quizzically.

I don’t know either was his reply. But I hear it a lot. Mommy sometimes calls Daddy that word, and so does my grandfather, Poppy, but I never hear my daddy use that word.

Funny.

Other days, Harriet wanted to move to Florida to get away from the cold. On still other days, she wanted to stay in Rochester and go back to teaching the way it was before Scotty was born. When I responded, Harriet, you agreed before Mark was born that you’d stay home and take care of the children.

Then her voice became belligerent, its pitch rising with every breath. I’m not your slave! she’d wail. Not theirs! More arguing would ensue. I would give up; Harriet would slam a door, and then absolute silence would descend on the house.

One evening many months later, I arrived in our driveway later than usual because I was attending a PTA meeting at the school. Scotty was playing with his GI Joe soldiers in the living room. He couldn’t wait to tell me, Daddy, Daddy, Mommy took all your clothes out of the closet and threw them into the hallway. Scotty laughed as he told me, I even got hit with your good work suit.

What? I hardly could respond.

I asked Mommy, and she told me, ‘Oh, everything’s just fine, Scotty. Just go back and play, and Mommy will finish up her spring housecleaning.’

Scotty, Scotty, come up to Mommy now. I’m in the bedroom.

Scotty left me in a hurry and ran upstairs as fast as his little legs could carry him.

When I arrived upstairs, I yelled, Jesus Christ! What the hell happened?

Harriet did not answer from behind the door of our bedroom. I could hear her directing Scotty to sit on the bed with her and read his storybook aloud. He sounded hesitant, but he began to read, probably under duress.

I tried to open our bedroom door, but only a sliver of space was visible. The small brass chain was barricading the door and keeping me outside.

Harriet, come on. Open the door! I pleaded. I heard her demand that Scotty should keep reading aloud.

I became angry and flushed. Open this door, or I’ll open it myself! My demands were several and unanswered. I shook the doorknob violently, and without results. I forced my shoulder into the door proper, broke off the chain from the wood and literally fell into the room. Harriet and I stared angrily at each other.

Scotty, she snapped, go to your room! And she began yelling at me before he could exit. See this bruise? Now you’re in for it! Harriet raised her left arm filled with bruises colored dark black and blue. "I went to Battered Women today and showed them my arm."

But, Harriet, are you crazy? I was nowhere near you, and I never touched you, I said in shock. My words were not heard by her.

We’ll see how you get out of this.

I looked at Scotty, and I looked over at Marky, who was now crying. I felt helpless and did not know how I could protect them from this crazy woman.

I stepped back into the hallway, carefully picking up my clothes and stuffing them on the floor in a corner of my small office. I never witnessed such a situation and had a sick feeling in my stomach. I lay down on the couch that night, but I could not sleep. I was in real trouble.

The next morning at school, I received a phone call from an official at Battered Women, who said, We don’t want you to worry about your wife’s visit here yesterday. Our psychologist interviewed her and found her to be mentally unstable and unreliable. Her wounds were self-inflicted. Of that we are certain. She wanted us to testify against you at some future divorce trial. You really need to get her some help!

In the midst of all the turmoil with Harriet, other issues required my attention. I was working as a high school principal in a school district with a divided and confrontational school board. It was a nine-member board. Mary Ann Haas led the five-member majority, and Amelia Nugent led the four-member Taxpayers’ Association minority group. Sparks were flying at every school board meeting. Both Harriet and the teachers’ union took advantage of this weakness in leadership at the top. The superintendent of schools, Dr. Rodney Spring, could not control or subdue either faction.

I came home that evening with trepidation. When I entered our house, I heard the phone ringing, but no one was answering it. I picked up the receiver and heard the familiar voice of the school board president, Mrs. Haas. She said that she was returning a call from Harriet. It was the second time in the past two weeks that I heard her voice on the phone.

When I asked her why she was calling, she simply replied, Okay, I’ll call back another time.

I quickly responded, You know that Harriet’s health is fragile, so please do not call again! She hung up.

I walked into the kitchen and softly asked Harriet why Mrs. Haas was phoning her, and she responded angrily, So I can tell her what a horrible person you are and that you are conspiring with Mrs. Nugent of the minority. I’m making real trouble for you so that they will fire you, and then we could get the hell out of Rochester!

It was February, and a blanket of deep snow was on the ground. I was on the phone with my mother, confiding in her about the constant bickering and bizarre behavior of Harriet.

My mother was insisting, Dale, I know it’s cold and snowy, but I’m leaving my New York City apartment to stay at your house. Maybe I could help. See you in a few days.

Scotty was excited to see his Grandma Berne because she always had bubble gum for him. He went with me to the Greyhound bus station to meet her. She looked a little older than I remembered. We loaded her luggage into the car and pulled out of the parking lot, but instead of going home, we went to the Maplewood Inn, only a few blocks from home. Grandma and I talked while Scotty tried to keep the spaghetti off his shirt.

Dale, you look awful. The strain shows on your face. You look haggard.

Yeah, Mom, I feel like one of those men who hang around the bus station, their eyes looking at nothing in particular and their faces in need of a shave.

Scotty was contentedly slurping the second half of his spaghetti when our waiter came over to the table wearing a concerned expression. Sir, there is an urgent message from your neighbor, a Mrs. Kroop, saying you should get home immediately. She says it’s an emergency.

My mother and I looked at each other with our eyes wide open, then grabbed our coats and whisked Scotty out of the booth. We took him by the hands as we hurried out of the restaurant. Hey, I didn’t finish my spaghetti, he complained, but we weren’t listening.

I made Scotty sit in the back seat with Grandma on the ride home. As we pulled into the driveway, I rolled down the window and peered over the side of the car door to see our neighbor, William Kroop, standing in the front yard with his wife, Annie.

We could hear the hysterical crying of a baby inside. I leaped out of the car and ran to the front door, grabbing and yanking at it, yelling, Harriet, Harriet, are you okay? Then I called to the neighbors and my mother, The double locks are on. I can’t get in. Bill, let’s try the back!

I’ll call the police, Mrs. Kroop shouted over her shoulder, struggling through the deep snow to reach her house. Grandma and Scotty got out of the car by this time, with Grandma leaning on the car and holding Scotty back. I want to be with Daddy, he kept telling her.

No, Scotty, no was all she would say. It was very cold. Mr. Kroop and I ran around to the back, then tried getting in the windows, shouting, Harriet, Harriet, answer! Are you all right? Harriet, please let us in! Finally, I broke one of the screens and smashed through the window with my coat sleeve around my hand. Our neighbor boosted me up through the opening, and in a few seconds, I was opening the front door so that Mr. Kroop could come inside.

By this time, Scott was crying; either scared for his mother or that Grandma would not let go of him. Mrs. Kroop and several of the other neighbors had arrived on the front lawn, waiting to see what would happen.

Two police cars pulled up, their lights flashing. A couple of uniformed patrolmen leaped out of their vehicles and dashed toward the house, pausing cautiously before entering the front door. Seconds later, one of the cops came running out and grabbed his CB microphone. Get me an ambulance at number 2 Beech Road! A voice sputtered a reply.

I was standing next to the bed, watching Harriet in an unconscious state. I spotted an array of pills spilled all over the night table next to her. I felt helpless. Marky was lying next to her on