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Rider Story: Mary Jane Baade
"TAHASAKEE!" yelled little Mary Jane.
"What did you say?" asked her mother.
"TAHASAKEE!" she replied.
Her mother, relieved, corrected her, "Handkerchief, Mary." "And from that day on, I never,
shut my mouth," Mary Jane says. In childhood, "I counted myself very happy."
"I had 14 curls, and Mother wouldn't let me cut my hair until I was 14," she says fondly.
Her mother and brother told her they always wanted a little girl to love. "My mother always
made me promise not to search for my birth mother while she was still alive. I never did,"
says Mary Jane.
At 19, Mary Jane needed identification to get married. She sent to the orphanage for her
papers. She received her original baptism certificate, which bypassed the orphanage.
"It was a big sour mistake - it should have come directly from the orphanage," she says.
For the first time in her life, Mary Jane knew the town she was born, Waterbury,
Connecticut, and the name of her mother, Mabel Collins.
When she told the others who had come from the orphanage, they were angry and jealous,
asking, "Why can't we find out where we're from?" Mary couldn't answer that.
Six years later, Mary Jane was married with two young sons. As she was listening to the
radio, a winner was announced in a "Why do you like Tide?" contest. The woman's name
was Etta Collins from Waterbury, Connecticut. Mary Jane jotted down Collins' address. On
a whim, she contacted her. "Are you one of my relatives?" Mary Jane wrote.
"No, but I know your relatives and the doctor who delivered you," Collins wrote back. Their
correspondence might have ended there, but fate intervened.
Two years after that, Mary Jane was renting out the family basement to a GI's pregnant
wife and child. One day, the renter, nicknamed "Slugger" for her large frame, approached
Mary with the chance of a lifetime. "I need a companion to travel back East. My husband
will pay for your ticket if you'll come with me," she said.
Mary Jane hesitated. "I had always wanted to go back to New York," she says. But she
wasn't sure she could handle the emotional trip. Her husband settled the matter. "You're
going," he said.
When she arrived in New York, she was thinking, "What am I doing in this ungodly big
town all alone? I am so sorry I've come."
Mary Jane's radio friend, Etta Collins, insisted she stay at her home. Etta and her husband
arranged for Mary Jane to meet the doctor who delivered her 37 years before. "I can only
hurt myself now," she thought.
When she arrived for her 10 o'clock appointment, the doctor, "a big, fat man with bushy
beautiful gray hair," greeted her. "What brought you here? After all these years, why would
you stir up all this trouble?"
"What did you say?" asked her mother.
"TAHASAKEE!" she replied.
Her mother, relieved, corrected her, "Handkerchief, Mary." "And from that day on, I never,
shut my mouth," Mary Jane says. In childhood, "I counted myself very happy."
"I had 14 curls, and Mother wouldn't let me cut my hair until I was 14," she says fondly.
Her mother and brother told her they always wanted a little girl to love. "My mother always
made me promise not to search for my birth mother while she was still alive. I never did,"
says Mary Jane.
At 19, Mary Jane needed identification to get married. She sent to the orphanage for her
papers. She received her original baptism certificate, which bypassed the orphanage.
"It was a big sour mistake - it should have come directly from the orphanage," she says.
For the first time in her life, Mary Jane knew the town she was born, Waterbury,
Connecticut, and the name of her mother, Mabel Collins.
When she told the others who had come from the orphanage, they were angry and jealous,
asking, "Why can't we find out where we're from?" Mary couldn't answer that.
Six years later, Mary Jane was married with two young sons. As she was listening to the
radio, a winner was announced in a "Why do you like Tide?" contest. The woman's name
was Etta Collins from Waterbury, Connecticut. Mary Jane jotted down Collins' address. On
a whim, she contacted her. "Are you one of my relatives?" Mary Jane wrote.
"No, but I know your relatives and the doctor who delivered you," Collins wrote back. Their
correspondence might have ended there, but fate intervened.
Two years after that, Mary Jane was renting out the family basement to a GI's pregnant
wife and child. One day, the renter, nicknamed "Slugger" for her large frame, approached
Mary with the chance of a lifetime. "I need a companion to travel back East. My husband
will pay for your ticket if you'll come with me," she said.
Mary Jane hesitated. "I had always wanted to go back to New York," she says. But she
wasn't sure she could handle the emotional trip. Her husband settled the matter. "You're
going," he said.
When she arrived in New York, she was thinking, "What am I doing in this ungodly big
town all alone? I am so sorry I've come."
Mary Jane's radio friend, Etta Collins, insisted she stay at her home. Etta and her husband
arranged for Mary Jane to meet the doctor who delivered her 37 years before. "I can only
hurt myself now," she thought.
When she arrived for her 10 o'clock appointment, the doctor, "a big, fat man with bushy
beautiful gray hair," greeted her. "What brought you here? After all these years, why would
you stir up all this trouble?"