On this day 68 years ago, I left the Suemma Coleman Home for Unwed Mothers in the care of my adopted parents. It may have been the first time that I ever saw them and we probably spent the night at my adopted grandparent’s house. Their home was about 45 minutes north of Indianapolis and the perfect pit-stop for our three hour drive to Elkhart, Indiana. Plus, it was probably a stressful day for my parents who could have used the support of their family during my first night of care. The birth mother, Edna Faye Banister, according to the adoption records, was released from my care 48 days earlier, two weeks after my birth. It was the last time we would ever interact. 

As I try to reconstruct the first few months of my life, I was apparently moved from the Suemma Coleman facility to the State Department of Public Welfare Children’s Home. It was actually called the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Children’s Home “founded in 1865 to provide care, education and maintenance for the orphaned and destitute children of Civil War Union Army veterans. The Home was located approximately two miles south of Knightstown, Indiana, on State Road 140 and consisted of 419 acres that included an administration building, children’s dormitory cottages, Morton Memorial School, a hospital, dairy farm, camp grounds and recreational facilities. Children from the ages of 4 to 18 were cared for with each child being eligible for vocational training. The Home was owned by the State of Indiana and was managed through a superintendent.” I started life on welfare.

There is a letter in my file from Ruth Henderson, Executive Director of the Suemma Coleman Home dated the day after I was born. It was to schedule an interview appointment a week later to start the initial process for my adoption. Burt and Cathy must have passed the first test to receive me as their prize. A year later, the courts made the adoption official, after constant monitoring of my care in their home. I must have been really spoiled under the watchful eye of state officials. 

I’m guessing that they brought me back to Indianapolis for the official hand-off to my new Johnston family. I was then 11 pounds seven ounces, almost four pounds heavier than birth. I came with written instructions that included Baker’s Milk mixed with water five times a day plus Mead’s Standard Cod Liver Oil with orange juice. I can’t fully read the actual scribbles of the nurse. I was initially referred to as Mickey in correspondence, while all birth records listed me as Jerry Lee Bannister. I still don’t understand the consistent double “n” spelling throughout all the paperwork. Both of my bio parents spell their last names Banister with one “n.” Was it an intentional attempt by the birth mother to disguise our identities? Her actual signature even includes the two “n” version. She also admits the putative father to be Cecil Bannister – no relation. 

Sixty-eight years have now passed since that fateful day when I became Michael Lee Johnston. My beloved adopted father, Burt, passed just over five years ago, just after my only real mother, Cathy, died months earlier. The birth father, Cecil, has been lost to this earth now for over eight years, while the 102-pound, 5’2″, 18-year old that gave birth to me just turned 86. She gave up a lot for me, including her last year of high school and maybe her reputation. She did have four more children in two marriages. There seems to be little chance that we will ever reunite, at her choice. She could probably solve several mysteries about my life for me, while I would just like to say thank you.