Stolen At Birth | Abduction | 3

This episode contains descriptions and details that some listeners might find disturbing.

Listener discretion is advised.

It's early in the morning on September 6, 1950.

The Memphis Municipal Airport is quiet.

At a gate lounge mostly occupied by sleepy travelers, two men are wide awake.

Attorney Robert L.

Taylor looks sharp in a three-piece suit and polished shoes.

Beside him, Earl Morgan looks more relaxed in shirt sleeves.

Both men have been scanning the airport for the last hour, eager to see who's boarding the 3 a.m.

to Los Angeles.

It's not the first time they've done this.

They've been camped out at this same gate in the lounge in the middle of the night for the past few days, hoping to catch a break in their investigation.

It all started because a pair of Memphis housewives spotted a woman dressed as a nurse attempting to fly two infants out of the state the previous December.

The women were concerned about the nurse's intentions and managed to trace a car she got into to Georgia Tann of the Tennessee Children's Home Society.

After a short investigation by the state, the society revealed that they were indeed flying children to other states to new adoptive families.

However, Ms.

Tann convinced the authorities that everything was above board and the matter was dropped.

But over the last few months, some local couples started complaining.

They wanted to know why they hadn't been chosen to receive children from the TCHS when plenty are being flown out of state.

It doesn't seem fair.

So bowing to pressure, Tennessee's Governor Gordon Browning opened yet another investigation into the matter and appointed Robert Taylor to head it up.

A few days later, he was joined by Earl Morgan, who works for the State Welfare Department.

Now they're on the hunt to find out where the TCHS has been sending all of the babies.

But bureaucratic red tape has kept the adoption records out of reach, so the two have had to get creative.

That's why they're at the airport in the middle of the night.

They've heard that the Society has been flying children out of state on unusually early flights.

It seems they don't want anyone else prying into their activities.

Robert and Earl are determined to get to the bottom of the situation.

From everything they've seen and heard, there's something strange going on at the Tennessee Children's Home Society.

It's just before 3 a.m.

when the airline employee at the podium calls passengers forward to board the flight to Los Angeles.

That's when Robert spots her.

Alma Walton is walking towards the plane, pushing a baby carriage with one hand and carrying a suitcase in the other.

Robert recognizes her instantly as a caseworker for the TCHS and gets to his feet.

There's already a line of people around the gate, and he's confident he can intercept Alma before she reaches the front.

But as he beckons Earl to follow him, the other passengers waiting in line stand aside to let Alma board the plane ahead of them.

As she disappears from view, Robert and Earl rush forward to follow her, but they're stopped at the gate.

They don't have tickets.

Pulling out his wallet, Robert says that he'll buy some right now.

But it's no good.

The flight is completely full.

There's nothing they can do.

They're not cops and they have no real authority here.

So, dejected and exhausted, Robert and Earl watch on as the plane fills up, pulls away from the airport, and takes off into the pre-dawn dark.

They've missed their shot.

It's frustrating.

They've got no idea where the woman arranging these adoptions is sending the children.

They could be going anywhere.

And now there's at least one more gone forever.

From Airship, I'm Jeremy Schwartz and this is American Criminal.

After nearly a decade working in Memphis, Georgia Tann had changed the face of adoption in Tennessee.

By the mid 1930s, she'd convinced most of the public that it was better for taxpayers, who would otherwise be footing the bill to care for orphans.

She'd persuaded people it was better for unwed mothers, who could hardly afford to properly look after their children.

And she'd insisted it was better for the adoptees, who ended up in far better places than they started.

The truth was, though, that not all of the children who passed through Georgia's system were better off.

Plenty of them struggled to live up to the lofty expectations of adoptive parents who'd been promised attractive children with genius IQs.

But those kids were some of the luckier ones.

Because Georgia only cared that the adoptive parents had money, she wasn't all that concerned with how they treated their children once they had them.

If they became glorified servants, that was of no concern to Georgia.

And if they were targets of horrific abuse, well, what's the phrase?

Out of sight, out of mind.

As the 1930s passed, though, Georgia realized that she'd inadvertently built a system ripe for exploitation.

Bad actors could buy themselves some cheap labor or a target for their vile and urges.

But that wasn't what interested Georgia.

What occurred to her was that she was missing out.

She could be turning a profit from all these adoptions.

Child welfare be damned.

Georgia Tann wanted to get rich.

This is episode 3 in our four-part series on Georgia Tann.

Abduction.

It's January 1933 in downtown Los Angeles, California, 17 years before the state of Tennessee launches its investigation into the TCHS 41-year-old Georgia Tann is in her room at the Biltmore Hotel.

But she's not alone.

In a basket on the bed is an infant.

The baby gurgles and coos softly while Georgia takes in the view of the city through the window.

Then, exactly on schedule, the telephone by the bed rings.

It's the clerk at the front desk.

Georgia has two guests waiting downstairs.

After she hangs up the phone, Georgia gathers up the basket and heads for the elevator.

Walking into the lobby, she spots a well-heeled couple perched anxiously on a sofa.

She approaches the couple, and after they exchange pleasantries, Georgia hands the woman the basket.

The child is theirs now.

In exchange, the woman's husband hands Georgia a check.

She inspects it, making sure it's for the full amount.

Satisfied, Georgia slides the check into her pocket and wishes the couple luck.

She tells them that she or one of her employees will schedule a visit at a later date to make sure the child is settling in well and deliver the final adoption papers.

And, she reminds them, that's when another payment will be due.

Afterwards, Georgia gets back into the elevator and returns to her hotel room.

She takes another look at the check.

The amount will cover her return flight from Tennessee to California, as well as her hotel room and the few administration costs of the adoption.

It's a lot of money, more than Georgia earns in an entire month for her role with the Tennessee Children's Home Society.

And, that gets Georgia thinking.

By 1933, Georgia Tann has been in Memphis for nine years.

And, in that time, she's remade the adoption industry within the city.

Her annual Christmas baby giveaways have proved wildly popular, and she's even started to extend her reach beyond Tennessee and into other states.

As word of Georgia's orphans spread throughout the country, applications from out of state start to pile up, dwarfing the number of hopeful parents within Tennessee.

Out of state adoptions are technically illegal.

But some of the people writing to Georgia are exactly the type that she believes should be parents, upper class and wealthy.

So she eagerly moves them to the top of her waiting list, no matter what the law says.

Georgia knows there's not much attention paid to the burgeoning adoption industry.

She knows that no one will care where children are going as long as she's moving them out of the system quickly enough.

Not everyone who applies to adopt will get a child of their own though.

There's a process.

There are hoops to jump through.

First, Georgia or one of her colleagues at the TCHS visits the home of the prospective parents.

Officially, that's to make sure it's a suitable environment for a child.

But what Georgia's looking for isn't a loving couple who will become good parents.

She's not so much concerned with the well-being of the children she places.

What she really wants to know is if these people have money.

That's been the driving factor in Georgia's decision for years, how wealthy families are.

If they're rolling in dough, they're perfect.

The first visit is also when Georgia makes notes about what a couple are looking for in their child.

Age, hair color, parental pedigree, all of it's on the table.

And while Georgia can't change how her orphans look, she can alter their backstory to suit her client's requests.

It's easy for her to tell clients that their new bundle of joy is the baby of a debutante and a pre-med boyfriend.

There's no way they'll ever find out they've been lied to.

After that, Georgia keeps an eye out for a child matching the requests of her clients.

Once she has one, they're delivered to the new parents.

That's visit number two.

Visit number three comes later, when Georgia returns to check in on the new family and present them with the finalized adoption papers.

None of it is particularly rigorous, but there are costs involved.

So the TCHS has each couple cover the travel expenses for Georgia, or whoever else is making the trips.

Local families get off easy, but people beyond Tennessee are forking out for train fares, taxi rides, hotels and other incidentals.

It's all quite reasonable stuff, and the would-be parents have no problem with writing out checks at every step of the process.

After all, their future happiness is in Georgia's hands.

At some point, though, Georgia realizes the great power she wields, and that realization inspires her, because with power comes the opportunity to make money.

By this stage, the Great Depression has been in full swing for about four years, and although Georgia earns around $100 a month, which is in line with the national average, she figures she could use some more.

So she starts instructing couples to make out their checks not to the Tennessee Children's Home Society, but to her instead.

That's when the gouging begins.

An adoption certificate only costs about $7 in Tennessee, but the delivery of one by Georgia can cost whatever she wants it to, and she wants a lot.

Parents in California and New York, moneyed up coastal types, can expect to pay around $750 for the whole adoption process.

This at a time when the average income is only about $1,200 a year.

The adoptive parents are mostly desperate for a child, so they usually pay whatever Georgia demands.

If the Tennessee Children's Home Society sees any of that cash, no one records it in the books.

It just vanishes.

Georgia Tann has turned the adoption process into a personal money-making machine.

By 1935, Georgia's placed children with new families in all 48 states, as well as Canada, Mexico and even England.

And her waiting list gets longer every day.

Not that she's worried about that anymore.

A long line of people eager to adopt through the TCHS just means more chances for Georgia to collect checks.

Eventually, though, Georgia realizes that she could be working smarter, not harder, for her money.

Every interstate adoption is a chance to pocket hundreds of dollars.

And she realizes that with her popularity growing, she can make each trip more and more profitable.

Why fly to California and collect one check for one visit when she can call on several couples in one trip?

Then she can bill for the same expenses many times over.

Sure, some of the money does cover her costs, but the rest?

That goes right into Georgia's personal coffers.

Growing up in Mississippi, Georgia enjoyed a certain level of privilege thanks to her family's history and her father's job as a judge.

Now she's determined to make herself a comfortable, respectable life among the Memphis elite, one funded by the growing number of eager and oblivious clients.

But no matter how much money Georgia acquires, no matter how many babies she places with influential people, she's never truly accepted by the upper crust.

To Memphis society, she's still little more than a hick.

She's not fashionable, she's not attractive, and she doesn't act like a lady.

Just like when she was a teenager, Georgia refuses to conform to the expectations of her gender.

Her typical outfit is a tailored suit, or a simple black skirt with a blouse.

She's unmarried, keeps short hair, doesn't wear any makeup, and the only jewelry she sports is a single diamond ring.

People in Memphis just don't know what to make of her.

It's not just the adults who don't particularly warm to Georgia though.

Children are terrified of her too.

For starters, she just looks mean.

She's tight-lipped and severe.

She has a cane because of her arthritis, but that's not the only use she has for the walking stick.

Georgia can be violent towards the children in her care.

She's known to beat them for touching things without permission, and she's so frightening that many kids are glad to escape her when their adoption goes through.

Sadly, though, some of these children soon find their new homes are even worse.

Tennessee Adoption Statute states that adoption providers have to supervise adoptees in their new homes, only adopt children to parents within Tennessee, and have the courts confirm that a parent surrendering their child did so willingly.

But for all Georgia's pre-adoption home visits and follow-up check-ins, she's only ever been concerned with how much money adoptive parents have.

So she ignores what the Adoption Statute says.

Once the check's clear, those kids are on their own.

When Eugene Calhoun's mother leaves him and his siblings in the care of the Tennessee Children's Home Society, it's just meant to be a short stay.

Eugene's father is in the hospital, and with little money coming through the door, mom needs the kind of breathing room that the TCHS seems to promise.

But Georgia never honors those kinds of agreements, especially not since she started charging people to adopt.

So by the time Eugene's mother returns to pick up her kids, they're long gone.

Georgia's already given 8-year-old Eugene to a farmer and his wife in exchange for the usual payments.

That's when Eugene's nightmare begins.

His adoptive father is a cruel man.

When his wife gets food poisoning right after Eugene arrives, she begs her husband for help, but he ignores her.

Eugene has to watch his new adoptive mother die.

After that, Eugene starts spending his days working in the fields.

His adoptive father doesn't bother buying Eugene new shoes, and leaves him to wear the same ragged clothes day in and day out.

While the 30s roll by, and Georgia Tann pulls in more and more money from her growing adoption scheme, Eugene endures brutal treatment in his adoptive home.

No one comes to check on him like they're supposed to.

And when the farmer beats Eugene so badly with a piece of farm equipment that one of the boys' vertebrae shatters, Georgia certainly doesn't hear about it.

Georgia may have started out with a genuine desire to do good, but by this stage, she no longer cares about the welfare of the children she places.

Her sole concern is her own wealth.

The children of Memphis are making her rich.

In return, she's getting them neglected and abused.

And in some cases, she's just plain killing them.

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It's the fall of 1935, and Georgia Tann is sitting in a doctor's waiting room.

The 44-year-old holds a stack of leaflets in her lap.

Around her, new mothers nurse their babies waiting to be seen.

Georgia eyes each of the women, casting a critical eye over their clothes, their hair, their handbags, and their children.

She's judging whether any of them would make good targets.

Business has been booming lately, but she's always looking out for new family members for her clients.

Georgia's covert assessments are interrupted, though, when a nurse approaches.

She's brought a young woman over, one who looks slightly shell-shocked.

She's pale and sweating, and her eyes look watery, like she could burst into tears at any moment.

This is what Georgia's been waiting for.

She invites the scared young woman to sit down and starts to talk.

First, she asks how many weeks pregnant the woman is.

Then, sliding a look of concern on her face, Georgia explains who she is and what she does.

Most importantly, Georgia emphasizes that she can find a home for this woman's baby, because surely she isn't planning on raising a child on her own.

The woman tells Georgia that she hadn't even thought that far ahead yet.

The thing that's worrying her the most right now is the prospect of people finding out she's pregnant.

Where is she going to go, she asks Georgia.

Where is she going to go?

That's when Georgia hands her a leaflet.

In the 1930s, American women have it pretty rough.

Sure, things are perhaps better than they were a few decades ago, but society still has expectations that they have to meet.

In the eyes of the church and much of society, premarital sex is a sin, a moral failing, something to be ashamed of.

So it's little wonder that most young women who find themselves pregnant before they make it down the aisle are hidden away by their families to avoid scandal.

That's why maternity homes have existed for decades as a kind of haven where pregnant women can stay, prepare for motherhood, and learn skills so they can support their child, in theory.

The reality doesn't always match that, though.

These places are run by organizations like the Florence Crittenden Mission and various church groups.

But although they're seen as charitable endeavors, the women they serve don't get a free ride.

Though they might have escaped the public shaming of their community, many of these homes still treat the pregnant women with a certain level of content.

And the women are often required to work for several months after giving birth to repay the cost of their care.

If the home is affiliated with a church, then the women usually have to attend mandatory Bible study, too, to put the fear of God in them and make sure they never commit such a sin again.

It's not a pleasant experience for most.

So, as Georgia hits up doctors' offices, seeking out pregnant women to convince them to give up their babies, she sees an opportunity to drastically improve her chances of success.

Using her contacts in the social work community, Georgia tracks down older women who live alone in large houses.

She convinces them to host these troubled girls through their pregnancies, with a fee paid for by every mother they shelter.

For the borders, it's an appealing alternative to maternity homes.

They're not expected to work to earn their keep, and they won't be shamed by their host.

They're told it will be a safe, comfortable place to live while they decide what to do once their baby arrives.

But the truth is Georgia has already made that decision for them.

Her homes aren't safe havens.

They're more like factory farms.

All of the girls in Georgia's boarding homes are expected to give up their babies for adoption.

And under pressure, most do.

Some, though, are stubborn and refuse to surrender their children.

For those women, Georgia has a different plan, an old trick that she's perfected by now.

When the uncooperative mother goes into labor, Georgia is called to the hospital.

She knows which nurses she needs to bribe or intimidate to get her hands on the newborn baby while the mother is still medicated.

When the woman comes round, she's informed that the baby was stillborn.

But by then, Georgia has left with the child in her arms, ready to make another family happy and another tidy profit.

One way or another, Georgia gets what she wants.

As Georgia processes more and more children, she seems to become less and less concerned with their well-being.

And that means that the children she takes in the name of the Tennessee Children's Home Society get substandard care, sometimes even reckless neglect.

Because Georgia relies on her good reputation among adoptive parents to drum up more business, she prioritizes their specific requests.

And what plenty of her clients want are newborns.

That's why Georgia's maternity boarding homes are such an important part of her scheme.

But in her greed, she's now taking babies from their mothers too quickly.

It's common practice in the 1930s for newborns to stay in the hospital for up to a week after birth.

If a child is born prematurely or underweight, doctors typically like to keep them for observation until they hit 5 pounds.

But Georgia doesn't allow that.

Hospital births have only become popular relatively recently in America.

When Georgia was growing up, only about 5% of children were born in hospitals.

The rest were home births.

So in Georgia's mind, babies having to stay in the hospital is a waste of time.

There are clients waiting.

And more importantly, there are checks waiting.

So Georgia's production line kicks into high gear.

These tiny babies are taken on hours or even days long journeys to their new homes.

Georgia loves the satisfaction of handing a child to grateful parents herself.

So she makes the trips as often as she can manage.

When she's not available, one of the other TCHS employees makes the trip.

But none of them are properly trained to care for newborns.

The children frequently arrive dehydrated and feverish in desperate need of proper care.

Some of them don't even survive the journey.

Even when they do, most of the children are delivered to their new homes before any medical professionals have had a chance to check them over.

Georgia brings a little boy to a couple in New Jersey who are over the moon to start their family.

Unfortunately, the boy has a heart defect and will need a lot of extra care as he grows up.

Georgia doesn't get into any hot water over the case because her clients are wealthy enough to shoulder the financial burden of a child with a medical condition.

Not only that, they decide that they want to give their son a sibling and ask Georgia if she can bring them a little girl.

Knowing that the couple's checks will clear, Georgia does as asked and soon brings a baby girl some 900 miles from Tennessee to New Jersey.

The handoff goes as planned and Georgia heads home with her client's money in her pocket.

Sadly though, the long journey was too much for the baby girl.

Soon after Georgia arrives back in Memphis, the infant dies.

She's just the latest victim of Georgia's greed.

It's a list that's growing longer by the day.

Plenty of people in Memphis know what Georgia Tann is doing.

They know that she's taking newborn babies out of state and that her methods are dangerous for the children she's supposed to look after.

But by now, she's so well connected that she's basically untouchable.

When she arrived in Tennessee in 1924, she cozied up to Eric Boss Crump, who'd been pulling the political strings in the city since about 1910.

And it's not just him.

Georgia's helped plenty of Tennessee's blue bloods adopt children.

They still may not like her, but they love their new kids.

So any complaints about Georgia's methods usually meet a solid wall of indifference.

But while most people who notice Georgia's alarming tactics can't do much to stop her, some do try their best to mitigate the damage she does.

One of Memphis' hospitals sees an alarming number of babies brought in for emergency care, all of them having passed through the TCHS.

The problem eventually becomes so bad that the nurses successfully lobby the hospital administrator to set aside a ward specifically for Georgia's babies.

That way, there's always a bed available when it's needed.

And it's not just in Tennessee that people are taking note of problems.

Eventually, Georgia will send so many babies to clients in Los Angeles that a hospital there will also have a ward dedicated to newly adopted babies.

Concerned doctors at both hospitals with wards for adopted children lodge complaints about Georgia Tann with their state's Department of Public Welfare.

The doctors are sounding the alarm.

They concede that Georgia either doesn't know how to properly care for the children she's dealing, or she's not concerned about it.

But the doctors' warnings are ignored.

The doctors aren't the only ones who've noticed something is wrong, though.

Ever since Georgia started working at the TCHS, the infant mortality rate in Memphis has been climbing.

By 1934, it's the highest in the country, sitting at double the national average.

Understandably, this causes concern at the US.

Children's Bureau in Washington, DC.

Since its inception in 1912, the Bureau has had responsibility for basically all aspects of child health in America, including orphanages, mortality, employment and births.

It's a lot of ground to cover.

So it's perhaps not surprising that Georgia's actions have escaped their notice for so long.

But now, things are getting so bad in Memphis that it can't be ignored.

So in July of 1935, the Bureau sends Dr.

Ella Oppenheimer to Memphis to investigate why so many children are dying there.

It seems like people are finally paying attention to what Georgia's been up to.

The question is, can anything be done to stop it?

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It's June of 1935 at Memphis General Hospital in Tennessee.

Dr.

Ella Oppenheimer has just arrived to speak with hospital staff and look through their records.

The child mortality rate has Dr.

Oppenheimer and her colleagues at the Children's Bureau in Washington concerned.

As scientists, though, they understand that there will be an explanation for the alarming statistic.

Hopefully, it's a problem that can be solved.

Dr.

Oppenheimer is in the middle of introducing herself to one of the nurses on duty when a young woman runs into the lobby of the hospital.

She looks frantic, her hair is wild and she's got dark circles under her eyes.

It's clear she hasn't slept much lately.

Seeing the bundle in the woman's arms, Dr.

Oppenheimer can understand why.

Newborns are hard on anyone.

But the new mother isn't here for a regular postnatal checkup.

Seeing the nurse Dr.

Oppenheimer is speaking with, the woman runs up to them and holds out her baby.

She begs for help.

Her son won't stop vomiting and he's got diarrhea too.

It's a gastrointestinal infection.

Dr.

Oppenheimer's seen it plenty, as has the nurse.

She takes the baby from the woman and calls over one of her colleagues to help the mother with admission paperwork.

As she watches all this unfold, Dr.

Oppenheimer wonders if this gastro infection could be the reason for all the children who are dying in Memphis.

And if it is, then what's making it so bad here?

After her visit to the city's hospitals, Dr.

Ella Oppenheimer starts calling on Memphis' various child welfare agencies.

At the top of her list is the organization that has somehow gotten responsibility for an unusually large number of children, the Tennessee Children's Home Society.

From everything she's heard, Georgia Tann is the woman Dr.

Oppenheimer should speak to about how things are run there.

Problem is, Georgia's a difficult woman to pin down.

Every time Dr.

Oppenheimer arranges to speak with her, Georgia reschedules the meeting.

After a while, Dr.

Oppenheimer starts to wonder if she'll ever get to finish her report.

But finally, on July 2, 1935, she gets an invite to visit Georgia at her office.

The meeting doesn't go how Dr.

Oppenheimer is expecting, though.

The two women are supposed to be discussing the high infant mortality rate in Memphis, something that a person in Georgia's position should be keenly aware of.

But Georgia won't talk about the large number of child deaths in the city.

In fact, Georgia seems intent on downplaying the entire situation, as if she has no idea what's going on.

She even announces that so far in 1935, not a single child has died while in the care of the TCHS.

Dr.

Oppenheimer finds that hard to believe.

Given the number of cases of gastrointestinal infections at local hospitals, it seems pretty likely that at least some of the hundreds of vulnerable children in Georgia's care would have died.

But when the doctor looks into it further, it seems like Georgia's telling the truth.

There aren't any reported deaths from the TCHS so far this year.

Still, Dr.

Oppenheimer is left with the nagging suspicion that something's not right at the Tennessee Children's Home Society.

At the end of her visit to Memphis, Dr.

Ella Oppenheimer issues a report on the city's high child mortality rate.

She notes the unusual number of gastrointestinal infections among children, which is the most likely cause of the inflated deaths.

She also notes just how many children Georgia and the TCHS take from hospitals before they're ready.

And she points out that some of these very young infants are placed in boarding homes instead of with adoptive families.

In those crowded environments, gastro can run through a household in a number of days, which is why Dr.

Oppenheimer recommends that all Memphis boarding homes be supervised and licensed by the state.

That way at least there can be more oversight and accountability.

Maybe then the deaths will stop.

But Dr.

Oppenheimer's report, damning as it is, has no effect on Georgia's operations.

The investigation has found no smoking gun, no compelling evidence to break down the wall of silence that Georgia has built for herself in Memphis.

So Dr.

Oppenheimer goes back to Washington.

And Georgia continues as before.

She keeps taking babies from their birth mothers too soon.

She keeps putting those infants in boarding homes and taking them on cross-country journeys.

And the babies keep dying.

The same year that Dr.

Oppenheimer makes her report to the Children's Bureau, Marie Long's mother is dying of cancer.

At 15, Marie understands that her mom won't be around for much longer.

But her younger siblings can't quite grasp the concept.

As the end gets closer, Marie's mother writes to the Welfare Department for help.

She has relatives who will take the children in when she's gone, but they need time to get their homes ready first.

And she wants to make sure her babies are taken care of in the meantime.

Her hope is that the Welfare Department can board her five children until they can be settled with loved ones.

That's how Marie and her four siblings end up in Judge Camille Kelly's courtroom one fall morning in 1935.

Georgia Tann is already there when the Long family enters.

Marie immediately notices the odd way Georgia looks at her youngest sister, five-year-old Christine.

It makes Marie uncomfortable.

But at least Judge Kelly seems nice.

She puts Marie at ease and explains that she's going to have them all taken care of for a little while at St.

Peter's, a local orphanage.

As Marie and her siblings file out of the courtroom, Marie sees Georgia approach Judge Kelly to engage her in a hush conversation.

Outside the courthouse, a car pulls up and a court employee ushers the children into the back.

The orphanage is only a short drive away, so all five of them squeeze in next to each other.

After a few minutes, the car pulls up to the curb, and the children spill out onto the grass in front of St.

Peter's.

It's an imposing red brick building, and Marie's still taking in the size of it when she hears her sister's scream.

She turns to see a woman pulling little Christine by the arm, half dragging, half carrying her towards a car parked across the street.

Christine's calling out to her sister, 12-year-old Bessie, to save her, but Bessie's being held back by a court worker.

All any of them can do is watch as the woman pulls Christine into a car and drives away.

Marie and the rest of her siblings are devastated, but eventually the orphanage's nuns are able to usher them all inside.

Without their mother around, Marie feels responsible for her youngest sister, but she can't get a straight answer out of anyone for days.

She keeps asking where Christine is until finally one of the nuns relents and tells her, Georgia Tann has had Christine flown out of the state.

She's already been adopted by another family.

If Marie were a parent, she might know how to fight to get her sister back.

But she's still a child.

And with their mother gone, there's no one left to defend them against Georgia Tann's schemes.

Though in all fairness, it probably wouldn't have made much difference if there were an adult around to fight back.

Because by this stage, Georges had plenty of experience winning fights.

If Judge Camille Kelly is the sword Georgia Tann uses to extract children from their parents, Abe Waldauer is her shield.

As her lawyer, Abe protects Georgia from anyone who dares to cross her.

Abe is just as ruthless as his client and seems to delight in keeping parents from their children.

The poor family's Georgia targets aren't usually in a position to hire lawyers of their own to take her to court.

But every now and then, a desperate parent convinces an attorney to take their case.

In 1937, one devastated mother files suit against Georgia to regain custody of her child.

Her best bet is a writ of habeas corpus.

It's a move that, if successful, would force Georgia to produce the stolen child to prove that they're alive.

It can also be used to challenge unlawful imprisonment, which some argue is what Georgia does when she forcibly takes children.

From there, the mother's hope is that she can sue to regain custody.

But Georgia's never lost a court battle against any of the parents who make it this far, because habe's very good at his job.

He's so good, in fact, that he can sometimes make parents see themselves in the way Georgia's always seen them, good for nothing, unsuitable mothers and fathers, whose children are better off without them.

Under cross-examination, habe questions the mother's skills as a parent, her ability to provide for her child, and her character as a human being.

He does it with brutal, gleeful efficiency until the woman breaks down, convinced of her own unworthiness.

When habe wins the case, he sends Georgia a letter gloating about his performance.

Abe's sure Georgia would enjoy hearing about how the woman collapsed under questioning.

And he's right, because Georgia Tann is nothing if not cruel.

And people still don't know the worst of it.

From Airship, this is episode 3 in our series on Georgia Tann.

On the next episode, Georgia rakes in hundreds of thousands of dollars selling babies.

But when the authorities finally figure out what she's doing, it might be too late to stop her.

We use many different sources while preparing this episode.

A couple we can recommend are The Baby Thief, The Untold Story of Georgia Tann, The Baby Seller Who Corrupted Adoption by Barbara Bizance Raymond, and The Girls Who Went Away by Ann Fessler.

This episode may contain reenactments or dramatized details.

And while in some cases we can't know exactly what happened, all our dramatizations are based on historical research.

American Criminal is hosted, edited and produced by me, Jeremy Schwartz.

Audio Editing by Mohammed Shazeeb.

Sound Design by Matthew Filler.

Music by Thrum.

This episode is written and researched by Joel Callan.

Managing Producer Emily Burke.

Executive Producers are Joel Callan, William Simpson and Lindsey Graham for Airship.