The Baby Thief

Reviewed by Barbara Kate Repa

By Barbara Raymond
Carroll & Graf Publishers, 300 pages,
$26.95, hardcover

The Baby Thief compellingly tells the tale of Georgia Tann, the woman who pioneered modern adoption in America. Heralded as a hero and lauded by one national magazine as "the foremost leading light in adoption laws," she arranged more than 5,000 adoptions between 1924 and 1950. But investigations pieced together mostly after her death have revealed the treachery of her tactics, which included falsifying birth certificates, bribing judges and legislators to bend laws, and even stealing many of the children she placed from their birth parents.

Born in Mississippi in 1891, Tann passed the bar exam there. But her father, a lawyer, quashed her dream of following in his footsteps because "it wasn't the usual thing" for a woman to do. Instead, she became a social worker, which paved the way for the child-placement operation that would eventually make her a successful businesswoman as well as a revered public speaker.

Her timing for the enterprise was perfect: The birth rate had dropped precipitously in the 1920s when Tann began her business, making the idea of adopting newly attractive. And she cagily placed children with eager parents who would pay top dollar for them: doctors, lawyers, and Hollywood stars--including Joan Crawford and Lana Turner, who imbued the newish notion of adoption with a glamorous glow.

Although Massachusetts was the first state to legalize adoption, in 1851, no formal adoption procedures were in place in the United States, and the practice was not popular until Tann made it so. The piecemeal laws that had been passed before her time seemed mean-spirited--denying adopted children inheritance rights, for example, or banning them from seeing their medical histories. When legal provisions got in the way of Tann's business--requiring, for example, that prospective adoptive parents be investigated or live in the state--she simply ignored them or coerced politicians to sponsor new legislation exempting her from complying.

Few questioned Tann's benevolent motives when early on she established a number of state-funded orphanages. But behind these orphanages' closed doors were many horrors, as former residents reveal in the book. Several recall being violently punished--most typically by being locked in closets or bound with ropes and suspended from coatracks--while Tann and the other supposed caretakers sexually molested them. Many others died from disease and neglect. Greed compounded the abuse, as Tann frequently collected boarding money from parents whose children she had already sold.

Tann's web of deception included doctors, nurses, and social workers recruited to scout hospitals and orphanages for children to be used as prospective placements. They kidnapped some children from child care centers and lured others from playgrounds with the promise of ice cream. Another tactic was to descend on the homes of indigent residents and scoop up their children, armed with bogus papers authorizing the takings because of a "poor home environment." Sometimes parents were directly duped into surrendering their children by signing contracts--falsely led to believe they were arranging for temporary foster care.

To best promote her business, Tann procured children she deemed the most marketable: White, blue-eyed blonds were the surest bets. She touted her favorites in a series of "Christmas ads" that ran for years--beginning in December and continuing through January 1--featuring photos of children with captions such as "Could YOU Use a Christmas Baby?" and "Put Your Orders in Early" and "Dan, Jimmy, Ray ... Want One of Them?" Every child advertised was placed.

In the end, it was her ability at self-promotion that did her in. When the ads were syndicated, they caught the attention of the Child Welfare League, which led to an investigation of Tann's child-placement practices. Some of her abuses were finally exposed in news articles that ran in September 1950. Elusive and in control to the end, Tann died three days later, never held to account.

The Baby Thief is written not with the objective detachment of a reporter, but with the passion of a zealot. About one-third of the way into the book, the author, Barbara Raymond, reveals a likely reason for her zealous style: She has an adopted daughter.

The book is tightly and deftly woven, except for a concluding section titled "Georgia's Lies." That devolves into a hodgepodge of suggestions for adoption reform, and a recounting of Raymond's daughter's reunification with her birth family--an interesting story, but one perhaps more suited for a magazine article.

Barbara Kate Repa is a lawyer, author, and editor in San Francisco.

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