Connie Wagner at the Hephzibah House (From:Youthrights.org)

This story was originally written on a webpage created to provide statements for a GAO hearing in 2007. The address is cafety.youthrights.org and it waits for your statement if you believe that your stay at a boarding school included unfair treatment or even abuse. All rights and credits goes to the author Connie Wagner, who posted the original story on cafety.youthrights.org

Hello. My name is Connie and I was at Hephzibah House from Oct or Nov 1980 to July 1983. I currently am involved with Foster Parenting/Adoption and have worked closely with The Department of Child Services. I have read a lot of the postings and been through the sites online. I feel it is my time to write my experiences and hopefully bring some insight to help those still there.

I came from a rather good home. At the time, you don’t see or even understand some of the things you go through, but you do learn from them. I was the youngest of three girls. My next to oldest sister was what my parents called “a bad influence” on me. We ran around together quite frequently. My parents’ biggest concern for me was I was going to turn out like her. They also did not like the boyfriend I had at the time. So, they thought if I went to another place then I would not be able to ruin my life.

I really did not think I was that bad of a child to have gone through this even though I do believe my parents did what they thought they had to do at the time. I also know that if they had known all of this they would not have sent me. I do believe it has done some damage along the way and I am not sure it will ever be overcome. At the time and quite some time after that I really never stopped to think that it was child abuse. Probably because it was not much different than the home life I came from.

I was confronted about going to a girl’s home where I could come home for Christmas, Thanksgiving, and 2 weeks in the summer. I asked for how long. They said for 15 months. I said okay, not knowing what I was in for at the time. My parents, I do believe, had good intentions.
The night before I left, my father and I had a disagreement. My father was abusive. He used the belt as well as his hands on us girls. You only spoke when you were spoken to and you always did what he said no matter if you agreed or not. You were never to voice your opinion or even question things. After the disagreement, I had a black eye, busted knee, and bruises.

I must put in that my father has since passed away. He ended up being a GREAT man that I looked up to. He admitted that he did us girls wrong and apologized. He tried to make it up with the grandkids. He was and always will be my best friend.

My father, mother and I made the trip to Winona Lake. We had stopped at a restaurant for breakfast/lunch. We then went to the School House location where I would spend the rest of my time. We went in to what was called “the blue room”. Little did I know that was where all the paddling would occur. They went through my suitcases and took out almost everything my parents had sent saying I could not have it. My parents left and I was then taken upstairs to the “big dorm” where I would live for the moment. I had to go into a closet to change into the uniform assigned. I was then taken downstairs where lunch was being served before going over to the Pierceton Road location for school. I told them I had already eaten, but they insisted I eat and gave me a bowl of soup. I was only able to eat part of it. I was ready to get sick. But, since I did not eat it all, it was put in the refrigerator and I had to eat it cold for supper. Everything that was given to us for breakfast, lunch, or supper had to be eaten at that time or we would get it for the next meal cold. There were no excuses.

I could write for days on all the stuff that happened and how things went, but that would be a book. I remember a lot of things about Hephzibah House. The cleaning and inspection of our chores was definitely white glove. Demerits we received for not being good or doing things wrong. After so many demerits, you got paddled if you could not get them down. You could not be in the hallway with any other students. You always had to yell “coming through” if you were going through the hallway or “going down” if you were going downstairs. We as well had the BM chart that others have talked about. All our calls were screened. All our visits were screened. We did not have talk lists. We could not talk to any other students. Discussions of home, location, and phone numbers were not allowed at all.

The first time I ran around the Pierceton Road location for gym, I thought I was going to die. My asthma medicine was returned home. Later that night I had an asthma attack and could not breathe. I told the staff I needed my inhaler. I was told I didn’t need it and would be fine. I could not breathe and had a hard time catching my breath.

One time I got paddled because I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth and another student said I had to go downstairs. Because I finished brushing my teeth, I got in trouble for being disobedient. The paddling was done in what they called “the blueroom”. Our upper body was held down by one staff, the feet were held by another staff, and one staff paddled. I would be safe to say the paddle was approximately one-two inches thick and about 12 inches long. I got paddled quite frequently. I remember getting paddled about 22 times one time. It hurt to sit down and I had bruises. I do not remember why I got that one or the one I got on my 16th birthday. Eventually I got the hang of the rules and life was not so bad.

We went out to a Smorgasbord place a couple of times. If you got sick, you got paddled. I never got sick, but I sure did stuff myself with the ice cream, chocolate, and junk food that we were not allowed having at all. I do remember a couple times that someone got sick and you could hear them getting paddled from the small dorm room. The blueroom was right underneath it. If your bed was in the small dorm, you could hear the students screaming.

I also remember a student finally getting taken to the hospital. She was sick for awhile. Actually, it seemed like days. If I remember correctly, they finally took her after her urine turned green. They did end up having to do exploratory surgery on her and when she was better, she came right back instead of going home.

I remember getting letters from my parents. And right before I left to go home, I found out that both my sisters had children. I was not told because neither one of them were married. The children were about 6 months old by the time I found out. The letter I was to get telling me that was held and did not pass. We had to watch everything we said in our letters, on the phone, and visits. They were always supervised. My parents had gotten me a radio/cassette player as a graduation present. I received it the day I left.

I also have to comment on the cockroaches at the School House location. It was a game. They were a dime a dozen. I guess it was because the house was built on a cockroach farm. After church, when the lights went on, we would see how many we could kill.

We worked in the garden constantly. Our work was checked to make sure all the weeds were pulled. If not, we had to redo the work, no matter how long it took. I do not remember being allowed bathroom breaks until we were done. Eventually I was put on Kagins crew. We shoveled manure-chicken and horse. We did most of the heavy labor. If I remember correctly there were 5 of us. We missed out a lot on the happenings at the house because we would get home late. Even so, we were constantly under supervision.

I also want to mention the concern of not having a period for the whole 34 months I was there even though I had a normal one before I got there and got a normal one again about a month after I left.

I remember the bath time to be 15 minutes total, from going in to coming out. I also remember every Sunday morning inspection. Your nails were checked to make sure you were not biting them and your hair was checked to make sure it was curled. I had a terrible problem of biting my nails. I remember getting paddled for it as well as demerits. I did not have to worry about my hair curling because 2 rollers always curled my hair, but I remember those girls that had straight hair and no matter what they did, their hair just would not hold a curl.

I remember every day except Sunday we were required to memorize a verse in the Bible. Each week we would have to recite what we learned back to a staff member. That got to be quite tedious after one year etc. If we did not know them, we did get demerits and sometimes paddling. I had a shoe box packed full of index cards of them.

When my parents mentioned me coming home for about 2 weeks before I went to College at a college Pastor Williams recommended, I was treated terrible. I was not able to speak to any girls or even say bye. I was separated from them. Pastor Williams did not even say goodbye. Even though I had been there 34 months, he still did not think I was ready to go home. My belongings were already packed and when my mother showed up, I was pretty much shoved out the door. Pastor Williams did not figure I would end up at College. When I did show up, two other students were there as well. They took awhile to talk to me because Pastor Williams told them I was not a good influence on them and they should stay away from me.

I always looked up to Pastor Williams and his family. Mrs. Kagin was the best. She seemed to understand us girls more than some of the other staff. I always felt a connection with Miss Emery, but you still had to watch what you said. But, I always felt since I left that I was never good enough and some of the things that have happened in my life was because of me not being good enough. I went and seen Pastor Williams when he came to a church near me to tell them about Hephzibah House. He did talk to me, but he never acknowledged me as being a former student to anyone in the congregation. It was like he was ashamed of me.

I did carry some of the repetition forward. When we washed dishes, it was cups, plates, silverware, pots and pans. They had to be dried perfectly or we got them back. Even one little drop of water was not acceptable. To this day when I wash dishes, it is cups, plates, bowls, pots and pans. I also have a “neat freak” problem. When I clean, it is just not clean enough and really gets me frustrated. I have tried to break these things, but have had no luck.

I think the hardest part of all this for me is the fact that I stayed so long, graduated, and went to the college Pastor Williams chose and still got rejected when I left. I did everything I was told to do, but because I did not stay for long after graduation and because my parents requested me home, I got humiliated and condemned. I did not have Pastor Williams blessing when I left. That disappointed me because I looked up to this godly man for so long and he did not even have time to say goodbye. He just had them pack my stuff, keep me from everyone else, and send me on my way. He also told other girls going to the same college that I probably would not show, but if I did, I would be trouble and I was not godly.

I may not be godly according to his standards, but I will say the good Lord has walked with me and helped me through all the hard times in my life. I know this because without Him and His assistance, I probably would not have survived through it. I am older now and do recognize things more, but I still believe that the good Lord has been with me all this time and when I make mistakes it does not mean I am going to Hell.

References:
Datasheet about the boarding school at Fornits Home for Wayward Web Fora
The original statement on cafety.youthrights.com

Gabriella Fleury Sheldon at the Hephzibah House (From:Youthrights.org)

This story was originally written on a webpage created to provide statements for a GAO hearing in 2007. The address is cafety.youthrights.org and it waits for your statement if you believe that your stay at a boarding school included unfair treatment or even abuse. All rights and credits goes to the author Gabriella Fleury Sheldon, who posted the original story on cafety.youthrights.org

My name is Gabriella Fleury, and I am a former Hephzibah House student. I was at Hephzibah from August 1989-November 1990, and I was there for the entire 15month program.

Upon my arrival at Hephzibah House, I was strip searched by one of Ron Williams' daughters. It was humiliating to me to have a girl who was only a few years older than me watching me take my clothes off and then checking me to see if I had anything with me.

On my first or second day at Hephzibah House, I underwent my most traumatic experience there. I was taken into a closet/dressing room in the dorm area, and I was forced to undergo a very personal female physical examination. There was a man in the room, but he was never introduced to me, and it was never explained to me what he was going to do. I remember very vividly how scared I was just laying there hoping it would be over soon, as I gritted my teeth and dug my nails into the palms of my hands.

During my stay at Hephzibah House, I managed to keep myself out of trouble, and I quickly became one of the "garden girls." I was fortunate enough to be on an outside work crew, so I was spared many of the daily activities inside the house. However, being on an oustide crew, I was worked like a dog. I would literally miss days of school in order to help with some building or cleaning project that was going on. I would also get back to the dorm in the evenings after the other girls were in bed for the night. I would be awakened in the middle of the night to help clean road kill that was donated to our facility. I would help to clean and process many deer that had been hit by cars; however, none of us girls ever got to eat one bite of that venison. I always viewed the food and meals at Hephzibah as a form of reward and also punishment.

I often had severe headaches while I was at Hephzibah House, and the first time I had one, I "complained" to the staff nurse that I needed to take something to help my headache. The solution then was to make me stay in bed all day with no meals. I was forced to drink a broth-like substance for all three of my meals that day. In addition, I missed a day of school and also was not allowed to speak to anyone for the entire day. I had several occasions in my first months at Hephzibah where I had a chore that did not pass the white glove inspection. Since I failed a chore, I also had my evening meal withheld as punishment.

Once I earned a spot on the garden crew, I never had to miss a meal again for a failed chore, but I did have to eat my meal during an alotted time. I had a few occasions where I just could not eat all of my meal in the specified amount of time, and the food from that dinner was saved and then re-served to me for breakfast the next morning. It was served on the same plate, cold, and hardened from a night in the fridge. I had to finish that meal and then quickly eat the regular breakfast meal as well, in order to avoid having my leftover breakfast served to me along with my lunch.

I was 17 years old when I arrived at Hephzibah, and up to that point I had been menstruating regularly. After the first month at Hephzibah I never had another monthly cycle for the remainder of the 15 months. I thought it was odd that I had completely stopped having my period, but I was afraid to voice my concerns to anyone, especially our staff nurse. I was afraid that I would get in some sort of trouble, or be forced to eat or take some sort of herbal supplement or vitamin, as was common practice for anyone who had an ailment. The same can be said for the "BM chart" that we were forced to mark daily. I knew anyone who did not mark that they had gone regularly would be forced to take flax seed and cod liver oil.

I turned 18 after about 7 months at Hephzibah House. I requested to talk to Ron Williams to tell him that I wanted to go home. He did speak with me, but he told me that I was not ready to go home. I was forced during my entire stay at Hephzibah to write letters to my parents, pastor, and to Hephzibah board members saying that I was happy and that I was thriving spiritually. Each of these letters was read for content before being sent out, and all incoming letters were read as well and only passed on to me if they met the requirements, and often the letters I recieved had large portions blacked out with a permanent marker. I never had an unmonitored phone conversation with my parents the entire stay, and I only had one 10 minute phone call per month to speak with my parents.

The worst thing I remember from my time at Hephzibah is the humiliation and isolation of each of us girls. We were almost "played" against eachother beause we were all striving for, and would have done anything for, staff approval. We had to earn every little right or privilege that we had, but we knew it could be taken away with no explanation whatsoever. We were forbidden from talking about our lives before Hephzibah House, and we were only allowed to talk to another girl if we had staff permission, and if every word of the conversation took place within earshot of a staff member. We had very specific talking lists which outlined exactly who was allowed to talk to whom. There were girls there who seriously went months without speaking to a single sould excerpt for staff. That was one of the scariest things that I felt loomed over my head...having any speaking and socialization privileges taken away. I knew it had to be extremely lonely to live that way. I saw girls who were shadowed for months on end.

I was shadowed once personally, but it didn't last very long. I'm sure they missed me on the work crew, so that's why they decided to drop that punishment. While being shadowed, I was not allowed to face any other girls but had to face the wall instead. Of course, I could not speak to anyone except the staff member who was shadowing me.

All of us girls, shadowed or not, had to be escorted to the bathroom. We were only allowed to use the bathroom at assigned bathroom times, and that was it. If I had to go at any time other than a regularly scheduled bathroom time, I just had to hold it. There were girls who could not hold it, and they were forced to wear depends or diapers. The staff took every opportunity to humiliate them in front of the rest of us girls for their laziness and rebellion because of their lack of bladder control. There was a girl who was there with me, who would frequently wet the bed. Every morning the staff ladies made a big production of checking to see if she had wet the bed or not. Then she would have to hurry and strip her bed and wash her sheets while still getting ready for school in the alotted amount of time. None of us girls was allowed to help her get her bed stripped, washed, and remade. Sometimes during the night I was allowed to get up out of bed and wake the staff lady who was guarding the door near the bathroom to get permission to use the facilities. If the staff felt like too many girls were getting up for potty breaks during the night, then they would change the rule to only using the bathroom during specified breaks in the middle of the night. If you didn't go during one of those breaks, then you didn't get to go at all. The rule for potty breaks overnight fluctuated between those two policies while I was there. I mentioned the one time that I got shadowed. That is also the one time that I got spanked while I was at Hephzibah House.

There was a student who was at Hephzibah with me, and she stayed on after she had completed the program and became a sort of staff member. I had been working on the outside crew with her for several months, so I felt like i knew her (to the best of my ability as we were closely monitored). Ron Williams had a son who also worked closely on the outside crew with us. This student and the Williams boy started secretly "dating" eachother. Now, bear in mind that they never once left the premises together, they never kissed, and they never even so much as held hands. But the Williams family believes in arranged marriages, so this secret "dating", which was nothing more than a crush, was strictly forbidden.

Their relationship came to light somehow, and it also came to light that I had known of it. I was awakened in the middle of the night and brought into the closet where all of my belongings had been strewn onto the floor, and all my drawers had been emptied. I was questioned over and over as to what I knew about this relationship. I honestly didn't know much except that the two "liked eachother." I was told that I was lying, and that I was being rebellious and deceitful in allowing this relationship to continue. After being questioned by several staff ladies I was allowed to go back downstairs and join the other girls. But from the moment I went back downstairs I was shadowed. I thought that was the end of my punishment, and I was upset about not being able to work outside or to talk to any other girls at any time.

A day or so later I was called back upstairs into Ron Williams' office. I was scared to death. When I had originally been questioned, Ron Williams was on the road, so I didn't have to face him. But this time he was in the room waiting for me. He sat down with me and begain asking me the same type of questions over and over again. I didn't have anything new to tell him. Apparently I was not giving him the answers that he wanted to hear. I remember 2 other staff ladies coming into the room, and I knew in that instant what was about to happen to me. Even though I instinctively knew, Ron Williams explained it to me anyways. He explained how the rod of correction cleanses away the evil from the soul, and he quoted a bunch of Bible verses. I was forced face down onto the floor of that office, and my arms were straight above my head. One staff lady knelt on and held my arms while another staff lady held my legs. At this point Patti Williams was in the room, and she spanked me while Ron stood by and watched. I dont recall how many times she hit me, but I remember that she was talking during the whole ordeal. She was very angry, and I could feel her anger each time she hit me. I was crying because of the pain and emberrassment, so I guess it was assumed that I was sufficiently broken, so she stopped hitting me. After the whole ordeal was over, I had to immediately sit down with Ron Williams while he talked to me again and told me how that was God's will that I be punished to rid my soul of its wicked ways. I was very sore, and it hurt to sit down and talk with Ron. I hurt for days after that. I was still being shadowed, so I was not working outside; in fact, I would have had a hard time doing the heavy labor we were required to do outside after I had just received such a brutal beating.

After a few weeks, I was no longer shadowed, and I was put back on the outside crew. The rest of my time at Hephzibah House was pretty much uneventful. Of course, there were all the days being surrounded by uncaring and uncompassionate staff members.

References:
Datasheet about the boarding school at Fornits Home for Wayward Web Fora
The original statement on cafety.youthrights.com

Angela Guest-Jones at Hephzibah House (From:youthrights.org)

This story was originally written on a webpage created to provide statements for a GAO hearing in 2007. The address is cafety.youthrights.org and it waits for your statement if you believe that your stay at a boarding school included unfair treatment or even abuse. All rights and credits goes to the author Angela Guest-Jones, who posted the original story on cafety.youthrights.org

My name is Angela Guest-Jones. The following statements are true and based on my own personal experiences.

I was a student at Hephzibah House in Winona Lake Indiana from January 6, 1989 until December 20, 1989.

I am divorced but kept my ex- husband’s last name since I have had it since I was 19 years old, and for the sake of my children.

Where do I start? My parents were saved and started going to church when I was 6 years old. Not long after going to the church my brother and I started going to the private school. I loved that church and school. My family was happy and everything seemed great. When I was 14 there was a church split and my dads friend talked him into going to Metro Baptist. Of course we started the school there. I had twin sisters that were born when I was 13, so they were over a year old when we left our old church. Practically overnight I was no longer allowed to wear pants, hangout with some of my friends, especially guy friends, no longer listen to any music other than the church music and so on. My family argued a lot more and it seemed to be falling apart. You cant tell a 14 year old after all these years that all these things are bad and expect then not to rebel when their family was happier before we got into a cult like Baptist Church. I now go to a Baptist church and they preach these things but they do not force them on you. These are convictions and a person has to have their own convictions. My parents realize a lot of things should have been done differently and it has proven to be better for my sisters, Thank God. I would never want them to have to go through the things that I did.

I was an all A and B student and cleaned my parents house, did laundry, cared for my sisters etc…I was rebellious in my attitude and was a little boy crazy and liked rock music; the typical teenager type of behavior. In no way did I think I deserved or needed to go to a school like HH. My parents now admit they were talked into it and should not have abandoned me and pushed me off on someone else and the fact that things changed so drastically so fast could have been the cause of some of my rebellion.

I remember the day I went to HH very clearly. I was supposed to be going to a volleyball tournament at school and my dad and his friend from church said they were taking me to school that day because my dad needed the car. I used to drive my brother and I to school. I didn’t see my mom that morning and she usually was up. Didn’t think twice about it. When my dad passed the school I was asking why. That’s when he told me that he was taking me to HH. It was a long drive. My mom packed food and a letter that she didn’t want to do this. I didn’t know till I got home that my mom never signed the papers and they took me ahead of a lot of girls because I was 17. I don’t know if that was legal for them to take me with only one parent’s signature. To my understanding you sign for HH to have legal guardianship of your child while they are in HH. So how was it legal for them to take me without my mother’s signature???? I tried to run several times but they weren’t going to let it happen. We stopped at some Dr’s office and I was told I was getting a pelvic exam. I refused it and to my memory they still signed my release papers. That was the Doctor that sees the HH girls.


When I got there Ron Williams and his wife were out of town. I was talked to by Pastor Don, Ron Williams son. I remember Heather taking me into a shower and I had to strip in front of her while they took all my jewelry and everything else that I could not have. I was in this strange place and was naked in front of a stranger. I felt like I was in a Nazi prison camp or something. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to my dad because I was begging him not to leave me there. I remember seeing my dad crying. I was not told of any rules as far as I can remember, unless I just blocked it out. I don’t remember a lot of things there and didn’t until I recently read some of the other girls stories. I think I blocked it out but deep in my mind I know these things are the cause of some problems in my life today.


I was taken downstairs into the dungeon that is what I call it. I was told to sit at the first table. I saw Katrina and said hi because I did not know that I wasn’t allowed to talk to her. I had to label all of my things and read this big book and then I finally started to get it. I wasn’t going to be allowed to talk to or look at any of the other girls and so many more rules that I cannot even remember. I was so depressed and didn’t eat much at all. I was given my food back twice when I first got there and then started eating so I wouldn’t have to eat food that was refrigerated over and over until I ate it. I’m sure eventually if I didn’t eat it, I would have gotten a beating. Thank goodness I caught on to some things quickly. I think I saved myself many beatings because of this. I only ate ¼ portions though and they made me write that on my menu. We had to write what we ate and our BM’s were recorded. I remember not having a period there for over 3 months, at least and then I bled so heavily I think it may have been a miscarriage. I was not there because I was lazy and did not have a hard time getting the chores done right. I was a neat freak, always have and always will be. I think that they wanted us to fail though because I would do my best and when we swept the bedroom they would take paper and wave it under the bed, if one little piece of dust flew up, you failed and would not eat. I don’t remember protein drinks either. I only remember chicken broth. I think they were actually ticked that I caught on and just found reasons to fail me. I learned their ways pretty quick and got on the garden crew though.


I remember that we had to write home every week and if they didn’t like what we said we got our letter back and was told to rewrite it. All of my mail coming in was blacked out if they didn’t want me to see what was said. I couldn’t tell my parents what was going on there, they made sure of it. Our 10-minute monthly phone calls were monitored and we would be in big trouble if we tried to say anything “wrong”. One of the workers was sitting right next to us on another line listening. If they weren’t doing anything wrong then why was everything ‘hidden’ from our parents and why weren’t we able to say what was going on or be alone with our parents on our visits. They said it was because we would make our parents feel sorry for us to go home. I know for a fact it was to hide what they were doing. They knew that no parent in their right mind would think any of this was right.


I don’t know how long it was before my first visit, but I do remember that I was not feeling well and my front tooth was in severe pain and a sharp pain shot up every time I ate or anything jarred it. I told them about it but they said nothing. My face was swollen by time my parents came to see me and my eyes were a little black. I had an abscess. I wrote a note to give to my parents and hid it in my bra. I decided not to give it to them though, because I was thinking that if they sent me here they must agree with them and if they gave the letter to the staff, I would get a beating. I flushed it down the toilet after they left. I had somehow managed to avoid getting a beating up to that point. I remember acting like everything was so great and Miss Saylor was saying I was so sweet and all that…. My parents got them to take me to the dentist though. I was so sick I couldn’t even think about running when we went to the dentist, even though they make us lay down in the van so we wont see where we are and have enough people to keep us under control. I had to lie up in the dark closet in the school on a mattress and they drilled a hole in my tooth so the infection that caused my face to swell up could drain out. I ate broth for 2 weeks at least. I was thin when I got there and by that point I was anorexic looking.

I was always ahead in school and they thought that I would not be able to get done by the time I was 18 but I was used to the system they had there-it was what we had in my first Christian school. I worked hard and even did college prep because I was determined to get out of there in December when I was 18 and with a diploma.

I remember some good days and they were only because of Aaron. He used to take me and one other girl sometimes to help him and Daniel out. We would do all sorts of things, like fixing the buildings, yard work, and gutting deer. They would come play volleyball and stuff with us as well. I think that this is why I got my beating one day. I was doing what I was told, doing my chores, my schoolwork, memorizing my scripture, and really had no reason for the beating. The Williams were out of town of course, and Miss Emory and Miss Saylor took me up there. When I asked why I was getting the “spanking”, Miss Emory said, “Oh, just the general attitude”. I was told to lay on the floor and they put the chairs over my head and feet and then Heather I believe is the one who was hitting me. I didn’t cry so I got more. I didn’t count but I know that I was in pain and by this time I was very thin so that made it worse. I have always been tough and have a pretty high pain tolerance. I tried to go to the bathroom to see my bruises but Emory wouldn’t let me. I still have back problems to this day and sciatica from my low back being hurt there. I think it was from the backbreaking work that we did as well.

I also remember that we had to memorize chapters of scripture at a time. We only were allowed about 3 errors I believe. If we made more than 3 errors we would fail. I cannot remember what happened. I think we had sentences to write and demerits or something. We had chores and schoolwork as well, so writing sentences just made it harder to get our other responsibilities done. I felt so sorry for the girls that had a hard time memorizing! I had to write sentences more than once for demerits. They would give us demerits for allsorts of things. 25 demerits if you layed your brush on the table and we sat at those tables for meals and everything else.
I also remember the cleaning out the freezers and storage rooms. There were a lot of donated fruits and vegetables and breads etc…we never saw any of that. We got the second rate handouts or whatever the Williams family did not want. Our daily lunch was ‘soup’. Our soup consisted of leftovers and unlabeled and dented cans of vegetables or whatever else they had to dump in there. I swear some of the cans we put in there looked and smelled like dog food. We ate a lot of freezer burnt foods as well.

How is it that there were so many donations to the girls of food and other items but we never got to have any of it. The Williams are the ones living high off of the donations of money and food and what our parents paid to put us in there. They abused the charity that was meant for the girls in the home.

I also remember that we had to take ‘vitamins’ everyday. A huge handful of them. We used to get a ‘B’ reaction from the niacin. Our faces would get really red and hot. I also believe, after listening to stories recently from other students there, that we were given some type of pill to stop our periods while we were there. I read several statements of how some girls did not have periods the whole time they were there. My parents stopped sending money for the “vitamins’ and shortly after I stopped taking them, I started my extremely heavy period. I have had menstrual problems ever since I left that place. I was in the hospital twice shortly after leaving there and had bleeding problems. I had to have a surgery called a cone biopsy when I was 20 years old. I had problems from then on and had a very hard time trying to get pregnant. I even went to my pastor and was anointed with oil. I had my 2 beautiful daughters not long after that. They are 2 years apart. I continued to have problems off and on and when I was 32, I had a hysterectomy. I had endometriosis very bad. It had cause severe bleeding almost all the time and it had grown outside of my uterus and attached to my ovaries and appendix. I feel better now that I had the hysterectomy but because I was so young when I get the surgery, I have other problems and risks to deal with.

I remember the day before my birthday. I was planning on how I was going to tell them I was leaving and they had no more rights over me since I was 18. I was looking at the chore list that day as well and noticed that I wasn’t on it. I was so scared that I was being taken off the garden crew. I found out soon enough that my parents were there to get me on December 21, 1989. I was taken out when the girls were doing choir rehearsal or something, so I never got to say goodbye. The first thing I did when I got in the car was grab a bottle of pepsi that they had thereJ and then I started crying. My parents told me that they were trying to get me out before that because they could tell something wasn’t right when they came to visit me. When I told them about the note they said they would have taken me then. My mom said my dad fasted a lot when I first got there. He gave up sweets for a while when I was there because he loves sweets and was so sad when he saw my menu. I was there from January 6, 1989 till December 20, 1989. I cannot imagine having to stay as long as the other girls did. I have enough problems from the short time I was there.

There are so many crazy and weird things that went on there and can be read on the blogs and stories on the website. I remember the 3 minute showers and if they were so obsessed with how dirty we were why would they do that. I remember how we were never praised for what we did right, only what we did wrong. I still have problems with negativity today. I am 36 years old. I do have 2 wonderful girls and they are the most precious things in the world to me. They know I love them and tell them everyday. They are strong and smart and have turned out well despite going through a difficult time when I divorced my ex. I have problems with relationships and know what I want, but always end up picking the bad guy and don’t really know why. I am considering going to counseling when I get out of nursing school, because I want to meet the right man and fall in love. I guess I know that I need it but just think I can handle it on my own. I still go to church on Sunday morning and believe in God, but I did before I went there. I hated church for a while because of what I saw there. I thought how could these people say they are Christians and do what they do to these girls. I don’t see anywhere in the Bible where God says to humiliate and bring down and beat a child. He wants us to be loved and nurtured and spanked properly as a child. My pastor says spanking beyond 5 or 6 years old is pointless. If you don’t have control by then you have to use other methods like taking things away and stuff like that. Beating a teenager only brings more rebellion and hatred and pushes them away from God.

I know that all the things I read are true. I was there. I lived it and have to live with the after effects everyday of my life. I know that the Williams are Christians believe in salvation and God but I don’t feel like they are helping girls at all. They are hurting them emotionally and physically for the rest of their lives. I could go on and on and I know this is a long story but it doesn’t even begin to touch all of the things that happened while I was there. I only pray that this website and these stories can make a difference and that no girl has to go through what we girls at HH did. If even one girl is spared from going to HH because of our efforts to close the place down, it is well worth it.

This is my story of my stay at Hephzibah House.
Angela L. Jones

References:
Datasheet about the boarding school at Fornits Home for Wayward Web Fora
The original statement on cafety.youthrights.com

Alicia Sanders at Hephzibah House (From:youthrights.org)

This story was originally written on a webpage created to provide statements for a GAO hearing in 2007. The address is cafety.youthrights.org and it waits for your statement if you believe that your stay at a boarding school included unfair treatment or even abuse. All rights and credits goes to the author Alicia Sanders, who posted the original story on cafety.youthrights.org

My name is Alicia Wagner formerly it was Alicia Sanders.

My stay at HH is hard to talk about. I do not have as many memories as you would think I would. My mind has tried to block out most of it. I can only recall probably 40% of what went on there. I do not remember most of the girl’s names. The 4 names I do remember I was able to get in contact with later through searching on the internet..

I was there from about 1998-2000. I remember that I was told I was being taken on a family trip that summer. (Many of the girls were told this and the pastor there once admitted to telling the parents to tell us that to get us to cooperate for the car ride.) I did find out through my sister that I was not being taken on a family trip minutes before leaving. Had I known the place I was going to be taken I would have run away but at the time I had no idea.

My home life was not much to talk about at the time so as much as I screamed I didn’t want to go I thought to myself well it couldn’t be much worse. It was much worse. I was no longer being given the” rod of god” by my mother but I might as well have been. I was never given a bruise or a beating while I was there but the fear and brain washing I received will always be a part of my life. The bruises fade, some memories fade, but the impact and black cloud the experience has on my life will never go away no matter how hard I try. I wake up 3-4 times a month with horrible nightmares that I am locked up somewhere and can’t get out. The dreams are so real. I often wake up trying to catch my breath. My months at HH affect my every day life as well. I am very much a people person yet I find it hard to truly trust anyone. I have a constant struggle with how I perceive God. I often have spouts of depression when I think of this place. I have seen a therapist who has stated that I have had depression from this place. She has pointed out many signs in my life of depression from this place that I wasn’t even aware I had.

I will start from the day I arrived and give you as many memories that I have left of the place. So back to the beginning I was told I was being taken on a family trip I was taken by my mom’s friend and my mom. We arrived at the place and the sons of the Pastor there came out as soon as we pulled up to get the bags out of the car. I was escorted by the pastor into the house. My first thought was the way the people dressed. It was very much like in the pilgrim days. This didn’t bother me much as it was not too different than the way I was raised to dress. As soon as we got there the first discussion was money. My mom gave the pastor some money and he said it wasn’t enough and she said that his dad (the head pastor) had told her she would get a discount. He stated he would talk to his dad about it. I felt like a piece of meat being sold. They were bargaining over how much they needed to take me and my mom was paying to get me off of her hands. I have never in my life felt so unwanted as I did in that moment. I have never felt more abandoned or of less worth than I felt on that day. I truly can say I felt as if I had no one. It is such a horrible feeling to have no one. Not a soul to go to. I had never been so alone and I pray I never will again.

I was told to say goodbye to my mother as if I was going to thank her for taking me there or something. I told her I would never forgive if she left me there and that promise I have kept. I was taken downstairs and told to take off all my clothes in front of two staff members. It was almost as if I had been admitted to jail. Although , at the time I wouldn’t have known much about jail.

I had never seen a drug, never tasted alcohol., never seen porn or used bad language. I had a boyfriend that my mom did not approve of and that was the reason for me being there. Not really sure what 16 year old boyfriends any moms approve of but this was just the sin of all sins in my family. After I stripped I was told to get in the shower and wash really hard. I was told afterwards this is custom when a new girl gets there to wash the sin off of her upon entering. I was told when I got out that I would never be able to use a hair dryer or makeup or any hair supplies as long as I was there so not to bother asking. I was dressed in a very itchy old uniform. My mother had paid for cullotes to be made for me. She was told the pastor’s daughter would sew some for me. I was given instead some old bleached stained form of a skirt. That had been used by many past student. After entering there I was never again to look the same. Never could I pretend to like something about myself and I really didn’t have to pretend. I could never so much as get the tangles out of my hair. I never wore anything (expect to church or my uniform to school, that didn’t have huge bleach stains on them.

I was told that my mother had told the staff that I had an eating disorder so I was never given small or half portions upon my arrival. I was told I had to eat heaping amounts of food. The first week there I would throw up after every meal. If I did not eat my whole meal I was given it at the next meal. If I did not eat my fish for supper I was given it in the morning to eat cold right out of the fridge I had to eat it as well as my breakfast and it would just keep adding up and getting more old every day that I couldn’t finish. We only had a small amount of time to eat our meals so food was swallowed never eaten.

We were only allowed to talk to our assigned talking buddies at the table if a staff member was present so talking really didn’t happen as the few minutes we had to eat were spent shoveling food in so that we didn’t have to eat it cold the next morning. Some girls did not get to eat at all if they were being punished. This was hard especially on days we had to work very hard outside. We were sometimes given jobs that grown men should have been doing.

I remember a particular day having to break up rock with shovels and load the rock into the back of a truck. The rocks were huge many girls were crying from trying to lift the rocks. The pastor’s wife (about 150 pounds over weight) would stand on the balcony of her house and yell at us that we were lazy and needed to work harder. She often did this when we would do our daily exercises also. She would correct us in our format. I was not allowed to talk to anyone but one person for many months and like I said that was only at the dinner table if a staff member was present. I had to read the rule book weekly.

It told us what we could and cold not say on the phone or in letters home. My phone calls were timed and monitored by someone on another phone sitting 1 foot away from me. Everything I said was written down in a book by the staff lady listening to the conversation. I was always warned before the phone call that If I said anything wrong the phone call would be disconnected and I would not get a phone call for a few months.

We only got to talk to our parents for 10 minutes once a month on a Sunday. I was only allowed to see my mother once I believe my whole stay there. My meeting with my family ended horrible as I was told I was giving to much eye contact to my sister. I was brought down to the basement and in front of all the students scorned and told that I am the reason that they would not be able to have siblings come to see them anymore. They were told that from now on only the parents could visit them in these meetings. I believe they were allowed to visit for 3 hours in the conference room once every 3 months with a staff member present at all times. I felt so horrible not because I had gotten in trouble but because I would never do anything to make the stay harder for any one else there. I had let my girls down and I felt as though I would never be able to make it up to them. Of course I could not tell them I was sorry or anything of the sort.

There was no form of love shown. No one could touch or show emotion. I was a walking puppet for fear I do anything to be punished. Punishment was given out hourly. I tried to blend in and never say anything. I tried to always act happy although the inside of me was screaming.. We had to write down when we pooped and how big or small it was and if it was not what the staff thought it should be were where given castor oil and phsyillium seed. If we had a period ( I did for some of the months there) we were to show the staff member our pad before throwing it away. Not really sure the reasoning behind that. If we went a day without pooping we had to show the staff member our bowel movement before we could flush. There was no such thing as any privacy or self respect. It was non existent.

I really put everything I had into my school work it was my escape and my hope to finish early and leave. I did stay 2 months longer than 15 months because I was 2 months short of being done with school. My mother was not told I was done with my school work until 2 weeks after I had graduated (or finished my courses) I was forced to sit in a cubicle and read a book since my studies were through. Humiliation was often a way to punish us. I made A and B honor roll all throughout my schooling there. One time I failed a history test and Patty had me stand in front of the school and say that I was selfish for failing this test and when I asked her why I had to say this she said because I didn’t care a damn about anyone if I did I would have memorized the dates of the war because I would have cared about those people that died there.

I remember having horrible migraines while I was there and I was never given any medicine not even so much as an advil. My migraines were so bad I would often throw up from the pain. I was told to lay in bed and my meals were taken from me. If I wasn’t better in 24 hours I had to repeat the same thing for the next 24 hours even if I was feeling better in the next 12. I remember a new student coming in and screaming and banging to get out she yelled I cannot live hear I cannot be like those robots. They are robots they are robots can you not see that!!!! It hit me like a slap in the face. That is exactly what I am a robot. But as fast as it hit me I reminded myself – but I have no other choice.

We had to line up to go to the bathroom and wait our turn for our stall to open. We could never just go to the restroom when we wanted it was when the staff member wanted to take us all. I remember a couple of girls being forced to wear depends because they could not wait for the next bathroom break and since the staff members would not let them go they would wet themselves.

One girl was forced to wear depends every day to school and and to church. All of her underwear were taken from her. I remember being so afraid that I would maybe be that person one day. She was such a normal person when she came in just like me. But now she was wearing depends and crying all of the time almost as if she turned into a crazy person.

I use to pray every night that God would keep me sane. Speaking of God he was used to scare us. He was a god of judgment and wrath; He was never portrayed as a god of love unless they were talking about the fact that he so lovingly died for our sins. That is the only time god and love were used in the same sentence.

I was never beaten but I know of a girl that was taken upstairs and given the rod of god while I was there. I did not see what happened but I know that it did. My sister use to send me about 20.00 per month to use on books or school socks. I was never given any of this money. I once asked if I could buy some chewable vitamin C from the pantry since I had a horrible cold. I was told I had no money in my account.

We were where constantly reminded how much it cost to keep us there and how grateful we should be and that our parents only paid 1/4th of what it cost to keep us there. I remember cleaning a warehouse they had there. It was filled with shelves from top to bottom of gifts given to the home. Pots and pan in boxes not even opened so many things that would never be used that someone could be using in this warehouse. We were never given good food unless it was a birthday. We were forced to drink moldy orange juice, powdered milk still warm, old cereal all dumped together no matter what kind. We often had to open cans of food with no labels and dump them all in a pot and that was supper.

I remember one a girl found a big green hairy worm in her salad we had picked they forced her to eat it. She started throwing it up and it became a huge debate that some of the staff thought she should have to eat the portion she threw up also and some thought she should just have to finish the worm. The plate had to be taken upstairs so patty could determine what portion of the plate she had to finish. She had to finish eating the worm but not the part she threw up. Were where told this would happen if we did not clean our lettuce good enough. We lived in constant fear. We were never allowed to leave – not for a wedding or a funeral – never. We were taught that men are superior to obey them no matter what. To never disrespect them. We were told not to talk in the presence of a man unless asked a question. It was very much a place of mind control (brain washing). I would never wish anyone to go there. I have left so much out but I really wish to not remember most of it.

I have written this against the advice of many. I was told there is no point in it it would only make me remember bad things and for a stranger I don’t even know. My instant response was I want to do it because it is the right thing to do. But after much thought if we don’t do this for the strangers that are going there now or might go there later who will? It won’t be the people that send them there. It won’t be the family and friends at home because most of them have no idea where the student has been taken. If we don’t do it no one will. Not only that but these aren’t strangers we are HH sisters.

I live for the day that this place will be shut down. I think only that would make me feel the weight lifted off of me. How can a place like this exist in America. How can it not be against the law to lock someone in a basement for months on end with no outside communication and no crime committed. They are abusing girls in the name of God and that is unforgivable. I feel as though not family, not a best friend, no one could every truly understand me. And they never really could unless they went to a place like this and woke up every single morning broken hearted because it wasn’t just a nightmare. Every morning feeling sick because you have to live another day after day after day in the basement. People can say they understand but they really can’t. They have not lived it. Only us girls truly understand.

We will always feel close for that reason. My testimony is open to anyone and I will answer any questions anyone has about this place.

References:
Datasheet about the boarding school at Fornits Home for Wayward Web Fora
The original statement on cafety.youthrights.com

A stay at the Hephzibah House (from:Youthrights.org)

This story was originally written on a webpage created to provide statements for a GAO hearing in 2007. The address is cafety.youthrights.org and it waits for your statement if you believe that your stay at a boarding school included unfair treatment or even abuse. All rights and credits goes to the annonymous contributor, who posted the original story on cafety.youthrights.org

When I was 14 years old my parents decided to take me to “Hephzibah House” in Winona Lake, Indiana, where I would stay for 15 months. N

ow, twelve years later, the nightmare and memories that were “Hephzibah House” only bring me pain and hurt as I remember my stay there.

When I was just a little girl of eight years, my brother began sexually abusing me. This abuse continued for about a year, despite my pleas to my parents that this was happening, and me begging my parents to believe me and to help me. I was so sad that my parents never believed me, that even after the abuse stopped, I never felt safe again in my own house.

I grew bitter and angry and hurt as the months and years followed that my own mother and father never even once believed me. This bitterness resulted in constant fights between my family and me and ultimately led to my decision to run away. I only wanted to find peace and safety somewhere.

I was not sexually active, I had not tried drugs or alcohol and was actually very active in the Mormon LDS church at the time – this being my only salvation and my only safe place I knew. My parents decided the LDS church was a cult and didn’t want me to attend it. In the end, the constant tension and my parents’ twisted views led them to the conclusion that “something needed to be done” to “fix me”.

Remember, from the very onset of my victimization of sexual abuse at age eight, they never believed me and only sought to berate me and exile me emotionally from the family. One day, my father and grandfather told me we would be taking a nice little trip just for me, together - to get away. I had no idea that this “trip” would be to Indiana and that I was going to be left at a boarding school for fifteen months. Had I known what I was about to experience, I would have run away to save my own life.

Upon my arrival, the realization that I was going not be going back home with my family left me feeling absolute shock, betrayal, fear of the unknown, and a desperate terror of what was to lay ahead. I was taken to an office in the front of the house with my father, grandfather, and “Pastor Williams”. Pastor Williams started explaining the rules of “Hephzibah House” and he and my father were reviewing some sort of documents that apparently my father had already signed - giving them full custody of me for fifteen months! I was cold. Time stood still and I felt as though I was watching myself from outside my own body, that this was truly unreal in some way, and that it would magically stop. I felt tingling in my hands and feet, and this tingling started to creep further and further up my arms and legs. I thought I was going to literally faint.

When Pastor Williams started talking about corporal punishment, I had had enough. Pastor Williams went on to say that corporal punishment was legal in the state of Indiana. I bolted upright and started running for the door saying under my breath that I was not going to stay at this nut house! When I reached the door I realized it was bolted - all the way up the door - and that I was locked in! I desperately looked around for my Grandfather, I trusted him and I knew he would save me, but he was gone! Only twelve years later did I learn that my trust was well placed that day – my mother recently told me that as I was screaming to be saved, my Grandfather had been forced to the outside of the building that was “Hephzibah House” and was locked out!

Pastor Williams then called all his six sons in the room who circled around me and held me down as Mrs .Williams began beating me with a huge stick they called the “rod of god”. I started screaming – I thought this was the end, that I was going to be beaten to death, and prayed for the end to come quickly. I was then handed over to Pastor Williams himself who also began beating me with this long rod from the top of my body to my knees. The pain was unbearable! Oh God – the pain – and my heart was exploding in a desperate sadness as I watched my own father being ordered by Pastor Williams to take the rod and help beat me with it. My father seemed to almost be afraid of Pastor Williams, and he seemed disoriented, so with tears streaming down his face, he raised the rod in the air and meekly spanked me on my behind 5 or 10 times. Pastor Williams shouted over my desperate screams that my father “had raised a selfish spoiled daughter and that he would go to hell if he did not use the rod of god” - then my father dropped the rod and left the room, sobbing. At this point, numbness set in. I didn’t feel the pain any longer…I couldn’t even scream, my voice was hoarse and my throat in pain…I just waited to die.

The next thing I remembered was that my father was gone and I was taken to a shower where I was stripped of all my personal clothes and given a Hephzibah house uniform. While I was in the shower I realized that my entire body was covered in bruises and I was locked up with no way out. The next few weeks were agony for me as it hurt to sleep or sit. I was filled with hate and anger. For the next fifteen months I refused to yield to Pastor Williams’ fanatical “Baptist” teachings, teachings that in my opinion stripped the spirit of God and Christ himself from the very Bible that the “Pastor” read from.

The next fifteen months would bring a string of abuses to us in ways I could never have imagined, before or since. “Talking lists” - where the communication was to exclude anything from my past life and past friends. These “lists” at the school would have 1-2 girls on them that I would be allowed to talk too as long it was in the presence of a staff member. Nothing was EVER private. Any form of communication to other girls such as eye contact, using hand motions, anything - would result in “demerits”. Too many demerits would lead to a loss of privileges: no food, three minute showers, having to wear your uniform to church which would show the public that you were a “bad girl”, being shadowed by another girl 24/7, to being beaten by the “rod of God”.

Each day we would have to write on a “BM” board if we had “pooped” or not in the toilet, and then were forced to write down on the board what our “poop” was like – was it large, small or medium? Was it diarrhea? Did we only pee? Not only was this a public shame, but our most intimate bodily functions were displayed for all the girls too see. I never did understand the reasoning for this.

Every week we were allowed to write one letter to our parents and our home Pastor on Sunday. These letters were censored and if we did not write what we were told, the letter would be trashed. My parents and pastor were allowed to write to me, but many of mothers letters were “blacked out”. Every three months my parents were allowed to come visit. These visits would be inside of the building and we would have a staff member present to watch what we would say to each other. If anything was said out of context of their “approved” communications, the visits would be cut short and I wouldn’t see my parents for another three months.

The depression from Hephzibah House was overwhelming. Many girls remember a bucket where you would put your dirty period pads, although I do not remember this bucket. This leads me to believe that I may have stopped my period during my time there, which was very common among the girls. Monday through Friday we would attend school which was taught by the PACE curriculum which I really didn’t know anything about. I know it’s a Christian series of books that you have to complete in a sequence to get to the “next level”. Because I love learning and reading I threw myself in these books hoping to make myself forget for just a few minutes how much I hated Hephzibah House and my life.

Wednesday nights, Sunday morning and Sunday nights consisted of church. The church sermons were filled with the terror of hell and burning forever if we did not convert and give our lives over to God. Pastor Williams brought a sense of fear and dread for death. The sermons left you feeling scared of the world and the ways of the world. I remember a church sermon where Pastor Williams spoke of the Rod of God and how important it was that the mothers and fathers need to hide these rods from social services and the police because they didn’t understand the ways of biblical teaching and those of God. Another sermon was given shortly after I got there about Mormonism and how Mormons were going to burn in Hell. Pastor Williams told me they had burned my Book of Mormon. Another day I remember it was “free time”, a time we could sew or do projects or write home, and a new girl had arrived. I heard her screams of terror and of pain and I knew she was being beaten. Tears fell down my face silently as I prayed earnestly for God to be with her. How I hated Pastor Williams!

The remaining months began to go by quickly as I learned how to become a survivor and how to deal with Hephzibah House without receiving demerits and/or having any attention paid to me. I told Pastor Williams I wanted to be baptized in hopes that this could get me home and out of his private hell.

On my 15th month, to the day, I was called upstairs where my parents were there to pick me up. I wasn’t allowed to say good bye to anyone or anything. My things had already been packed and were waiting for me. I don’t remember the drive home all the way back to Virginia. So many things I think I blacked out in my mind. After a few weeks at home, I realized how bad Hephzibah House really was. I recently had a conversation with my mother for the first time in twelve years about Hephzibah House. She broke out crying saying she tried to have them let me go home but because they had signed me over to them that there was nothing they could do. My mother said she tried to contact the Winona Lake Police but that they said Hephzibah House was a good school!

Now, twelve years later the pain and hurt that comes with the memories of Hephzibah House will not go away. I am now a mother, college graduate, a successful realtor and soon a real estate broker! Yet with all my accomplishments and success in life I can not seem to forget Hephzibah House. The nightmares still come…and as I lay alone at night in my bedroom, I still hear the screaming of myself and the other girls in my mind…I still see my father sobbing…I still see Pastor Williams and I am afraid…and I wonder…how can this kind of pure evil exist in our world, and in our own country? I hope this testimony will help another mother not send her daughter to this school or other schools like this. I hope that if there is another girl that went to this school and has these memories that she realizes she is not alone. We are SURVIVORS and I hope that we can band together to help our country see what is going on here and to shut them down once and for all!

References:
Datasheet about the boarding school at Fornits Home for Wayward Web Fora
The original statement on cafety.youthrights.com

MiChelle Miron at the Hephzibah House (From:Youthrights.org)

This story was originally written on a webpage created to provide statements for a GAO hearing in 2007. The address is cafety.youthrights.org and it waits for your statement if you believe that your stay at a boarding school included unfair treatment or even abuse. All rights and credits goes to the author MiChelle Miron, who posted the original story on cafety.youthrights.org

My name is MiChelle Miron.

Please accept this as my official statement. I was at Hephzibah House from 1990 to 1993. After much trepidation, I have decided to share my experience.

I was born and raised in a strict fundamental Baptist home. I was your average sheltered 15yr old. I had never drank, smoked, run away or any of the other “sins”. My home was conflicted because we knew we could get away with things with my dad that my mom would not allow. Please don’t get me wrong. I love my family and believe they did the best they could for us.

I was preparing to go to camp and the weekend before my mom suggested we go visit Shipshewana in Indiana. I had heard of the place and was excited that we could go for a mother/daughter visit. My parents had me sleep in their room on the floor and then we got up early the next morning. I was told my dad had gone to work. My mom and I loaded into the van and stopped to get gas. I was very surprised when we drove to the church and my dad and the pastor walked around the building and got into the van.

I was then told that I was being taken to Hephzibah. We knew about the ministry because my parent’s church supported them. However, it was a standing joke that if you didn’t behave you would be sent there. All of the girls knew it was not a good place to be sent. We had heard the stories from girls that had been there. It was a long drive and I remember just resigning to the fact I had no way out.

When we arrived, my suitcase was gone through and may items such as curling iron, hairspray, etc. were sent back home with my parents. I was then taken into the bathroom and stripped down to my underwear, told to get into the shower and hand out my panties and bra. Then I was told to wash all the hairspray and makeup off. When I was finished I was handed a blue jumper and red shirt made of polyester. I was told I could only wear slippers. I later found out this was to prevent new girls from running away because they couldn’t get very far.

I was not allowed to say goodbye to my mom and dad but was escorted downstairs into the basement and the door was locked behind me. I will tell you that I had never felt so lonely or lost than that moment. I was scared, isolated and crying. I was taken to the main room and seated at a table. I was given a copy of the rules and told to read them. I was also told that I needed to be quiet and stop crying. I softly wept for several days missing my family. I knew that I would have to immediately conform in order to stay out of trouble. I always felt “branded”.

We were the worst of sinners. We had no privacy whatsoever. We were monitored in the bathroom and given assigned stalls. We had to mark what they called a BM chart. You had to indicate whether we had a bowel movement that day and mark it with an S for soft, M for medium, H for hard or D for diarrhea. If we forgot to mark the chart, we would be given demerits. I do not remember how many demerits you got before you had to write sentences but the least amount was 500 sentences. You would not be allowed to speak to anyone and you had to wear the uniform to church to indicate that you had been bad. Demerits were handed out freely and offenses were made up at the drop of a hat.

Meals were very scary. We were allowed to pick whether we wanted half portions (dieters) or full portions. For me the food was never enough. I learned to stay out of trouble very quickly so I was allowed to be on the “garden crew”. These were the only girls allowed outside of the fence. The house that we lived in was surrounded by a very tall wood fence. The doors and windows had alarms. It wasn’t to keep people from getting in but from us getting out. The garden girls did intensive, back-breaking work from sun-up to sundown in the summer. We would lift five gallon buckets of honey over our heads in confined spaces, pick corn and carry large tubs of it back to the trucks through a field in the hot summer sun, rip out old fence rows covered in poison ivy, etc. I was always hungry and resorted to stealing food from the “blessing room”. The blessing room was a room upstairs in the Williams family living area. There were shelves lined with cooking supplies, food and juices. We were not allowed to eat any of that; it was reserved for them only. I was ashamed to be stealing but I was very hungry. We were fed from the supplies they could get from a food bank. Most of it was unmarked cans that would be opened and tossed into a large pot and then served as soup. I know that some of those cans we opened smelled and looked just like Alpo dog food. We were fed things like millet, barley malt and others I had never heard of. We were made to take vitamins daily and would have reactions to having too much in our system.

Because I was one of the “trusted” girls, I was allowed to talk to almost everyone. I was not allowed to speak to one of my childhood friends that was there until she graduated. We could only talk about approved subjects. We could not talk about friends, past students, or even our brothers. We were not allowed to have pens and paper unless in school or during approved letter writing time. Everything in our lives was monitored. Our letters were read before going out and read before we got them from our parents, phone calls and visits were strictly monitored. You were denied meals for failing to pass a duty inspection.

I was not spanked while I was there but I heard many girls crying and yelling and they would come back downstairs sobbing. It was one of our worst fears to be called upstairs. We knew what was happening. We had assigned bathroom breaks and if you had to go before that you would get demerits. This went for in the middle of the night too. The staff were very uncaring, crabby and vindictive. Maybe these things don’t seem so bad to you but we lived in fear. You trusted no one and the best way to stay unnoticed was to keep your mouth shut and head down. I had severe menstrual cramps growing up. I would be doubled over in pain, throwing up. I had the same thing while I was there and was denied any pain killers. I was expected to perform my duties even though I could not even stand up without doubling over in pain. I could not eat and would not have wanted to eat if I could have. I was forced to drink a protein shake because I was “sick”. The protein shakes were similar to what they give to body-builders except ours were not mixed properly. They were mixed with cold water and that left them clumpy and hard to choke down. I would often just throw them back up. I would lay there and ask God to please kill me.

I have had glasses since I was a kid. While I was there, my frames broke. I do not recall the exact circumstances. I was not allowed to have an eye exam to get them fixed. They were taken somewhere and the lenses put into some old frames. The frames were not the right shape for the lenses so everything was distorted. They gave me headaches and I was told there was nothing they could do. I resorted to not wearing them at all which left me almost blind. I failed a sweeping duty because I missed a piece of popcorn behind a large door. I could barely see the hand in front of my face and the staff knew that but it was not given any consideration. I was then made to drink a protein shake for dinner.

During my stay, a past students family had tried to get the State of Indiana to investigate reports of abuse. I and another student were hand-picked to speak to this agent. We were taken to his office and he questioned us in front of the staff lady. I was terrified to tell him anything because I knew the trouble we would be in. He asked the staff lady to leave but she left a tape recorder behind. We knew that she would hear us anyway so we said that things were all okay. He asked us to write on a piece of paper anything we might want to say but I was petrified and knew that not only would the Williams family be very angry but so would my family and church. I couldn’t take the chance of being all alone with no way to support myself.

Shortly after that meeting all of the girls were sent home to their families. I don’t know the time frame but probably a month or so, the school was reopened and I was sent back to finish my schooling. The staff ladies are not trained to teach so there was no one to explain algebra to me. They figured that I was not getting it so I was given a different subject in order to graduate.

I sum all this up by saying, God was sorely misrepresented to us. We were always afraid of judgment and humiliated. Our sin was thrown into our faces daily and we were not to forget that we were the forsaken. I learned to hide my emotions, to be untrusting and unforgiving. I have nightmares that I am trapped there as an adult and trying to explain that I don’t belong there. I have unfounded fears that my husband will abandon me. I beg you to reconsider if you are thinking of sending your daughter there.

References:
Datasheet about the boarding school at Fornits Home for Wayward Web Fora
The original statement on cafety.youthrights.com

Jennifer Gooch at the Hephzibah House (From:Youthrights.org)

This story was originally written on a webpage created to provide statements for a GAO hearing in 2007. The address is cafety.youthrights.org and it waits for your statement if you believe that your stay at a boarding school included unfair treatment or even abuse. All rights and credits goes to the author Jennifer Gooch, who posted the original story on cafety.youthrights.org

I was taken to Hephzibah House (HH), on December 7,1993 at the age of 13 (nearly 14). Little did I know I was going to be locked in this home and would spend the next 21 months of my life there.

To be clear, I had never had sex, done drugs, drank, or really done much of anything at all. I had always been home schooled and was struggling through normal growing up years. My parents had recently started a new church, and the pastor had gave them the large amount of money needed to go to HH. They were very religious and feared I was going to leave home as my older sister had, so they thought HH seemed like a good place for me at the time.

In retrospect, they know the place is not right and would not send any of my siblings there. That is a key thing with HH, it is presented as a super ministry,..in my personal opinion, based on my experience and observations, it is NOT!!

As a mother of two daughters myself, I am so glad they will never have to experience this place. By sharing this story, hopefully other girls will also be spared the experience.

My first day there, as we sat in the room with the director, Ron Williams, he pulled a very large wooden paddle out of the closet and proceeded to explain how if they felt a girl needed it, they would have her lay down on the floor, put a chair over each end of her body, and with staff members present (as I recall to sit on the chairs and probably to also be witnesses), they would proceed to spank the girl. I lived in fear when I was there and never wanted to do something which would lead to a spanking. From what I have heard, this was more of a beating. I remember one girl committing some transgression and being taken upstairs, when she came down, she was so shook up, they had her breathing into a brown paper bag. Things were not allowed to be questioned nor discussed among us.

If a girl was taken home before her fifteen months were up, she would just disappear while we were in school or doing assignments. Immediately she was referred to as , "past student", and no discussion as to why or where she went was allowed. I remember just sobbing the first night I was there, and telling the staff I needed to talk to my parents..I was not allowed to that night, nor for some time. Phone calls home were made once a month. A staff would come and get us once the connection had been established, we would take one seat in the closet room , she would take the seat right next to us as well as listen in on the other line and take notes as we spoke to our parents. Each call was strictly timed for 10 minutes, (15 was allowed for birthdays).

There were rules about what we could and could not talk about, so, not wanting to lose the precious privilege, I would leave so much unsaid and try my best to sound happy and conformed.

The same applied for visits, they were allowed once every three months for a certain amount of time. We were not informed of the visit until it was practically time to see our parents, then we would be taken up, and a staff would be present throughout the entire time and writing what was talked about. Again, I would try to appear happy and conformed, desperately hoping they would take me home, but not being allowed to mention such a thing. Each month we had to read and initial the, "rule book", in it, amongst many things, were rules such as we were not allowed to talk about going home, why we got demerits, and so forth. They had a chart with who we could speak or not speak to. If we couldn't speak to a certain girl, than we could not make eye contact with her, nor look in the dorm or bathroom mirror with her unless a staff gave permission while they watched.

I recall one night in particular, I had received permission to show another girl my pictures. The staff lady became very angry with us because she felt we were talking too quietly while looking at them, and for the rest of the evening, we were not allowed to talk to anyone but staff. This, "no talking", punishment was doled out liberally. If a girl had too many mistakes in the writing out of her weekly memory verses, ( there were required weekly and an even larger monthly passage from different sections of the Bible assigned), she was not allowed to talk to any one but staff all week, had to write it out numerous times as she could find moments here and there to do so, and wear a uniform to public services. All the while, the next weeks verses had to be perfected as well.

The wearing the uniform, silence, and writing of many sentences also applied if too many demerits were received in a week. Demerits could be received for virtually anything and everything. Things such as wearing my hair pulled back on one side, or slouching rather than cuffing my socks were considered worldly and could be punished. I guess the wearing of the uniform to services was to shame us publicly.

Which brings me to more memories... We were not allowed to enter the church until they started the service, then, we would file in lined up in our assigned place and sit in assigned metal chairs, the door was guarded as we filed past. Then, we would take notes on all sermons that would later be checked by staff, and not be allowed to use the bathroom during the entire service. This could be especially hard during Sunday mornings when we were not allowed to do anything but stare ahead while everyone else in the Church had the break between services and got to stretch their legs and use the bathroom. (No talking to other church members) Since a typical Sunday service lasted 3 hours or more, this could be uncomfortable at times. The same applied to school, no getting up to go to the bathroom until they took us to go.

I remember at least one girl wetting herself and having to wear depends diapers after that, I believe there were others as well. I know sometimes I would hold it so long in the morning, it would sometimes hurt and I would be so glad when the staff told us we could finally get up and get our stuff for the bathroom. Even then, we had to line up and wait for our assigned stall to be open. ( They had three bathroom and three shower stalls).

Showers were taken when they said, usually during the afternoon's many work duties, they would let three of us get in, call out we were ready, and wait for the other girls to be, so we could be given permission to start the water. Showers were timed for 3 minutes. I am so glad I didn't have the long hair some of the girls did at the time!! We didn't have much for free time at all, and if we did, I usually used it to clean, and re clean the small amount of things we were allowed there, (baskets my stuff was stored in, etc.), because we could be punished for things such as one too many hangers in our assigned areas, dust in our baskets, etc. Our assigned wardrobe or closet space was locked each and every night, and the staff would make sure our shoes were their before locking them. (I guess I had mentioned getting out early on, because they kept my shoes and made me wear slippers for some time). The doors and windows were locked and/or alarmed anyway, and we were surrounded by a very tall solid fence, so chances of escape were slim to none although I did dream of it. I remember getting permission to go outside and dump a bucket or something, and smelling the fresh air, and hearing the sounds of life outside, and just imagining freedom.

We were young girls, not hardened criminals, although we were not allowed to talk about why we were there either. Our days basically consisted of rushing to keep up with the assigned schedule, which was mostly school, cleaning, and more cleaning. During work duties, we weren't supposed to talk either, ...a great deal of our time there was spent in silence. Work duties were assigned, and we had to get permission to go from point A to point B to even accomplish the task. Then, we had to get a staff lady to check it and pass it for us. I got to the point where I was afraid to say I was done until they told me it was good enough , lest I failed. This didn't always work though because jobs were of course expected to be done in a short time as well. One staff lady would literally shine a flashlight and there best not any dust show up in the beam under the beds. I learned to keep my head down and mouth shut so to speak, the vast majority of my time there. I think I became as a puppet of sorts, dancing as I was told and showing no mind of my own. For this, I earned privileges, such as being allowed to eventually talk to all the girls, not having to perform the kitchen duties, etc. I was so afraid of using said privileges, that I think I just kept my mouth shut more and worked all the harder until they would tell me to take a break.

I honestly don't remember Patti, (the director's wife being around much, and when she did come around, it was terrifying, I would try to just blend in unnoticed. She would become very angry at us for things we didn't even know we had done wrong. She would also call down over the monitor angry at us, and all we dared say, was, "yes ma'am, or no ma'am." Her son Don, who was also part of the, "ministry", and the school principle when I was there, was kind to us, and would sometimes read to us in morning school. The thing is, even unintentional wrongdoings, things normal people would not consider as some horrible crime, were treated as such. Girls were publicly humiliated and made to feel terrible for small things. I recall one girl was chewed out in front of us all for not marking, "how much " diarrhea she had on the chart. (Yes, we were required to mark each day how we had gone to the bathroom,..this was a public chart and demerits would be giving for failing to mark it).

I had started my menstrual cycle the month or so before going to HH, I had one within my first couple weeks of being there, and then never again until some months after returning home. This would worry me, and when I would question it, they didn't give much for answers. This is strange, because it turns out many girls stopped menstruating while there and some of us have had reproductive/other issues later in life.

I never saw a doctor or dentist while there, ( with the exception of a forced and unexplained vaginal exam performed in their closet room by a man who I assume was a doctor). Their, "nurse", (also secretary..I'm not sure on her credentials), would answer any health questions we might have. If we said we were sick, (even if it was just a head cold or bad headache, etc. ), we got to go to bed for 24 hours, but of course this was spent in silence and no meals were allowed, just a can of ensure. There are some sicknesses that don't effect your appetite of course, and so it was as though we were punished for being sick as well. There were times when I would get so hungry, esp. on Saturdays when after a larger than usual breakfast, we had to work the day away and not eat again until dinner. On Sundays, dinner was generally something like measured out peanut butter and jelly and some sprouts...for the most part, we were fed adequately, but it was measured and not always the most tasty fare. They could also use no meals as a form of punishment.

We were also allowed to send letters to our families once a week, (we couldn't write anyone unless our parents had specifically put them on the list, then a note could be included on the same paper as we wrote to our parents on). There was a limit on how much we could write, although there wasn't much to write anyway, because so many things were not allowed to be talked about. All ingoing and outgoing mail was read, and if they would not like something, they would black it out. Patti would threaten that our letters would not go out if our menus were missing something, (we had to write what we ate), or if she didn't like what we were writing. So, as you may well imagine, my letters home were glowing reports.

That is one of the biggest things that saddens me about this place, the fear and isolation and no way out. Also, the fact that it is all done under the name of Christianity. Basically, we were made to feel inadequate and inferior and just over all as, "bad girls" in general. We were not allowed to keep any type of journal, diary, or calendars while there. So I am sure there are things that are forgotten. However, they can't erase some of the memories, even with all the brainwashing of us being bad, and them being good. The staff ladies were scary people, and although there were moments of kindness, for me, it was constant fear and uncertainty. I was one who wrote my , "testimony", for them after getting out, it basically read as all the other testimonies on their website., " I don't know where I would be if it hadn't been for HH", but that is the thing, ..they seemed to want and program us to think that. I have still struggled with speaking out against them, but I know that things were not right there, and again, hopefully some other girls will be spared the heartache.

To me, HH is like a cult, and it is horrifying that they are given total control behind closed doors with no unmonitored conversation between child and parent. I feel like I left there a shell of the girl I went in, and to this day, there are effects that are hard to shake. I have had dreams of being stuck back there and trying to get out to my babies. Essentially, the little good that may be learned there was far outweighed by the damaging effects!!!

References:
Datasheet about the boarding school at Fornits Home for Wayward Web Fora
The original statement on cafety.youthrights.com

Alicia Hamilton at Hephzibah House (From: Youthrights.org)

This story was originally written on a webpage created to provide statements for a GAO hearing in 2007. The address is cafety.youthrights.org and it waits for your statement if you believe that your stay at a boarding school included unfair treatment or even abuse. All rights and credits goes to the author Alicia Hamilton, who posted the original story on cafety.youthrights.org

My name is Alicia Hamilton. When I was sent to Hephzibah House (HH) in the fall of 1989, I had just recently turned 12 years old and my last name at that time was that of my stepfather, “Cornish”. When sent to HH, I was not in any trouble with the law; I had not yet had any boyfriends; I hadn’t done or even ever seen alcohol / drugs. My childhood “problems” only began after my mother married a man who began to physically and emotionally abuse me when I was 6-7 years old. Driving into the grounds of HH for the first time, I saw a simple but large white house with a church on the side and lots of fencing. My parents said little as we were quickly ushered to the upstairs room, the room where I would receive many beatings in the next 20 months to come. My memory begins to play tricks on me here, as there are some things that I VERY VIVIDLY recall about what happened to me during my stay at HH, and then other daily things that I have completely forgotten about. I do remember the initial trauma of my HH experience was being told that I would be there for 15 months (at least), and more importantly, I was told that I could not have contact with my grandparents (with whom I lived from birth to age 6 and were like parents to me).

Upon “orientation” Several of William’s family members went through my items with me and began marking them. I was told I could not have some of my belongings and I was stripped of the clothing I had, put into an itchy polyester outfit and the rules further explained to me, I remember saying “Oh my god!” and Heather, one of the Williams’ daughters, slapped my face and told me “we do not use the Lord’s name in vain here!” I was told that I will be learning to be a child of god and to become a Godly woman, and as such the dress code was explained to me among other rules. Much of my memory has repressed the details of daily life but I do remember being spanked “for being disrespectful” that very first night for questioning the food I was served (it was some kind of strange soup). On my first morning of HH, we were woken up very early, and of course after not sleeping most of the night I did not awaken easily. A staff lady ripped my sheets off me and later that day I was paddled again, this time for disobedience.

One of the more unusual things about HH’s rules is that as I learned upon my introduction to the living quarters, there were certain girls there that I was allowed to talk to and others that I could not even make eye contact with. This concept was incredibly strange, not being able to even LOOK at another girl. I was spanked many times for looking at girls I should not have looked at. Initially, I was limited to talking with a few girls, then they allowed me to talk to everyone…for a while….I will explain more about this later.

The most important thing that anyone should know about HH is that no girl has any privacy; even the one large bathroom was watched vigilantly by a staff member, and though we did have “stalls” for showers and the toilets, our time monitored closely (Just imagine, “Alicia you’ve been on the toilet for a while are you constipated?!” being loudly questioned in front of all the other girls in earshot), sanitary napkins were inspected and we were told to account on a public chart for what kind of bowel movement we had that day. We had a specific shower time, and we were herded into the shower stalls and given a short amount of time to get ready and then the timer was set: Three minutes to take a shower. Most of the time my shower was last and the water was cold so it wasn’t so bothersome, but I felt bad for the girls that had a lot of hair to wash and condition in such a short amount of time.

Fear was constant, most often it was the fear of intense pain and humiliation. The spankings I received were random (sometimes I’d be spanked 1 to 3 times in a week sometimes none for a week) so I was always on edge. The spankings were very ritualistic: I would be forced to lay down, a chair was placed over my head while either Ron Williams or his Wife Patty Williams, or in other situations I believe his son’s wife (Wanda?) would spank me. There were usually three staff members present to hold my feet and arms. After getting me on the floor and holding me down, whomever was going to do the spanking would pray for me, and then sometimes they would wait for what seemed like minutes before administering the punishment—I think it was to add to the fear I felt as I just wanted to get it over with. I personally felt they enjoyed being sadistic in the times they slowed the process down, to show us the power they had over us.

My first couple of spankings were 7 swats each time, and I cried in great pain, as they were very severe swats, and after the beatings I discovered severe bruising and sometimes welts with blood droppings oozing from the welts. Sometimes they missed my buttocks and hit my spine and this left very painful deep bruising. I had heard of a girl that had been there right before me that they deemed unable to help so I thought maybe if I was “too hard to help” that they would let me go early too. So, at my very insightful 12 years of age, I decided that if I didn’t cry during the spankings that they would think I was unable to be helped and that they would let me go. So when would get spanked I would try not to cry at first, biting my cheeks until they bled to fight the urge to scream, but I learned that this just led to more swats, usually 14 at which point I was certainly wimpering, but once I counted 21 and after that particular beating I was covered in welts and they were bleeding little droplets of blood, more blood than any other beating. I was so uncomfortable to sit or sleep that I was on very good behavior for the next week but I still somehow managed to get paddled again despite my best efforts to follow all the rules perfectly, and this time I cried immediately.

During the first few months at HH, I went to bed hungry many nights and fantasized about food and far away places. One of the ways that we were punished is to be denied dinner, which could be very difficult after several hours of performing vigorous chores, and for me that occurred at least 3 to 4 times a week; Instead of eating food, I was forced to drink a protein drink which was not mixed properly, and though some of the girls did not mind the drink, I had to gag it down. I dreaded these drinks. Dinner was taken away for just about any reason so it seemed, usually I did not pass my chores or do my “church notes” or memorize very long passages of bible verses well enough to earn my supper. And on the note of chores…The cleanliness standards that we were held to were above those of any 5 star hotel I’ve ever been to. When it came to work and doing the chores, I actually tried very hard to do them correctly (I hated that protein drink!) and would still fail. Again, I believe that this was yet another way for the leadership of HH to exert their power upon us and keep us insecure, afraid, and ready to embrace their extreme religious agenda.

Another note about the food, there were some very unusual meals that we had to eat along with many pills we had to take. Many of the “soups” they made were just a bunch of unmarked cans thrown into a pot together and the soups that arrived from this method were disgusting to say the least. I remember being unable to eat this soup a few times without throwing up, I could not eat it all at once. When at HH, if you did not eat all your food, it was served as your next meal. Cold. I had many cold, mystery soup breakfasts and dinners there. I lost a lot of weight and began to have irregular periods (I actually had my first period on my 12th birthday and was regular until a few months into HH). They gave us a lot of vitamins at HH as well, and I recall to this day an unusual reaction some of us had to the vitamins: the reaction was what we were told was a “B” reaction. I had over a dozen of these reactions and they always occurred after the mornings breakfast and during “devotional” time; what would happen to me is that the skin on my entire body would become red and burn for about 10-20 minutes then it would go away. Other girls could see if I was having a “B” reaction and I could see if they were as well as the skin would become very red and flushed. The staff explained that it was the body’s way of removing excess vitamin B from the system. It happened to some other girls as well and was random.

After about 4 months there at HH, I’d say around Feb of 1990, I was placed on “Shadow” status for about nine months, I remember this because I got off of it right before thanksgiving. Being shadowed was psychologically and emotional torture. Literally, I was not allowed to talk to any other human being or look them in the eye and I had to follow a staff member around 24/7 (including sleeping right next to one). Being “shadowed”, it was extremely humiliating, dehumanizing, and it served the purpose they wanted; they broke my spirit…I think I went a little crazy during this time, living in fantasy land, coming up with imaginary friends...If I was desperate enough to interact with another human being, I could ask for some “religious counseling” about some passage in the bible and get some conversation that way, but it really wasn’t what I wanted to talk about considering that all day and all night was religious indoctrination. Fortunately, I actually found some of the Old Testament gory and barbaric enough to be interesting, and I remember discussing with one of the staff ladies some of the stories and the meaning of why god wanted his armies to cut off the foreskins of his enemies, which often just got me into trouble (even though I was discussing scripture, I was not to “question it”). This, “do not question” rule I specifically learned when I questioned a staff member about Lot and how he basically murdered his daughter, and I was, in so many words told that “as you see this is gods way of showing us your role as a woman; women are not as important as a man and woman are flawed because of Eve’s sin this is the lot you bear; that you do not understand that by now is troubling” and I had to write some 500 sentences about my place under god and man. Sentence writing, by the way was another form of punishment. I probably wrote some ten thousand sentences over the course of my 20 months at HH and that is not an exaggeration.

So I learned to conform. I learned how to ask the right questions and how to appear submissive, weak, and without any will of my own. Sometimes I fear, that there were weeks that went by that I really was that way---they were stealing my soul and I was loosing any sense of individuality. We went to church at least three times a week. We had to sing in the choir, a choir in which we spent countless hours practicing and were ultimately recorded and tapes were made and sold with my / our voices on them. Since singing (and I have an awful voice) was the only time I could use my voice during my period of being shadowed, I sang with vigor. To become un-shadowed, I had to prove I was godly so I tried everything I could, I got baptized, I wrote profusely long church notes, I memorized extra bible verses, and so on and son on.

During my time of being shadowed, I became very sick. If one became sick with the flu or with the cold, no medicine was given, even though I remember a time when I was very sick with a high fever with vomiting. Even though I was throwing up, I was forced to drink the protein drink, I remember this vividly, I was nearing the end of the glass, then I gagged it all up, along with bile my stomach as I dry heaved into the into the bucket I was allowed to carry around with me. Ms. Saylor (Spelling?) made me drink my vomit out of the bucket, which took over an hour and I was very tearful. Later that night, with a high fever and still being very ill, I was paddled.

I was finally allowed to be off of being shadowed, and it was so strange to speak to another human being. I felt incredibly insecure, as if I didn’t know how to act anymore, what is the right thing to say or not? As I got more and more used to the routine and fast paced schedules of HH, the time began to go by faster, mostly because they kept us so busy.

Regarding some of the “chores” we had to do, I believe that I was exploited for labor, along with other girls. When staff discovered I had skill working with my hands and that I could crochet with fine thread and read / interpret complex stitching designs, I was given the task to make hundreds of these little figurines and cross stitch projects which were sold / traded for goods to benefit HH’s financials. I was 13 when I was making these things, and my curse was my speed and ability to do good work. Sometimes the demand was so high for these crafts that making the crafts was my only chore and I’d crochet for an entire Saturday or be told to do it during school hours. This was actually a job that girls wanted as it was more appealing than scrubbing the entire dorm floor on your hands and knees, but after doing it so much, my fingers and wrists would begin to really hurt. Also, though I never had to, I know other girls were sent upstairs to clean the Williams’ house. Near the end of my stay, when I was seen as “reformed” and “godly”, I was actually transported beyond the walls of HH, I was sent to a church “officials” home to clean and renovate, it was the Keagan’s (?) home I believe and my job was to remodel their kitchen and home. I used sanding paper and arm strength and worked for hours to sand off the old varnish and paint from their cabinets and then we stained and prepared the ‘new’ cabinets. We painted their home, we did their gardening….While at HH, I even had to “clean” a deer carcass killed by a car that the Williams family ate for many meals I imagine. I remember feeling misused but too afraid to do anything but the best of work and to do it with a smile on my face.

In short those are the most significant memories that come to light about my experience with this place. I indeed feel that HH abuses girls’ on a physical, psychological, emotional, religious and spiritual level. The isolation and fear tactics they use are powerful and the results, while short term may be successful, they leave a lasting impact.

As a disclaimer, I want it to be known that after “release” I was forced to write a “testimony” about how great HH was and how much it helped me. My stepfather sat down with me and pretty much wrote the testimony; After being there for 20 months and finally being “free” I was so afraid that if I did not do what they wanted me to do that I would be sent back, and my worst nightmare was having to stay there until I was 18. So whatever HH sent out as my “testimony” way back when…Those were not my words, they were forced.

For reason unknown to mankind this boarding school continues to remain open. The State of Indiana simply doesn't care about so-called troubled girls. It is located near Winona Lake in Indiana

References:
Datasheet about the boarding school at Fornits Home for Wayward Web Fora
The original statement on cafety.youthrights.com