Original subtitles

ANNOUNCER: This program is about unsolved mysteries.

Whenever possible, the actual family members

and police officials have participated

in recreating the events.

What you are about to see is not a news broadcast.

ROBERT STACK: What happened to Amy Billig,

a pretty 17-year-old who vanished

without a whisper in 1974?

Told that her daughter had been abducted by a renegade

motorcycle gang, Amy's mother infiltrated the dangerous biker

world, only to come up empty handed time and time again.

Then, in 1992, new evidence surfaced

that Amy Billig was still alive, more than 18

years after she disappeared.

In life, Walter Rice was a reclusive loner.

In death, he became a beguiling mystery,

a man with no known heirs and an unclaimed

estate of more than $140,000.

Perhaps someone watching can solve

the riddle of Walter Rice.

It was a car of his dreams, but Oliver Munson never

imagined when he bought it that he'd

become a key witness in the prosecution

of a suspected auto thief.

However, Oliver never testified.

Just days before the trial, he disappeared

and his family fears he became the victim of foul play.

Also tonight, we'll take you to Syracuse, New York,

for a heartwarming reunion.

Thanks to our viewers, a woman's search for her past

has finally come to an end. Join me.

Perhaps you may be able to help solve a mystery.

[theme music]

Thousands of people are reported missing every year.

Most come home safely within a few days.

Those who do not are eventually presumed to be dead.

However, in the bizarre case of Amy Billig, who vanished

in 1974, the passing years have produced

a convincing chain of evidence that she is still alive.

Tonight, we join her family in their search--

one of the strangest and most provocative cases

we have ever profiled.

Amy Billig was 17 years old when she disappeared from her home

in Coconut Grove, Florida.

Amy was an accomplished musician and singer

who also wrote poetry and adhered

to a strict vegetarian diet.

March 5, 1974, Amy came home from school

at around noon as usual.

She planned to meet friends downtown for lunch.

Before leaving, she called her father Ned at work.

Hi Dad, it's me.

I just got home from school.

I'm going to go meet Kurt and Kathy for lunch,

can I borrow $2?

ROBERT STACK: Amy never did arrive

at her father's business, and she never

showed up for her lunch date.

All right, I'll see you soon.

Bye.

SUSAN BILLIG: I started getting a little frantic when I hadn't

heard from Amy by dinner time.

And I called the friend that she'd

said she was going to be meeting,

and the girl was quite angry.

She said Amy never showed up.

We interviewed all of her family, all of her friends,

all of her acquaintances.

We did a lot of canvassing of the neighborhood

where she was last seen.

We did everything we could to try to find her.

You know, we checked with the hospitals, and morgues,

and police departments all over the state

and all over the country.

I remember the house was like a flurry of activity

and people were coming around.

There was a lot of people around the house trying to help out,

manning the phones because there were so many

telephone calls coming in.

The phone seemed to be ringing off the hook.

ROBERT STACK: 12 days after Amy's

disappearance, a frightened woman

phoned with shocking news.

The anonymous caller claimed to be a member of a motorcycle

gang known as the Outlaws, and she claimed

that the Outlaws had taken Amy.

Where?

What?

ROBERT STACK: During the 1970s, renegade biker gangs

unnerved communities across the United States.

Susan Billig learned that a chapter of the Outlaws,

one of the most notorious gangs, had indeed

thundered through Coconut Grove about the time Amy disappeared.

MIKE GONZALES: We had to consider

that maybe Amy was abducted, kidnapped,

taken away by these bikers.

But it was always controversial with the police,

because these leads concerning the bikers were always vague

and usually ended up nowhere.

ROBERT STACK: However, to the Billigs,

the biker connection offered a ray of hope.

A family friend who had done legal work for the Outlaws

arranged for Amy's parents to meet with two gang members.

Hi, welcome to my house.

I'm Susan.

Pleasure.

Won't you have a seat?

SUSAN BILLIG: I was frightened because I had never seen people

like this before in my life.

And here they are, in my living room.

I got a feeling of revulsion and hate and love at the same time.

I wanted them to give me information about my child

and that was paramount.

I didn't care what they looked like.

These are pictures of my daughter.

She's missing.

I ain't seen her.

Nope.

Look, look she's got brown eyes, long brown hair,

she's 17, and she's tall and thin.

SUSAN BILLIG: They told me that these things do happen,

that the bikers will take girls and will

sell them to one another for very little, like a credit card

or--

it takes very little to buy a girl.

I was told that you would help me.

We'll take the picture, and if she's in the Outlaw nation,

we'll let you know within two days.

We'll let you know.

ROBERT STACK: The two bikers promised to ask other gang

members about Amy, but they were never able to provide

any information.

CARL CARRUTHERS: Amy could have been abducted and then sold

from one individual to another.

The old lady has a way of making money.

They put her out making the money, either topless dancing,

hooking, ripping off credit cards, anything that she

can do to bring home the money.

ROBERT STACK: To many bikers, women, or as they called them,

old ladies, were nothing more than property.

Susan was stunned to learn that if Amy had been abducted,

she wouldn't have been the gang's first victim.

Before I turned 13, I had been sold four times.

ROBERT STACK: Gina Andrew was abducted

by bikers at the age of 12.

She escaped five years later.

I mean, I was sold for money, I was traded for a motorcycle,

I was traded for leather chaps.

And that was like all I was worth.

ROBERT STACK: For Susan Billig, the thought of her daughter

in the hands of the bikers was unbearable,

but that was were the leads pointed,

and that was where she searched.

Three months after Amy's disappearance,

her mother, Susan, tracked the Outlaws

to Orlando, 160 miles away.

There, she questioned dozens of people.

Finally, the manager of a convenience store

told Susan that Amy had come in several times, always escorted

by at least two bikers.

How long ago?

Oh, I don't know, maybe a month or so.

She came in here a couple of times with some guys.

Did she say anything to you?

No.

But I remember her, because she was--

each time she came in, she about vegetarian vegetable soup,

and that stuck out my mind.

ROBERT STACK: Vegetarian soup. - That's her.

ROBERT STACK: A small but stunning detail.

Amy had been a committed vegetarian,

and Susan was now convinced that she had picked up Amy's trail.

Thank you very much.

I'll do whatever if see her again.

Thank you.

Hope you find her.

Thanks.

ROBERT STACK: However, another year and a half

would slip by before Susan got another significant lead.

On January 9, 1976, Amy's 19th birthday,

a biker whom we will call Dave contacted Susan after seeing

this picture in a newspaper.

Dave claimed that he had actually owned Amy at one time.

He agreed to talk to Susan, but only at his house,

and only if he drove Susan there.

SUSAN BILLIG: I thought I might never see my husband again when

I got the back of the bike.

I thought I would never see Josh and never see Ned again.

But I put it in the back of my head, and I got on the bike,

and I went.

Nobody better follow us back here, lady.

SUSAN BILLIG: He was very nervous about it,

he kept looking out the window to see if I had been followed.

Just look at this picture and tell me if that's her.

Whoa, that's her.

That's her.

Can you tell me about her, can you describe her

so I'll know that you know her.

Yeah, she-- when I first bought her,

she had lumps and was all drugged out and didn't talk.

SUSAN BILLIG: He said she was quiet,

that she didn't speak to anybody, that she

was afraid of everybody.

He said she was like mute, and the word

kept coming up in descriptions of her through everything.

And uh, there was a scar down here.

SUSAN BILLIG: The most pertinent information

that he gave me was that Amy had a scar,

and it was a scar that was hidden on her body

that I had never divulged to the police or the press or anyone.

You've got to help me find her.

You're my last hope.

All right, when I went into Detroit, I left her

and my bike with a bro.

I got to find him.

When you find them, I got to see her.

I've got to talk to her.

We'll see.

No, no, I have to see her.

I said we'll see.

SUSAN BILLIG: I wanted to kill him.

I wanted to tear pieces out of his skin,

but I didn't, because it was important for me

to relate to him on a one to one level.

Otherwise, I would never find Amy.

ROBERT STACK: Susan could do little

but wait while Dave made cautious inquiries.

Finally, he called with dramatic news.

Amy was with the Outlaws in Tulsa, Oklahoma,

some 1,200 miles away.

Susan agreed to meet him there to press the search for Amy.

MIKE GONZALES: We were concerned about her safety.

We were concerned about the investigation.

We didn't think it was a good idea.

But it was impossible ever to try

to discourage her from following up every lead, no matter

how dangerous.

She didn't care.

ROBERT STACK: June 1976, Tulsa.

Amy had been absent now for more than two years.

The moment Susan had long dreamed of

seemed to be at hand.

Dave told Susan that Amy would be

delivered to them at a tavern in the roughest part of town.

If Amy's in there, I want her to see me.

SUSAN BILLIG: I was extremely excited.

I called home, and I packed my bags at my hotel

because I thought I'd have to run to the airport with her.

And we went to this dark bar where

there were just bikers and people

drinking, drunk and everything.

And he sat me down somewhere, and then he

walked away from me.

A few minutes after he walked away from me

is when all hell broke loose in that bar.

I was afraid that I was going to killed.

ROBERT STACK: Susan was hustled out, where as if by plan,

a taxi was waiting to whisk her back to the hotel.

No!

Amy!

ROBERT STACK: If Amy had been anywhere near the bar,

Susan never caught a glimpse of her.

And Susan never again saw Dave, although she

learned that both his knees had been broken during the brawl.

And of course, at this point, he

didn't want to help me anymore.

But he did say to my attorney that the only information

that he would give me is that he has heard that Amy was possibly

in Seattle at this point.

ROBERT STACK: In November of 1977,

Susan went to Seattle, even though she had suffered a heart

attack just two months earlier.

Susan began to frequent tawdry bars, tattoo

parlors, and motorcycle shops.

SUSAN BILLIG: I showed lots of photos to street people,

to shop owners, to topless dancers, and I said look,

there's no police involved.

It's just me.

I want my child back.

If you have any information, please help me.

And you have to understand, these people all have mothers,

and that's how I affected them.

ROBERT STACK: Several people recognized photos of Amy,

and they describe her as always quiet, as if she were mute.

But in the end, Susan returned home empty-handed.

18 more months would pass before news of Amy surfaced again.

It was the dead of winter in 1979, the fifth year

of Amy's absence.

An anonymous male caller claimed Amy was at a remote truck

stop just outside Reno, Nevada, and that she

desperately needed help.

The information was that I'm here now,

I know who Amy Billig is, I know she's been beaten up.

She has been drugged, and she's here now at this truck stop.

And if you want her, you come get her now because her life

could be in danger.

Just respond and you might be able to find her.

ROBERT STACK: FBI agents learned that a biker gang had indeed

been at the truck stop briefly, but there was no way to verify

whether Amy had been with them.

Years passed, a decade, still no word of Amy Billig.

Then in 1992, a full 18 years after Amy

disappeared, Susan was contacted by Virginia Snyder,

a private investigator in Florida.

Tell me more, I want to hear about this.

Did she play music.

Yes.

ROBERT STACK: Snyder had stunning news from England,

halfway around the world, that stirred hopes Amy

Billig might still be alive.

A British investigator had been working with Snyder

on an unrelated case.

According to Snyder, her colleague

was in a post office in Falmouth in the south of England

when he was approached by an American biker.

Hey, Pops.

Yes?

You look like you could use a little companionship.

I'm afraid I don't quite understand you.

Look, I got a girl for you.

It won't cost you much.

What do you say?

VIRGINIA SNYDER: The investigator,

being a good investigator, engaged the man

in conversation, as far as I could gather,

to get as much information as he could about the girl

that was being offered to him.

Then, of course, he didn't buy her.

He wasn't interested.

And then he passed the information on to me.

It's very interesting, but what kind of a girl is she?

American girl or English?

- American girl. - Oh.

Oyster Bay.

Really? That's very interesting.

ROBERT STACK: Oyster Bay, New York,

was the birthplace of Amy Billig.

What's her name?

Mute.

ROBERT STACK: Once again, the word "mute" had surfaced

in connection with Amy.

Perhaps you have a photograph you could show me?

SUSAN BILLIG: It sounded like Amy,

and the fact that they called her mute really affected me.

Because here, all these years of my search, she had been mute,

had not talked.

And here I was faced with the same situation,

but in another country.

I didn't know what to do.

ROBERT STACK: Tragically, one year

after his strange encounter, the British investigator

passed away.

The tantalizing incident became just

another painful near-miss in the endless search for Amy Billig.

Some people speculate that Amy Billig would be dead.

But she's a young woman.

She would be in her late 30s.

If she survived the first four years,

they would be the hardest.

And I think she survived.

That makes me believe she's still alive.

I also feel that the information that we have from over there

coincides so much with the information about Amy over here

that I believe she's still alive.

It's unlikely that she would be alive after all these years

unless she is making them--

still making them good money.

She could still be doing something

with drugs or prostitution or dancing,

but again, I don't know the physical backbone

of Amy Billig.

If she's a strong individual and if she has a strong will,

she could survive.

ROBERT STACK: When we return, viewer tips

bring about an unexpected family reunion, and the mystery

of an enigmatic recluse who left a substantial estate that

is still unclaimed.

Perhaps someone watching is his heir.

In November of 1945, a young woman

named Dorothy Johnson her 11-month-old daughter

were on a cross-country train heading to Utica, New York.

Dorothy was just 17, single, and struggling to make ends meet.

On the train she met a young sailor named Donald Caffrey.

When we get to Utica, I'm going to have

to put her in a foster home.

ROBERT STACK: Donald, who was on his way to Omaha, Nebraska,

proved to be patient and sympathetic, more than willing

to listen to Dorothy's troubles.

I'm sorry.

I talked quite a bit to her.

And as we started getting closer to Omaha,

why I asked her if she'd like to have me take the baby

home with me until she got settled

and could send for the baby, or maybe I could bring it to her.

And she agreed on that.

ROBERT STACK: A few days later, Dorothy wrote to Donald

that she wanted her baby back.

However, when circumstances prevented Dorothy

from returning to Omaha, Donald and his wife adopted the infant

and named her Sandra.

When Sandra was a teenager, she learned the truth

about her background and began to look for her birth mother.

I think she got scared.

I think-- she wanted me, but I don't

think she had any help, maybe, from her family to help

her try to get back to me.

ROBERT STACK: On the night of our broadcast,

Sandra Lee Nelson's long search came to a bittersweet end.

A viewer called our phone center with the sad news

that Dorothy Johnson had passed away in 1968.

However, Sandra was overjoyed to learn that she

had an uncle Mickey, and two aunts, Jan and Alice, who

had always wondered about Sandra and were anxious to meet her.

A month later, on December 20, 1993,

Sandra and her husband Chet arrived in Syracuse, New York,

to receive a most remarkable Christmas gift--

a house full of relatives waiting to meet

Sandra for the very first time.

SANDRA LEE NELSON: I didn't think I'd ever find anyone.

It just gave me chills.

It just made me feel real warm, like oh gee,

what a nice family.

This is Dorthy here, that's--

That's Wayne.

ROBERT STACK: Sandra and her new family

began to compare notes on Dorothy Johnson's life.

Although Sandra was unable to learn the identity of her birth

father, she did discover that in the early 1950s,

Dorothy had married a man named Wayne Rogers.

Sandra now would like to find Wayne Rogers in the hope

that she can fill in the remaining gaps in her past.

Now, this is the only picture I have of me.

SANDRA LEE NELSON: I'm getting little bits and pieces

from friends and relatives, telling me

a little bit about her, and which-- these little things

mean a great deal to me.

I have found a family, a wonderful family that I

never thought I'd ever have.

This is the best holiday.

One more hug.

OK.

SANDRA LEE NELSON: It's the best time of my life.

ROBERT STACK: You would think that a willing relative could

always be found to step forward and claim an inheritance,

but every now and then, even exhaustive research

will fail to turn up any heirs whatsoever.

Tonight, the case of a mysterious man

named Walter Rice, who left a legacy

of unanswered questions and an estate worth nearly $145,000.

Walter Rice lived alone in a modest trailer on Oak Street

in McCormick, South Carolina.

No one ever came calling.

but Walter seemed to prefer it that way.

RONNIE KIDD: Walter Rice was quite a mystery man.

Apparently, he was just a reclusive person.

He kept to himself.

He didn't-- he didn't have anything

to do with his neighbors.

He never ventured out to meet and of his neighbors.

ROBERT STACK: On January 25, 1992,

Walter took a cab home after his own car had been

wrecked in a traffic accident.

Sometime during the next week, Walter suffered a heart attack

and died before he could summon help.

Incredibly, a full year would pass before Walter's body

was even noticed.

The power company and the cable TV company

turned off service to his trailer.

Eventually, the post office began to stamp

his mail return to sender.

In a bizarre, improbable twist, it was two strangers

who finally made the discovery.

Two strangers who weren't exactly on a social call.

Two people attempted to break into the trailer.

They broke in the front window and then went around

to the back door, and his body was

laying right at the back door.

They were frightened away after finding his body,

and sometime later-- now this could be a month or two later--

they got a girlfriend of one people who attempted to break

in to call the police department to notify

them that there was a dead body in the trailer on Oak Street.

ROBERT STACK: Walter Rice was 73 years old when he passed away.

Judge Kidd took on the task of sorting

through Walter's possessions.

RONNIE KIDD: I started looking through his papers, all

of his effects in his trailer, to hopefully find

something that would lead me to a relative.

Now, I spent some time on it every day.

I became almost obsessed with it.

It's been very frustrating, not being

able to find a relative when at first thought

it would be so easy.

Initially, I didn't expect to find anything of value,

but after searching through Walter Rice's personal effects,

papers, bank papers, I found him to have an estate

of approximately $140,000.

That includes his lot and trailer.

ROBERT STACK: The judge began to piece together the few known

facts of Walter's life.

Pay stubs show that from 1973 to 1983, Walter worked as a cook

at the Griswold Inn near Essex, Connecticut.

Mr. Rice, you know what tonight is, don't you?

Yes, I know what tonight, is.

Saturday night.

ROBERT STACK: During those 10 years,

Walter live virtually without expense in a dorm for hotel

employees, and authorities believe this arrangement

allowed him to amass a small fortune

in spite of his modest wage.

Surprisingly, none of Walter's coworkers

could tell Judge Kidd very much about him,

though they had worked side by side for a decade.

RONNIE KIDD: It was interesting.

I found in his personal effects indications

that he had been to two different hospitals, a hospital

in Augusta and also in Abbeyville.

ROBERT STACK: On the Augusta hospital forms,

Walter listed a niece, Jane, as next of kin.

However, the name Jane Rice appears

in no other official records.

OK, could you fill out this form, please?

ROBERT STACK: At the Abbeyville hospital,

Walter listed a James Edwards, but Edwards has proven to be

a neighbor, not a relative.

Walter Rice was born July 6, 1920

in Abbeyville, South Carolina, to Edward and Amanda Rice.

He was the youngest of eight children.

There is no record that Walter ever married,

and if he had no children, any nieces

and nephews who survived him would inherit his $140,000

estate.

When we return, a schoolteacher is asked to testify

against an accused auto thief.

But just before the trial, he disappears without a trace.

Buying cars, polishing them up, tinkering until they

run smooth and easy--

cars were the passion of Oliver Munson, a schoolteacher

' from Baltimore, Maryland.

In January of 1983, Oliver acquired

the car of his dreams--

a fully loaded Datsun 240Z.

So you like?

Yeah, you have the title and registration?

Yeah, you got my money?

ROBERT STACK: Oliver had no idea that Dennis Watson, the man who

sold him the car, was the ringleader

of a sophisticated car theft operation.

Oliver's new 240Z had been stolen three months earlier.

You, my man, are the proud owner of a Z.

Thanks.

Enjoy.

All right.

Listen, you have any problem with it over the next week

or two, a couple weeks, you give me a call,

you bring it over to the shop, I'll take care of it for you.

OK

ROBERT STACK: Watson's garage was just

a cover for his chop shop, where stolen cars were dismantled

and sold for parts, or simply resold

with faked ownership papers.

For weeks, authorities had been quietly gathering

evidence against Watson.

On March 16, 1983 they decided to put him out of business.

Police, freeze.

What the hell is this, man?

We have a search warrant for your garage.

Get him out of here.

OK, we're looking for registration

plates, VIN plates, ownership documents, titles for vehicles.

ROBERT STACK: Police recovered illegal titles,

personally dismantled autos, and stolen vehicle ID tags.

Everything they needed to make a case against Dennis Watson.

Five Maryland plates.

Five Maryland tags.

ROBERT STACK: One of the names that

popped up in the confiscated records was Oliver Munson.

We continue to check paperwork,

we find that Oliver Munson has a Z car.

We go out, and Z car is parked there.

We attempted to contact Mr. Munson, nobody home

at the house, not knowing at that time

whether or not Oliver Munson had bought this car,

or if he was involved with Dennis Watson.

And as a result we took the car as evidence until such time

as we could continue an investigation

to determine what exactly was his knowledge of the car.

Oliver Munson was notified, and later detective Goodwin

questioned him in person.

Are you Oliver Munson?

Yeah

I'm Detective Goodwin with the Baltimore

Police auto theft unit.

You guys took my car.

What, did I have tickets or something?

No sir, the car was stolen.

A stolen vehicle.

Oh no, no, I paid for the car.

And how much did you pay for the car?

$1,200 and some trades.

And who did you buy the car from?

Dennis Watson.

Dennis Watson, do you know this Dennis Watson

or have you ever dealt with him before?

No, I'd never met him before.

PHILIP GOODWIN: My feeling was at that time,

and still is, that he had bought the car thinking that the car

was, in fact, a legitimate car.

So I have to go to court?

Yes sir, you will have to go to court

and testify to the fact of how you got the car.

ROBERT STACK: According to detective Goodwin,

Oliver was nervous about testifying

but agreed, knowing that he really had no choice.

You have any questions, you can call me, OK?

Nearly a year passed.

Dennis Watson's trial was looming,

and Oliver was scheduled to testify on February 16, 1984.

Three days before the trial, Oliver was seen just before he

left for work at around 8 AM.

Oliver turned on to Orpington Road and simply vanished.

PATRICK CISNA: Oliver would rarely miss school,

and on that particular Monday when he didn't arrive,

some of the staff and the kids started to worry that this is

not a usual practice for Oliver, and maybe

something was occurring, something was wrong with him.

ROBERT STACK: Oliver's brother James

telephoned through the night, but got no answer.

The next day, he was worried enough to visit

Oliver's house himself.

Oliver, it's me, James.

JAMES MUNSON: When I went over to the house,

I didn't have a sense of what was going on.

I just thought maybe that he was sick

and I didn't if he was unconscious

or whatever in the house.

I didn't know.

ROBERT STACK: Three days passed with no word

from Oliver Munson.

Then, Oliver's car was found abandoned just

a few blocks from his home.

One tire was flat.

School papers and a bag lunch were on the front seat,

but there was no evidence to indicate what

had happened to Oliver Munson.

PHILIP GOODWIN: At that time, I felt

that there was something wrong.

Then, the decision was made here that we were looking

at a kidnapping or a homicide.

ROBERT STACK: Dennis Watson became a focal point

of the ensuing investigation.

Only then police discovered that this wasn't the first time

something had happened to a witness in a case

against Dennis Watson.

In 1973, a man named Clinton Glenn

burned to death in a vehicle that was registered to Watson.

Glenn had been scheduled to testify

against Watson in an armed robbery trial

the very next day.

Based on the testimony of another witness,

Watson was indicted for Glenn's murder.

However, this key witness suddenly

died of a suspicious drug overdose,

and the murder charges were dropped.

Now, Oliver Munson had vanished, but there was no evidence

to implicate Dennis Watson, and he

was never charged with a crime in connection

with the disappearance.

The Munson investigation stalled,

until police heard from a man named Hilton Solomon.

Officer, can you help me?

I was just driving along, and all of a sudden I see my car.

I reported it stolen.

ROBERT STACK: Solomon's car had been

stolen just hours before Oliver Munson disappeared.

Inside the car, Solomon had found

a hat that would later be identified as similar to one

owned by Oliver Munson.

PHILIP GOODWIN: Hilton Solomon took his car home after it

was released by Baltimore City.

And several days later, he decided to clean the car.

While he was cleaning, he found several receipts

from a video store.

On these receipts was the name Oliver Munson.

When we went down and looked at the car,

there was a brownish stain on the car at the front right hand

side of the vehicle.

Looked underneath the seat, right

by the track of the right hand front seat,

I found a spent cartridge case.

ROBERT STACK: Red smudges were also

found on one of the receipts.

Tests revealed that the stains were human blood,

type O positive.

This finding strongly suggested that Oliver

had met with foul play, but with no record showing Oliver's

blood type and no other hard evidence, the official

investigation ground to a halt.

As it turned out, Oliver's disappearance

had no apparent effect on the outcome of the trial.

Watson pled guilty and was sentenced

to 10 years in prison.

He was paroled in 1989 after serving half his term.

Meanwhile, Oliver's friends and family have spent year

after painful year without him.

PATRICK CISNA: It's been nearly 10 years since Oliver

disappeared, and the kids at school,

the ones who I keep in contact with, they'll always ask.

That's one of the first things.

And I just, I don't know.

I don't have any answer to give to them.

In the last 10 years of my brother's disappearance,

It's been a burden on the whole family.

Today my mother is gone.

She worried every day.

Every night she prayed and cried, wondering

about where her first son is.

If anyone knows or seen anything that day, please,

please help the family get the burden off the chest.

ROBERT STACK: Next, a woman who was given up for adoption

more than 50 years ago needs your help

to find her birth mother.

During the Great Depression, drought

transformed the fertile plains of America's heartland

into a desert.

Thousands of families were forced to abandoned their homes

and roam the country in search of jobs.

This is the story of a young woman

name Rose Marie Ledbetter.

In the mid 1930s, she and her family

apparently left Texas and joined the faceless army

of migrant farm workers.

Water?

Sure, it's over there.

ROBERT STACK: In 1938, Rose Marie

found herself in Paul's Valley, Oklahoma,

for the cotton harvest.

She was unmarried and working up to 14 hours

a day when she learned that she was pregnant.

Are you sure you're going to be OK?

Yes, I just think I need to sit here for a little bit.

ROBERT STACK: When Rose Marie could no longer work

in the fields, she packed her meager belongings

into a single suitcase and hitched

a ride to Oklahoma City.

Alone, and with nowhere else to turn,

she sought refuge in a shelter for unwed mothers

called the Home of Redeeming Love.

On July 16, 1938, Rose Marie gave birth to a daughter

and placed her for adoption.

Today, that daughter is a grown woman

who can sympathize with the difficult decision

Rose Marie made more than 50 years ago.

MEREDITH ATKINSON: I don't think she had any choices.

And I thank her for thinking of me.

And I had parents that adopted me that I

know they also thanked her.

ROBERT STACK: In August of 1991, Meredith Atkinson, accompanied

by her husband, returned to the place of her birth,

looking for information about her biological mother.

MEREDITH ATKINSON: I have many relatives who say,

why are you trying to find out?

Your parents loved you.

And I said, I know this, but it has nothing

to do with them loving me.

I need to find out for my own sake.

ROBERT STACK: Meredith had grown up

in Oklahoma and Kansas, an only child, doted upon

by warm and loving parents.

She never got the slightest hint that there was anything

unusual about her background until 1990,

when a relative revealed that Meredith had been adopted.

Meredith immediately tracked down

her original birth certificate.

She learned that the name given to her at birth

was Mary Ann Ledbetter.

Her father was listed as unknown.

Her mother's name was Rose Marie Ledbetter.

Meredith, I'd like for you to keep

in mind that with adoption, confidentiality

is always very important.

ROBERT STACK: In Oklahoma, Meredith

was told that state laws prevented

the opening of adoption files.

But a social worker did provide Meredith

with limited information.

I believe it can give you a good feel

for your birth mother.

MEREDITH ATKINSON: I found out that my mother was

of Irish and German descent.

I found out that she had one sister and four brothers.

They were field workers.

They had to move in, full of crops, just trying to get by.

And I thought about this, I could see her life

and how rough it was.

And it hurt me to think that she maybe had a life like this.

You may need it after you see the surprise

we got from Oklahoma today.

ROBERT STACK: Meredith and her husband

returned to their home in Arizona to continue the search.

Several months later, Meredith was elated when the home mailed

her a copy of a letter Rose Marie had sent

there half a century earlier.

Sunday, August the 25th, 1940.

Dear Madames, I have been wanting to write sooner,

but have never got around to it.

I'm introducing myself.

I'm Rose Marie Ledbetter.

I was with you all in 1938.

My baby girl Mary Ann was born July 16, 1938.

I wondered, by any chance, if you could send

me a picture of my baby girl.

I would not ask or wish for anything more.

I would appreciate it very much.

Thank you, Miss Rose Marie Ledbetter.

MEREDITH ATKINSON: I knew then that my mother

was interested in me.

She had been thinking of me, even after I was born.

I would like to be able to look at her and tell her, mother,

I understand.

I know you had to do what was best for you,

and that I'd like to know you.

I'd like to get to know you.

As a direct result of our broadcast,

a private investigator named Glenda

Allen contacted Meredith and volunteered

to take on the search.

Just one month later, Meredith received the exciting news--

her mother, 78-year-old Rose Marie Luttmer had been found.

Though she's been in failing health for several years,

Rose Marie was anxious to see her long lost daughter.

In September of 1994, Meredith and her two children

traveled from Arizona to Canute, Oklahoma

for the much anticipated reunion.

Well hello.

Hi there. Walter?

I'm Walter.

Glad to know you, Walter.

ROBERT STACK: Meredith's uncle Walter, Rose Marie's

brother answered the door.

And i bet this Rose?

Yes.

Hi, Rose.

I'm Mary Ann. - Yes.

Little Mary Ann.

I'm so tickled.

I think that finding my mother and seeing her and her family

has brought closure to my life.

I needed-- I needed this.

You're

Even a great grandma, did you know that?

Sure.

Yes.

I'm just tickled to death she's here.

Yeah, I just wish was closer together,

we could visit a little more often,

you know, but I plan to go through there

and visit her in Arizona when I go see my brothers, you know,

that way.

It would be kind of on the way up there.

It might be a little out of the way, but it'd be worth it.

MEREDITH ATKINSON: It's like gaining a new family,

and you know, it's just like gaining new friends, too.

Well, Albert, I think you and I look alike, too.

I absolutely am going to be overjoyed to write to them

and talk to them and get to know them.

You care if I call you mother?

No.

ROBERT STACK: Next week on Unsolved Mysteries,

in 1992 18-year-old Andre Jones, the son of a local civil rights

worker, was arrested at a routine police checkpoint

in Brandon, Mississippi.

Within 36 hours, Andre's parents were informed

that he had been found hung in the shower

stall of his jail cell.

The death was ruled a suicide, but Andre Jones' family

believes he was murdered.

More than 60 years ago, a pair of prospectors in Wyoming

happened upon the mummified remains of a tiny human being.

X-rays later revealed what appears to be a fully developed

skeleton, just 17 inches tall.

For some, the mummy was proof that a legendary race

of supernatural beings known as the Little people

actually existed.

The skeptics, however, are far from convinced.

Join me next time for another intriguing edition

on "Unsolved Mysteries."

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