Kathi Morris - We Were the Morris Orphans: 4 Brothers, 5 Sisters & Me

Y ou might remember me from my fifteen minutes of fame.

On July 2, 1968, a drunk driver killed my parents, orphaning us ten childrenaged three to seventeen. We lived in Madera, a small rural town in California where everybody knew everybody. Our parents left us with strong family values but little more. With no estate or relatives willing to adopt us, we became wards of the court.

Our plea to not be separated prompted the tight-knit Madera community to establish a trust fund with Bank of America to Keep the 10 Morris Orphans Together. While donations trickled in at a slow and steady pace, the Madera Tribune reported daily on the funds status.

Everything changed when CBS Evening News aired our plight on national television. Articles titled Morris Case Familiar in all Parts of the Country and 10 Orphans Seek to Stay as Family were reported in newspapers worldwide. Fueled by the publicity, the trust fund skyrocketed. Previously disinterested relatives engaged in a custody battle while offers to adopt us poured in from kindhearted strangers.

On August 28, 1968, a judge, one solitary man, decided our fate, awarding custody of the ten of us to our aunt. When CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite announced that we would remain together, the world rejoiced. Little did they know for two months leading to that decision, inept and calloused professionals and money-hungry, fame-seeking adults flamed our pain. Or that within months of that decision, we were separated, sent to foster homes, and abused.

Throughout my life, upon hearing parts of my life story, friends and strangers alike would say, You should write a book! My response was always, Why? Who would want to read it? Everybody has a story. The common reply was, Yes, but not like yours! I ignored the idea until I heard a sermon at Mass. Each of you has God-given gifts, said the priest. When you die, God will hold you accountable for them. What is your gift?

Struck by the gravity of his words, I thought, hmmmwhat is my gift? Writing? Everyone says they enjoy reading my cards and letters. At that moment, I flashed on the countless number of people who had told me to write a book and how I had dismissed them.

I love the movie The Wizard of Oz. In the beginning, Dorothy asks the Munchkins how to find the Land of Oz. In either a high-pitched or low-pitched voice, they instruct her to Follow the yellow brick road! Suddenly, I had a visual of exactly thatonly the Munchkins were all the people who had said, You should write a book!

As I sat in church reflecting, it became clear that telling my story was no longer a choice. I had an obligation, commissioned by God.

My story begins with a tragic night in 1968. I spent years reliving my past, researching documents, and conducting interviews to record details as accurately as possible. I found myself often recanting through the memory or perception of a wounded teenager. Most of the adults who contributed to my suffering have died. Strengthened and fortified by years of adversity, I forgave them or moved past the pain long ago, but the memories live on. Some in my yesterday. Some in my today.

I am the oldest of the ten Morris orphans. This is my story. This is our story.