A Boy is Missing

Maggie, a 40-year-old mom, arrived home to see her elderly father, Ed, out on the cement patio in a chair, reading the newspaper on the warm summer day. She had been out on errands for a couple of hours, and he had come down the street from his home to watch her little boy while she was busy. As most parents know, a 3-year-old has little patience when a lady is getting her hair done, waiting in line at the bank, or gabbing with a friend at the supermarket. It’s 1966, and it’s a much slower, much more social (in the real sense) world than today.

“Hi Dad, is he inside?” she asked, not seeing her son out playing in the front yard, as usual. “Might be,” her father answered. Like many boys, the boy had a habit of running in and out of the house all day, much to his mother’s chagrin; he was just a busy kid, exploring the world and all it had to offer.

After a few minutes, Maggie came back outside. “I can’t find him,” she said, a bit of alarm in her voice. “He was just here a few minutes ago,” her father said. “Well, help me look for him,” she asked.

The house was somewhat rural and had a few acres of wild land behind it: bushes, long grass, and all sorts of vegetation. They walked around back, first just looking around, then actively calling out.

Nothing.

Stirs of panic started to well up in Maggie’s stomach. Grandpa Ed started feeling some pangs of guilt—he should have been a little more attentive. Now his grandson was…missing, and his daughter, understandably, was becoming more upset by the minute.

Again, they went through the house, searching closets, under beds, the cellar - even inside kitchen cabinets where he would often play with pots and pans while his mother cooked dinner.

Her anxiety rising by the minute, she called her husband, who worked at a plant nearby, to come home to help search; he was there in about 10 minutes. Again, a search of the home, and through the bushy yard behind the home. Still nothing.

The father calls the State Police, and several of their cars arrive quickly, as they had barracks nearby.

A small motel is practically next door, and a busy rural highway, with locals, people passing through - even tractor trailers - go roaring by often.

Maggie’s mind is racing through a hundred scenarios, trying to figure out where could he be?!

To make things worse, a river is nearby, about 100 yards behind the home.

All kinds of dangers for a child are starting to quickly make themselves known.

Grandpa Ed is questioned repeatedly - “Did he say anything? Was anybody unusual around? Where was the last time you saw him, and where?” He was a man of 70, with memory to match, and couldn’t offer anything of help.

Maggie was out on the front patio, wringing her hands, with her thoughts racing, when she noticed.

The discarded refrigerator the neighbors across the street had put out for the trash man to take was now gone. She recalls seeing it there while driving down her driveway a few hours before.

Her heart sank, and her hand was over her mouth. She had read in the paper several times, not only about kids being abducted but about kids being found dead in discarded refrigerators or freezers as they played hide-and-seek (back then, they didn’t remove doors or chain them shut).

There were no good alternatives here; she reasoned that he was abducted by someone staying at the nearby motel - though the State Police had gone room to room searching for him - someone picked him up on the side of the road; he had been in that refrigerator that was now gone, or was drowned in the river.

A State Trooper is with her, watching to ensure she doesn’t do something desperate and acts as a calming agent. It’s been about an hour now, and in these situations, the more time passes…well, it’s not usually a good outcome.

Chatter comes over the walkie-talkie the Trooper has with him from time to time; where they’ve searched, sharing ideas of possible locations.

The minutes drip by.

“I’ve got him, he’s fine!” comes over the radio.

Maggie’s eyes fill with tears as a wave of relief washes over her. Grandpa Ed is also greatly relieved and has been mentally lashing himself for not watching the boy closer. Thank God he was okay.

Maggie watched as a Trooper came up the road leading down to the river, and met him with a quick step.

Her son was naked and cold, but otherwise ok. She was a registered nurse and instantly scanned the boy for injuries.

It seems he and the next-door neighbor boy, Johnny, a year older and somewhat of an “adventurous” kid, had led him down to the water to swim; they had only gotten so far as to wade in and splash around.

Maggie saved her admonishments for the boy; he was only 3, and well, she was just incredibly grateful to have him back.

Her husband stayed home the rest of the day, Grandpa Ed apologized repeatedly, and the State Trooper cars slowly drove away one by one, having had a good outcome in the missing child case this time.

Over 55 years have passed since those moments on that warm summer day when a mother knew panic that no mother should know, a father tried to fix what he could not, and a grandfather learned to actually watch a child he was supposed to watch.

And as for the boy?

That was me.