Biography Part I

I was born in Elgin, Illinois. An industrial town near Chicago. I was born (as the story goes) after my Dad, Ronnie Russell pushed my mother (Carol) down a flight of stairs. I was a preemie....about 4 pounds.

In about 1963, right after Christmas, The Department of Child Services came and removed myself, my brother Robert and my sister Noel from the home. We were all sent to the State Larkin Children's Home in Elgin. My brother and sister were adopted right away. I never saw them again. I stayed there for awhile and eventually moved into foster care.

A few years later, I was in a home with a woman named Susan. The thing I remember about that is that she had a piano. She would sit with me on her lap and have my fingers on top of hers. "This is Chopin" she would say. And I loved it. One day there was knock at the door....and my new parents came to take me away - to Springfield Illinois.

As you know, I was adopted by the Learned’s in 1969. Well, maybe you didn’t know the year. When I was 15 most of our all Girls Catholic school- Ursuline Academy were hooked on the Osmonds – after all 7 brothers…there was one for every girl to enjoy. That family fascinated me. More than the music—the wholesome and clean-ness struck me. For the first time I sort of looked around and noticed that there was a better species out there somewhere.

You know that my Dad drank. He was an abusive alcoholic.

This is a photo of the Daddy/Daughter Dance of 1974. (My Mom picked out my clothes…I didn’t have a clue  and she didn’t care.)  I didn’t want to go; I knew he’d be drunk anyway.  But Mom made me every year, because if

we didn’t go…there was too much heck later.

We lived at 408 N. Daniel in Springfield. A photo of the house is below. It was down by the golf course and it has all  changed now anyway. The lot was teeny. And the neighbors  were so close that when my parents fought or Dad broke things, the neighbors on either side heard the whole thing. EW. We

were white trash. Sorry – no other way to describe what it was like. 

One story: Once in 6th Grade, I was invited to a party at Jeannie Rotherham's home. It was late and I had forgotten to call home. After I called, my Dad came to their house with a ping-pong paddle. I remember him stripping off my clothes and beating black and blue in front of their whole family. Needless to say, I was never invited back.

The whole time I was in their home, I was told I had no talents, no beauty, nothing of note. I was only good for one thing. (Pervert that he was!) But I longed for escape. His view of discipline was violence. I do remember that one day Mom told me to take out the trash. I said I would after breakfast. She attacked me with her high heel shoes and split my lip. In those days, one did not strike back ever - or answer back.

One particular evening, there was a huge fight going on. It was a small house - so the whole neighborhood probably knew about it. My Dad grabbed me by the arm. I didn't even think. I pulled a butcher knife from the drawer and said that if he EVER laid a hand on me again, I will slit his throat when he least expected it. He never touched me again.

North of our house down near the opposite corner (about six houses up) there lived a retired couple named Alma and Pearl Yarger. Pearl was Brother Yarger! They would let me and my German Shepherd hang out at their house. The door was always open. I would go down there when it wasn’t safe to be at home.  One day Mr. Yarger and I were swinging on his front porch. I think I was about 15 – just in the middle of my witchcraft and tarot cards stage.  I had plans to make my Dad suffer for all the things he had done to me. It didn't work out though. I got way more than I bargained for. In the process, I found God and came to know that he knew me!

Mr. Yarger asked me if I believed in God. Weird question. I was Catholic, for Pete’s sake. We believed in the 3-in-1 God. Seriously, he wanted to know. I didn’t talk about those things. I had lots of questions for God. IF there was a God, why did HE let me get adopted into such a crappy home? Why were we abused? I didn’t answer – I think I just nodded.  He asked me if I knew how to pray. You know I just loved him. He was the sweetest old man, never raised his voice, never unkind. And I respected him the way I did Grandpa Ernie. Anyway I said I knew lots of prayers. We learned them by rote. And he said in his calm quiet way…that there was a better way and he would teach me. And then he taught me the 4 steps of prayer. No big lesson…just talking to me. He also gave me a Book of Mormon. I read parts of it.

There it was – the Mormon’s again. There must be something to all this. I began reading the King James Version of the Bible. It was a no-no in my senior year at high school. Sister Kevin threatened me that I might not graduate if I continued. I was amazed by all the changes as we used a Catholic Version to study in class. I had a lot of questions about that. Just reading a little bit of the Book of Mormon here and there, because I was into witchcraft big time.  Anyway….finally one evening had a terrifying experience from which Heavenly Father rescued me and I promised HIM, that I would NEVER touch another deck of tarot cards, incantation books or anything hinky. I have kept my word. In return he has led me to the Gospel!

My Dad asked me to move out after graduation – May 1975. He said he was through paying for my upkeep. I was allowed to take with me the stuff I paid for. None of my school stuff, or poems I wrote (because he paid for the paper!!) I moved into a studio apartment in the black part of town…it was all I could afford, and I got a job at a burger place nearby as I didn’t have a car, just my green Schwinn 10-speed. I had gained a ton of weight and nothing fit. I didn’t really know what to do about it. It wasn’t until 4 years later that I went to the doctor and found out my thyroid went kaput. I digress…..I lived in this small apartment and the owners were really sweet to me. My mom came to visit me every once in awhile…mostly to criticize not to be helpful.

I spent a lot of Sundays visiting other Churches.

Even other Catholic churches. No one ever asked my

name  or noticed me. Here is a photo of the front of Cathedral

Parish where our family went. It is beautiful inside!  The music

was so fabulous. I loved the Methodist Church the

best. I really enjoyed going with Grandma Irene even

though I didn’t have any friends there. Calvary Baptist

scared me a little. Here I was so poor…and wrong clothes,

bad hair, loud, vulgar…and they would pass the plate in

front of me for money like 10 times during the services.

Also, all the music seemed like showing off for the audience

instead of real worship going on there. I would go visit the

LDS branch and someone always shook my hand. Although

I don’t think I had a lot of friends or anything. People were nice.

In April. 1976 I called the missionaries. They came THAT WEEK and met with me at the LDS Chapel. The first two were Elder Ryan Andrus (from Arizona) and Elder Howard Veater who was from Vernal. Then Elder Veater was transferred and Elder Staheli came from Orem.

That’s Elder Andrus on the left. He is the one who baptized me.
Before I get to that I need to tell you that the Joseph Smith

story was really hard for me. Also listening to the discussions. At that time The Elders recited the discussions word for word. It was boring and I would get distracted from the message. I would not

pray out loud and would not share my testimony because I wasn’t sure if I had  one and also because I was intensely private. One does not grow up with my step-parents and come able to share.

It’s self-defense all the way. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to be baptized! But I knew the Book of Mormon was true! That I could NOT shake.

I was baptized July 9, 1976 by Elder Andrus in the little chapel you see behind.

I was confirmed the same day by Donald Goff. My Bishop was Terry Allen Hanson who was an FBI agent!