On June 12, 1940, the Nazis had just captured France, Belgium, Luxembourg and the Netherlands, and a Memphis front page still made room for a grainy photo of a baby girl with a wide, gummy smile. The headline read, "Nancy, just 11 months old, needs a home. Can you say no?" Anyone interested was invited to get in touch with Miss Georgia Tann of the Tennessee Children's Home Society, a woman celebrated for placing thousands of children in loving homes. She was also stealing children and selling them.
Secrecy, built right in
For most of American history, adoption was a private deal arranged around what the adults wanted. The first U.S. law regulating it didn't pass until 1851, in Massachusetts. Before that, an orphan could be taken in as an indentured servant, working a farm or a blacksmith shop in exchange for room and board. By the early 1900s childhood itself was being rethought, orphanages that warehoused children fell out of favor, and smaller agencies sprang up to place kids in foster and adoptive homes.
Nobody kept much track. By the 1930s most states had sealed adoption records, and agencies issued amended birth certificates, new documents that swapped the birth parents' names for the adoptive parents'. The idea was to promise families that no stranger would ever turn up to snatch their child. As it turns out, poor record keeping was a feature, not a bug. It left a loophole wide enough to sell a baby through.
A judge's daughter finds her calling
Georgia Tann was born in Mississippi on July 18, 1891, the daughter of a judge who started her on piano at five and dreamed of a concert pianist. She earned a music degree, wanted a career in law instead, and settled on two summers of social work study at Columbia University. Back home, she became receiving director at the Kate McWillie Powers Receiving Home for Children.
There she met the poorest of the poor and developed a theory. She viewed the poor as "little more than breeding stock," fine for having babies but unfit to raise them. Wealthy, childless couples were better stock, and desperate enough to pay. It was easy to convince a poverty-stricken young mother that giving up her baby was the loving thing to do, and easier still to name a price to the couple waiting on the other side.
Questions about her methods got her fired in Mississippi. After a short stint in Texas she landed in Memphis with Ann Atwood, the partner she stayed with until the day she died. In 1922 she became executive secretary of the Memphis chapter of the Tennessee Children's Home Society, and before long she was running the whole operation.
Keeping the pipeline full
Foundlings and surrendered babies weren't enough. Tann kept cops, social workers and doctors on her payroll. Helpers phoned in tips about a likely child playing outside, and she would pull up in her big black car, all grandmotherly smiles, and offer a ride. In January 1943, tipped off that a mother was in the hospital, she cruised up in her glossy Packard to a shanty where six children had never ridden in a car. "Your mama asked me to come in and look in on you," she told them. "Why don't you children come along for a little ride? It'll be such fun." Children who cried for their parents were told their mother and father were dead, broke, or simply didn't want them anymore.
Judge Camille Kelley, who ran the Shelby County Juvenile Court for three decades, removed children from poor, widowed mothers and handed them to the society. For 30 years, every baby born at Western State Hospital, a psychiatric institution about 60 miles outside Memphis, went to Tann. Someone was getting those patients pregnant inside all-female wards. New mothers in charity beds woke to hear their babies had died. "Best not to see the body. Best to accept God's will, ma'am." One mother insisted she'd heard her baby crying and was told it was her imagination.
Each child got an invented backstory and a doctored medical history. In an age that loved eugenics, the pseudoscience of breeding a "better" society, buyers wanted white, healthy, attractive babies. Of a baby girl born cross-eyed, Tann said, "No one would want a child like that, not unless those eyes can be fixed." In the 1930s, Memphis had the highest infant mortality rate in the country, a statistic tied directly to the hundreds of children who died in her care.
The most celebrated adoption expert in Tennessee, a woman Eleanor Roosevelt consulted on child welfare, was stealing and selling children all along. She took more than 5,000, and not a single child was ever returned.
Priced to avoid sticker shock
A Tennessee adoption cost $7. The money was out of state, mostly in New York and California. Every three weeks, her employees Regina Warner and Alma Walton each hit the road with four to six babies and met wealthy buyers in hotel rooms. The listed fee was $700, then came charges for background checks that mostly never happened, marked-up air travel, and paperwork billed at five or more times cost. Prices topped out around $5,000, nearly $110,000 today. Between 1940 and 1950, more than 3,000 children went to New York and California alone.
Hollywood bought in. Dick Powell and June Allyson adopted two children. Joan Crawford, whom reputable agencies considered too old and too divorced, got twin girls in 1947. Pro wrestler Ric Flair was one of Tann's babies too. Children were shipped to England, and some were sold into factory and farm work or to pedophiles. Tann raked in more than a million dollars, worth over $13 million today.
Three days
The warnings came early. In 1941 the Child Welfare League of America dropped the society from its list over uninvestigated homes and advertised children. In 1945, 40 to 50 babies died in an outbreak of infectious diarrhea after Tann ignored the orders of volunteer physician Dr. Clyde V. Crosswell. The doors stayed open anyway. Black market baby selling wasn't even illegal.
In September 1950, Governor Browning opened a state investigation. Attorney Robert Taylor found that more than 90 percent of Tann's adoptions had gone to California and New York, and none of the adoptive parents had appeared in court. Tann never faced a charge. She died of uterine cancer on September 14, 1950, three days before the state filed. Judge Kelley resigned, and investigators concluded that she had permitted family ties to be destroyed.
Tann had stolen more than 5,000 children, and not one was returned. Nineteen of the children who died in her care lie in a single plot at Elmwood Cemetery in Memphis, which went without a marker until a monument went up in 2015 honoring those who "finally rest here unmarked, if not unknown." Tennessee passed a law in 1979 to help reunite separated siblings and opened the society's records in 1996. By then, many survivors had spent their lives searching. The woman who stole them had been consulted by Eleanor Roosevelt, asked to write a book with Pearl S. Buck, and invited to Harry S. Truman's inauguration.
