A Snowball in Hell: The True Story of the Adoption That Broke a Scandal Open on Three Continents and the Story of a Mother’S Love

By Mary Reese

At the age of thirty-six, author Mary Reese, a single schoolteacher from California, embarked on the adventure of a lifetime. Putting aside her years of trying to adopt in the United States, she flew to Taiwan with the expectation of adopting a daughter.

In A Snowball in Hell, she shares the experience of her summer in Taiwan, and the struggle for her daughter that followed. Reese tells how she fell in love with a baby and how that transformed her and her belief system. This is the story of a mothers love that created miracle after miracle, opening doors that brought in celebrity and political allies from around the globe.

A Snowball in Hell follows her journey to motherhood, telling the true story of an adoption that broke open an international scandal on three continents. Adoption is a difficult journey, and Reeses personal journey changed laws and people on three continents.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Aug 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781480835047

Mary Reese

Mary Reese retired from teaching and remains active in human and animal rights. She also spends many hours volunteering for organizations that help spread compassion and care for both humans and animals. Reese lives in Western New York near her now-adult daughter. This is her second book.

Book preview

Chapter 1

THE JOURNEY

I t was the summer of 1981 in Taiwan: hot, humid and intolerably oppressive. Overhead storm clouds threatened in the blackening sky as I walked from the plane to the main terminal. Everything was still; not the slightest breeze stirred anywhere. It was the quiet before the storm. Yet despite the heat and humidity a chill went through me.

My jitters had begun even before the plane’s landing gear had touched down on the runway. By the time it had come to a standstill, my stomach was doing flip-flops. Even the butterflies down there had the flutters. I had made it. My plane had finally landed at Chiang Kai-Shek International Airport after a series of mishaps that had begun in San Francisco and continued on through Alaska and Hong Kong.

At this point my greatest worry was whether or not my adoption lawyer, Mr. Yen, would understand and excuse this delay. I had, of course, wired him from Anchorage, but at that time there was no way to know that the plane would again break down forcing me and the other passengers to lose an entire day and night in Alaska and then another night in Hong Kong.

The night we spent in Anchorage coincided with the Summer solstice as the constant daylight there both excited the schoolteacher in me, yet caused me to worry at another delay in my adoption process. We had already broken down in San Francisco, and had waited at the Anchorage airport all day for our plane’s radar to be repaired only to end up being bussed to a hotel for the night. There was no luggage sent by the airline as were on an international flight so I washed my necessities the best I could under the circumstances. I went to bed at about 10:30 that night in daylight only to wake up in the same daylight at 6:00 the next morning. However, I did manage to get some sleep despite my anxiety about the lawyer, and never found out how many hours it was dark that night.

The next day we landed in my destination Taipei for refueling. Unfortunately that only increased my anxiety because we were not allowed to disembark because of regulations. I had to fly on to Hong Kong to spend another night. Having to go on to Hong Kong caused me to miss the last connecting flight back to Taipei bringing me to my final destination several days late.

Doraine, a friend of mine, whom I had met through an adoption support group, had recommended Mr. Yen as a lawyer in Taiwan to me after he had helped her with the paper work pertaining to the adoption of her own daughter from a city orphanage. I had been trying to adopt for several years, had written an inquiry to him and had received a positive response about my ability to adopt a baby there. He was a man described to me as old-school with standards that were inflexible and rigid. To arrive late for our first appointment was a decided breech of etiquette, regardless of the unavoidable circumstances.

I brushed back the hair that hung damp and limp on my forehead. My eyes stung from perspiration, which bathed my face as I stood by the luggage carousel waiting to claim my two suitcases. I gave thanks for the foresight that motivated me to pack my big bag with plenty of lightweight cotton clothing, using the smaller suitcase for baby things.

Having cleared customs, had my American dollars changed to the local currency and was anxious to be on my way heading for the terminal lobby that was packed with people. Wherever I looked there were faces smiling and people greeting other people. This open display of happiness left me with an inexplicable feeling of loneliness. It wasn’t that I begrudged these people of their pleasure. But why did I always feel alone? Revelation came in a flash. I was always on the outside looking in, a child with its face pressed against the windowpane. No one was here to welcome me on this hopefully auspicious journey. The truth that I was alone in a foreign country overwhelmed me.

Setting aside my insecurities for the moment, I made my way through the sea of strange faces and approached the information desk. I had made a reservation at the Taipei YWCA several weeks prior. If I could get there quickly since it was now mid-afternoon I might be able to contact Mr. Yen before he left his office for the day. At least it was worth a try.

Putting down the suitcases, I studied the commuter busses going into the city as the information clerk had suggested. I knew that the YWCA was near the railroad station. The reservationist at the Y had told me this in our correspondence. At the railroad station I was to give a cab driver the card the YWCA had mailed me and it would be a quick trip to my new home base in Taipei.

Thankfully, the information on the board was both in Chinese and English, but the names were unfamiliar. Finally, after going back to the information desk I found which bus to board and got on.

The bus was crowded and I seemed to be the only Caucasian on it. A loud clap of thunder accompanied the downpour as we exited the airport. The rapidly darkening sky along with the torrential storm obliterated any view I might have had of the scenery on my way to the city. To top it off, the neon signs I did see when we reached the city itself were in Chinese. For the first time in my life I knew what it was to be illiterate. I could only hope and pray I had gotten on the right bus and was headed in the right direction, as it was likely that nobody around me spoke English.

A trickle of water dripped off my hair and ran slowly down my cheek to my neck as I put out my hand to try to wipe the bus window to look out. As I did my elbow struck my seatmate’s newspaper nearly knocking it out of his hands.

I’m so sorry, I gasped, embarrassed, but hoping maybe he spoke English. The man made no reply but merely glared at me over his reading glasses.

Hoping I’d find someone who knew English I turned to the mother with two small children sitting across the aisle from me. Hardly daring to hope I spoke. Pardon me, I uttered smiling at her. A gold tooth gleamed in the front of her mouth. Both her smile and manner indicated that here at last was someone who understood and was willing to be friendly. Having caught her attention I jumped in with both feet.

Please, I said, would you tell me how far it is to the railway station?

The woman smiled politely, nodding her head, but even as I spoke those words, it had become apparent that she had not understood me. I suddenly began to feel not only anxious, but also totally helpless.

Oh dear God! With no one around me who spoke English, and all the signs being in Chinese, how would I know when I reached the railway station? I was becoming more disoriented and frightened by the minute. I began to feel faint, packed in with this congregation of humanity that I could not understand and who could not understand me.

Overcoming my usual shyness I felt as if I was screaming but am sure I was only using my schoolteacher voice when I burst out in frustration, Do any of you speak English? A Chinese woman with a welcoming smile answered me, I do, and my heart moved up from the pit of my stomach to its usual place in my chest.

How soon will we be at the train station? I asked with a voice filled with gratitude.

Her answer was Soon, I show you.

The storm had subsided, although it was still drizzling when we arrived at the railway station. The street outside was a bustling beehive of activity. I had safely arrived at the train station.

My next step was to find a taxi. Taipei has no lack of them and soon I was able to flag one down giving the driver the card with the address to the Y. I sat down in the comfortable seat with a sigh of relief. I was on my way to motherhood!

The neon lights, which probably had been turned on early due to the rain, eased the dreariness of the afternoon and suddenly Taipei became a Disneyland to me with its exotic writing and people. The city seemed full of flashing neon signs, motorbikes, and traffic the volume of which I had never experienced before. Darting in and out of traffic, which made the Los Angeles freeway seem like a country road, the driver let me off in front of the Y.

A new aliveness and sense of adventure was stirring in me. With it came a desire to see and do everything in this city where my future daughter was a citizen. The buildings and the crowds had become less of a threat to my well being now. I felt a surge of expectancy as eagerness took hold. I was ready to accept the challenge of a totally new environment and life that was awaiting me. Hoping that there was a phone at the Y, I picked up my suitcases and marched forward into that new life.

The YWCA hostel in Taipei occupies the entire ninth and tenth floors of a building at 7 Ching Tao West Road, which I knew from the correspondence while making reservations. I soon found the elevator and made my way to the office on the 9th floor. To my happiness the clerk, Julia, spoke excellent English and soon I was in my room, which was the first one on that same floor. The room itself was much like a hotel room with two double beds, a chair, closet and bathroom.

Before I could settle in though I had to make that phone call which I was so nervous about. Going again to the front desk I asked Julia if she could make a phone call for me, as I was nervous about using a phone in a foreign country.

I understand, Julia sympathized. It is difficult at first. I show you.

A moment later a woman’s voice answered as I took the phone. Hello, is this Mr. Yen’s office?

The voice repeated itself, again in Chinese. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Julia frown as I struggled to make the woman understand. Here, I’ll help you, she said, taking the receiver out of my hand and speaking in rapid Mandarin. My name and Mr. Yen’s were the only words I understood.

The secretary is going to get Mr. Yen for you, Julia whispered, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. He speaks English. She handed the receiver back to me.

Hello, said a man’s voice on the phone. Miss Reese?

Yes, Mr. Yen. I just arrived here and am sorry about the problem with the plane being delayed.

I had people lined up for you. he interrupted. They did not think your intentions were serious when you did not make the appointment.

I couldn’t help it, I protested. My plane broke down in San Francisco and again in Alaska. Didn’t you get my telegram from Anchorage?

Ah, yes… There was a short, impatient sigh on the other end. Your delay was most unfortunate. Come to my office tomorrow at ten and we will talk.

There was an abrupt click on the other end and that left me staring open-mouthed at the dead receiver in my hand.

Chungshan Road is Taipei’s main north-south thoroughfare. The main streets running in the east-west direction are Mingchuan, Nanking and Chungsaio. The center of the city is southwest of the intersection of Chungsaio road.

The next morning I hailed a taxi in front of the Y and handed the driver a card with Mr. Yen’s address on it and we left for the lawyer’s office. Part of me wanted to quiet down so that I could center myself and calm those inner butterflies that were beginning to stampede through my stomach.

I tried to concentrate on my first meeting with Mr. Yen but was distracted by the wonderful sights and sounds of this amazing city. I finally calmed myself and went over the questions that may be asked of me. After all this man was going to help me find my baby and it was important to give him a good impression.

You not married and want a baby? Why? That would be one of the questions he would ask of me.

I love children. I would say. I’ve always wanted to adopt. I’ve come halfway across the world from California to become a mother. Answers to other questions echoed through my mind. He was a lawyer and he knew the laws of Taiwan but I needed to remind him that I had also gone over the laws of the United States and there were immigration laws that must be met. My child must meet these requirements or I would not be able to adopt and bring home my baby.

A minute later the taxi pulled up to the building that housed Mr. Yen’s office. In my imagination I had envisioned it to be large, luxuriously furnished, with perhaps Chinese lacquered cabinets and an ornately carved desk in front of a big, elegantly curtained window looking out at an impressive view of the city. Perhaps this preconceived notion was formed from the assumption that because lawyers are highly educated people, they are therefore highly paid. The logical supposition would be that they would surround themselves in a rather sumptuous fashion. Not so in Mr. Yen’s case. Showing the business card that Mr. Yen had sent to me a woman escorted me through a first-story store to a back stairway and pointed up to a second floor. I went up the rickety stairway and entered a two-room suite that closely resembled something out of a Mickey Spillane mystery.

The secretary in the outer office acknowledged me with a silent nod, and then disappeared through a door marked with which I assumed was the Chinese equivalent of PRIVATE. A moment later she was back, beckoning me to follow her into the inner sanctum.

This office faced the street. There was a large desk in front of a window, but the window was unadorned, and the view anything but breathtaking.

I took in the rest of the room at a glance. It was painted an insipid two-tone green and reminded me of anything but cozy. The walls were hung with diplomas, insignias and signs, all in Chinese. Scattered about in a somewhat disorderly fashion were bookshelves holding law books, a few mismatched chairs and several small tables piled with magazines that one would have expected to find in a waiting room.

Mr. Yen sat behind his desk, He was a rather small, delicate, and definitely undistinguished looking Chinese man dressed in a formal business suit, his piercing black eyes magnified by the glasses he wore.

Sit down, he said, without bothering to look up. After a long moment he put down the paperwork he held, scrutinizing me over his glasses.

Inwardly, I felt confused. Mr. Yen’s English, I noted recalling my telephone conversation with him was good. However, climbing up back stairs to a less than opulent office was making me uncomfortable. It also might have been the way he glared at me over those glasses; he seemed to be looking right through me, searching my soul to find something more than he could perceive with his eyes. Whatever he had hoped to find apparently eluded him, and his disappointment showed.

I have been in your country on several occasions, he said, after the usual formalities. He took my passport and some other documents to make note on a yellow legal pad. Although his manner never suggested anything less than courtesy, I sensed an undercurrent of chauvinistic Old-World reserve, which was never experienced in words. Still it was there and I wondered if it was my imagination or a change of cultures. Silently I vowed to be completely open and objective about myself and hoped that my miracle was on the way and this man was my angel on my road to motherhood.

He was still writing. Even though I was impatient to get on with whatever was necessary to get things underway, I knew I had to put myself completely, in Mr. Yen’s hands and do things his way. His way apparently was very slow and very cautious. As I waited my attention wandered and my curiosity piqued. On those numerous visits to the United States I wondered if Mr. Yen found Americans lacking in the qualities which, by his standards he considered to be of vital importance; qualities such as things that were standard in the Chinese culture. I made up my mind to be as flexible as I could and do things his way not that I knew anything about his way.

Mr. Yen tapped his pen against the top of his desk. It was perhaps an insignificant gesture, but one which conveyed impatience. I came back to reality with a start wondering if I had missed anything.

My wife is a teacher, also, he said. Obviously he was trying to make me feel comfortable and I relaxed a bit.

I will do whatever I can to find you a baby. He reassured me and my butterflies suddenly were calming down even more as I allowed myself to fill with a hope that soon things would work out.

Chapter 2

THE SEARCH BEGINS

I saw my first baby the second day after my arrival in Taipei. That same day, I met Mr. Yen’s friend, Miss Su, a mysterious lady with a waxen pallor who had eyes that bore right through me. As I entered, she was standing by the window, sullen and silent, holding a baby wrapped in a blanket. She made no attempt to disguise her fascination with the turquoise rings I wore. At the time I failed to recognize the oddity of turquoise in China. Later I wondered if she thought I must be very rich to be able to afford such a rare stone, or was she just sizing me up to her standards. Maybe it was her fascination with my rings or just plain intuition but I felt this woman had a strange quality that sent cold shivers running up my spine.

Her face was a mask, frozen and empty. It was devoid of human warmth, showing no emotion and therefore impossible to read. My innate, if unconscious reason, flashed warning signals advising me that this woman’s true nature was not anything near the placid exterior she wished to project. My instinct told me that she was appraising me, not by my capacity to love and care for a child, but by her narrow evaluation of my material worth. While I realized that she was not acquainted with the English language and very likely spoke only Mandarin, still the thoughts of materialistic gain seemed to lurk behind that expressionless face. Without uttering a word Miss Su had conveyed this impression.

My friend, said Mr. Yen, waving a hand to include Miss Su, "has friend, not married, who had a baby. Take a look at the