June and Sam at Musso & Frank's in the 1990s
I was working at Los Angeles County Department of Children & Family Services when Margaret (Fourth Day) passed away. Shortly afterward, I went into work one morning and there was a very thin file on my desk. I will call the girl "Grace", partially because she needed all of the grace she could muster. For those of you who are engaged in the lucrative world of commerce, or even education, this story will give you a glimpse into the wonderful world of Social Services, and why some of us get just a bit agitated when people say things like, "That must be such rewarding work" when what they are really saying is "You couldn't get me to do that with a death threat from the Mafia."
Grace's file was quite thin. It had been sent over to us by Adoptions, the gilded section of DCFS. Adoptions only employs MSWs and their pay scale is fast tracked to facilitate retaining them. I had started with a Masters degree and twenty years post Master's experience, and my pay was the same as if I had just graduated. I would get incremental salary increases at each anniversary. An MSW would start at the same pay, but they would get "double bumped" up the increments each year. It was definitely a fiefdom, and without those three little letters, the rest of us were second class employees.
Adoptions had sent Grace over because her aunt had adopted the other eleven of her siblings, but not Grace. The file said she was eleven years old, and had been placed with her aunt until about a year ago when she started bouncing around from foster home to foster home.
I called the foster mother, and arranged a time to come see them. Then I got a call from Grace's C.A.S.A. (Court Appointed Special Advocate), June Sale, herself an MSW, and we coordinated our visit so that we would arrive together.
The foster home was in "South Central" and I don't mean some Black neighborhood between East LA and the airport. I mean it was three blocks west of Alameda, about the same distance east of Central Ave. The neighborhood was quiet enough, and June and I arrived at the same time. We went inside to meet Grace and the retired woman who was the foster mother. Foster parenting is very common among retired government employees in South Los Angeles. The women are very skilled at taking on a "Grandmother" role, they give back to their communities, and the extra income helps augment their retirement. Some of them work the system by having their kids (usually boys) declared ADHD or other diagnosis requiring daily medication. For these kids, the reimbursement rate is almost triple the going rate. It is one more example of how the system damages boys, but fortunately, Grace did not have that sort of placement, the woman seemed to genuinely care about her.
Grace was not our typical eleven year old girl. She was five foot, ten inches tall, and weighed in at around 180 pounds. She sort of looked like a prize fighter, but moved a bit slower.
The home was neat, clean, organized, and Grace said she enjoyed living there. "This is a lot better than the last place. All they ever had was Mexican food. One night I asked the lady what we were having for supper and she said "enchiladas." I told her I didn't like enchiladas and she said "Tough, that's what we're having." So I picked up a skillet and hit her in the head with it."
The adults in the room looked at each other, exhaled, and moved the conversation forward. June and I bid our "goodbyes" to Grace and the brave woman who had taken her in. Out front we exchanged phone numbers and she filled me in on the details of the case. Grace's mother was a petite woman, who in spite of having had 12 children (one a year since she was 18), had somehow never figured out how to shut down the factory. A raging "crack" addict, she was out of it most of the time. She obviously had never learned the "aspirin between the knees" trick, or any other form of birth control. She was actually pregnant again, but her family had absorbed all of her offspring they could handle.
Grace herself did not strike one as being a "rocket scientist." June and I both held our breath, hoping the placement would "stick" and of course, it didn't. I arrived at work one morning about ten days later, and there was Grace, sitting in the lobby, with all her meager possessions in a couple of plastic trash bags (the standard way that foster kids are "packed" and moved). When I called the foster mother, she explained that she had awakened to find Grace standing over her with a large skillet. The had a brief tussle, you can figure out the rest.
And thus began my adventure with Grace, and June. Over the next nine months, the following things happened:
1. At eleven, she was not eligible to be placed at (then operational) McLaren Hall. McLaren was sort of "lock up" for foster kids who could not be placed anywhere else due to violent or threatening behavior.
We had a month to burn up before she turned 12, so I had to stash her at various temporary mental health placements. No foster home would take her with her history. The foster moms of South LA have a very tight knit network, and the word was on the street about Grace, "Crazy, violent and not smart." Her grandmother and great grandmother both said (when I called them about taking her temporarily), "No Way, she lies. Last time she was here, she called the police, said my husband tried to rape her, he almost went to jail."
So I would find a temporary shelter for her and before I got back to the office, there would be a phone call telling me to come get her, "inappropriate for our program." I wold drag out a minimum of three days before I would go to get her. I would arrive to a "shell shocked" staff, regaling me with stories about how "it took three of us to restrain her" when she attacked someone. At one point, she gave me one of her "mean" looks, her usual way of getting her way. Being "Southern" I knew exactly what to say and do. I looked at her with an even meaner look and said, "Don't even try girlfriend, not if you want to keep breathing." So our "truce" worked, in fact she even grew to like and respect me because I was on to her game.
2. An IEP (Independent Education Plan) was promulgated which confirmed, her "I.Q." was quite low, around 50, so I began the paperwork to get her into a "Regional Center" (these are the programs that provide services to the developmentally disabled). Regional Center services would include access to special foster homes that work with D.D. children.
At the staffing with the local Regional Center, the very "chirpy" staff tried to offer minimal services, clearly not sufficient for the task. June ripped them a new one. It was wonderful to watch a tiny old lady strike such fear in the hearts of a room full of brain dead administrators.
3. After burning out the mental health short term placements, we applied for and got an exception so that we could place her in McLaren Hall. She was about to turn 12, the minimum age for placement in the facility.
4. While the wheels of Regional Center bureaucracy were grinding along, eight months of meetings, reports, evaluations and family meetings, Grace discovered that if she threatened either suicide or assaulted someone, she would get whisked out of McLaren in a fancy ambulance, with good looking men working in it. They would take her to a mental health facility where the food was better, and she would get her own bedroom, with real sheets on the bed.
5. So she had seventeen (yes 17 !!) hospitalizations in eight (8) months. At the end of each four days, I had to fill out about ten pages of paperwork, have it signed by my regional administration, sent "downtown" for their approval and signature, and then to McLaren for THEIR approval and signature (they actually tried to tell me I couldn't bring her back on three occasions). Then I would get in my car and go the the hospital (at least 45 miles one way) and drive her to McLaren in El Monte (another 50 miles) and then back to my office (another 40 miles).
I got to know the folks at McLaren very well. Upon one return, in the parking lot, Grace looked at me and said, "You done brought me back to this place, I ought to bust your head open" (which was her favorite way of getting her needs met). I looked back at her and said, "You'd better not. Here, feel my head, it's hard, you'll break your hand." So Grace patted my head, "Oh, yo head IS hard. I'd better not hit you, I might hurt myself."
So I took her inside, and before I was back out the gate, she had "thrown a fit" and the ambulance was being called.
Please understand, I had 40 other children on my caseload at the same time. It's why I eventually left the department, the combination of "difficult" kids, all hitting adolescence at the same time, Children's court judges who took great delight in humiliating department workers over minutiae. About this time, I was dating a young UCLA law student. He had done an internship at one of the firms that represents the children at the court. He told me that the attorneys there took bets every day to see which one could "ding" and humiliate the most social workers every day. One of them, Ms. Leslie H. had threatened to have me held in contempt of court over a bus pass for an 18 year old on my caseload. It was crazy.
One year on December 31st, I stopped to check on a ten year old child living with his aunt, my every three month home visit. When I got there, a strange man answered the door, and refused to let me see the child. The aunt had gone to Vegas, left the boy with her fiancé, and he did not know who I was, nor did we have him cleared in our system. So what should have been a fifteen minute home visit, turned into a five hour ordeal, including calling the LAPD, removing the boy, getting temporary housing for him, in Watts of course, and me delivering him to the placement at 11 PM on New Years Eve. I got mileage, but no overtime, the department was only granting "pre-approved" overtime. The first question the temporary placement woman asked me was, "What's wrong with him?"
A month later, a minor's attorney, half my age, called me and got into a urination contest with me over the phone, "You don't understand Mr. Garren, I am personally responsible for the welfare of this child." I replied, "Good, the next time he has to be moved in the middle of the night, you can come do it." It particularly made my blood boil that with the same level of education and much more experience, I was paid half what these young attorneys were paid. It was simple, as a Children's Service Worker, I did "Women's Work" and was paid accordingly. Zev Yaroslovsky came out to patronize us by telling us how important our work was. I asked him if he had the choice between spending $120,000 to put his kid through law school or MSW school, which would he choose? He never answered me.
But in the middle of this June was my stalwart supporter. We worked closely as a team, often playing "Good Cop/Bad Cop" with moribund agencies that really wanted us to go away, and take Grace with us. Eventually we found a placement for her, with a woman who operated a small foster home specializing in kids like Grace.
A few months later I started coming apart. I stayed home for two days, trying to sleep and get some strength back. When I returned, there were 75 messages on my voice mail. I sat down to write a court report, something that I could normally crank out in two hours, and after three, had one paragraph written. My brain and body had just shut down, I couldn't lift my arms from the tension and knots in my shoulders. Within a couple of days, I realized that I was on the verge of coming apart. I thought, "The next person who asks me for something is going to get this computer monitor broken over their head." I packed my essentials, walked out, and never went back.
The reason all of this relates to June is that without her, I probably would have gone over the edge. She was my constant source of support and encouragement. Neither of my parents ever really understood my work, nor did they offer much support for my doing it. June on the other had was my angel, always patient, loving, supportive, and most importantly, respect filled because like her, I understand the importance of "justice" to mental health. When others would quietly go along with the status quo, June would support me for asking questions that were at times uncomfortable to the established institutions. She asked a few of her own.
There are not enough folks like June running things these days. I always get a big smile on my face when I think of her. And she seems to feel the same way about me, I am always welcome in her home, and she always insists of paying for our meals together when we go out.
June is a bit shy, and doesn't talk much about her accomplishments, but this is what I've been able to figure out.
June was the child of immigrant Jews, her father did well in the shoe business. She grew up in San Marino, in the 30s, and anti-semitism was rampant. Her best friend in San Marino was the only black woman in town. She would visit at the woman's house, who was very smart and supportive of her. Both of her parents had strong convictions about giving back to one's community. They had a great sense of ownership of the health of the world around them. It was their job to make sure that things worked well for all.
She happened to be visiting an aunt in Beverly Hills the day that Howard Hughes crashed his experimental airplane, about a block away. She married her husband Sam before WWII, they went off to his military assignments together, and moved back to LA, had kids and raised them in the lovely Japanese style home they built in the late 40s. The home, like Sam and June, is a model of simple elegance, stunningly beautiful, but not at all pretentious.
Years ago, June and husband Sam helped build Habitat for Humanity homes in "South Central" Los Angeles, they remain active and vital at an age when most people feel entitled to a life of ease and comfort.
Her brother Al Solnit was director of the Yale Child Study Center for years. June received her MSW with a focus on Community Organizing and herself ran the UCLA Child Center (not sure of the exact department or title). In addition, she set up at least half of the "Head Start" Centers in Los Angeles County. In other words, she's been a busy woman, and because of her efforts, a lot of children and families are better off.
June & Sam, with Hazel (Day Two). Hazel also worked with early childhood kids.
In her late 80s now, she still does CASA work. Her last child was in the Antelope Valley. She drives her first generation Toyota Prius all over the region. She still writes for journals and other professional publications, and is generally appalled about the pressures that we place on very young children these days. We both agree that the pressures placed on children, the escalation of bullying in schools, the fact that families are stressed and strapped with both parents working just to survive, have all put children at risk for the kinds of behaviors that we see too often in the news.
We both mourn the level of intolerance and meanness that seems to permeate schools, the work place, and too much of daily life for too many children.
The amazing Sale family celebrating Sam's 90th birthday last year.
Her niece Rebecca Solnit is an accomplished journalist who also writes about current social issues. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rebecca_Solnit)
She and daughter Laurie Sale have a very informative Blog, http://grandparentingplus.blogspot.com .
ABOUT US
June is not a "religious" person. She is very respectful of my spirituality and "God sense." It is just not a part of her experience, so it has no reference for her. But she has a profound sense of justice. Like Jesus, Gandhi, or Martin Luther King Jr., she understands the significant interrelationships between human beings, the importance of interdependence, and providing for the least of our fellow humans. We ARE our brothers and sisters keeper. More importantly we are their children's keeper, and we suffer greatly when we ignore that basic fact of life. It does take a village to raise a child, and in modern urban/suburban life, few villages exist.
Much of this ethos came from her parents, who believed strongly in giving back more than one takes out. My parents had a similar ethos, and perhaps that is part of our connection with each other.
In a world where too many folks live a "me first" perspective, and see abundant life as a personal right, even if others must do without, June understands that her "blessings' also carry an obligation, to help those who have not been as blessed in life as she has. Even though she is not religious, she embodies what I learned from my observant Jewish friends. While we Christians are too often asking God for help and strength, and such, Jews have a very simple perspective. God has given you life, his most precious gift. That is all the help and strength we need. And what we do with that gift, the life God has given us, is how we say "Thank You."
I have met many people from different parts of L.A. who all know June. Another friend, who is also an MSW says that June was both mentor and inspiration for her years ago when she started her career.
June with daughter Laurie, with two of Laurie's grandchildren
June has honored me with her friendship, respect and love. I also was given an award from the foundation that she and Sam established for being an Outstanding Children's Advocate. I have been blessed to know June, and her very loving and wise family.
All of this came about because of a girl named Grace, and the trials and tribulations she brought into our lives.
We just hope that somehow, Grace is okay, and not dead or in prison.
Happy New Year, Ed
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Note from Ed Garren in 2020. In 2016 June started "The Blankie Project" for infants in the foster care system. It is still going well, having provided hundreds of "Blankies" for infants in the foster care system in Los Angeles Counth. Here is that story:
June explains the "Blankie Project"
I also posted the story of how June got arrested at the speech of a notorious anti-Semite in 1943. It is here, and worth reading.
https://slicesofaninterestinglife.blogspot.com/2020/06/june-solnit-sale-40s-protester-sees.html
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Dearest Friends,
Our family is very sad to tell you that June passed away yesterday, the 16th of November, 2022, after suffering a broken hip, from which she was unable to recover. She passed peacefully, with her family around her. We are having a small family only burial, and will schedule a celebration of her life at a later date, when we can put together something that she deserved. If you are interested in being informed, or want to leave a message for the family, please send an email to: Junesalememorial@gmail.com . We are at a great loss, and hope you’ll pardon the group email.
Thanks for your understanding, and love for June. We will all miss her generosity, caring, empathy, humanity and active activism.
Love,
Laurie, Nancy, Josh & Peg, Aaron & Jordanna, Jorge & Jill
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We must always have old memories and young hopes.
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