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Knights
in DirtyArmour
"The Doctor's
Orders"
Our three-year-old boy, running, playing, talking on the
phone with his great-grandmother. A moment later, a simple
fall on a carpeted floor.
Not even a bump on his head. Suddenly, chances of
survival are grim.
I’m called a liar by an angry physician for telling him
what I saw and a vengeful grandfather … a grandfather who just
promised to send me to prison for
murder.
What could have possibly happened to my boy to cause
this? A simple
fall.
Dr. Barton’s written report of his thorough examination of
Ben was clear. There
were no fractures, no
bruising. There was a
subdural hematoma and developing retinal
hemorrhages.
It was quite clear to Dr. Barton that a simple fall on a
carpeted surface could not cause such an injury. With only this erroneous,
cursory information upon which to base his immature assessment, he
was correct.
Since Dr. Barton assumed that I was obviously lying to him,
and there was no fracture, that he observed, Dr. Barton followed
the guidelines of D.H.S. and hospital policy, which is to
instantly assume child
abuse. To treat
any childhood injury as child abuse – until it is proven
otherwise, and in Dr Barton’s tired and angry mind, I was a
liar.
If our little Ben could not fall on carpet and cause such a
subdural hematoma as he had, then what could cause it? Shaken Baby Syndrome was
Dr. Barton’s instant diagnosis. With no recognizable fracture
and no impact injury, that is all that could have caused
it.
With this information only, Jim Stanart was going to see to
it that I went down for murder. In his mind, John
Schoonover had taken his grandson and shook him to death. Is that even physically
possible?
12
Only two people were at the rural residence with our
three-year-old, thirty-two pound Benjamin Michael Schoonover. Ben’s mother-to-be, Gilda
Marie Schoonover, standing five feet tall and less than 100
pounds. Jim Stanart’s
‘baby’ sister. Gilda
Marie is not physically capable of having shaken Ben with such
force as to cause so much damage. John Schoonover,
brother-in-law of Jim Stanart, standing five foot ten and weighing
about 180 pounds. He
was surely physically capable of shaking a child with lethal
force. And with Jim
Stanart’s limited information, clouded by anger and seeing John as
a liar, through eyes of vengeance he was hot for revenge, and he
was going to get revenge.
Marie was there in the waiting room while Dr. Barton came
in and Jim had made his promise of vengeance and left. She remained sedated and
in a stupor even after we had left the
hospital.
I could see Jim out in the hallway greeting his two
sisters, Joan Fabro and Carol Frye. Under the chaotic
circumstances, I felt it prudent to call our adoption attorney,
John Crockett of Pryor, and advise him of the volatile situation
and that at best it was unlikely that we would be able to conclude
the scheduled signing of the adoption decree this coming week, as
Ben would possibly still be in the hospital and we would need to
postpone our appointment with Judge Goodpaster temporarily. I advised him of the
dialogue of Dr. Barton and Jim’s statement of vengeance. John Crockett asked “Where
is Jim now?” I looked
through the window to see Jim with his two sisters as a third
party had just arrived, George Klatt. George Klatt was the chief
investigating officer for the Mayes County Sheriff. I told Mr Crockett what I
saw.
“George Klatt is there?”
“Yes. He just
arrived.”
“Listen to me.
You and Gilda (Marie) leave that hospital now. Don’t speak to anyone;
don’t say anything.6 Leave as quickly as you
can. They are not
going to let you see Ben.
Call me tomorrow before noon.”
We left as ordered.
At the trial prosecutor Ramsey would cry, “Ladies and
gentlemen of the jury, we have a child in critical condition in
the hospital. What
would you do as caring parents? Stay by your child’s side
or leave? John and
Marie left the hospital without a care in the world for their
child. We don’t know
why they left.”
13
“What we do know is that they called an attorney. Does that sound like the
actions of innocent people?
Innocent people don’t rush to the phone to call an
attorney.7
Loving parents don’t go off and leave their dieing
child. If that had
been my child, you couldn’t drag me away from his
side.”
“Concerned for their child? No. These two murderers … these two defendants were
concerned only with themselves. What they had done. Their actions were actions
of guilty people.
They called an attorney and abandoned their dieing
child.”
“We” being the orator Ramsey and the jury “don’t
know”. But Ramsey
himself knew. Because
of proper disclosure and discovery, John Crockett, as an
officer of the Court, was compelled by law and did inform
prosecutor Charles Ramsey that we were ordered to leave the
hospital.
We left as ordered.
Marie and I were about an hour from the hospital when Marie
started recovering from the effects of her sedation. She asked me what had
taken place and what was said in the hospital waiting room. I told
her.
“Jonathan, he didn’t fall in the dining room. He fell on the edge of the
foyer. I knelt down
to pick him up. When
he didn’t answer me, I twisted around and laid him in the dining
room (on the carpet) to come and get
you.”
The foyer has hardest commercial porcelain tile
manufactured. Harder
even than the cement it was covering.
Dr. Barton would not allow me to correct my error of
assuming Ben lay where he had fallen. It was as final as a
lethal injection.
Furthermore, Benjamin did in fact have, as later testified
by Dr. Barton, Dr. Block, and Dr. Krouse, a half-inch or 12mm
occipital fracture.
Dr. Barton testified it was not significant. Dr. Block testified it was
“actually not discovered until autopsy”, although the 12mm
fracture at the back of Benjamin’s skull was visible on the
MRI, Dr. Barton had
simply overlooked it, causing him to misdiagnose Benjamin’s injury
as Shaken Baby Syndrome.
14
The afternoon following Ben’s admission, the attending
nurse called me.
There was a medical procedure they needed my permission to
perform. The
conversation was short.
“Do what you have to do to save our boy. He’s our only
child.”
The second morning, the attending nurse called us and told
us we needed to come to the hospital as quickly as we could to
finally get to see Ben.
We were an hour away – we were there within that
hour.
Almost all of
Marie’s family was there – though none spoke to me, nor I to
them. I could see it
in their eyes; ‘If looks could kill’. I could not know why. None of them exhibited
compassion for our loss to come. They knew what it was to
be. We
didn’t.
Ben was sleeping.
A large turban was on his head. The monitor showed a
regular heart rate and he was breathing. He did not respond to
touch or voice. He
was simply … sleeping.
Dr. Barton came in the crowded room and handed me a
clipboard with a form on it.
“We need your permission to disconnect the life
support.”
“I can’t do that!
That goes against everything I believe in. If he has even the
smallest chance at life, I won’t do that. That would make me feel
like I was killing my own son – my only
son.”
“You might as well.
He’s already brain dead.”
“What about his organs, his eyes, that others may live or
see?”
“Too permeated with medication to be of any value. Hurry up, we haven’t got
all day. Go ahead and
sign it.”
Jim spoke, “Don’t make him suffer any longer,
John”.
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