In writing The Man Behind the Curtain: A Memoir, I knew I needed to make readers endure a difficult journey before getting to the more uplifting turning point, because that was true of Jessica’s lived experiences.
As a reader, you first need to be immersed in her enduring years of abuse from her stepdad in silence,
then reporting it and immediately being met with opposition from her own family, friends, church, and community,
then trudging through four years of investigation and courthouse theatrics: a preliminary hearing, a juvenile court hearing, and a criminal trial, testifying on the witness stand for hours throughout each of those stages, beginning at age 15,
while her mother and a flock of friends from church sat on the defense’s side of the courtroom, talking and laughing during the proceedings, praying outside the courthouse, and wearing white T-shirts as a symbol of Jessica’s stepdad’s innocence,
all while Jessica was living at home with her mother for much of that time.
You need to first see Jessica standing around in emptying, echoing courthouse hallways with just her attorney or a detective by her side, waiting and waiting for her mother to come talk to her, only to eventually have to give up and go home.
You need to first see what loss and confusion were interspersed with relief when Jessica was sent on a visit to her grandparents’ in New York without being told she wouldn’t be welcomed back home,
and then imagine the exhaustion of traveling from New York to Tennessee repeatedly for further court dates, all while trying to adapt to new surroundings, finish senior year, and start college.
You need to imagine the heartbreak and guilt that were interspersed with the relief when her stepdad was found guilty on thirteen counts and sentenced to eight years in prison,
and the nauseating roller-coaster turn when his attorney later filed an appeal, so Jessica had to prepare to go to court yet again.
All of this, we hope, helps you to understand just what it meant when hundreds of members of Bikers Against Child Abuse (BACA) swooped in on their motorcycles to stand beside her at the courthouse and silence that crowd that had incessantly spoke out against her.
Let’s see this through Jessica’s eyes in an excerpt from our book:
“They call themselves ‘the keepers of the children,’ and I quickly came to see how seriously they commit to that mission. Nana, Poppy, and I arrived at the hotel where we’d be staying and were introduced to the group there. They had come in from as far as California and Washington, from all over the country, filling fifty of the hotel’s rooms and spilling over into another. They stationed themselves outside our room in shifts, all day and night, my own personal bodyguards.
…Among the patches on the bikers’ vests was their motto: No Child Deserves to Live in Fear. I was in awe of how powerfully this group spoke to all that I had been dealing with. As I stood among these two hundred tough-looking people I’d never met before, their swarm of dark leather towering over me, my shyness and self-doubt stepped out of my way. I felt bolstered up, rejuvenated. Positive energy surged around me, a humming reassurance that everything was going to be okay.
I appreciated how much effort the BACA members put into getting to know me as a person, not just a victim of abuse. I wasn’t a statistic to them or a name on a list of contacts to make. They didn’t want to know what had happened to me, but who I was and what mattered to me. That helped me to remember that there was much more to me than what had been dominating my time and energy for the last several years, that this was something I was at the height of dealing with, but it did not define me or what my whole life would be about.”
My research for that part of the book was informed not only by Jessica and her grandparents but by a former BACA leader named Sandy, who was by Jessica’s side throughout those later court dates. She would pick her up, stay with her in court, escort her to the bathroom or to get food. She was a key part of the presence there that helped reassure Jessica she could make it through.
“That’s the most rewarding part of BACA,” Sandy told me, “seeing those kids take the stand and be able to testify and put their heart out there. As scared as they are to say what they’re going to be saying, they get that level of security and then pride in themselves. Seeing them come down off the stand and know they’d done what they needed to do, and know that they will be protected all the way back out that door… It’s such a growth time and a freeing time for them, after so many years of keeping it inside and not telling anybody.”
While the BACA chapter that came to Jessica’s aid was based in Tennessee, I knew there was also a chapter—one of more than three hundred worldwide—in Rochester, New York, not far from where Jessica and I both live now, and I was eager to connect with them as our book made its debut.
As we explain in the book, everyone in the group goes by an alias, a “road name,” and they encourage each of the children they work with to choose a name of their own. From BACA’s perspective, it offers the victims added privacy and protection; Jessica—who proudly chose the name Justice—said it also helped her step out of her shyness and feel welcomed into a tribe, after being an outcast for so long in her own community, her own home.
I was delighted to hear back from a member of BACA’s Rochester chapter who goes by the name Tiger. He was immediately enthusiastic about connecting with me and with Jessica, learning more about her story, and helping us expand our reach. We arranged for the three of us to meet over coffee, along with Tiger’s colleague Ghost Rider.
As we sat around a small table with these two leather-clad, tattooed bikers, sharing teary-eyed moments as well as laughs, we learned that Tiger serves as a child liaison and helped start the Rochester chapter in 2014, covering nine counties from Lake Ontario to the Pennsylvania border. Ghost Rider, who manages the group’s public relations and security, has been involved for about eight years.
BACA typically gets involved soon after abuse is first disclosed. Each child has two primary points of contact involved throughout their case, who are there for them day to day, at any time. At the grand jury stage of court proceedings, no one except the attorney is allowed in with the child—but BACA makes sure they don’t feel alone. They sit with children as they wait, sometimes for up to two days, to testify or retestify. They play games with them to help pass the time and keep them distracted by something positive. “It gives them a chance to forget,” Tiger said.
BACA may not be able to enter the courtroom with the child at that stage, but, Ghost Rider said, “We’re there when they go in, and we’re there when they get out.”
As proceedings progress, BACA contacts are by the child’s side throughout it all; from pre-court meetings through each day in the courtroom, start to finish, the child is never alone. BACA will often walk through the courtroom with the child ahead of the trial, showing them where they’ll sit, making the space less of an unknown and thereby a little less daunting.
BACA’s involvement increases the likelihood of a child persisting to endure the court process. The bikers said they often see improvement in a child’s demeanor between their first two interactions, with confidence and empowerment beginning to blossom.
BACA helps in instances of sexual as well as physical and emotional abuse. Their website states, “We are dedicated to the principle that one of the basic rights of childhood is to be safe and protected, and when the child’s family or environment have failed them, we stand ready to provide it to them.”
The group provides children with nightlights with the BACA logo—“like a bat signal”—and teddy bears that the bikers first squeeze in a hug so that they’re “filled with strength.”
As Jessica’s story demonstrates, having anyone in their corner, and especially a group with such a powerful presence, can make an immeasurable difference for these victims.
As we wrote in our book:
“Despite the number of children they help every year, BACA sees our bond as a forever one, too. They told me that I would be a part of their family for life. I take comfort in that even now, as a young adult, knowing I could turn to them any time I need reassurance and knowing that they continue to help other kids like me.”
Sandy spoke with me about this too, saying it’s common for BACA members to stay in touch with the children they’ve helped as they grow up and start their new lives. She’s seen with pride the news of their weddings and their babies being born. She and her husband were recently in the wedding party for someone they’d helped years before. “That bond continues,” she said.
The Rochester BACA chapter has proven this enduring connection many times over, in their continued compassionate support both of Jessica and of me. They’ve purchased copies of our book to give away, they connected me with the Child Advocacy Center (CAC) of the Finger Lakes, and several of them attended a Lunch and Learn talk I gave at the CAC.
In December, I was honored to be the keynote speaker at the CAC’s “Shine Bright for Children” fundraising gala, at which Rochester’s BACA chapter filled a table. It was so moving to share with that room what BACA and other advocates did for Jessica, to look up and thank the BACA members in attendance for all that they do, and to hear the room erupt in applause for them. I know they don’t do this work for the recognition, but they certainly deserve it.
At our coffee meeting, Jessica and I were moved to tears when Tiger and Ghost Rider showed us the name they’d had patched onto a child-sized BACA vest they use in presentations: Justice, in Jessica’s honor.
When I asked them about the number of cases BACA takes on, the number of children they’ve helped, they simply said, “Too many.” And then, after a pause, “But there’s always room for more.”
To learn more about BACA and donate to their life-changing work, please visit their website.
Valerie Dimino 