Celebrity Adoptions
People.com
Jill Smolowe
Joanne Fowler and Joseph Tirella in New York City,
Michelle Caruso, Johnny Dodd, Meg Grant, Mary Green, Maureen Harrington
and Lyndon Stambler in Los Angeles,
Michelle Bowers in San Francisco, Trine Tsouderos in Chicago,
Gabrielle Cosgriff in Houston, Siobhan Morrissey in Miami
and Macon Morehouse in Washington, D.C.
2001
In the weeks after Calista Flockhart attended the New Year's Day
birth of the baby boy she would name Liam and is now in the process
of adopting, the country's adoption network buzzed with activity
much of it agitated, even angry. At New York City-based Adoptive
Families magazine, editors were bombarded with scores of e-mails
and phone calls, most of them "with a definite edge," says publisher
Susan Caughman, a mother of two daughters, one biological, the other
adopted in China. The Flockhart adoption "exacerbated already-existing
suspicions," says Caughman. "People wondered how celebrities adopt.
Is it easier, is it less expensive? There is a sense that it must
be simpler for celebrities -- that they must have some other route."
Do they? As adoption has become more visible among the rich and
famous -- the list includes Michelle Pfeiffer, Tom Cruise and Nicole
Kidman, Sharon Stone, JoBeth Williams, Diane Keaton, Kate Jackson,
and Connie Chung and Maury Povich -- questions about preferential
treatment have dogged the stars. Charges fly that celebrities "buy"
babies by tossing around unseemly amounts of money, that they cut
in line, that they skirt the laws and that they have greater access
to the pool of babies in highest demand and lowest supply: healthy
white infants.
Interviews with dozens of adoption agency officials, attorneys who
specialize in private adoption, and adoptive celebrities themselves
reveal a far different scenario -- one in which the stars, like
other adoptive parents, undergo intense scrutiny and often endure
long waits and disappointment before realizing their dream. In fact,
experts agree, when it comes to adoption, there is only one unequivocal
benefit to being famous: money. "Celebrities may have an economic
advantage in that they can hire lawyers on two coasts and network
better," says David Radis, an L.A. lawyer who has handled many celeb
adoptions. Beyond that, he insists, stars have no advantage. "It's
a myth," he says. "They have just as many problems, if not more,
adopting."
That was certainly true for Rosie O'Donnell, 38, who between 1995
and 2000 adopted three infants -- Parker, now 5?, Chelsea, 3, and
Blake, 1 -- and last summer became foster mother to Mia, 3?. "Being
a celebrity in America makes everything happen easier -- except
for going to the mall," she says. "But anybody who has the money
to go to a variety of agencies has a better chance of adopting quickly
than someone who has a limited budget." As an outspoken champion
of adoption, O'Donnell speaks with unusual candor. To locate birth
mothers, she says, "I retained five lawyers and paid them anywhere
from $1,500 to $4,000 each." Some had their own network of birth
mothers; others worked closely with private agencies. "It was a
broad spectrum of ways to go."
Even so, it took O'Donnell a year to locate her first child, working
with attorney Steven Sklar and the Children of the World agency
in Verona, N.J. Four years later, when the media reported that she
had adopted a third baby, letters to the editor arrived at PEOPLE
with messages such as, "Gee, wouldn't it be nice if real people
could adopt children as easily and quickly as the rich and famous
can?" and "Yet again, Rosie adopts a healthy Caucasian infant. What
an injustice." In fact, Blake is biracial, like Parker, while Chelsea
is white. Her family's ethnic blend is something O'Donnell stresses
when asked how to speed up the adoption process. "I didn't have
any preferences as to gender or the baby's race in terms of the
father," she says. "People wonder how I got three kids in five years.
Because I am open."
Indeed, contrary to the perception that the rich and famous swoop
in and scoop up the limited supply of healthy white infants, adoption
lawyers and agency directors say that prominent prospective parents
are unusually receptive to a wide variety of possibilities. "Celebrities
are more likely to take a child of a different background or one
where they don't have a lot of information about the birth father,"
says Santa Monica attorney Karen Lane. Michelle Pfeiffer's daughter,
for example, is biracial. Bestselling author Jacquelyn Mitchard
(The Deep End of the Ocean) adopted two Hispanic children.
And while most people want newborns or infants, actress Valerie
Harper's daughter was almost 4 when they first connected.
Attorney Lane has also found that celebrities are more accepting
of birth mothers who "might not be what we would think of as perfect,
or who might have a little bit of drug usage in the past." It is
a point that adoption attorneys and agencies emphasize. "If you
are looking for an infant whose birth mother got prenatal care from
the second she found out she was pregnant and stopped smoking and
never touched alcohol again," says Julie Tye, president of the Cradle,
a Chicago area adoption agency, "you are being unrealistic."
In any event, you should be prepared to wait. Spence-Chapin, one
of New York City's oldest agencies, cites an average nine- to 12-month
wait for white, black or mixed-race babies -- and by many accountings,
that is an optimistic estimate. Actress Suzzanne Douglas, 43, who
appeared in How Stella Got Her Groove Back, wanted an African-American
baby of either gender. "I wanted educated [birth parents] because
I figured the greater the education, the greater the prenatal care,
the better the health care," says Douglas, who worked through Spence-Chapin.
Her daughter Jordan, now 5, has a West Indian background, which
complements Douglas's physician husband Roy Cobb's Caribbean roots.
That the adoption took 14 months "was fine by me," says Douglas.
"It allowed us to emotionally prepare ourselves."
Most prospective adoptive parents, however, prefer swifter channels,
and many look outside the U.S. (18,539 children were adopted from
abroad last year). When CNN anchor Judy Woodruff, 54, and her husband,
Wall Street Journal executive Washington editor Al Hunt, 58, who
have two biological sons, first began exploring adoption, they quickly
decided to go the international route. They were put off by agencies'
warnings that the wait for a white American child "was going to
be three or four years," says Hunt, and inspired by a friend's adoption
of several Asian children. Korean-born Lauren's adoption in 1989
took seven months.
Also of concern to waiting parents is the length of time in which
a birth mother may change her mind about giving up her child. Particularly
attractive to adoptive parents are states like Texas, which gives
a birth mother as little as 48 hours to reclaim her baby. In California,
by contrast, relinquishment is revocable up to 90 days after custody
shifts from the birth mother to the adoptive parents, while New
York allows her up to 45 days.
Despite the complex variations in state adoption laws, however,
there are certain hurdles that must be cleared by all adoptive parents,
no matter what their job or income. Wealthy celebrities -- just
like the close to 70,000 couples and single parents who in 1999
adopted American children with no biological connection to them
-- must complete a home study, prepared by a licensed social worker,
that attests to their fitness to be adoptive parents. They must
also be fingerprinted for a criminal check, undergo a medical examination
(to rule out, say, drug abuse or a life-threatening condition),
provide financial records, obtain references from employers and
produce letters of recommendation from friends. And once an adoption
takes place they must wait an average of six months, depending on
the state they reside in, to finalize the procedure in court. In
short, says O'Donnell, "you have to go through the whole process."
Sometimes a celebrity's standing may prompt even tougher scrutiny.
Actress-singer Nell Carter, 52, a single mother of one biological
daughter and two adopted sons, both now 11, believes her home study
in 1989 -- understandably rigorous, given her history of drug abuse
-- was all the more thorough because of her fame. Unlike most prospective
parents, who receive one home visit from a social worker, her caseworker
turned up at her Beverly Hills home several times. "She investigated
the hell out of me," Carter says.
Whether a client works through an attorney or an agency, the cost
of an adoption typically ranges from $5,000 to $35,000, and sometimes
higher. Fees for the birth mother's medical expenses, for example,
can vary from $5,000 to $15,000, the upper end covering cesarean
births; $3,000 to $6,000 for living expenses, which might include
room, board, clothing and lost wages; $5,000 to $7,000 for legal
fees; and $3,000 to $9,000 for agency services, among them the home
study, counseling for the birth mother and parenting classes for
the adoptive parents.
States also make serious efforts to ensure there is no "buying"
of babies. All expenses are supposed to apply directly to the birth
mother's and unborn child's health care and the adoption process,
not the birth mother's future comfort. In Illinois, for example,
prospective parents who are pursuing an adoption independently and
not working through a licensed agency must have a birth mother's
living expenses approved by a judge. When L.A. Law actress
and single mother Susan Ruttan, 52, adopted her son Jackson in 1993,
her $14,000 tab included putting up his birth mother in an apartment
for two months prior to the delivery. "You can give them maintenance
-- food and clothing," says Ruttan. "But they can't take your credit
cards and go shopping at Neiman's. You have to account for everything."
Still, according to some in the field, abuses occasionally occur.
Elizabeth Vanderwerf, executive director of Abrazo Adoption Associates
in San Antonio, charges that some adoptions are "washed through
sloppy agencies and unscrupulous lawyers." She recalls a single
Jewish actress who, eager to please a birth mother, pretended to
be part of a Christian couple, and another actress who scooped up
several children, then returned those she was not satisfied with.
William Pierce, founding president of the nonprofit National Council
for Adoption in Washington, D.C., who has been approached by several
stars to help locate lawyers or agencies, recalls one celebrity
who "told me he would build a wing on our organization if I helped
him find a healthy Anglo infant." (Pierce declined the offer and
chose not to help.)
As for a hidden fast track for celebs, experts largely agree it
doesn't exist. Connie Chung and Maury Povich tried in vain for two
years before adopting son Matthew in 1995. "You don't get to cut
the line," says O'Donnell. "To think that a celebrity is getting
a child who was supposed to go to a couple in Minnesota is a fallacy."
Basically an adoption search is about making the right connections.
Just as celebrities can cut the waiting time by using their money
to pursue multiple avenues (as O'Donnell did), they may also benefit
by networking within the adoption-savvy Hollywood community. "Contact
with the right people," says Gloria Hochman, director of communications
for the nonprofit National Adoption Center in Philadelphia, "can
introduce you to the people who can help you." Susan Ruttan met
Los Angeles attorney Radis through a friend who had adopted and
within a month was introduced to a birth mother. Four months later
she brought her son home from the hospital.
Other celebrities can be helpful as well. O'Donnell, for instance,
had recently adopted Parker when she was approached at a 1995 party
at Carrie Fisher's house by a tearful Kate Jackson. Then 47, the
former Charlie's Angels TV star was a thrice-divorced breast
cancer survivor, facts adoption experts say would not stand in the
way of her adopting. Nevertheless, Jackson had spent five years
searching for a child. O'Donnell, who had never met Jackson before,
was eager to help. "I said, 'You're in luck,' " she recalls. "That
day I got a call from a lawyer who had an [expensive] adoption because
of the mother's lack of health insurance or whatnot. He asked if
I knew anyone who was well-off." Within weeks, Jackson, who is currently
single, brought home her son Taylor, now 5.
While attorneys deny charges of preferential treatment, some clients
believe that a dash of glitter may gain them attention. Lawyers
may feel greater confidence that celebrities will be able to meet
the costs of adoption and, says actress Valerie Harper, 61, "with
celebrities, lawyers trust you a bit more because they know you,
or think they do."
Birth mothers may also be influenced by a prospective parent's fame.
In this age of open adoption, in which birth mothers and adoptive
parents know each other's identities -- according to the National
Adoption Information Clearinghouse, the two sets of parents have
some contact in 72 percent of all adoptions -- it is the birth mothers
who decide whom their babies go home with. In the case of a starry-eyed
pregnant teenager, that may work to a celebrity's advantage. "People
perceive celebrities as living exciting lives, having lots of money
and being able to provide a child with an almost royal existence,"
says David Keene Leavitt, a Beverly Hills attorney who has handled
many celebrity adoptions. "The glamor does rub off and influence
some birth mothers."
In fact, birth mothers who have spent years reading about a particular
star, or seeing her on TV or in movies, may feel a personal connection.
That perceived bond, says Jamie Lee Curtis, 42, who with her husband,
actor-director Christopher Guest, 53, has adopted two children,
Annie, 14, and Tom, 4, "may aid some people in feeling more comfortable
than they would with a perfect stranger." Years of unsuccessful
fertility treatments and several miscarriages led actress JoBeth
Williams, 52, and her husband, director John Pasquin, 55, to attorney
Radis in 1986. He advised the couple, now parents of two adopted
sons, Will, 13, and Nick, 10, to put ads under Pasquin's name in
midwestern newspapers. Within a month they got a call from a 17-year-old
who had just given birth; they had her and the baby flown to L.A.
the next day. Though the girl had seen Williams's films Poltergeist
and The Big Chill, "I don't think she picked us because she
recognized me," says Williams. But, she adds, "I think it didn't
hurt." On the other hand, Williams recalls, "one of the concerns
she expressed was will he be brought up just around show business
people. We did everything to reassure her we would be leading normal
lives. I think that convinced her."
Interestingly, attorney Karen Lane has found that the birth mothers
"whose eyes light up at the idea of a celebrity are also the ones
who are very open to a single parent." That perhaps explains why
many single stars, such as Flockhart, 36, have completed adoptions
domestically. Other single women often find overseas adoptions a
quicker, more certain route.
But while a high profile may help a celebrity get noticed by a birth
mother, "that only gets you through the door," warns Lane. "They
still have to like you." Avariety of factors may influence a young
woman to choose one prospective parent over another. "Sometimes
it's 'Oh, their home looks like the suburb I grew up in,' or 'We
had a dog with the same name,' " says Tye of the Cradle. Rarely,
she notes, is money or fame a deciding factor. "I am so amazed by
the maturity of decision making," she says. "This may be a birth
mom with a nose ring and 10 earrings in one ear, but when it comes
to articulating what she wants in a family, she will be amazingly
perceptive."
Trisha Winter, 23, is typical. Now nearing her delivery date, the
L.A.-area birth mother says that when she approached attorney Leavitt
about finding adoptive parents, "I had no idea what any of his clients
were like." That some were famous failed to sway her. "I'm looking
for certain qualities," she says. "A happy family, a couple who
can't have children, who have decent jobs." After looking at rÚsumÚs
and photos of prospective parents, she settled on a couple from
the South. "I got that warm feeling inside when I read about how
they are," she says. "They're not rich. They're normal."
Then there are those birth mothers who want no postadoption contact
with the new parents and avoid celebs for fear of unwanted publicity.
"Celebrity seekers might make it their inappropriate business to
find out exactly who the birth family is and broadcast it," says
Chicago attorney Kathleen Hogan Morrison.
Some celebrities are equally wary of birth parents. Valerie Harper
and her husband, TV producer Tony Cacciotti, 61, feared that contact
with a birth mother might cause trouble down the road. "Tony didn't
want some uncle coming out of the woodwork years later saying, 'My
niece is over with Valerie Harper,' " she explains. To make sure
that didn't happen, they found an older child whose birth mother
didn't want to know the adoptive parents' identity. In fact, though
open adoption is increasingly common, many birth mothers do not
know that their children are being raised by stars. In Florida,
where Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman adopted their older child, Isabella,
now 8, a birth mother surrenders all rights as soon as she signs
the adoption papers. Boca Raton attorney Charlotte Danciu, for one,
declines to name her clients if they happen to be famous. "Even
if the birth mother is a sweetheart, the people she surrounds herself
with may not be," she says. "The celebrity could be a sitting duck
for blackmail."
Nell Carter had a taste of that. A few years after adopting her
sons, she brought home an infant girl and named her Mary. Ten days
later, the adoption papers not yet signed, the birth parents showed
up at her door asking for money. "I had a funny feeling," Carter
says. "I knew that birth father knew where I lived and that he could
always come back." Hard as it was, she chose to return the child
to them. Carter made one more attempt to adopt, this time taking
a pregnant woman into her home, only to have her skip town with
the baby after the delivery. "Some people will try to take you for
money," she says. "I think celebrities end up paying more."
The larger adoption community, however, has benefited from celebrity
involvement, which has helped lift the stigma that was once attached
to nonbiological families. "Michelle Pfeiffer and Rosie and others
doing it has made it something that seems within reach -- and okay
-- for the ordinary woman and man," says author Mitchard. Attorney
Hogan Morrison agrees. "More people are aware of adoption as a good
thing," she says.
Celebrities have also become activists for adoption and its related
issues. Steven Spielberg, 54, and Kate Capshaw, 47, are the parents
of seven, including five biological kids plus two African-American
children adopted through the public Child Welfare System. The couple
are deeply involved in an L.A.-based campaign to find permanent
homes for the 120,000 adoptable children nationwide currently in
foster care -- a process that is often faster and far less expensive
than private adoption. Jamie Lee Curtis, whose 1996 children's book
Tell Me Again About the Night I Was Born is virtually required
reading in adoption circles, recorded a public service announcement
about adoption that recently ran when CBS's Touched by an Angel
aired an episode on the subject.
No one, however, has promoted the cause more energetically -- and
effectively -- than O'Donnell. In conjunction with New Jersey's
Children of the World she has created an outreach program called
Rosie Adoptions, and at the end of her TV show each day lists a
toll-free number (800-841-0804) for birth mothers and prospective
parents. To date O'Donnell has helped place 39 babies with waiting
parents, only one of whom, Kate Jackson, is famous. She is also
funding a home for pregnant women in New Jersey, a facility she
hopes to replicate in Florida and California after she leaves her
hit talk show next year.
As for those who continue to attribute her growing family to her
fame, O'Donnell says, "When I got my foster child, nobody said to
me, 'Look, she has a 3 1/2-year-old biracial foster child. How did
she get that one?' I always want to go, 'Hold it. There are millions
of kids out there. You want one? Don't judge by what you interpret
to be how long I waited or Calista Flockhart did, or what her terms
were. Just do it.' "
Copyright © 2001 Time Inc.
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