LostIn The

Dreamtime:The Baffling

Disappearance OfCathy Moulton.

BY GRANTLAND S. RICE.

T 5:30p.m. on Septem-ber 24, 1971, CathyMar ie M 0 u 1to nstepped down fromthe granite steps of

Starbird Music, then on upperForest Ave., into the dark chasm ofthe missing and lost. In a splitsecond of eternity, carrying only anew pair of pantyhose and two tubesof toothpaste in a hand-tooled Mex-ican handbag, Cathy walked fromthe all-too-predictable and plannedlife of a 16-year-old high school stu-dent into oblivion. Although mod-ern man likes to think of himself asfixed in time, located and firmlyrooted on earth, there were nophone calls, no handwritten letters,not even a strand of light brown hairlying on the shoulder of a lonelyroad somewhere to testify to Cathy'spassing. Like footprints in the sand,only unanswered questions and asun"'-faded 1971 photograph wereleft behind to haunt friends and fam-ily with their implications.

The passengers' manifest to therealm of the missing goes back to

10 PORTLAND MONTHLY

--antiquity and reveals no secretsother than thousands of puzzlingdisappearances including persons,as historian Jay Robert Nash notes,"who vanish inside ship staterooms,while swimming underwater, [and]into a fog." Many disappear withcircumstances which buoy up likelyexplanations; Michael Rockefellerwas last seen making for the PapuaNew Guinean Coast grasping twofive-gallon gasoline cans from hisswamped canoe. Others vanish intoa realm their personal history seemsto have prepared for them, such aspolitical professor and intriguerThomas Riha who failed to show upfor classes in 1969 amid rumors hewas abducted by the CIA. But mostintriguing are those persons who,like writer Ambrose Bierce, calmlyand inexplainably step over theborder of the known intonothingness.

Nothing in Cathy Moulton'sabbreviated past seems to indicateshe was tagged for the missing. Bornin Portland onJune 28, 1955, Cathyand her two younger sisters, Pamelaand Kimberley, grew up with firmbut compassionate parents in awhite clapboard house down thestreet from Deering High School.Lyman Moulton, who owned RayMoulton's Used Cars until he retiredin 1978, describes his daughter asquiet and contemplative, who"trusted people and was a good stu-dent." Although she had few closefriends, Cathy loved to swing, andwhen she wasn't babysitting or help-ing out around the house sheattended dances held at the local 7-11 Club.

"She seemed to be interested inhelping people," claims ClaireMoulton, Cathy's mother. "She wasdown the street all the time sittingwith a friend of the family who wasparalyzed ... It was amazing howwell they could communicate con-sidering he had a speech impair-ment." Cathy also sat with some ofthe elderly in the neighborhood andwith a friend who was bedridden bya car accident. "She felt if you werenice to other people they -would benice to you," reflects Claire, who hadlong chats with her daughter everyday after school.

Like her father and sisters, Cathyoften wrote poetry, and the only

suggestion of a furtive inner life istenouosly rooted in this passion. Atthe time of her disappearance Cathyadmired teacher John Glynn, whomLyman Moulton claims was "in tunewith the Hippy generation" andwhose classes focused on modernpoets. Glynn gave readings at "TheGate," Portland's eclectic coffee-house, and Cathy sometimesstopped by in the afternoon to hearhim and others take the podium. Inthe early 1970's poetry at The Ga.teechoed a growing disenchantmentwith the Establishment, with theVietnam War; and for many thewords spoke of a truth out "On TheRoad" with Kerouac, Ginsberg, andFerlinghetti. It is easy to fictionalizean unhappy young girl, inspired byatonal lifestyles and romantic cities,hopping a freight west to discov~rAmerica. But, unfortunately, there isno indication of such closure in thecase of Cathy Moulton. Even DeanMoriarty left the East Coast with

.more than two tubes of toothpasteand a pair of pantyhose. And whilethe poetry Cathy left behind revealsa thoughtful and idealistic interior,there is nothing in her verse thateven cryptically foreshadows herdisappearance. .

Perhaps the mo~ -ironic apsect ofCathy's history waS-the fact that herlife was seemingly just opening up.In the summer of 1971 Lyman tooktime off fro'hl his business and theMoultons travelled for 81 daysthroughout the United States andMexico. It was the first time Cathyhad travelled extensively outside ofMaine. When she returned to Deer-ingHigh School in the fall, Cathywas excited e_nough for Nancy Bar-low, one of"Cathy' s girlfriends, tocomment that she thought Cathyseemed happier than she had in thepast. During the trip Cathy turned16, and for her birthday the Moul-tons promised Cathy a gift fromwherever she saw something sheliked. And it was in Mexico thatCathy picked out the distinctiveleather handbag that was to accom-pany her into the unknown.

Friday, September 24th, after astudy hall at school, Cathy rushedhome and asked her father to giveher a ride into town so she could goshopping. "She'd had a run in herpantyhose and wanted to get a new

But most of the reports sug-gested Cathy disappearedsouth. The mother of AlvinDrake, then a young man whowas often Cathy's partner atlocal dances, reported topolice that the general talkaround school was that Cathywent, or was on her way, toBoston. And Nancy Barlowremembered a girl In Cathy'sstudy hall telling a story aboutgoing to Boston and having agood time. She said Cathy"appeared Interested."

12 PORTLAND MONTHLY

MYSTERY

pair to wear to the YMCA dance,"explains Claire Moulton. Mrs. Moul-ton gave Cathy money and asked herto get two tubes of toothpaste whileshe was out. She also gave Cathyseveral coins for the bus home.Cathy put what could only haveamounted to two or three dollars inher leather handbag, along with akey to the house, and went out thefront door with her father. Leftbehind were her clothes, makeup,and, on a polished dresser upstairs,money Cathy had made babysitting.And left behind draped from theback of a chair in her room was thenew skirt Cathy had made to wear tothe dance that evening.

Lyman Moulton dropped hisdaughter off in front of the NewEngland Telephone and Telegraphoffice on the corner of Cumberlandand Forest Avenues at 1:15 p.m. andsaw her start up towards CongressStreet. Cathy was wearing a navyshort-sleeve wool dress, a navy gab-ardine double-breasted box coatwith brass buttons, and carried onlyher reversible Mexican handbag. Alittle over two hours later, aftershopping, Cathy stopped by StarbirdMusic to talk with classmate CarolStarbird. She told Carol that she washurrying home to take a showerbefore the dance and that, as she hadspent her bus fare, she was walking.They parted saying they'd see eachother that night, and, slinging herhandbag to her shoulder, Cathystepped out onto Forest Avenue.

HEN Cathyfailed to showup by dinner,Mrs. Moultonbegan to

worry. "In our family we alwayscalled when we were going to belate." At 6:30 p.m. Claire called thepolice and explained that herdaughter had never gone anywherewithout notifying them before andthat she wanted to file a missingpersons report.

"They laughed at me," sheremembers, and the dispatcher toldMrs. Moulton they'd have to wait 72hours - three days - before thepolice could take action. After check-ing with hospitals and friends,Lyman Moulton drove down to the

police station, where he was"explained the facts of life" by thedesk sergeant. But Moulton was per-sistent, and, "to shut me up," they lethim file a missing persons form.

In those tense moments in 1971the Moultons initiated a vigilancethat was to last nearly two years. Atno time was the front door bolted orthe telephone out of earshot in theevent Cathy reappeared or someonecalled with information. Scheduleswere rearranged, and Mr. and Mrs.Moulton rarely left the housetogether. Cathy's room was leftuntouched in expectation of herreturn.

Oddly enough, the story broughtlittle publicity. In the first 10 days ofOctober the Portland PressHerald and the Maine Sunday Tele-gram each ran a picture in what,with the exception of an article in anOld Port newsletter, was to be theonly newspaper coverage of Cathy'spisappearance. Soon afterwards theMoultons got in touch with thedirector of Portland's FBI office, andalthough he couldn't start an officialinvestigation without evidence ofabduction, he managed to getCathy's picture to appear at the endof several television episodes of"The FBI" starring~phrem Zimbal-ist,]r. Investigators at the PortlandPolice Department, who in 1971had no fun~ specifically allocatedfor missing Persons and who wereseeing a rash of youngsters -almost 200 a year - leaving home,seemed certain Cathy was a runawayand, after interviewing family andfriends, filed her report withhundreds of other missing Portlandteenagers. A~~, in the weeks thatfollowed, the -Moultons discoveredthey were la-i-gely on their ownsearch for their daughter.

"I don't agree with the way they[the police] handled things, but Iunderstand they weren't picking onus," claims Lyman Moulton whosays he would have acted moreaggressively had he known thenwhat he knows now. "This was awhole new ball game for us. We'dhad no real problems to think about.Then something like this happens.You don't know what to do."

It was a period of hope and heart-break. Early in November officialsat Deering High School cleaned out

Cathy's locker and found a phonenumber scrawled on a scrap ofpaper. Theories raced through theusually calm Moulton household,but the clue only led back to a mys-tery. The seven digits rang a phoneat Moulton's own Used Car lot. Sev-eral weeks later the Moultonsreceived an overdue notice,addressed to Cathy, for a high schooltextbook. The school. followed upwith an apology saying fbey'd foundthe book. Mrs. Moulton -spent muchof her time seated beside herupstairs window where she couldwatch up and down the street for herdaughter, dressed in Navy wool,walking home.

Meanwhile flotsam from allpoints on the compass washed up onthe Moultons' doorstep and inCathy's police file. Mr. Pinkhamfrom the Giant Store in Brunswickpicked up a boy.al1d a girl with anunusual-looking handbag and gavethem a ride into Brunswick center. Acaller reported that they had seen agirl fitting Cathy's descriptionhitchhiking on Route 88 in Fal-mouth. And a week before Cathy fvanished, Harvey Brown, a workerfor the Parks Department, saw ablack male, about 20 years old, in a1965 or 1966 Pontiac with a dam-aged left fender, Massachusettslicense plate, approach a girl withglasses and long hair. She got intothe car and they drove off. .

But most of the reports suggestedCathy disappeared south. Themother of Alvin Drake, then ayoung man who was often Cathy'spartner at local dances, reponed topolice that the general talk around~chool was that Cathy went, or wason her way, to Boston. And NancyBarlow remembered a girl in Cathy'sstudy hall telling a story about goingto Boston and having a good time.She said Cathy "appeared inter-ested."

The most haunting clue camefrom Westbrook psychic AlexTanous, who Lyman Moulton des-cribes as "very dedicated" and whooffered his services free of charge."I'm not saying I do or don'tbelieve," Moulton explains, "butyou've got to try these things." Oneevening Tanous and Moulton wentout for a drive around Portland. "He[Tanous] felt vibrations, or wha-

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Sixteen years have passed,and Cathy's body has yet tofloat to the surface of somereservoir. There have been nodeathbed confessions of falseIdentity nor has a young blue-eyed woman sat sUddenlyupright in a hospital ward afterlong years of amnesia, askingfor her leather handbag.

14 PORTLAND MONTHLY

MYSTERYtever you want to call them ... in theMunjoy Hill area. We came downCongress to Forest and downForest - the way we figured Cathywould have walked home - to thecorner of Forest and Park Street,across from the post office. Here he[Tanous] received "a sense" thatCathy got into a car and drovestraight out Forest. When the cargot to either Coyle or Lincoln Street,he wasn't sure which; the car turnedleft on one of those two streets andheaded south ... towards Boston.Then he [Tanous] lost the vib-rations."

After Thanksgiving in 1971, theMoultons received word from theState Police that a girl resemblingCathy was living in Presque Isle.Lyman Moulton closed up his busi-ness, and he and Claire drove north.Arriving, Moulton discovered thatthe sheriff's department in PresqueIsle knew nothing about Cathy's dis-appearance nor anything about thegirl in the State Police report. "Theyweren't communicating with eachother," sighs Moulton. At the timeinfuriated, Lyman organized a meet-ing at E.C. Jordan's Presque Isleoffice and handed out photographsand a description to the area's policeand sheriffs departments. Moultonthen went door-to-door, store-to-store, asking questions and handingout flyers, at one point even crossinginto New Brunswick. The policeeventually discovered that the girlthey had thought might be Cathywas in fact a girl who had disap-peared from her home in Connecti-cut. The girl returned home, and,after investigating rumors of a girlwho had taken up with an Indian,the Moultons headed back toPortland.

Although Moulton has beensympathetic to the difficulties pres.:ented to the police, he spares noemotion explaining his frustrationwith the system. When Cathy van-ished, both copies of her socialsecurity cards were found at home.On the chance she carried a handw-ritten copy with her, the Moultonswrote Sen. Margaret Chase Smithand asked her to help them trace anyactivity on Cathy's number to findout if she or anyone else were usingit. The Moultons were told theycould write a letter - which they did

- that would be forwarded to anemployer if he reported Cathy'snumber. He, in turn, was urged topresent it to whoever was using theidentification. If Cathy were aliveand never got the letter, were work-ing under the table, or wouldn'trespond, or if someone else wereusing her number, the Moultonswould never know. And theyhaven't heard a word.

"I really feel somewhere, some-time, somebody has to do somethingabout access to files - at least makethem available to police. I under-stand families have fights and so on.But when there is a legitimate rea-son someone should know," offersMoulton, who feels the barrier is atleast in part economic, "That's whatgets me. A person is an important

thing. You are. I am. And Cathy is. Ifthe government wanted to, they'dturn hell and high water over tolocate somebody. Just try not payingyour taxes. lJiit when it comes tomissing persons, the doors areclosed. We just want to know whathappened to our daughter."

Sixteen years have passed, andCathy's body has yet to float to thesurface of some reservoir. Therehave been no deathbed confessionsof false identity nor has a youngblue-eyed woman sat suddenlyupright in a hospital ward after longyears of amnesia, asking for herleather handbag.

"Maybe she's living happily everafter somewhere in Canada. That'swhere everyone was going in theearly Seventies. Or maybe she's bur-

ied in a grave somewhere in Maineor Massachusetts ... or a skeleton in amorgue," explains Detective Wil-liam S. Deetjen of the PortlandPolice Department. "That's the sadthing. We just don't know."

On New Year's Day, 1988, Deetjenpulled Cathy's dog-eared folderfrom the bottom drawer of hiscrowded file cabinet and opened itfor what may have be¢n the firstltime in years. Deetjeri~ who hastracked runaways across the UnitedStates for the past four years, wasunaware of Case No. 60 141 until acolleague mentioned he re-membered taking a photograph to a 1

Portland couple who hadn't seentheir daughter since 1971. "We getrunaways, five to 10 a we<!k,but herewas a missing person," says Deetjen,who claims actual missing personsare rare in Portlaqd. The discoverynudged Deetjen, -a":19-year veteranand father of four daughters, toreopen the case and give Cathy andher family what he modestly terms a"fair shake."

A fair shake for the busy YouthAid detective who finds five to sixjuvenile cases on his desk eachmorning, one or two of them runa-ways, meant ringing the Moultons'doorbell and spending several hourssifting through the poems, letters,and belongings of a girl who, if sheis alive, will be 33 in June. As Deet-jen reveals, 'Tve got the best 'of bothworlds. I'm a father and a police-man. I have a luxury in that if some-thing were to happen to my family Ican do something. I want to givethem [the Moultons] that luxury."

Although Lyman and ClaireMoulton have learned over the yearsnot to get their hopes up, they aredelighted someone has taken inter-est in their daughter. "You don'tknow how important it is to haveanyone try to do something - afterall these years. It's more than weever hoped would happen," saysLyman Moulton. "The older you get,the faster time goes," Claire remarkswith wet eyes. "We love Cathy, andif she's alive we'd like to have thefamily reunited. If not ... well, we'dlike to know that, too. The hardestpart is not knowing."1986 Watson fellow Grantland S. Rice hasjust returned from a year in Australia andNew Zealand. •

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PORTLAND MONTHLY 15