Procession Out of Deception

Joseph Smith was not an evil man. He was a Prophet of God.

At 17, Dawn Loggins came home from a summer program and discovered her family was gone. No note. No warning. No home. Months later, she received an acceptance letter from Harvard. This is her story. Dawn grew up in rural North Carolina in a house without electricity or running water. When the family needed water, she and her brother walked to a public park and filled jugs from the bathroom faucets. Showers were rare. Classmates called her dirty. She kept showing up to school. Her parents moved constantly. Eviction after eviction. New town. New school. By age 17, Dawn had attended four different high schools and missed nearly an entire year of education. Most students would have fallen behind. Dawn excelled. When she arrived at Burns High School in 2010, guidance counselor Robyn Putnam immediately saw something special. Dawn enrolled in makeup courses. Studied before sunset because there were no lights at home. Took AP classes. Earned straight A's. Joined clubs. Then led them. Photography Club. Rock Climbing Club. Spanish Club. President of all three. That summer she earned a place at the prestigious Governor's School of North Carolina. Teachers helped buy her clothes. Putnam drove her 200 miles to the program. Nobody knew where Dawn would be living when it ended. The concern turned out to be justified. Near the end of the program, Dawn tried calling home. The number was disconnected. When she returned, the house was empty. Her parents had moved away. She was 17 years old. Homeless. Alone. Most people would have stopped there. Dawn didn't. She couch-surfed. Carried toiletries in her backpack because she never knew where her next shower would come from. And every morning at 6 a.m., she went to work. As a school custodian. She swept hallways. Cleaned classrooms. Scrubbed desks. Then sat down and earned straight A's. By graduation year, she had: • Straight A grades • AP courses • Leadership roles in three clubs • A part-time job before school every morning Then a teacher made one suggestion: Apply to Harvard. Dawn laughed. Then thought: "Why not?" She became the first student in Burns High School history to apply. Months later, an envelope arrived. Harvard College. Accepted. Full tuition. Full room and board. Everything covered. On graduation day in 2012, when her name was announced, the entire gymnasium stood and applauded. Teachers cried. Students cheered. The girl who cleaned their hallways before sunrise was heading to Harvard. When asked about her parents, Dawn didn't speak with anger. She simply said: "I love my parents. I disagree with the choices they've made." Then she added something even more powerful: "If I had not had those experiences, I wouldn't be such a strong-willed or determined person." Burns High School had over 1,000 students. Dawn Loggins became the first ever accepted to Harvard. Proof that the circumstances you're born into are not the same thing as the future you're capable of building.

Seven girls—ages eleven to fourteen, six of them visibly pregnant—stood on the train platform at Boston's South Station on September 22, 1920, being led by two men and three women toward a train bound for "St. Mary's Home for Wayward Girls" in upstate New York—when suddenly a woman in the crowd, Mrs. Catherine Walsh, age fifty-two, had shouted "THOSE ARE CHILDREN! WHERE ARE YOU TAKING THEM?"—and within seconds, over thirty women on the platform had formed a human chain blocking the train doors, and Mrs. Walsh had confronted the group's leaders: "Why are pregnant children being taken to New York?"—and one of the women had answered "These girls are unwed mothers going to a home for rehabilitation"—but Mrs. Walsh had walked up to the girls and asked directly "Are you married?"—and five of the six pregnant girls had whispered "Yes" and shown wedding rings, and one girl, age eleven, had sobbed "They told my parents I have to go there after my baby comes to learn to be a good mother, but I heard they take the babies"—and Mrs. Walsh had shouted to the crowd "THESE ARE CHILD BRIDES BEING TRAFFICKED! SOMEONE CALL POLICE!"—and the thirty women had refused to move from the train doors while Mrs. Walsh had kept the group there until police arrived—and investigation revealed the "home" was actually a facility where child mothers were separated from their babies (adopted out for fees), then kept as unpaid labor for years—and all seven girls were taken into protective custody, their "husbands" (ranging in age from thirty-two to forty-seven) were arrested, and the "St. Mary's Home" was raided, revealing forty-three child mothers being held there—and Mrs. Walsh and the thirty women who'd formed the human chain were credited with exposing a multi-state child trafficking operation. The youngest girl, age eleven, lived until 2005, dying at age ninety-six. Before her death, she reflected: "I was eleven and pregnant, being taken to a train that would separate me from my baby. A stranger on the platform saw us—seven pregnant children being led away—and shouted 'Those are children!' Within seconds, thirty women formed a human chain blocking the train. They wouldn't move until police came. That human chain of strangers saved seven of us and led to forty-three more girls being rescued. One woman's shout, thirty women's bodies blocking a train, changed everything.