For 15 years, Anne McDonnell lived in limbo, not knowing whether her Jim was dead or alive. Then, one Christmas, the impossible happened.
The McDonnells lived in a small brick house in Larchmont, a suburb of New York City. Jim was foreman of mail carriers at the post office where he had worked for 25 years. A gentle, soft-spoken man, he had a wave-of-the-hand acquaintance with hundreds of people in town. Married in 1960, he and Anne were childless. Learn
During February and March 1971, when he was 50, Jim McDonnell suffered a curious series of accidents. None was critical in itself, but the combination appeared to trigger a strange result.
Carrying out the garbage one evening, he slipped on ice-coated steps, bruised his back and struck his head. A few days later, driving to work, he had a fit of sneezing, lost control of the car, hit a telephone pole, and banged his forehead against the windshield. The following day a dizzy spell at work sent him tumbling down a flight of steps, and again he banged his head. Ten days later he again lost control of his car and hit a pole. Found unconscious, he was hospitalized for three days with a cerebral concussion.
On March 29, 1971, Jim borrowed a friend’s station wagon and drove to Kennedy Airport to pick up Anne’s brother and family. Then he took them to Anne’s sister’s house. When he returned the borrowed car at 10 p.m., he was unaware that the leather folder containing his identification had slipped out of his pocket onto the floor of the station wagon. Jim declined the offer of a ride home: “I have a terrible headache and the walk will help clear my head.” Ordinarily the walk would have taken about 15 minutes.
At 11:15 p.m. Anne called the owner of the station wagon; he had no idea why Jim had not yet reached home. It was unlike Jim not to telephone if he was delayed. At 2 a.m., Anne called the police and reported her husband missing.
After 24 hours, the police sent out an all-points bulletin and began writing some 50 letters to Jim’s friends and relatives. They followed through on every anonymous tip and even checked unidentified bodies in New York morgues.
Detective George Mulcahy was assigned to head the investigation. He knew Jim was a man of probity and openness—the two attended the same church—and Mulcahy was sure the disappearance had nothing to do with wrongdoing by Jim McDonnell. Investigation confirmed that McDonnell’s personal and professional records were impeccable, and turned up no tendencies toward self-destruction or any evidence that he had been a victim of an accident or attack.
For Mulcahy, the only explanation was amnesia.
The phenomenon of amnesia is clouded in mystery. Why it occurs in some patients and not in others is open to medical speculation. What is known is that loss of memory can be caused by stroke, Alzheimer’s disease, alcoholism, severe psychological trauma—or by blows to the head. Any individual whose brain has suffered such injuries can simply wander aimlessly away from the place where he lives, with all knowledge of his past blacked out.
“For weeks,” Anne’s sister recalls, “Anne walked the house wringing her hands and praying. She agreed that Jim could be a victim of amnesia—and she worried about his health. Anne was sustained by her deep trust in God. She felt that one day he would provide an answer.”
