The Memory Book"This thing is as old as the
hills."
Catherine Fultz Griffin hadn't laid eyes on her copy
of the Pet Milk "Memory Book" in years. The scrapbook
chronicling the Fultz Quadruplets childhoods as
corporate symbols for Pet Milk had been left in storage
with a friend who had put Catherine up for a while, and
she'd lost track of the book's whereabouts.
With the book now in hand -- scarred leather binding,
pages out of order -- Catherine recalled her long-ago
memories, and the three identical sisters she buried
before her 56th birthday...
Leaf
through the book
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The StoryPart
One For the first recorded identical
black quadruplets in the world, and the first set of
quads to survive in the South, would overnight fame be
a blessing or a curse?
Part
Two Amid the rigid segregation of
the 1950s, the appeal of the Fultz Quads bridged two
worlds, taking the sisters far from their family's
isolated tobacco farm.
Part
Three This is the story of how four
identical little girls from Madison became national
icons of the post-war baby craze and of the birth of
the black urban consumer.
Part
Four They were stars as children,
but so-called "corporate adoption" by Pet Milk didn't
provide for just one thing -- that the Fultz Quads
would one day grow up.
Part
Five What ever happened to Alice's
baby? The secret that haunted Alice Fultz until the
night she died last October was the steepest price to
pay for celebrity.
Part
Six With eerie symmetry, breast
cancer claims three of the Fultz Quads. Catherine --
the "baby" of the four, born moments after her closest
sister -- fears the same fate.
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 Catherine Fultz
Griffin, 56, the last surviving Fultz Quad, looks at a
portrait of the girls at Annie Penn Hospital, their
birthplace. (James Parker/©News &
Record)
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And then there was one
8-4-02
By LORRAINE AHEARN, Staff Writer News
& Record
REIDSVILLE -- Any other night, she might have paused at the glass
case in the hospital lobby and stared past her own reflection at the
color portrait on display. It rests between some yellowed newspaper
clippings and antique surgeon's tools -- a long-ago, air-brushed
photo of four little girls posed, unsmiling, next to a can of Pet
evaporated milk.
"The world's only identical quadruplets," the ad boasts. "Four
years old, growing sturdy and strong on Pet Milk." A typed note
explains this million-to-one quirk of nature, a relic from the era
before fertility drugs: "Fultz Quadruplets, Born at Annie Penn
Hospital, May 23, 1946." Their names, printed under their carefully
positioned hands, are Mary Louise, Mary Ann, Mary Alice and Mary
Catherine.
Ever since she moved back home 10 years ago, Catherine would
occasionally stumble across these stray fragments from her
childhood. They turned up at flea markets or in the windows of old
bookshops, scattered and out of order, like pages of a family album
that lost its binding. Of course, they always had a price tag, and
they always belonged to somebody else.
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might be the Fultz Quads on their first birthday, on the cover of
Ebony ( ). As teenagers
in the Rose Garden with JFK ( ). On a roadside
Pet billboard ( ) being auctioned
off as black "memorabilia" -- rare souvenirs, like the Annie Penn
Hospital display, the now-grown sisters could only window-shop.
But on this particular Sunday night last October, Catherine Fultz
Griffin hurried past the glass case to the hospital elevators. Still
dressed for church, she'd spent the afternoon in her sister Alice's
room, and gone home only to be summoned back.
Alice was dead, leaving Catherine, the "baby" of the quads, born
five minutes after her closest sister, as the next of kin.
The last one born, the unexpected one, she was now the only
survivor. First, Louise had died of breast cancer at age 45, then
Ann, from the identical cause at age 50. Finally, Alice had lost the
same battle, at 55, her body about to leave Annie Penn in a
funeral-home ambulance -- the same way the over-taxed hospital
transported the four babies home to their parents' tobacco farm in
1946.
A double mirror image from the moment of birth, their death
certificates read like carbon copies as well.
And then there was one.
The nurses called it "the basement" -- the wing
that housed the emergency room, the cafeteria and the rooms for
black patients. Just one nurse, Margaret Ware, was working that
floor the night Annie Mae Fultz ( ) went into
labor.
As a precaution, Annie Mae, 37, had come in three weeks early.
For one thing, she'd grown huge, and the X-rays detected triplets.
Besides that, she and her husband and their other six children lived
way out on a tenant farm down a narrow, rutted dirt road off R.F.D.
No. 2. Without a car, electricity or running water -- let alone a
phone -- it was no place to wait out an unusual and risky multiple
birth.
 Dr. Fred Klenner -- later the father of the notorious
Fritz Klenner -- got his first fame by delivering the quads,
who became a test of his messianic belief in massive vitamin-C
therapy. (Courtesy of Ebony magazine)
| The labor
itself was neither long nor difficult because the babies were so
small -- a little more than 3 pounds each. Annie Mae was deaf and
mute, communicating only by gestures and reading lips, but Nurse
Ware knew when it was time to call the doctor, Fred Klenner.
Years later, Klenner would gain fame as an early advocate of
massive vitamin-C therapy, and then infamy as the father of Fritz
Klenner, the delusional, kissing-cousin survivalist behind the
made-for-TV murder-suicides of 1985.
But in the wee hours of May 23, 1946, Fred Klenner was just a
family doctor with an office uptown, about to gain his first renown.
He would deliver the world's first recorded set of identical black
quadruplets, and the first set of quads ever to survive in the
South.
It was an event sensational enough that national news
organizations flocked to the little country hospital, and even
Universal Pictures dispatched a camera crew. But here at home, it
was treated as so-called "colored news."
In the Greensboro Daily News, the story was relegated to Page 9,
with no picture and the headline: "Quadruplets Born To Negro Family
In Rockingham Reported Thriving." The account didn't always jibe
with the way family members recall it, but it made colorful copy.
The ink was barely dry on the babies' birth certificates, and the
mythology of the Fultz Quads was already being written.
The father ( ), who is called
"Pete" by his friends, was not at the hospital when the children
were born. When his brother-in-law, Bill Troxler, rushed out to the
farm near Reidsville which "Pete" rents from T.S. Wray of this city,
and broke the news, "Pete" it is said, uttered a laconic and
justifiable "Good God" and fell back in his bed. His
brother-in-law's message was reported as, "Man, you better get up to
the hospital quick. You got a whole bunch of babies. They's so many
of them, they laying 'em cross-wise of the bed."
 The odds of single-egg identical quadruplets were
one-in-a-million, but the fact that they survived and were
thriving by their first birthday created a national sensation.
(Courtesy of Ebony magazine)
| Back at
Annie Penn, the reality was less "Gone With the Wind" and more "The
Grapes of Wrath." As the late Dr. Klenner would write of his
so-called "vitamin-C" babies in a medical paper years later: "Our
only nursery equipment was one hospital bed, an old, used
single-unit hot plate and an equally old 10-quart kettle."
With no incubator, Klenner improvised cotton gauze blankets and
laid the newborns together for warmth. The doctor meanwhile took it
upon himself to name the girls -- all of them Mary, followed by the
names of the women in the Klenner family. There was Ann, for the
doctor's wife; Louise, his daughter; Alice, his aunt; and Catherine,
his great-aunt.
To the delivery nurse, who is black, it didn't seem strange.
"At that time, you know, it was before integration," Margaret
Ware, 79, recalled recently. "They did us how they wanted. And these
were very poor people. He was a sharecropper, Pete was, and she
couldn't read or write."
Meanwhile, the switchboard at Annie Penn was overloaded. News
crews had camped out at the hospital from the morning after the
quads were born, and police guarded the exits, lest someone try to
steal the instantly famous babies.
"It was a big deal," said Ware, the only one of the quads' nurses
still living. "And when something like this happens, everyone wants
a piece of it."
 Nurse Elma Saylor shows the quads their Ebony spread;
Pet Milk paid her to care for the babies, whose dirt-poor
parents already had six children to raise. (Courtesy of
Catherine Fultz Griffin)
| Nobody
wanted a piece of the story more than the big national dairies that
produced infant formula for the emerging post-war baby boom. Borden
and Carnation were the first to come calling, but Klenner awarded
the deal to Pet, a midland dairy based in St. Louis.
In exchange for using the quadruplets for "promotional purposes,"
the company would provide food and medical care, including a nurse,
and buy a farm to be deeded to the four sisters when they reached
adulthood.
So once the babies gained enough weight to be out of the woods,
the Reidsville Review announced their hospital discharge, under a
photo of the newly plump quads:
Dr. Fred Klenner stated that visitors would be welcome at the
home between the hours of 2 p.m. and 4 p.m. each afternoon, and that
the quads could be viewed through a glass screen.
And so it was that the Fultz Quadruplets left Annie Penn
Hospital: under contract, named after their white doctor's
relatives, headed home to a glass-enclosed nursery and driven there
in a pair of McLaurin Funeral Home ambulances.
Contact Lorraine Ahearn at 373-7334 or at lahearn@news-record.com
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