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mail@authorsguildoftn.org    +1.865.254-3054 and 865.657-9560.

  • GHBanner3d

    GHBanner3d

A retired Human Resources/Training professional, Gale is a fifth generation Floridian currently living in Knoxville, Tennessee. She has been married for 50 years to her incredibly supportive, understanding and patient husband, Dave Hickman. They have two amazing sons, one awesome daughter-in-law and one phenomenal grandson. Gale and her husband enjoy outdoor activities such as golf, hiking and fishing.  They are also artisan craftsmen – Gale creates polymer clay sculptures and Dave is an artistic wood turner.

Gale felt the call to write the true-life story of a miraculous event that her husband experienced in 1955 when, at age 14, while hunting with his grandfather, he found an abandoned baby in the woods of Indiana. His decades-long search to locate her again resulted in their emotional reunion in 2104, which was broadcast world-wide on the CBS This Morning”show. Additionally, CBS posted the video on YouTube and the story of their reunion went “viral,” as they say. Soon Gale and her husband were receiving responses from  Individuals from all over the world expressing interest in knowing more about his decades-long search, the reunion and  their personal life.

It took two years to write“And the Angel Cried – the Miraculous Story of an Abandoned Baby in 1955.” Looking back on the events that occurred during the search for “Baby Roseann” was an extremely emotional time in their lives...the agony of encountering one brick wall after another, one door closing, another opening and increasing suspicions of a cover-up in Dave's home town. Anyone who values life will cherish this story. Those who believe, or want to believe, in Divine Intervention will be brought to their knees!

Books by Gale Frances

Interview Speakuptalkradio with Gale and her husband Dave Hickman

My Latest Blogs

10 October 2017
General

Another tale of growing up in the south, written by my sister, Penny C. Lofton - please visit her website, https://growingupsouthern.net, to read more of her stories.....

 

OCTOBER 7, 2017

 

It was an annual tradition in our small southern hometown. Everyone gathered at the little lake in the middle of town for the annual 4th of July picnic, games and the ever important “Fishing Contest.”

Being a family of five kids, it was a free event that soon became the highlight of our summers. Sure we had a bigger lake for swimming, biking down the hills until we fell into someone’s front yard or the opportunity to go up the tower in town and spit down at the tourists, but it was this fishing contest that always became our nemesis. None of the kids in the family had ever won this fishing contest, though we tried with every kind of bait you could buy or make. We felt that the rule of using cane poles was what was holding us back. Whoever caught the big one with a cane pole? Worse than that was that one of the requirements was we had to build our own cane pole. Lord Almighty, insult upon insult.

We started preparing at least a week in advance of the big day. Our Dad took us out where the old sugar canes and marsh canes were. You would have thought we were looking for gold. The fighting and scrapping that went on in that bog of humility was at a level only later we would see on America Wrestling with The Bruiser or Gorgeous George. These people had nothing on us kids! Eventually we found our poles. At some point my Dad would shove a pole in someone’s hand and say “There, you have your pole. Get to the car!” As you stomped back to the Pontiac muttering about if you lose it will be his fault, you devised a plan of action to ensure you were victorious!

We were three girls sandwiched between two boys. We didn’t worry about the youngest one, heck he could hardly walk and talk at the same time and was still in diapers. No competition there. It was the older brother that held all the cards. He had gone fishing with Dad and with Grandpa, and while he brought home fish and said he caught them…. I never really believed him. But there was that little flicker of fear that maybe he had. He instantly became my enemy.

Next we had to scrounge up line. I decided to do what every other kid in America does….. I went to Grandpa. Grandpa always had several tackle boxes that were filled with everything needed to win the contest and I made a beeline to him. The problem with going to Grandpa was that you had to hear “the story” about every size of hook, the lures, the line. You had to hear which fish took to what hook. I don’t really care, I thought, I just want one big fish to win. But I was dutiful and listened. I would shake my head and say “Yes sir” all the while dreaming of that big fish in the little lake.

The big day approached. We tried to keep our cane poles hidden from each other to ensure that they wouldn’t steal our ideas or our hooks in their sneaky attempt to win. As I sat on the banks of the lake to unwind my pole and bait my hook with my concoction of bread soaked in tunafish oil, I had a feeling I was going to win that day. I stayed away from my siblings and made sure they couldn’t smell my special bait, but I kept my eye on the older brother. Good Lord, I thought, he’s putting a minnow on as bait! Where did he find minnows? I secretly laughed as I thought “fish don’t eat fish.” My tunafish oil was more of a scent… a perfume that would surely bring the big one in.

The whistle blew and the contest began. Lines in the water… anticipation in the air. Then you heard “I’ve got one!” screamed out above the chatter. “I’ve got one” said another. It didn’t shy me away from what I came for. What seemed like an eternity, the bell rang for the final minute of the contest and I hadn’t caught a thing. I was desperate. Finally, just as the minute was coming to a close, I got a bite! It wasn’t a big bite, but it was a bite. I yanked and pulled and prayed and, yeah cried a little. I wanted that fish! I yelled “I’ve got one!” at the top of my lungs. The judges ran over to my site and watched as I pulled it in. It had to be a whopper! It was fighting and zig-zagging all over my little spot.

I pulled it in… walking backwards to get it up on the shore. I couldn’t see the size of it but I would have guessed five or ten pounds at least! A judge scurried and lifted it up. It was the smallest fish I had ever seen outside of a fishbowl! Geeze Louise! All this for a minnow!

The judge whisked it away to the judging table. Announcements were beginning and kids who caught the biggest fish went up to the table to collect their bounty. I was furious after all my dedication to fishing….. then I heard my name being called! As I sauntered slowly to the table I was trying to figure out why they were calling me. Had I done something wrong? Wrong hook? Wrong line? I was then presented with a wrapped prize for the “smallest fish” ever caught in that lake. Ha! I placed my beady eyes on my older brother and snickered in his direction. He had nothing and I had a prize!

I hurriedly ripped open the wrapping paper and couldn’t believe my eyes. I had won the best award ever. A brand new 45rpm record of Elvis Presley’s “Are You Lonesome Tonight.”

As my siblings and I walked home that afternoon, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of lordship over my fellow kinsmen. “I wooon! I wooon!” I sang as I skipped down the sidewalk. I got home and played that record over and over until my Mother took it away from me and banished it to the top of the refrigerator not to be heard again for a week .

Elvis and a fish. What a day it has been!

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10 October 2017
General

One of my sister's short stories from her website, https://growingupsouthern.net - tales from our childhood..... 

JULY 13, 2017

 

It was another scorcher of a day in central Florida. The kind of day that when they said you could fry an egg on the sidewalk and you went and got an egg just to try it out.

We four kids were on the side yard, lying in the shade of the big oak tree. The grass was at least three degrees cooler there than in the sun, but it was three degrees we enjoyed. Our Mother, still pregnant, apparently decided to step outside and try to motivate us. “Why are you kids lolly gagging and dilly dallying around? Don’t you have anything better to do today?” she questioned. We knew better than to remark that she, herself, had been sequestered on a rocking chair most of the day. Her mood had not been what you would want to call happy since the rising heat caught up with her rising belly, so we stepped lightly. “We’re trying to think of something to do,” I answered, knowing that it would buy us some time. It worked because she went back inside, probably to the rocker, but I wasn’t gonna question her.

“I wonder,” I said aloud to no one in particular, “just who is lolly or gagging or dilly or dallying? If I had a choice, I want to be Dilly,” I announced. Well, I had their attention now because I saw their heads move. “What do you mean?” questioned the older sister. “Do you think Mom and Dad have renamed us these ridiculous names for some reason?,” I asked. “It seems as though she always calls us Lolly Gagging Dilly and Dallying. If she didn’t have intentions of calling us by our Christian names but rather by these somewhat silly names, I would think there has been a change that we don’t know about,” I explained to the heathen surrounding me. I felt like a lawyer in some of those Gunsmoke shows we watched. I turned to my side to get a better look at my audience.

As my mind wandered, my siblings began to wake up from their summer-time nap. “Well, if you are going to be Dilly then I want to be Lolly,” said the older sister. “And I want to be Dallying,” said the older brother. That left Gagging to the baby sister. Seemed to me to be appropriate as she does gag allot. It was settled.

Before long our Mother came back outside and there we were, still lolly gagging and dilly dallying. “Who wants to go get some ice cream?” she shouted to us. “Me, me…. I do, I do!” we said in unison. As she began doling out coins for the special treat, I realized there was not a car ride in this deal. “Aren’t you going too?” I asked. “No, it’s too hot for me and this will give you kids something to do,” she replied. Ahh, the old switcheroo. It was too late because we had the money in our hands and the ice cream on our minds so we were stuck riding our bikes into town.

Picking up our bikes, our older brother decided he would put playing cards on the rims so he would sound like a motorcycle or something. Not to be outdone, we girls did the same. As we got to the back door with the flap, flap, flap sound of the playing cards, Mother reminded us to not leave the youngest one behind. Foiled again. That woman got us on every turn! The four of us rolled down the sidewalk and headed to the soda shop. Now town was only about ¾ of a mile away, but in this heat and the slow pace our younger sister required us to take, it seemed like miles.

Of course living in a small town meant that we had several stops to make before we got to the ice cream shop. First being the home of older brother’s friend, the older sister’s friend and my friend. We had to get up a posse to make the trip. Now we were a group of seven kids with playing cards in their spokes, cruising down the road. Next stop the shuffleboard courts. Sometimes the old people would leave the little pucks out and we would play our own invention of shuffleboard. We would kick the puck into the scoring area from one end to the other. With so many kids and one puck, we only got one chance to get a high score. I don’t have to tell you the boys won, having superior leg skills and all. Back to the bikes we ran. Next stop was to the Bank. Maybe we could get a few pennies off of Father for a comic book to share. We marched in there as though we were going off to war. We cajoled and begged until he finally relented and we pocketed the money quickly. Back on our bikes and we were beelining it for the five and dime and ice cream! Opening the door and heading to the back we took every seat at the counter and twirled around until our orders were taken. Oh…. how we savored the ice cream. The sharp sting of the ice cream cooled us down to our toes. Once done we sauntered over to the comic book selection. We had just enough for one comic book and agreement was tough.

Eventually, we settled on Super Man and took off once again for the shuffleboard courts where we lounged on the grass as the older kids read aloud to us all. Stupid older brother was in charge of the sound effects of the Pow! Bam! and the Wham! from Superman. He did it extra loud just to scare us girls!

It was beginning to get dark when we headed home after reading the comic book about 6 times. Our friends curved into their driveways as we passed their home. Then it was back to the original four. We ran into the house, slamming the back door each time with every entry. “Kids, is that you?” Mother called out.

“No,” I said. “It’s just Lolly, Gagging, Dilly and Dallying. We’re back from the ice cream shop!” I thought I was hilarious until she caught me with that flyswatter!

 

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10 October 2017
General

(Something all writers can identify with - written  by my sister, Penny Lofton.....I invite you to visit her website, https://growingupsouthern.net, to read her hilarious stories about growing up in the south)

 

I'm sitting here and I hear Simon & Garfunkel's song "The Sound of Silence" and thought... I could write a song to that music about writing! Here it is! Sing along to the tune of "The Sound of Silence" and have a laugh.

Hello keyboard my old friend
I’ve come to type with you again
‘cause a story softly creeping
Left its words while I was sleeping
And the thoughts that were left
are planted in my brain
and still remain
… until I write the story

Within my thoughts I walk alone
I know the story must be done
‘Neith the shadow of my frenzied fright
I know the words must be just right
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of the laptop light
I curse the night
… until I write the story

And in my tattered shirt I saw
Twenty-six letters, dropped my jaw
Add ten numbers to the mix
Not sure that I can make this fix
Writing stories that only I can tell
Not going well
I just can’t… write the story

“Damn” said I, a writer’s block
Maybe I could take a walk
Let the words I write beseech you
To move a thought or two within you
But my words will fall like my paycheck in the mail
What the hell, 
… unless I write the story

And then I wept and prayed
So many words that I had made
Then I read what I had written
With words that had me smitten
I saw a sign that said “Keep it up dear 
we need more beer” 
I felt the fear
Until I wrote…… the story! 


By Penny Lofton

 

 

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2
27 April 2017
General

Try as he might, Dave Hickman could never push away the hideous memories of that day, September 22, 1955. They haunted him for fifty-eight years before he finally found some closure. He was just fourteen years old at the time, too young to have witnessed such an evil act upon another human being. Although it was cold and rainy that day, Dave never turned down a chance to hunt in the woods with his grandfather – that decision changed his life forever. It was the day he found an infant girl cruelly abandoned in the woods – 6:00 pm, just as the evening was coming softly with the sunset, bringing the promise of a new dawn.

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1
07 April 2017
General
Overwhelming 5 star Amazon review of  "And the Angel Cried" from Jennifer - this is the mission of my book - to touch the hearts of the people who read the story and to make a difference in their lives......
 
out of 5 stars
 
His life was a constant reminder of Divine intervention
 
ByJennifer on April 6, 2017
Format: Paperback
If you are running low on miracles, this book is here to remind that God works in mysterious ways. The author pays loving tribute to her husband and faith with the true story of how his discovery of a discarded and injured baby girl, in the backroads of Indiana, molded his entire life. Since the day a boy of fourteen saved a baby from a certain and deliberate death, to the heart wrenching moment he said goodbye, his life was a constant search for reassurance that the child was leading a happy and peaceful life. From the moment the author met her husband, their lives spun a web of connections that lead back to an event that took place over half a century ago. The world is in desperate need of happy endings and Divine intervention. “And the Angel Cried” won’t disappoint.
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06 April 2017
General

On September 22, 1955, while hunting with his grandfather, Dave Hickman heard a noise in the woods – what he found there would change his life forever. Feeling compelled to find out what was making the noise, Dave walked approximately 120 yards alongside a barbed-wire fence line before he stopped and climbed a fence post to go into the woods. What his eyes saw next was shocking – someone had thrown a newborn baby girl into the cold, damp woods. She would have surely died that day had the hand of God not led the fourteen year old hunter to her intended grave site. After a fifty eight year search to find her again, Dave was reunited with Ellen on May 4, 2014 in Richmond, Indiana. On May 5th, he recreated his long walk along the fence line to show her the spot where she was found.

See the CBS footage: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjNjmIPIEF8&t=54s

and more at www.andtheangelcried.com

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06 April 2017
General

What an amazingly inspirational story! To think that this is a true story, that this really happened. In today's world full of horrific news headlines - murder, abductions, rape, natural disasters and terrorism there comes this story of hope and love. It's just amazing!

Read the full review https://wall-to-wall-books.blogspot.com/2016/09/and-angel-cried-miracle-of-abandoned.html

 

 

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02 March 2017
General
Short Stories

He cried out “God, please help me understand!” as he lay in bed that night. How could someone be so heartless, throwing away a member of the human family like garbage, leaving her in a field to freeze, starve or become an animal’s next meal? Dave Hickman had never witnessed such evil before. As his body trembled in response to the memories of that day, the questions wouldn’t stop.

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13 February 2017
Media

Readers will envision the emotions of a 14 year old boy as he tries to comprehend the tragic circumstances of the attempted murder of a newborn baby. Throughout the book, Dave’s 58 year search for the missing child intertwines with his personal family life. The story unpacks the struggles that Dave’s family faced with autism, poverty and divorce. It travels through Richmond’s history as the city where the first motion picture was viewed in the late 1800’s, and how the city became the focal point of the hot jazz revolution and center for audio recordings during the early 1900’s. Readers will learn of a love story that began in 1917, the year the United States declared war on the German Empire. They will read with compassion the story of sacrifices made for the sake of survival during the Great Depression of 1929. As you are drawn deeper into the story, you can imagine yourself growing up in the quieter, gentler times of the 1940’s. 

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