In this business, we get questions. Once in a while, we can even answer them. Several recent queries have been generated by references in this newspaper to a small ecumenical community known as Starcross. It may be time to tell that story one more time.
It’s an unusual name — combining the Easter cross, and the Christmas star, representing both suffering and hope. And it is an unusual endeavor.
For nearly half a century, Tolbert McCarroll (Brother Toby), Mary Martha Aggeler (Sister Marti) and Julian DeRossi (Sister Julie) have rushed in where angels fear to tread.
Their association began in the 1960s in San Francisco, part and parcel of the Humanist Potential movement. Brother Toby, a writer and former attorney who had earned his street credentials as an organizing activist in the South, was director of an institute where Sister Marti visited as a UC student writing a sociology paper. Sister Julie, too, was one of many young people who came to observe and to learn.
The three found they had mutual goals. They took monastic vows and, as Starcross, bought a house on Masonic Avenue where they began work with at-risk children.
By 1976, Starcross had outgrown its quarters and decided that the country would be a better place for the street kids they cared for. They sold the San Francisco house and bought the old Patchett Ranch in Annapolis, a historic site with a classic old house and barn and an aging orchard of mountain apples.
They brought with them a group of youngsters to raise safely, off the mean city streets.
There were 19 of them in all. To say it was nonprofit is an understatement. Somebody gave them a cow. They planted a huge garden. Brother Toby was writing magazine articles and books. There was some money for the youngsters placed there by the courts, from caring individuals who learned of their mission, from Bay Area organizations who voted some support and from the Christmas trees they planted to sell, along with the wreaths they made, at Christmastime.
Then came the 1980s and the AIDS epidemic — and chapter two of the Starcross story. At risk now were babies born to mothers with AIDS or HIV. The fears and misunderstandings of the early days of the epidemic meant that many institutions would not accept these infants. Bay Area case workers knew of Starcross and called upon them to step up.
It was a tough time. The spread of AIDS was still a mystery to the public. The rural fire department came forth to state that it would not answer calls to resuscitate the babies. There was concern voiced about diapers disposed of in the local dump.
Starcross persisted. They acquired a big old house in Santa Rosa, on Cherry Street, so the babies could be close to medical help. They named it Morning Glory House. Of the original six babies (there were more to come), two died within two years. Some lived on into their teens, requiring specialized care. If there were no families, they became family, several officially, by adoption.
Then the world came to Starcross in dramatic fashion.
Word of their work had spread quickly and, in 1990, Brother Toby was invited to visit Romania by international organizations that were discovering the extent of the AIDS epidemic in that country, recently freed from Communism and the horrific Ceausescu regime.