Remembering Jeffery

Jeffrey Baldwin was five years old. And Jeffrey loved Superman. In happier times, before the years of starvation and neglect that would eventually take his life, there was a photograph of Jeffrey dressed in a Superman costume. His father remembered that Jeffrey wanted to fly just like his favorite superhero. Years after Jeffrey died, that photograph would inspire a permanent memorial a bronze statue of Jeffrey standing proudly in his Superman costume. That is an image of Jeffrey worth  holding onto. Not the starving little boy described in courtrooms and coroner's hearings. But Jeffrey as he should have been allowed to remain—a little boy imagining that he could fly. Jeffrey also loved Hot Wheels, another small piece of the child behind the case. When a memorial was later created for him, his sister specifically asked that a Hot Wheels car be incorporated into it. His name was Jeffrey Baldwin. He was a son. He was a brother. He was a little boy who loved superheroes and toy cars. And he deserved a childhood.

Jeffrey's Story

Jeffrey was born in Toronto on January 20, 1997, to Yvonne Kidman and Richard Baldwin. In 1998, Jeffrey and his older sister were removed from their parents' care by the Catholic Children's Aid Society. The decision was supposed to protect them. Instead, Jeffrey and his sister were placed in the custody of their maternal grandparents, Elva Bottineau and Norman Kidman. Inside that home, Jeffrey was subjected to prolonged and horrific neglect. Jeffrey and one of his sisters were treated differently from the other children living there. They were called degrading names. They were denied adequate food. While other children ate at a table, Jeffrey and his sister were made to eat scraps with their hands from a bowl while sitting on a mat. They were confined for extended periods inside a bedroom that was cold and unheated. The room was kept locked. Because the children could not freely leave to use the bathroom, they were forced to urinate and defecate inside. The room became stained and contaminated with human waste. Jeffrey's sister was permitted to attend school. Jeffrey was not. At the later coroner's inquest, evidence suggested that the food Jeffrey's sister received while attending school may have been one of the reasons she survived while Jeffrey did not. Jeffrey was slowly starving. His body became increasingly emaciated. There was no way to hide what prolonged deprivation was doing to him. Yet Jeffrey remained inside that home. On November 30, 2002, his grandparents called 911 and reported that Jeffrey was no longer breathing. He could not be saved. Jeffrey Baldwin was dead at five years old. By the end of his life, Jeffrey had wasted away until his body was described as weighing approximately as much as a baby. He had been starved. He had been confined. He had been neglected for years. And he died only weeks before what should have been his sixth birthday.

Warning Signs & System Failures

Jeffrey's story contains one of the most disturbing failures in the history of Canadian child protection. Jeffrey had already been removed from one home because authorities believed he needed protection. The Catholic Children's Aid Society then approved his grandparents as caregivers. But a proper background check was not completed before Jeffrey was placed with them. Had that history been uncovered, authorities would have discovered something extraordinary: Elva Bottineau already had a child-abuse conviction. Decades earlier, in 1970, Bottineau had been convicted following the death of her own five-month-old daughter. The baby had died of pneumonia and was found to have suffered numerous fractures. Yet years later, Jeffrey and his siblings were placed in Bottineau's care. There were additional warning signs. In 2000, a Catholic Children's Aid Society worker noticed a bruise beneath Jeffrey's eye. It was accepted as accidental. Jeffrey remained in the home. Meanwhile, his condition continued deteriorating. The system that had intervened because Jeffrey needed protection had unknowingly placed him with a caregiver who already had a documented history of abusing a child. Then it failed to recognize what was happening to Jeffrey after the placement. A coroner's inquest held years after his death examined those failures and led to recommendations concerning child welfare practices. Jeffrey's death also prompted changes in how children's aid organizations approached background checks and placements with relatives. Jeffrey did not fall through a system that had never known he existed.mJeffrey was already inside the system. He had been placed into that home by adults whose job was to find somewhere safe for him. He wasn't safe.

Justice for Jeffrey

Elva Bottineau and Norman Kidman were eventually prosecuted for Jeffrey's death. In 2006, both were convicted of second-degree murder. The court determined that the prolonged deprivation inflicted upon Jeffrey was not simply poor caregiving or neglect. A five year old child had been deliberately denied the necessities required to stay alive.

Elva Bottineau

Relationship to Jeffrey: Maternal grandmother
Conviction: Second degree murder
Sentence: Life imprisonment, with no parole eligibility for 22 years

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Norman Kidman

Relationship to Jeffrey: Maternal grandfather
Conviction: Second degree murder
Sentence: Life imprisonment, with no parole eligibility for 20 years

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Their convictions finally established criminal responsibility for Jeffrey's death. But no sentence could return what Jeffrey had lost.

Jeffrey's Legacy

More than a decade after Jeffrey died, his story reached a man named Todd Boyce during the coroner's inquest into Jeffrey's death. Boyce had never met Jeffrey. But he couldn't stop thinking about him. He learned about Jeffrey's love for Superman and saw the photograph of the little boy dressed as the superhero. Boyce began raising money for a permanent memorial. Hundreds of strangers contributed. Artist Ruth Abernethy created a bronze statue based upon that happier photograph. The statue depicts Jeffrey standing on a bench dressed as Superman. There was initially a dispute over whether the Superman emblem could appear on Jeffrey's costume. After public backlash, permission was ultimately granted. Jeffrey's sister helped personalize the memorial. She selected a poem for the accompanying bench and asked that a Hot Wheels car be included because it represented something her brother loved. In October 2014, the memorial was unveiled at Greenwood Park in Toronto. Years after Jeffrey had been confined behind a locked door, there he stood in bronze: Outside. In a park. Wearing his Superman costume. And finally visible to everyone.

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Forever Remembered

Jeffrey Baldwin was five years old. We should tell the truth about what happened to him. He was starved. He was confined in a cold room. He lived surrounded by filth. He was denied the food his growing body desperately needed. And eventually, his body could no longer survive. But Jeffrey Baldwin was not starvation. He wasn't a court case. He wasn't a child welfare failure. He wasn't simply the five-year-old whose photograph shocked people years after his death. Jeffrey was the little boy underneath the Superman cape. He loved superheroes. He wanted to fly. He loved Hot Wheels. And somewhere among the records documenting everything adults did wrong is a photograph of Jeffrey imagining himself as someone powerful enough to soar through the sky. That's the Jeffrey worth remembering too. There should have been a sixth birthday. There should have been school. There should have been friends. There should have been countless Halloween costumes after Superman. There should have been years for Jeffrey to discover new heroes and eventually understand that he never needed superpowers to be worthy of protection. Today, a bronze little boy stands in a Toronto park wearing the costume Jeffrey once loved. His story cannot be changed. But his name can continue to be spoken. Jeffrey Baldwin. A little boy who loved Superman. A little boy who wanted to fly. A little boy who deserved