The Big Lie

And how I uncovered the truth after 20 years.

In my post, “From Indentured Servant to the U.S. Senate: A 380-Year Journey,” I detailed my family’s history from arriving in America to my career in Congress.

It’s a great story and one I am very proud of, but there is one detail I left out: 

I am not an Ordway…and the journey for truth took many years to reveal itself.

The Beginning

There was no formal investigation when I was a kid, but there were little nuggets and red flags about Mom's past that didn’t line up. For several years, I tucked them in my top-secret mental evidence folder and kept them to myself.

The Navy ID

The first seed was planted when I started carrying around a wallet in elementary school after my Mom gave me a photo ID (which was stolen from my gym locker in 7th grade). It was issued by the U.S. Navy, dated in late 1988, with the name Robert William Joseph Brown. (mom’s maiden name) I asked Mom why it didn’t say Ordway, and she responded that she and Dad had not been married yet (1990), which is true. I was also smart enough to know that, at the time, kids still took their father's last name at birth, but I had no reason to push the issue.

The Birth Certificate

I saw my birth certificate a handful of times when Mom pulled it out for school registration and immunizations, among other things. It had my dad, Douglas Raymond Ordway as the father, but the document states: Date Record Filed: March 1985, Issued: 01-29-88—almost three years after my birth. This also happened around the time when Mom was visiting Dad in Indiana, getting pregnant shortly thereafter with my sister. After this event, Mom dropped me off with my grandparents in western Kentucky for about a year (1988-89) after convincing them that Doug was my father. 

With my grandparents in rural western Kentucky (Crittenden County)

When I asked Mom about the issue date, she said she lost the originals, so to make up for it, she got two this time and laminated them for protection. It seemed plausible, except that Mom was extremely detail-oriented, meticulous and saved every single document ever printed with “Robert Ordway” on it. With Mom’s military discipline and orderliness, “losing things” didn’t exist in her world. It didn’t pass the smell test, but questioning authority wasn’t how I was raised…so I moved on.

The Conception

While Mom was a reservist, she worked out of the Gary location one weekend a month until it was consolidated somewhere in Michigan. The center hosted a family event every year, which we attended a few times. Mom was well-liked and talked to everybody, exchanging stories about their military careers. On more than one occasion, she mentioned being stationed in Iceland for a good portion of 1984 (which I later confirmed with military records.) Now, I had no idea how often she was able to come home, but it wasn’t hard to back up nine months before my birth and place her there. There was also no way I could ever see my Dad getting on a plane anywhere, much less to Iceland. I never asked her about this because probing my Mom about when and where the deed was done felt awkward and weird.

The First Marriage 

After going through a scrapbook, I found a family photo from my parent’s wedding day. It prompted me to approach Mom again, “Why didn’t you get married until after I turned five?” (March 1990) Again, she was prepared: “Well, because I was on active duty with the Navy, and your Dad wouldn’t move to Virginia.” It was plausible but didn’t sync with the fact that Dad deemed personal responsibility a top virtue he practiced religiously. Abandoning his son out of inconvenience didn’t fit the bill of his character. 

Mom didn’t talk about her first marriage to Bill S. much but wasn’t shy about mentioning it when needed. When I was 18 months old, she married a fellow navy sailor in Virginia. Their marriage lasted a year, then took another year to finalize the divorce. After she got married, the Navy put her on another ship for about a year. If Doug was my Dad, one might have expected her to drop me off with him. Instead, I lived with her sister, my Uncle, and their two kids in Central Kentucky. (Thanks, Uncle Ed, for the potty training.) 

I have two legal middle names, William Joseph, which is really annoying when it comes to filling out paperwork. Mom was proud to say that Joseph was inherited from my grandpa's middle name. She could not, however, explain away William. Sometimes, she said, “I just really liked it,” or “It was very popular when I was born.” 

(Note: According to the Social Security Administration’s list of most popular boy names over the past 100 years, Robert recently dropped to 3rd, William 6th, and Joseph is 8th.)

Seeing as there was no explanation for said middle name, I questioned my Mom, wondering if it came from her first marriage and if maybe Bill S. might be my real father. She always noted that “Bill S. has been dead for years” (a lie) but, in her denial, resorted to her most tried-and-true defense…

The Blood Test

I’m not sure how many times she said it, but if I ever pressed too much about who my father might be, she would resort to her ‘ultimate truth:’ There was a blood test done that proved Doug Ordway was my biological father. Dad’s side of the family also confirms she used this defense on them early on. The funny thing is, nobody ever saw this supposed blood test. 

At some point in high school, we gained access to T-1 high-speed internet. It didn’t take much research to learn that DNA testing had been perfected around the time I was born, and a blood test can only verify negative relationships: it can only prove who is NOT the father. I sat there thinking, “If Mom was so defensive and this was important, why didn’t she get a DNA test?” I didn’t know what testing might cost but rationalized that my family didn’t have the money for such luxuries. 

A Small Moment of Truth

The problem with Dad’s ALS is that caretaking landed somewhere in the “sweet spot of hell.” He didn’t require constant attention, but about once an hour, he needed things like food, a drink, a bathroom break, pills, or a request to change the channel on the TV. That often kept me from being able to leave the house and hang with friends during the week after school. I don’t recall why I was out, but I returned a good hour after his bedtime. We argued about responsibility, and he said, “Son, you are worthless.” It was an affront to my loyalty and one of the most damaging things he ever said to me. I ran to my room crying. 

On a rare occasion, Mom was home that evening and pounced out of her room screaming at Dad, calling him ungrateful, amongst other things. I could tell by the sounds that she was very aggressive with his body, essentially throwing him into bed. Then she said, “How can you treat him like that, he’s not even yours.” My eyes popped wide open. “What the hell does that mean?!?,” I thought. 

My Dad, Doug Ordway, in 2002

The thing about Mom is she told both extreme truths and extreme lies to hurt others. Which one was this? I don’t know if this is a symptom of Bipolar Disorder getting worse, but navigating her mental issues only became more difficult with time.

What About Dad?

In all of this, I never once asked my Dad if he was my biological father. Women always know who their children are. It’s possible that men may never know who their children are. Interesting concept.

First, I always thought it was my Mom’s responsibility to tell me the truth. She had me. She knew who her partners were. She was coming and going, moving me between Virginia, living in houses with other single mothers, and Kentucky with various family members until we reached our final destination in Indiana. 

Second, I thought it would have been an affront to my Dad’s honor to question his blood. After I spent five years as a vagabond, he provided the unconditional love, support, stability, and, most importantly, the positive male role model I needed until he became sick. Returning the favor was the least I could do. 

(Note: I had a LOT of help from my aunt and a few paid caretakers during the day when I was at school.) 

Lastly, I wanted to know the truth…but not really. I’d bottled up ALL of my emotions for the five years Dad had ALS, and they were wholly vested in his existence. The closer he got to death, the more I wanted to ignore the mounting evidence. 

Undergrad 

Dad died just two months after I moved away for college in the Fall of 2003. Simultaneously, Mom returned home from Spain as part of her six-month tour of duty during the War In Iraq. When she departed in March, she gave me my birth certificate and a savings bond from my aunt, dated in 1988, with the name Robert W Brown—another piece of evidence.

Mom on deployment in Spain in 2003

Over the next four years, while I was in college, our relationship went from total estrangement to intermittent phone calls and emails. After Mom fell from a ladder at school and cracked her skull, her bipolar issues went into overdrive, leading her to retire from both the school system and the Navy abruptly, followed by a move to Central Kentucky, closer to her sister and a few of my cousins.

The Great Recession 

The Federal Reserve says the Great Recession began in December 2007, but I could feel it months beforehand. When I wasn’t in class, I spent every waking hour applying to jobs online to no avail. The problem with being on the bottom rung of social class in America was that I had no family connections or professional network, so every resume I sent out felt like it was going into a black hole. 

This job search had me regularly looking at various personal IDs, certificates, etc. It brought the question back to my mind: Who was my dad? Mom had essentially estranged herself from the entire family in the North, but she always took my phone calls and vice versa. I inquired about my Dad only to hear her broken-record excuses. A few dollars on the internet later, I acquired her first husband’s cell phone number.

Contrary to Mom’s lies, he was alive indeed. He didn’t pick up the phone, and in my nervousness, left a voicemail detailing my request. It probably wasn’t five minutes later that Mom called me. “Why are you calling Bill?!? You don’t know him. Stop digging into my past!” she screamed. I’d been patient long enough, so this was the first time I hung up on her. 

Graduation came in early December, and shortly thereafter, I visited my grandparents to investigate. I presented the evidence like a lawyer in a high-profile murder case. They looked at each other with every question I asked, nearly cross-eyed with a nervousness that was easy to spot. It provoked me to send in my sister a week later to interrogate them once more. 

Truth Revealed

Our annual get-together on Christmas Day happened like clockwork, except Mom was not present. At some point, grandma and my aunts presented me with a picture of said biological father and a Gerber Life Certificate addressed to my grandparents with the name Robert William Joseph Bayless and an official United States Navy birth certificate with the name Robert William Joseph Brown. (I was born in a naval hospital.) It was not their responsibility to tell me the truth, but they felt Mom had let The Big Lie go on for too long. It caused a pain in my stomach like no other and firelike heat in my face – final vindication. 

My Gerber birth certificate

My Naval birth certificate

I was already stressed out looking for work, so I moved ‘finding said father’ down the to-do list for another day. My sister, however, was far more intrigued. Within days, she found an online newspaper article written a week before that had a profile picture of my father. I took a picture of myself and put them side by side—the similarities were undeniable. 

I spent $40 on a background search and was able to track him down in minutes. He was living just north of Chicago so we were able to get together in person nearly a month after first contact in the new year. Our meeting gave me insight into how I was born and, more importantly, the power of genetics in personality and temperament, not to mention where I acquired those math skills. (Note: an entire paragraph noting my biological father and grandfather’s significant professional and financial achievements + distant celebrity relationships have been deleted as they seek privacy and wish not to be affiliated or named in any of my work. Sadly, lawyers had to be consulted and sometimes even good stories can’t be told. Oh well, that wasn’t the point or purpose of the post -or my book- anyways.)

Analysis

Mom never handled the confrontation well when I forced the truth out of her, but I’m sure it wasn’t easy protecting me from The Big Lie for so many years. It possibly contributed to her bipolar disorder and ultimate suicide less than a year later in January 2009. I’ve never litigated the morality of my birth with either parent or judged them for the complicated back story but 40% of babies in the United States are born out of wedlock, and we are also now the number one nation in the world with single-parent households. We not only normalize but now glorify such behavior, which adds needless complications to life, leading to all kinds of trauma, behavioral issues, and problems in children that become intergenerational.

Despite marrying Bill S. a year later after my name was changed to Ordway, I am convinced Mom had long planned to marry her high school sweetheart from the beginning. All she had to do was figure out how to convince Doug that I was his son. 

Pictured here with Dad in Dec. 1987 while Mom was still married to Bill S.

There is also something to be said here about why we shouldn't trust the government as the ultimate arbiter of truth. Several years ago, I called the Virginia Office of Vital Records, and they showed no evidence my last name was ever changed on my birth certificate. Considering Mom was still seeing my biological father after my birth, there is absolutely no way Ordway could be the original name printed on said document. After pulling Mom’s entire military file, it revealed Bayless was listed as the biological father upon birth. Still, my last name was switched to Ordway when I was six months old to “reflect the natural father,” and then, Doug was added as one of her beneficiaries. The Navy even notes my birth certificate was altered. I guess the federal government doesn’t need proof or even question the records already on file.

At some point in 2008, I considered changing my last name to reflect the truth because I’m a ‘matter of facts’ kinda guy, but I always felt it would upset my family, make my legal life more complicated at 22 and quite frankly, it didn’t feel right. In the Fall of 2016, just before moving to D.C., I read Hillbilly Elegy and saw how James Donald Bowman’s mom changed his middle and last name to erase any memory of his biological father. After law school, he changed it to J.D. Vance in honor of his grandmother, who he attributes as the most important person in his life and the one who raised him. I could not have agreed more. With that, I felt reassured I should carry the name of the person who raised me into the man I am today. 

I correct the statement listed at the beginning of this passage: I am an Ordway.

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