Sylvia - II: Constructing a Symbol

The semiology of Sylvia Likens would make an interesting field of study for those so inclined.  When an individual’s life becomes a preoccupation for many people for whatever reason the meaning of that individual and her life can take on many different facets depending upon the beholder’s perspective and disposition.  Kate Millett devotes The Basement partly to the meaning of Sylvia’s ordeal within feminist discourse, but I have not encountered any in-depth discussion of Sylvia-as-symbol elsewhere.  For many of us touched by her story she represents victims of child abuse and neglect, though this is a crowded field.  For others, considerations of her suffering are an exercise in theodicy. 

There’s an element of mystery to Sylvia.  She is elusive.  We know much more about how Sylvia died than how she lived.  There are a few photographs, small tidbits from news articles, and the testimony of her parents and sister at the first trial.  There is little more to go on.

This lack points up how technology has transformed social relations over the past couple of decades.  People nowadays obsessively document their daily lives with even the most trivial events captured on camera phones and uploaded to social media.  Spontaneously recording anything and everything wasn’t practical with film cameras or even camcorders, and these technologies could be costly.  Similarly, very little personal information was readily available to the public pre-internet.  Piecing together the life story of someone who died long ago, aside from vital statistics or interviews with surviving friends and relatives, often means a reliance on artifacts.

In Sylvia’s case there are few artifacts in the public domain.  After her mother Betty died in 1998, found among her effects was a suitcase filled with letters, photos, and other keepsakes including childhood pictures of Sylvia.  A news article at the time dubbed it the “Suitcase of Sorrow.”   The suitcase presumably is still with the Likens family.  They have been understandably reticent to publicly discuss Sylvia or otherwise revisit her murder so we are unlikely to learn more about her. 

Here is what we know:

Sylvia Marie Likens was born on January 3, 1949, in Lebanon, Indiana, to Lester and Elizabeth (Grimes) Likens.  She died in Indianapolis on October 26, 1965, slightly more than two months shy of her 17^th birthday.

She was the middle child of five.  Her older sister and brother, Dianna and Danny, were twins and were three years older than Sylvia.  Her younger sister and brother, Jenny and Benny, were also twins and a year younger.

Sylvia stood 5’ 4” and was of slender to average build.  She had either dark blonde or light brown hair.  Black and white photos (there are none in color) show she had dark eyes.  She was missing a front tooth from a childhood accident, so when she smiled it was with a closed mouth.

Her nickname was Cookie.

Sylvia enjoyed roller skating and dancing and singing and had a knack for drawing.  She liked The Beatles and Shirley Bassey.  She babysat and ironed laundry for pocket money and she would share her earnings with her mother.  She was an average student who probably wasn’t into academics but nevertheless understood the value of an education and had resolved to complete high school.

Her father and mother described Sylvia as quiet and dutiful.  She attended church and Sunday school regularly.  A prized possession was her bible, which she read often.

Perhaps the most striking thing, however, is that aside from Gertrude Baniszewski’s tales and the insinuations of defense attorneys at the first trial, nearly everyone who knew Sylvia had nothing but good to say about her.  Even the younger Baniszewski children said Sylvia was nice and helpful.   Sylvia undoubtedly had her faults, but the overall impression is that of a good, decent, and kind person. 

In the summer of 1965, Sylvia Likens was a happy and healthy teenager with much to look forward to.  You can get a sense of her essence from pictures taken at the time.  There is the iconic photograph of Sylvia with her upward gaze and wistful smile.  There is Sylvia posing with her mother; Betty’s expression is impassive while Sylvia’s exudes an ineffable sweetness that reaches out to the viewer across the years.  There’s a shot which appears to have been taken in a photo booth, with Sylvia in a plaid work shirt glancing sidelong at the camera.  Then there is the photograph taken in California on Easter Sunday 1965 in which Sylvia and Jenny are standing with three church friends after the service.  Sylvia, very much the young lady in an outfit replete with hat and white dress gloves, is on the left.  Taller than the other girls, she is bent slightly at the knees and is leaning forward a bit so as to fit into the picture.  The three friends are in the middle, with Jenny standing on the right. 

The paucity of information about her means that there are as many Sylvias as beholders.  Reading not only the Millett and Dean books but also the multitude of postings on the various websites devoted to her, it seems people feel compelled to project themselves on Sylvia.  You have your Sylvia, I have mine. 

The first people to project upon Sylvia were Gertrude and Paula Baniszewski.  For all intents and purposes Sylvia Likens had ceased to exist as a person once Gertrude confined her to the house, only to be endlessly redefined in other people’s imaginations.  Mother and daughter had an agenda, as we would now say.  Gertrude and Paula were not paragons of chastity—Gertrude had just broken off a relationship with a man fourteen years her junior after having his baby and miscarrying another while Paula was pregnant after a fling with a married man.  And yet they proclaimed themselves upright Christians just the same.  To square the circle, as it were, they ascribed their sins to their teenage boarder with terrifying results.  Their Sylvia was a dirty, promiscuous liar and thief unworthy of life let alone of sharing their home.

Then there are the literary Sylvias.  John Dean portrays Sylvia as an unlucky girl from the wrong side of the tracks, a “Cinderella for the prince who never showed.”  For Kate Millett, Sylvia is a transcendent victim of patriarchy.  These accounts are the gateway, if you will, to that portion of Sylvia’s world we can access.  They are the springboard for others to search for understanding.

It’s interesting to read the various online discussion threads devoted to Sylvia.  The posters are identified by age and gender, many of whom are under twenty.  While most of the threads seriously discuss aspects of the Likens murder and the motivations of the individuals involved, some are endearingly whimsical as well.  What was Sylvia’s favorite color?  Her favorite season?  Which Beatle was her favorite?  Would she like today’s music?  How would she like today’s social media?  What would she have done with her life had she hadn’t died young?  (Some guesses are fanciful—pop music diva.  Others are more prosaic—schoolteacher.)  To her younger devotees, Sylvia is a virtual BFF from another time.

Perhaps this isn’t such a bad thing if it makes us more empathetic.  There are lots of people who feel a need to connect with Sylvia in some way.  There are occasional posters on the message boards who say they knew Sylvia while she was alive, claims which are usually debunked.  Such claims of having known Sylvia or the Likens family do not seem to be a recent phenomenon.  Kate Millett wrote of a speaking engagement in Florida in the mid-1970s during which she mentioned in passing that she was beginning work on the book which eventually became The Basement.   After the talk, Millett was approached by a young woman who said she had gone to school with Sylvia in the fall of 1965.  Millett made time to chat with the woman about her memories of Sylvia.  Following the discussion Millett wondered how much of the woman’s story was true.  One does detect a fabulist streak in these claims of familiarity.  Better to think idly about alternative endings to Sylvia’s story than to stir up trouble with phony claims of knowledge.

As interesting as speculating on what might have been can be, the luckiest thing that could have happened to Sylvia Likens would have been obscurity.  Had she not met up with Gertrude Baniszewski she would have lived her life quietly and safely within her circle of family and friends.  In this alternate telling of Sylvia’s story she would finish school, get married, and start a family since few young people of limited means went on to further schooling in those days.  If she was fortunate the marriage would last.  She was said to have a rapport with younger children, and I like to think she would have been a good mom.  If she worked outside the home it would likely be in a service occupation such as waitress, cashier, or nurse’s aide.  By now, she would be retired and enjoying her grandchildren.  I am certain she would have been happy with such a life, or at least content.

Life takes interesting twists and turns, though.  I am sure Sylvia would have had many opportunities to find happiness and personal fulfillment.   It’s a pity she never had the chance.

© 2015 The Unassuming Scholar