VICTIM'S ADVOCATE TO RETIRE THIS WEEK

Bettie Knoll has multiple identities.

An attorney long ago began calling her "the rape lady," and it stuck. So did "the flood lady" after 1993. Some police and prosecutors refer to Knoll as "Mother Teresa" in appreciation of what she has done for crime victims over 15 years.

Knoll, 68, has made a name for herself by offering advice, a sympathetic ear and sometimes a place in her home to those who have suffered from violent crimes.

Her newest title will be "retiree." A tree-planting ceremony Tuesday evening at Cherokee Park will mark the completion of a career path discovered late in life, but before anyone else in Southeast Missouri had even thought of being a victims' advocate.

"People have asked me over the years how to get into this," said Knoll. "When I tell them the school of hard knocks, they look at me funny."

Knoll will be replaced by Beth Garoutte, who has been working as an assistant advocate for about a year, said Morley Swingle, Cape Girardeau County prosecutor. Garoutte has been gradually assuming Knoll's duties over the past several weeks, he said.

Began with watch program

Knoll had been a housewife until 1983, when two homicides involving women in Cape Girardeau the year before motivated her to work on developing a community neighborhood watch. Both deaths occurred only six blocks away from where Knoll lived.

Police Lt. Carl Kinnison's first major project when he joined the department's crime prevention unit was working with the watch program.

"Bettie and I both kind of started our careers there together," he said.

Knoll worked as a volunteer, spending 10 to 20 hours a week knocking on doors recruiting for the neighborhood watch. The hours expanded so that Knoll became a full-time, unpaid volunteer. No one else over several years has volunteered as much time to the police, Kinnison said.

In 1985, Knoll recalls reading comments from Cape Girardeau County prosecutor Larry Ferrell about assistance for crime victims. She called Ferrell, and they met.

"He said, Let's build this program from the ground up,'" Knoll said.

At the time, the only other victim advocacy programs in Missouri were in St. Louis, Kansas City and St. Joseph.

Knoll's work in advocacy began by sending form letters to crime victims explaining how the judicial process works. Follow-up letters would keep victims up to date on the status of a court case or the possible parole of a person imprisoned for a crime.

Ferrell's secretary assigned cases to Knoll and a few other volunteers whom Knoll had recruited. Knoll got the most serious cases, since by 1986 she was a paid employee of the police department.

Went to court with victims

A rape involving a man who met two women at a bar near Burfordville, Mo., transformed Knoll's role. It was the first time she was asked to go to court with victims.

The women had been sexually abused at knifepoint by the man, who was smaller than both women. Defense attorney Al Lowes questioned one of the woman about how she could let such a small man take advantage of her.

"She was from the old school, where you're taught not to talk about this sort of stuff," Knoll said. "This is the case that got me hooked."

Knoll has spent more than a decade meeting people in various stages of anger and depression. She has learned to lead people through tragedies at their own pace.

When Knoll became a police department employee, she started wearing a uniform. After several years she returned to casual clothes. The uniform could scare children, she said.

"Not wearing a uniform just made me a little more personable," she said.

Helped start programs

Despite the passage of a state constitutional amendment for victims rights in 1992, the justice system still needs much reform, Knoll said.

Some county prosecutors are able to avoid providing much assistance to victims, since the law does not punish prosecutors who do not comply.

"They get around this with part-time volunteers who don't do much or they make excuses about their budgets," Knoll said.

A woman with a relative who had been killed by a drunk driver contacted Knoll when a prosecutor told her he didn't have money in his budget to call her to keep her informed about the case. Knoll told the woman to go to the prosecutor's office, sit and wait for him.

The woman, who resides in a Bootheel county, had no one else to turn to, Knoll said.

"For years, I was providing the only victim's services around here," she said.

Knoll has helped several counties start victim advocacy programs, and provided counseling in other counties, said Morley Swingle.

"Bettie is the type of person who would get mad at you if you didn't call her up at midnight to come out and assist a crime victim," Swingle said.

During the flood of 1993, Knoll went door to door in neighborhoods under water to see what help was needed.

Since she so often accompanied victims of sexual violence to court, attorney Al Lowes referred to her as "the rape lady." Knoll said she was never bothered.

"That's just how he always saw me," she said.

Set off metal detector

Kinnison recalls Knoll's penchant for unconsciously rearranging common phrases. After awhile, he kept a list of her quotes in a notebook.

"I'd sit there and hear her tell someone over the phone she should wake up and see the coffee smelling,' or something like that," Kinnison said.

Swingle still remembers when Knoll brought a knife to court.

During the several trials in St. Louis involving the 1994 fraternity hazing death of a Southeast Missouri State University student, Knoll accompanied the dead student's family members. As she was passing through a metal detector following Swingle, a buzzer sounded and a guard discovered a knife in her purse. It had been intended as a wedding present for cutting a cake, she explained, and had been forgotten in her purse. The guards, who were already familiar with Knoll, believed her, she said.

"Fortunately, what she was carrying was not usually considered a deadly weapon," Swingle said.

But the support Knoll provided to the dead student's family, especially mother Edith Davis, made a larger impact.

"There were seven different defendants with charges of involuntary manslaughter, and 13 defendants overall," Swingle said. "Mrs. Davis wanted to be in court for each and every one, and Bettie was there with her."

Keeping in touch

Families that have suffered a homicide keep in closer touch with her over time, Knoll said. One woman noticed one of Knoll's four cats in a window, and gave her a ceramic heart with a cat's paw and expression of gratitude on it. The heart hangs in Knoll's living room next to a resolution from the General Assembly recognizing her work for victims.

"That's my pride and joy," she said.

Lucille Sams said little could have been done for her after her 38-year-old son was found murdered in 1996. Knoll did all she could.

"She was just there for us," Sams said.

Most victims ask for little, except for someone to listen, Knoll said.

Knoll has often gone beyond meeting with victims or holding their hands in court. When they had nowhere else to go, she took them home with her.

She remembers her first case with a child victim in 1985. A 4-year-old girl had been sexually abused by her father, and the mother had reported it to police.

Circumstances would have allowed the girl to go back home with her father and mother before appearing in court, Knoll said.

Judge A.J. Seier allowed Knoll to take the girl home instead.

"I bathed her and gave her a puppy toy," Knoll said.

After that weekend, the girl testified in court, and came off the witness stand with her arms wide open to hug Knoll. They both went outside the courtroom and cried.

About 10 years later, Knoll got a call at home. It was the girl. She had been with a group of students in court earlier that day, and had seen Knoll. She told Knoll she could not believe she was still in court after so many years, and she thanked her.

"After that call, I think I stayed awake the whole night," Knoll said. "I think that has help me last through the years."