Early History
Dennis Jurgens was born Dennis Craig Puckett in Sauk Centre, Minnesota, the child of teenage Jerry Sherwood (who herself was a ward of the state) and her teenage boyfriend. At the urging of authorities, Jerry placed him for adoption with the promise that he would be given good care.
Dennis was adopted by the Jurgenses of White Bear Lake, Minnesota, a suburb of Saint Paul: Harold Jurgens, a former bandleader turned electrician, and Lois Jurgens, a homemaker. Lois had grown up in an impoverished family of sixteen siblings and used her marriage to the middle-class Harold Jurgens as means to improve her social standing. She had a pathological need for control over her environment and obsessively cleaned and tended to her home and garden, desperate to appear the picture of the perfect housewife in 1950s suburban America.
In the decade preceding the adoption of Dennis, Lois Jurgens had suffered bouts of depression and psychosis, including an extended stay at a psychiatric institution where electroconvulsive therapy was administered. She was diagnosed as having mixed psychoneurosis and also unable to conceive a child with Harold. This drove Lois further into madness, as she felt she needed children to complete the "perfect picture" of her life.
Officially forbidden to adopt children owing to Lois' history of mental illness, the Jurgenses managed to adopt a baby named Robert privately. Robert fit in well at the Jurgens household, as he learned from a young age not to get in his mother's way or cause an undue mess that would likely send Lois Jurgens into a rage. The Jurgenses' adoption of Robert seemed successful in the eyes of authorities, who began to consider the possibility that the Jurgenses might adopt more children through official channels.
Read more about this topic: Murder Of Dennis Jurgens
Famous quotes containing the words early and/or history:
“Well, it’s early yet!”
—Robert Pirosh, U.S. screenwriter, George Seaton, George Oppenheimer, and Sam Wood. Dr. Hugo Z. Hackenbush (Groucho Marx)
“I am ashamed to see what a shallow village tale our so-called History is. How many times must we say Rome, and Paris, and Constantinople! What does Rome know of rat and lizard? What are Olympiads and Consulates to these neighboring systems of being? Nay, what food or experience or succor have they for the Esquimaux seal-hunter, or the Kanaka in his canoe, for the fisherman, the stevedore, the porter?”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)