Los Gatos residents Gwennie and Bob Balcomb, who have raised a large multiracial family are now enjoying grandchildren. Bottom row from left: Marcus Patterson, Angie Balcomb, Donovan Patterson, Angie Balcomb, Alex Guyton. Top row from left: Erika Guyton, Neko Guyton, Bob Balcomb Sr., Bob Balcomb Jr.

Eight Isn't Enough

In an era of zero population growth, the Balcombs had two children, and then they started adopting

By Sandy Sims
Photographs by Paul Myers

Gwennie and Bob Balcomb are feeling empty-nest pangs--maybe a little more than most parents--now that they have just one youngster at home. The other 13 have grown up.

The Los Gatos couple had wanted a big family. Gwennie comes from a large Los Gatos family, the Spotswoods, and Bob's family always loved having people around. But 14 children were more than the Balcombs had ever conceived of, literally.

Gwennie and Bob first met as youngsters at University Avenue School (where Old Town is now). They married in the 1960s and had two children, Bobby and Erika. It was an era of zero population growth, which meant having only two children. So Bob suggested adoption to Gwennie.

And Gwennie said yes.

Thus began a stream of yeses that welcomed child after child into the Balcomb family, creating an amazing saga of love that includes children of different races, ages, cultures, emotional and physical problems, and even different sexual orientations. "We've been through it all," Gwennie says.

This middle-class couple had no real preparation for what was ahead. But giving children a home, it turns out, is the Balcombs' niche. They are good at it. They love it, and the children thrive.

Bobby, the Balcombs' biological son, the director of engineering at a high-tech company, says, "I tell my friends that my parents are saints."

Things started with Wesley.

Because the Balcombs had two children, adopting a baby was a remote possibility. So the adoption worker suggested adopting a "hard-to-place" child.

"We didn't know what 'hard to place' meant," Gwennie says. "But we said 'yes.'"

At first, hard to place meant mixed-race babies.

And Wesley, a little 3-month-old, Japanese and African American baby, arrived in 1970. He'd been abused; he had bronchitis and pneumonia and severe diaper rash. "He was like a rag doll," Gwennie says. "A neurologist told us Wes would never gain muscle tone and would someday have to be institutionalized."

Their new baby cried all night every night, so Bob and Gwennie took shifts caring for him. "It took two years to get through that," Gwennie says. But Wesley learned to walk and talk, and developed normally. He graduated from Los Gatos High School and has become a dialysis technician and a musician (a drummer). Wesley even modeled for Calvin Klein.

In 1972 the county was having second thoughts about placing black children in all-white homes. So the Balcombs adopted another mixed-race child, 2-month-old Tia who is Mexican and African American. Tia, a medical assistant, is married now and a stay-at-home mom with two little boys.

Raising a family in affluent Los Gatos was not easy for the Balcombs or their children. Bob teaches computer-assisted design at Piedmont High School in East San Jose. He's worked as many as three jobs so Gwennie could be home with the children. Today, Gwennie works full time as the secretary to the deans at Los Gatos High School. "Our kids never had the $150 tennis shoes," Gwennie says. "But our home and our kids mean everything to us," Bob says.

The couple has had help along the way. "People just seemed to show up when we needed their help," Bob says. And, as if anticipating all the children to come, fate even offered up a large home.

The Balcombs bought their Tudor house on the hill way below market price in the early 1970s. "It was a wreck," Gwennie says. The previous owners had stored hay in the living room. There was hardly a kitchen, and no one had ever used the upstairs. Bob remodeled the house with the help of friends.

Even in the midst of the house chaos, new children came along. Jack and Jean arrived in 1973. "Jean was a bright girl in high school," Gwennie says. Jean lived with the Balcombs until she graduated and then rejoined her biological family.

But Jack changed everything.


Peggy O'Neal (left) and Gwennie Balcomb. Peggy is the oldest of 14 children Gwennie Balcomb and her husband have raised.




Eastfield Ming Quong Children's Center, situated just down the hill from the Balcombs, asked families to host a child for a day so the youngsters could experience a normal home. When 7-year-old Jack went home after visiting the Balcombs, he left behind broken furniture and holes in the Balcombs' walls. "It was a nightmare," Gwennie says.

Then Ming Quong had to close down for a while and asked the Balcombs to take Jack.

"I told them a solid 'no,'" Gwennie said. "But every day for two weeks, we found Jack sitting on our doorstep." The couple caved in and took Jack--but not for the short term.

"We couldn't take children knowing they would be leaving," Gwennie says. But adopting Jack was out of the question. "He was brain damaged and needed medical care," Gwennie says. If the Balcombs had adopted Jack, he would have lost his Medi-Cal, and the Balcombs' insurance wouldn't cover him. "The county told us we could have him forever as a foster child," Gwennie says.

To keep Jack as a foster child, the Balcombs had to train for a therapeutic foster home license.

Jack did well attending special schools and earning his diploma. He works today as a gas station maintenance man.

With the Balcombs' therapeutic license established, the county called one night--at 11 p.m.

The sleepy couple found themselves rushing off to pick up a 7-year-old Chilean Indian boy who was not adjusting at a children's shelter. "We didn't know much about the boy," Gwennie says.

Paul, it turned out, had already been in nine adoptive homes and in juvenile hall.

"We didn't have a clue what we were in for," Gwennie says.

Paul was always in trouble. "Not bad bad things," Gwennie says. "He just reacted to his own feelings without understanding the consequences."


Angie Balcomb (right) does homework in the family room while father Bob Balcomb relaxes.




The Rev. Francis Jeffery, a retired Air Force chaplain who grew up surviving on the streets, understands youngsters like Paul. He was a great help to the Balcombs. Jeffery was the pastor at Faith Lutheran Church from 1975 to 1978. (The Balcombs had close ties to the church, which Gwennie's mother, Polly Spotswood, had actually started.)

"With kids like Paul," Jeffery says, "you don't lash out because, for them, the norm is self-protection." He says these children have been in foster care and juvenile hall and never know where they might be the next day. Jeffery says they test their caretakers over and over expecting the inevitable move to another family.

But the Balcombs would have none of that.

When Paul was 14, the county decided he was too difficult for a family to handle and wanted to place him in a group home. The Balcombs believed he was improving and wanted to keep him. To fight in court would cost $25,000.

This meant everyone in the family would have to do without, so the Balcombs checked with the other children first. Gwennie says the children told them: "You said you'd stand behind us no matter what happened, so we can't give up on Paul." With that, the Balcombs paid the lawyer and won in court. "It took some time to recover financially," Gwennie says. "Our mothers helped feed all of us for a long time."

At age 18, Paul got a letter from the state telling him that since he hadn't graduated from high school by his 18th birthday, he was no longer eligible for benefits. Angry, sure that he was finally going to be rejected and ejected by the Balcombs, Paul tore off for downtown Los Gatos, stole some unsuspecting woman's purse and wound up in the California Youth Authority.

"He didn't realize we'd only been receiving $112 a month for him and $100 a year for clothing," Gwennie says. "We had no intention of getting rid of him." Paul eventually did earn his high school diploma while at the California Youth Authority. "He's doing wonderful now," Gwennie says. "He's a cashier in a grocery store and completely independent."

The Balcombs, who were always advocating for their children, went to state Sen. John Vasconcellos and urged him to get the law changed, which he did. Recently, the Balcombs have joined the Neighborhood Accountability Program, which offers alternatives to juvenile hall. "This would have been perfect for Paul," Gwennie says.

Dealing with children who act out was, for the Balcombs, a frequent occurrence. "You learn not to react like you normally would," Gwennie says. "Once you lose it and start screaming at them, the child is in control ... We learned to put the burden for the child's actions on the child."

Gwennie recalls the time one of the boys dragged a hose into the house and turned it on. She kept her cool. "I told him he wouldn't get lunch until he figured out how to get the water out," Gwennie says. The boy went to the bathroom and got all the towels. "I had lots of laundry that day, but he grew a little."

"We didn't punish the kids often," Gwennie says.

They had other ways.

Bobby, the Balcombs' biological son, says, "Mom's got the guilt thing down good. She could guilt you into anything."

Peggy, the oldest of the bunch, who joined the family in 1977 as a high school sophomore, says, "You could tell when Dad was upset. You could see it in his face, and the veins in his neck stood out."

Then, it seems, it was discussion time.

Gwennie remembers one night hearing Bobby over the intercom saying, "I hate them. I hate them."

"Bob went upstairs to find out why Bobby hated us," Gwennie says. "It's not you I hate," Bobby told his father, "it's those discussions. Can't you just spank us?"

But Peggy says the discussions she heard the Balcombs have with Paul and the others were important for her. "Paul could tell them anything," Peggy says.

"I saw Mom tell Paul she loved him and then cry. I couldn't believe it," Peggy says, "but she told me it was all right to express feelings. It was like we had this structure where we could say our feelings and be OK." This freedom turned out to be critical for Peggy because at age 21 she told the Balcombs she was gay.

"We had a hard time with that at first," Gwennie says. "And we decided we shouldn't tell Grandma. But then Grandma found out when she saw Peggy in the gay parade on television." A few years later, the whole family participated in Peggy's commitment ceremony to Liz. "We are very close," Gwennie says. Last Thanksgiving, the family spent Thanksgiving at the bed and breakfast Peggy and Liz own in Oregon.


The Balcombs had a portrait taken of their children climbing a sprawling tree on their property.




Peggy, who turned 40 this year, says, "I still talk things over with them, especially Dad. I always felt they wouldn't let me sink."

As stressful as things were for the Balcombs, the children kept coming. The couple would think they'd handled everything when along came a child with new problems.

Candy, 13, and Rob, 14, came in 1984. Both siblings had been abused. "Rob was a quiet boy," Gwennie says. But Candy was badly burned from the waist down and needed a lot of medical care.

When Candy wanted to be a flag bearer for the high school spirit squad, her teacher refused, claiming Candy's hand was so badly scarred she couldn't hold a flag properly. Gwennie says, "Candy came home and cried. I told her if she really wanted to do it, she would find a way. I told her, 'the teacher simply doesn't know you can do it.'"

"I don't know how she did it," Gwennie says, "but Candy became a flag barer." Today Candy is a CPA and a mother, and her brother, Rob, is in the Navy.

Two of the Balcombs' children, Thelma and Mike, were part of the harrowing Operation Airlift of 1975 when hundreds of Vietnamese orphans were flown in cargo planes to the United States. Thelma, a redhead, came to the Balcombs in 1980, when she was 8 years old. She had been severely abused.

"Thelma was lovable but feisty," Gwennie says. She smiles and remembers the time the Balcombs got a get-well card from the school staff and didn't know why. Gwennie called the school and found out Thelma had told the school Bob was in the hospital. "Today, Thelma is happily married and a mom," Gwennie says.

Mike came to the Balcombs in 1982, when he was already at LGHS. He'd been living with a friend whose parents were separating and he had to move. "He didn't want to be with us," Gwennie says. "But he had no choice if he wanted to stay at Los Gatos High." Mike didn't say much more than "yes" or "no" to Bob and Gwennie for a year or more. He only talked with the other children.

"Trust comes slowly," Gwennie says. "Then something clicks." After Mike's mother died, something clicked. "Late one night Mike decided he wanted to talk," Gwennie says. "He told me all about his life." Today, Mike is a trained mechanic and a truck driver.

Six-year-old Rebecca arrived in 1987. "She was a bubbly, happy child, glad to be alive," Gwennie says. "I got a call from school one day to come and get Rebecca's things," Gwennie says. Among the huge pile of clothes were items different family members were missing. She had felt free to borrow whatever she needed. Rebecca is living in Texas now with her three children.

Gwennie and Bob Balcomb are feeling the pangs of an empty nest after raising 14 children.





Keeping such a large family organized wasn't easy. Bob made dirty-laundry baskets for every color of clothes: greens, reds, blacks, whites. And when Gwennie folded the clothes, she put them in baskets with the children's names on them. She packed vitamins for each child in little packets.

Saturdays, everyone pulled weeds in the garden. "I hated pulling weeds," Tia says. She finagled things so she could make lunch instead. (Tia was also the one who took Bob's ailing mother into her home and cared for her for years.)

Everyone played sports. And Bob was often the coach. He's been coaching soccer, softball, Little League and basketball for 30 years. He was the assistant coach of girls soccer at LGHS and baseball coach at Piedmont Hills.

"We had to go to church," Peggy says. "And we took up a whole pew." Even so, she says, religion was never pushed on them. "But we were very aware of how diverse we were," she says. "This whole town is white."

"It wasn't easy having children who are black," Gwennie says. Tia and Wes bumped into prejudice in school, even a couple of times with teachers. "I didn't believe it, but teachers confirmed it," Gwennie says. One night Wesley found the police following him home, insisting that he couldn't possibly live in his neighborhood. Gwennie also remembers a little boy on the train at Oak Meadow Park directing a racial slur at Wesley. Gwennie says the family was even refused service by restaurants, including a Denny's in South San Francisco.

Racial diversity is a way of life for the Balcombs. Their daughter Erika, who teaches sign language, married an African American and has two children. Erika's family lives in a cottage on the same property as the Balcombs.

Angie is the Balcombs' last child, adopted as a baby in 1985. The blond, blue-eyed girl is growing up in a completely different atmosphere than the others. "We couldn't get away with what Angie does," Peggy says, laughing. Tia says Angie is lucky to be an only child, like Tia says she always wanted to be. On the other hand, Tia says, Angie is missing the company of a house full of children and summers when this large and sprawling family went camping and traveled with a church youth group, singing in different churches. There were even children who moved in temporarily, like Mari, Jessica, Marissa and Maria.

As if tying this family's experience up with a little bow, a few years ago fate had Angie cart home a book called The Family Nobody Wanted from Van Meter School. The story was about a couple who adopted nine mixed-race children. Gwennie noticed that the name of the author was the same as Angie's maternal family. "Isn't that odd," she told Angie's grandmother. "Not at all," the grandmother said. "The author was Angie's great-grandmother.

Health facility for kids still needs more funds

Carl Heintze: Capitalism

Speakers offer parenting tips for staying connected

Local Home Sales Listings

Photo: Boot-scooting concert is set at Woodhaven West

Picture From the Past

Sports Briefs

Cats fall to Lancers in CCS semi's

LG's Knight a top scorer at the University Redlands