Guided drift. A term coined by the late Fred Rogers of Mr. Rogers fame to describe his life’s path, and as Ann Saunders McCarty’s story unfolded, I kept hearing these two words. Guided drift. A path previously unseen making itself known. A trajectory changed. A willingness to follow new opportunities. A resilience to learn from plans that didn’t work out and take a different tack. Ann ultimately understands that previous experiences, good and bad, joyful and painful, lead her to where she is today.  

Ann’s story begins several thousand miles from Lompoc on the east coast. She was born and raised in a small town on the Chesapeake Bay, the youngest of three siblings. She recalls her youth fondly with a mother and father who loved her dearly and two older brothers who have remained close despite their age difference (twelve years between her and her oldest brother). Tragically, her father passed away in her arms when she was still a teenager and she remembers the day vividly, sharing how being able to be with her dad in those moments was a gift despite the gravity of the event. It was an event that changed her and her mother’s world. Her mother lost the person she had learned to walk through life with, and Ann lost the person who had taught her the value of ‘doing for others’ and who she had confided in the most.

Despite this considerable loss and the subsequent life changes, Ann moved forward with her education, and while attending college, she became reacquainted with her former classmate Robert McCarty. Robert was home on leave from the Air Force for just two weeks, but something clicked during those two weeks, and their relationship continued long distance after he returned to his assignment. Soon they were wed, with Ann joining him in the small town of Minot, North Dakota. In Minot, she finished her degree in Criminal Justice, worked her way up through the Ward County’s Sheriff’s office, and became involved in the Civil Process Division. “It was there that I really felt the pull toward being in a profession where I could make an impact,” she relates. And it was this “pull” that led to her finding employment with an attorney in Lompoc when her family transferred to our little coastal town in 1993. It was a short-lived experience as she found herself released from the job with no explanation, despite asking for answers.  

As before, Ann did not let loss define who she was and began looking for other employment that would allow her to make a difference in the lives of others. She applied for two open positions at the North County Rape Crisis Center and was hired and trained initially as a hotline coordinator. Once starting her job at the Center, she stated, “I immediately knew this was where I was supposed to be. If not for anyone else, it was for me. I was a survivor.” Ann shared how she had been betrayed by a family member and suffered abuse when she was young, living in silence, fear, and denial. She knew what it was like to feel the shame, to hide in the darkness, afraid of the light, afraid to hurt the ones we love. Ann also knew the importance of the truth, accountability, education, and being able to unburden ourselves to someone without fear of retribution or disbelief. She knew that light healed, and she was willing to walk the path with others as they found their voices, not only in support, but also as an example of what could be.   

The work at the Center is challenging, and sometimes the grief overwhelms, but Ann has found healing and inspiration there as well. She cites Joyce Howerton, founder of the NCRCCPC, as someone she has tried to emulate when she gives comfort and builds connections with people. Ann tells me how during COVID, a homeless victim had been assaulted and sustained injuries severe enough that she was hospitalized. Ann fed the victim ice chips and rubbed her forehead to offer some comfort while she was in the hospital. Later, when the victim was recovering, she shared with Ann how she would never forget what Ann did and that someone had cared. Ann states, “What if no one had been there-she would still believe no one cared…”. Ann also tells me the seemingly impossible tale of the survivor that forgave and prayed for her attacker and how this gave her hope, changing how she approaches her role as an advocate. As I listen to these stories and more, I hear the pain and anger in Ann’s voice, but more importantly, I also hear the triumph and joy recaptured as life trajectories are changed.

In 2002, Ann had a trajectory change of her own when she suffered a stroke. A series of tests revealed an aneurysm in the carotid artery behind her right eye. The initial corrective procedure was abandoned during surgery as they deemed it too risky with the optic nerve so close. A follow-up procedure caused a blood clot and a stroke, and yet, Ann’s primary concerns were her unfinished work, messy desk, and her family. Finally, in 2003, she had a third surgical procedure that ultimately produced the doctors’ desired results. Recovery has been extensive and continues, as does the work Ann wishes to finish. She states, “I feel like I still have a lot of work to do. I still want to be part of that solution of whatever it is we are trying to fix. We may not be able to stop the asshats, but we can create a community and society where the victims are believed, and we can create a space where the fear of not being believed is eliminated.” 

As I ask Ann who her heroes are, she, in turn, asks, “How do you define a hero?” With no answer from me, she continues, “I believe the real heroes are survivors who have come forward and those yet to find their voice; I believe they are heroes.” She then shares how her family are heroes to her as well, helping shape her into the person she is today and sacrificing to support her in her work at the Center. Her husband, who so honorably served our country, her son, who currently serves, and her daughter, who supports her each and every day, are heroes, she states. Then continues that everyone she knows is a hero in their own way. Everyone has a different story and a different path. As we discuss this concept of heroes further, it is apparent Ann doesn’t see herself as one and is still bewildered at being chosen Lompoc Woman of the Year for 2018. She questions me repeatedly why I wish to share her story. Truthfully, for me, Ann represents resilience and hope, both of which seem not easy to find. She doesn’t let loss or challenge define her, but stands up and defines it. She is someone who makes our community a better place, just being Ann, to whom kindness is a priority, and listening without judgment to someone’s story is imperative.  

As our conversation winds down, Ann shares her love of creating stained glass art. “It’s rather like a metaphor of my work. Taking broken glass and putting together something whole and beautiful,” Ann states. And isn’t that what heroes do as they help us pick up the pieces of our lives, make us safe and help us create something whole again? Whole again, but not the same. Whole again and new, a better version of ourselves. Something like the stained glass art Ann loves to create.   

Not every hero wears a mask. Some heroes save the day in the simplest of ways. By just being there for us or letting us know we’re believed in.

~Barry Allen~