A baby. An adoption. A plane crash. And a man’s search for his birth parents

All families have secrets. Some stay buried forever. Others come to light years, even decades, later. The one in this family took nearly 60 years to surface. And while revealed secrets can dredge up old wounds that cause hurtful feelings, this is a story about profound forgiveness, connection and reunion.

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It started with a couple of teenagers.

A love story

Ron Whittington fell in love with Linda Lou Torrey the day she walked into class in seventh grade. They didn’t date much until late in their junior year at Borah High School in Boise, Idaho, when they started going “steady,” as boys and girls did back in ‘60s.

The couple graduated in 1963 and Ron asked Linda to marry him in early 1964, when they were both just 19 years old. She declined. Or as Ron put it, “She wasn’t having it.” One day in the spring of that year he went to her house to pick her up. Her mother came to the door and told him in no uncertain terms that Linda was “gone.” She told him it was none of his business where and shut the door.

Ron had no idea where Linda went. He didn’t see or talk to her for nearly a year until a friend told him in April 1965 that she was back in town. They rekindled their relationship and were married July 17, 1965. Linda talked about living in Salt Lake City with her sister and brother-in-law but never explained why she left.

The couple moved to Gresham, Oregon, and raised two daughters. Ron worked in the cash register business as a mechanic, salesman and manager. He’s a skilled woodworker, building cabinets to hold Linda’s many knickknacks. Linda was a stay-at-home mom and worked in the insurance industry. She was a Christmas fanatic who loved hosting parties, as well as being an avid gardener. She liked people and they liked her.

Well into their marriage, Ron asked “point blank” why Linda left Boise when they were 19.

“In essence, what she told me was that I was pushing her too much to get married and we were too young,” he said.

Ron believed that for 59 years.

Another love story

Beverley Lou Robinson and Marion Probert met on a blind date when Marion visited Utah from California with a group of teenagers to sing at a conference of the Mutual Improvement Association, an organization created by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for young men and women. Both were members of the Utah-based faith. The high schoolers went to a dance festival as part of the conference, accompanied by Marion’s mother.

That night, he told his mother that Beverley was the girl he was going to marry.

Marion Probert was everybody’s All-American when he graduated from Inglewood High School just outside Los Angeles in 1951. A straight-A student and genuinely nice guy who excelled on the football field, he attracted the attention of USC, UCLA and Stanford, among others. After a conversation with Elder Matthew Cowley, an apostle in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, he enrolled at church-sponsored Brigham Young University. The apostle promised him “more blessings than you can contain.”

BYU hadn’t had much success on the gridiron, including a winless season in 1949.

Playing offense and defense, Marion became the school’s first four-year letterman. He led the Skyline Conference in pass receptions as a junior. He was named to the all-conference team for three years and received All-American honorable mention in 1954.

Marion was right about Beverley. They married in 1953. After graduating from BYU, Marion turned down offers to play pro football so he could attend medical school at the University of Pennsylvania. A decade later, he was a practicing general surgeon with three children.

Beverley, though, confided in her father, Dr. Thomas E. Robinson, that she felt incomplete. She believed there was another child out there.

A child arrives

Linda Torrey gave birth to a boy at LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City early January 1965.

That Saturday, Salt Lake City attorney Ephraim Fankhauser had his wife, Camille, join him in the car for a drive. They had six children and a busy life, so Camille wondered why he needed her to go along. He didn’t tell her where they were headed. They parked in front of LDS Hospital on 8th Avenue and C Street, where he told her, “I’ve fathered a child.”

“I knew immediately that wasn’t true,” Camille, now 88, said of her prankster husband.

Ephraim told her to go to the second floor where there was a baby she was supposed to get. She bathed him and dressed him, “all the work a biological mother would have done.” As she carried the child through the hospital, she thought a close friend was going to adopt him, though she much preferred to keep him herself.

Back in the car, Ephraim drove to his law office. Camille’s sister Beverley and her husband Marion were waiting inside. “She was so excited,” Camille said. Their father, Dr. Thomas E. Robinson, had delivered the child. He made arrangements for his daughter and son-in-law to adopt him. They named him Mark Thomas Probert.

How Dr. Robinson came to know Linda is unclear. So is how the adoption came to be arranged. It is clear from a court document that Linda agreed to give up her child in late December 1964. A consent and release form she signed the day her child was born placed him with Marion and Beverley Probert.

A tragic plane crash

On Nov. 27, 1965, the day after Thanksgiving, Dr. Marion Probert joined a group of prominent BYU boosters on a charter flight out of Salt Lake City to Albuquerque, New Mexico, to watch the Cougars play for their first-ever conference championship against the Lobos.

En route to the Provo airport to pick up 20 more BYU football fans and boosters, including then-BYU president Ernest L. Wilkinson, the airplane flew below the clouds as snow began to fall along the Wasatch Front.

About 10 minutes after takeoff, and flying without radar, the pilot misjudged the altitude and the terrain and the plane crashed in the rolling hills above Camp Williams in the southwest part of the Salt Lake Valley. The plane lost its left wing after hitting a small hill 11 feet below its crown, then plummeted some 1,200 feet across a gully and into another hill before bursting into flames. All 13 people aboard the aircraft died on impact.

Marion was only 32.

Beverley heard the news on the radio. She immediately set out to comfort the surviving spouses. She also gathered her own children: Kathi, 11, Stephen, 10, Christine, 9, and 10-month-old Mark. The strongest language she could muster in telling them their father had died was, “Darn it, darn it, darn it.”

Rather than forfeit the game, BYU elected to play after receiving a telegram from Beverley urging them to finish the season with a win.

“My husband, Dr. Marion Probert, has been waiting with great anticipation for this game for many years,” Beverley wrote. “He was pulling for your victory. Please do your best to see his wish fulfilled.”

The Cougars crushed the Lobos that day 42-8.

In 1977, BYU retired Marion’s No. 81 jersey and inducted him into the BYU Sports Hall of Fame. His jersey is displayed on the press box in LaVell Edwards Stadium among other Cougar greats.

Mark would only know his dad through the memories of others.

The search begins

Beverley Probert never remarried. When asked about it, she would point to the ring on her finger and say “I got the perfect one the first time.” She opened a clothing store to support her family. Mark became very close to his grandfather, Thomas Robinson, the doctor who delivered him. They traveled the world together — the Far East, Middle East, Central America, South America. He also had uncles, a brother and brothers-in-law who taught him about life.

Mark, now 61, grew up in Murray. At a BYU football camp when he was 15, a coach, Dick Felt, recognized his last name and asked if he was related to Marion Probert. Mark told him he was Marion’s youngest son. Felt, a co-captain with Marion back in the day, took the boy into his office and regaled him with stories about his father.

From great athlete to great doctor to devout Latter-day Saint, Mark came to see his dad as Superman through those kinds of encounters. Mark said Marion saved him from serious injury or death multiple times, including twice being hit by a bus and a near-miss with a car. “As a physician, who better?” he said. “He’s still doing it to this day.”

After serving a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in South Carolina, he set out to make a career in music and acting. It didn’t pan out, but he still writes songs, plays guitar and sings in a band — Sons of 83 — and hasn’t let go of his dream to be a rock star. He and his wife, Jennifer, raised a son and a daughter. They recently became grandparents. He works as a corporate trainer for a communications solutions company. He’s a longtime soccer coach and referee.

Mark knew from an early age that he was adopted. When he was young, he couldn’t pronounce the word. He’d say, “I’m Marky Probert. I’m 4 years old and I’m a dolphin.” The dolphin became his spirit animal. He looked for one wherever he went.

What he couldn’t find was any paperwork about his adoption. It wasn’t handled by an agency. It was done by lawyers who walled off the records. He asked his uncle Ephraim about it once. He looked but couldn’t find anything. Some years later his aunt Camille told him she and uncle Eph felt bad about never being able to find the papers and sent him a check for a DNA test. It showed he’s mostly English and 1% Jewish, but didn’t provide clues about his birth parents.

A friend told Mark about Search Angels, an organization that identifies biological family connections through DNA analysis and genealogical research. Other than the DNA results, the caseworker assigned to Mark had nothing to go on. A couple of weeks later, Mark received an email saying, “I think I found your paternal grandmother.”

A month later, in November 2018, he received another report from the caseworker that began: “The Whole Kit and Kaboodle!!“ DNA matches, names, addresses, phone numbers, documents, photos and even a family tree. An Ada County, Idaho, marriage certificate listed Ronald Ross Whittington as the groom; Linda Lou Torrey as the bride. The caseworker expressed confidence in his conclusions.

“I have to admit that I am very excited about what has been uncovered here . . . i.e. the almost unbelievable fact that you should find your parents alive and married with children,“ he wrote. ”I hope I have not given you a heart attack! I am hoping that this will lead to a very special Christmas for many people . . . “

Letting it go

Mark’s mind raced as he read the treasure trove of information about family he had never known. He figured one of three things would happen if he made contact with his birth parents: We gave you up once, we’re not interested. Or, You got any money? Or, You’re the son we’ve been waiting for our whole lives, welcome home. He figured he could deal with the first two. He wasn’t sure about the last one.

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He decided to write a letter telling them about himself and his family, including a photo. He wrote only that DNA showed they might be related. The letter went unanswered. A year or so later, he made a phone call and left a voicemail. No response.

And then he had an overwhelming feeling to let it go. A thought came to his mind: What if he doesn’t know and you show up . . .

A spiritual person, Mark felt it was his mother Beverley, who died in 2003, telling him from the other side that he had solved the mystery and all was good for now. So he let it go.

Several years later, Mark started getting contacted by people on Ancestry.com who said his name kept popping up as a cousin, but they didn’t know who he was. In the spring of 2024, he received a phone call from David Weiss, who said, “I know all of my first cousins and you’re not on my list. Would you like to have lunch?” He had concluded from his own genealogical sleuthing that his uncle and aunt, Ron and Linda Whittington, must be Mark’s biological parents.

Their conversation confirmed everything. David, who lives in Boise, wanted to call Ron immediately, but Mark wasn’t ready for that. David gently pushed back. “Well, let me ask you one question: If you had a son, would you want to know?” he asked. He suggested Mark write a letter that he would drive to Gresham, Oregon, and hand-deliver to Ron. Almost in passing, he let Mark know that Linda had died unexpectedly in 2022.

That changed everything for Mark after he’d had that feeling to let it go. He no longer had to worry that Linda might be embarrassed that her long-held secret was out. He wishes he could have met her. But he believes his biological and adoptive mothers are now fast friends in the afterlife, watching and enjoying what they see happening with their son.

Still, Mark struggled with the issue of loyalty to his deceased parents, Marion and Beverley. Would they be OK with him pursuing a relationship with Ron? Would his three siblings be OK with it? They were. He went through some “tender moments,” especially with Marion. “I had this overwhelming thought come to me that said, ‘You will always be my son, now go meet your dad.’” That wiped away all of his concerns.

A secret revealed

Ron was sipping coffee on a Saturday morning when his nephew David Weiss and his wife Debbie rang the doorbell. They chatted uncomfortably for half an hour, which was unusual because they are close to each other. Ron sensed they wanted to tell him something. He expected bad news.

David pulled out Mark’s letter. Ron read the type-written contents and set it on the table. He had no response because he didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t know what to think. He was in shock. He had no clue he had a 59-year-old son. He reread the letter. Mark explained the DNA findings. He wrote that he wanted nothing other than to let Ron know that he existed.

The next day, which was his and Linda’s anniversary, Ron told the rest of his family about Mark. He was too broken up to read the letter out loud, so David read it. They were all dumbfounded. Linda never said one word about it in all their married life.

“To this day, it’s unbelievable to me,” Ron, 81, said.

Laura Lucas, 56, is the youngest of Ron’s and Linda’s two daughters. She’s married with two adult children. Shortly after learning about Mark, Ron invited his daughters to his house for a “discussion.” He started crying before saying a word.

“I have a secret to tell you,” he said. “You have a brother.” Both women fell silent in disbelief.

Laura found it hard to fathom her mother could have kept that to herself all those years because she was very much an open book. You knew when she was happy. You knew when she was upset. But Laura isn’t mad, nor does she feel her mom needs forgiveness. Linda had her reasons, and whatever those reasons were are good enough for her.

“We’re never going to know. It’s between her and God,” she said. “God put her in the right place at the right time.”

Before doing anything else, Ron felt he needed to make peace with Linda. He wasn’t mad. He could never be mad at the only woman he ever loved. He stood at her gravesite crying. He just talked to her. He forgave her and told he was sorry she felt she had to keep it from him.

He never knew about the first letter Mark sent years earlier. He searched the house when he learned about it, but never found it.

Ron said he believes the reason Linda didn’t tell him is because he would have gone to find Mark and she didn’t want that. As his daughters reached their early teens, “I always said, ‘God, I wished I would have had a son. I wished I would have had a son.’”

New beginnings

Mark’s phone rang early on July 20, 2024. He put it on speaker so his wife, Jennifer, could hear. It was like listening to himself 20 years into the future. Same voice, same kind of jocularity. There was no awkwardness. They were like old friends who hadn’t talked in a while. At the end of the conversation, the then nearly 80-year-old Ron asked Mark if “you’d like to have a relationship with me for the rest of my life?”

Mark didn’t hesitate.

A week or so later, Ron and his nephew David drove to Utah. Father and son met for the first time face to face.

Mark and his kids were washing cars in the driveway. “And this truck pulls up, and I get out of the cab 20 years into the future. It was that kind of a weird thing. I went to shake his hand and he did the exact same thing that I do where I don’t shake hands, I hug.”

He had a feeling of familiarity, like he’d been there before. “It just felt like home,” Mark said.

Ron, though, felt embarrassment more than being a father.

“The sad part about it for me was I had no feeling for Mark. I dearly love my children,” Ron said, holding back tears. “When I met Mark I didn’t have that feeling. It was like meeting a stranger but knowing that he’s part of your family for some reason.”

At dinner that first night, Mark asked a musician at the restaurant if he could borrow his guitar. He played Neil Young’s “Old Man.” Half way through the song he realized what he was singing and started crying. He looked at Ron. He was crying, too. They soon learned they both are cryers and wear their emotions on the outside. They also recognized other similar mannerisms.

Mark, who remains close in spirit to Marion without knowing him, is elated to have two dads in his life. “So, now I have this amazing relationship with my natural father. And I still have a great relationship with my dad, Marion.”

Laura met Mark outside her father’s house when he arrived in Oregon to surprise Ron on his 80th birthday in December 2024. They immediately hugged, not one of those pat-on-the-back hugs but a genuine embrace. He made her laugh. They share the same kind of humor.

Like her father always wanted a son, the tomboy in Laura always wanted a brother growing up. She described her relationship with Mark as more of a friendship.

“He is part of my blood and I will always accept him as my brother,” she said. “And maybe that will change in time, but we both have our own lives. I don’t expect for him to bend or do things any differently for my family and I know that he doesn’t expect us to do that for his.”

Father and son

The relationship between Mark and Ron has only blossomed since that first meeting. Ron shared with him his long desire to have a son. Mark told him now he has one. Mark used it as a lyric in a song he wrote titled, “She Gave Me My Life.”

It took some time — “I’ll tell you truthfully it’s not easy” — until Ron felt like he had the right to say he’s Mark’s father because he didn’t raise him. But he’s good now being called dad or pop.

Mark said he would still have a super happy life without knowing Ron but it’s so much richer having him in it. And he thanks God for it.

“But now there was even a point in time where in my prayers, I would say, I can’t handle any more blessings. You’ve opened up the windows of heaven so much. I can’t take it anymore. You can’t give me any more love. I can’t take it. Because for a couple years there, it was just amazing blessing after amazing blessing after amazing blessing,” he said of the events that unfolded.

Ron and Mark talk on the phone periodically. During one call, Mark overheard Ron say “the little bastard hung up” during a brief silence. He has been Little Bastard ever since. And Ron is now Old Bastard.

Mark sent Ron a dolphin Christmas ornament along with a note: “Dolphins have pods for life. Now I’m thankful that I’m in the Whittington-Torrey pod as well as the Robinson-Probert pod.” He signed it Little Bastard.

Ron finds it unfortunate that he and Mark live so far apart. Yet, since that long-held family secret was revealed, they couldn’t be closer.

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