ST. LOUIS CITY, Mo. — For generations of Black families in St. Louis, Homer G. Phillips Hospital represented something extraordinary: access to quality medical care and professional training during an era of racial segregation.
Opened in 1937 in St. Louis’ historic Ville neighborhood, the hospital was created after years of advocacy for a modern medical institution serving the city’s Black community.
It became a major center for the education and training of Black physicians, nurses, and other medical professionals.
The hospital remained an important part of the Black community until its closure in 1979.
Decades later, however, Homer G. Phillips became the center of a deeply troubling controversy involving mothers who said they had been told their newborn babies had died.
At the heart of the story was one mother, one daughter, and a separation that lasted nearly half a century.
On November 25, 1965, Zella Jackson Price said she went into premature labor.
Price later reported that she was approximately six months pregnant when she went to Homer G. Phillips Hospital and delivered a baby girl weighing approximately two pounds.
She said the baby was alive and crying after birth. Price wanted to name her daughter Diane.
According to Price, a nurse took the newborn away. Hours later, Price said, the nurse returned and told her that her daughter had died.
Price said she never saw the baby’s body and went home without a death certificate. She believed her daughter had died.
For almost 50 years, that was the story Price carried with her.
Then she discovered something unimaginable:
Her daughter was alive.
The baby grew up as Melanie Diane Gilmore.
Gilmore was raised by foster parents and grew up believing that her biological mother had abandoned her.
Years later, Gilmore’s twin daughters, Melika and Mehiska Jackson, began searching for their mother’s biological family.
Their search eventually led them to Zella Jackson Price.
DNA testing confirmed that Price and Gilmore were biological mother and daughter.
On April 9, 2015, they reunited for the first time in approximately 49 years.
The reunion brought joy—but it also created a profound question:
How did a mother who believed her daughter had died become separated from a daughter who was alive?
Other Mothers Came Forward
After Price’s story became public, other Black women began contacting St. Louis attorney Albert Watkins, who represented Price.
Contemporary reporting identified 18 women who said they had given birth at Homer G. Phillips and had been told their babies died.
According to reporting about their accounts, many were young mothers and described similar circumstances: a nurse told them their newborn had died, they did not see the baby’s body, and some said they never received a death certificate.
Among the women publicly discussing their experiences were Gussie Parker, Otha Mae Brand, Brenda Stewart, and Leatrice Barry.
Their stories raised questions about how premature and newborn deaths were documented during an era when medical records were maintained almost entirely on paper.
Hundreds Sought Answers
The controversy quickly expanded beyond the original group of mothers.
The St. Louis Health Department received hundreds of inquiries from people seeking information about births and children connected to the hospital.
Contemporary reporting documented hundreds of requests for information, including a reported 282 inquiries and later reports of more than 300.
The number demonstrates the enormous public concern surrounding the allegations.
The Price-Gilmore case eventually received federal attention.
According to the records reviewed by investigators, Gilmore’s birth certificate identified St. Louis City Hospital No. 1, rather than Homer G. Phillips Hospital, as her birthplace.
Records also indicated that the infant entered the child-welfare system after authorities were unable to locate her mother. Gilmore was subsequently raised by foster parents.
Price rejected this explanation.
She continued to maintain that she had given birth at Homer G. Phillips and had never intentionally abandoned her daughter.
Price’s memory said one thing.
The surviving records said another.
DNA established the biological relationship between Price and Gilmore, but DNA could not establish exactly how or why they became separated in 1965.
U.S. Attorney Richard Callahan led an investigation into Price’s allegations.
Investigators examined historical records concerning the birth and subsequent placement of Gilmore.
On August 14, 2015, Callahan announced that investigators had found no evidence supporting the alleged baby-stealing involving Homer G. Phillips Hospital.
The investigation was closed.
The federal investigation did not establish that every woman who later came forward was mistaken.
Individual cases would require individual records and evidence.
A Historic Hospital With a Complicated Legacy
The hospital was created because Black St. Louisans had been denied equal access to medical care and medical training.
It became a nationally significant institution for Black medical professionals.
Washington University archives describe Homer G. Phillips as the only public hospital for Black residents in St. Louis from 1937 until city hospitals began desegregating in 1955. It continued serving the Black community until its closure in 1979.
The National Museum of African American History and Culture likewise documents the hospital’s importance to Black medical education and healthcare.
The hospital’s closure in 1979 sparked protests in the Ville neighborhood. Today, the building is recognized as an important St. Louis landmark and historic site.
That history matters.
At the same time, the experiences of mothers who spent decades questioning what happened to their children should not simply disappear from the historical record.
Remember the Mothers.
Remember the Children.
Follow the Evidence.
The Homer G. Phillips story is not simply a story about an old hospital.
It is a story about Black medical history, motherhood, segregation, family separation, records, memory, and unanswered questions.
It is also a reminder of why historical records matter.
Because behind every record is a human life.
