Poet's life was cut short just as it bloomed--13 years later, her husband faces charges
Athene Fuex
San Jose, CA -- Friends say Abby Niebauer, the Palo Alto poet shot to death
by her husband in 1985, spent the last years of her life blossoming into the
woman she'd always wanted to become.
She was growing as an artist -- she had one book of poetry published and
another one in the works. By the winter of 1985, her two daughters were
grown, and her youngest child was preparing to graduate from Palo Alto High
School and head for Harvard University.
Niebauer was becoming known in Bay Area poetry circles, had befriended
well-known poets, and had participated in readings with writers such as
Frances Mayes, author of ``Under the Tuscan Sun.''
Originally ruled accident
On the evening of Feb. 22, 1985, Niebauer, 47, was killed in her Palo Alto
kitchen by a shotgun blast to the chest. Her husband, James Niebauer,
admitted to police he was holding the gun. The death was ruled an accident
two months later. But last week, James Niebauer, 69, was arrested in Seattle
after a Santa Clara County grand jury issued a murder indictment.
Abigail Sansum Niebauer's friends describe her as a unique person with
tremendous inner depth and imagination.
``To know someone like that is such a gift because they enliven you,'' said
Niebauer's longtime friend Joan McMillen of Menlo Park. ``I felt like the
full magic she was capable of was starting to take shape.''
In 1980, Abby Niebauer's first volume of poetry, titled ``Three Windows,''
was published, and her work appeared in ``Coast Light: An Anthology'' in
1981. Another book, ``Sun Rose'' was printed after her death.
It commanded attention from some well-known poets, including Robert Bly, who
wrote on the book's jacket: ``There is some sweet boldness in Abby
Niebauer's poems, and I am still more delighted when I see that sense of
boldness has been achieved through language of reserve and privacy.''
Abby Niebauer's brother, Lee Sansum, described her as a peaceful, loving
person whose children mattered most to her. He said that growing up in
Illinois, they were sibling rivals, and quite different: He was a loner, and
Abby was the one with all the friends and activities.
Sansum fought to get police and prosecutors to reopen the case of his
sister's death. He was relentless: He hired private detectives and
attorneys, hoping they would find some evidence strong enough to persuade
prosecutors to take the case to the grand jury.
In the end, it was the persistent work of Palo Alto police Agent Michael
Yore that convinced prosecutors he should go forward. James Niebauer is
expected to be extradited to California for the trial.
Sansum said his sister met James Niebauer as a teenager in the mid-1950s at
a public swimming pool in her hometown of Hinsdale, Ill.
They married in June 1958 and moved to the West Coast. The couple had three
children, two daughters and a son. At the time of Abby's death, James
Niebauer was teaching physical education to special-needs students in the
Sunnyvale School District. Abby Niebauer worked part-time in the district
over the years -- teaching poetry to elementary schoolchildren.
``I've known Jim for a long time, and I regarded him as part of the family,
and I liked him,'' Sansum said. Still, Sansum said he has always believed
that James killed Abby intentionally.
Growing fear of husband
According to police and private detective records, Sansum and Abby
Niebauer's friends said she was growing increasingly afraid of her husband
in the months leading up to her death.
Police report transcripts show that shortly after the shooting, several of
her friends told police Abby Niebauer had been planning to leave her
husband. One friend told police that although Abby tried to hold out as long
as she could -- wanting to keep her family together until her son's
graduation -- she had planned to start looking for a place of her own the
week she was killed.
McMillen said Abby's death and the closing of the case, left many friends
frustrated and bitter.
``The truth is, her death is still a shock to my system in a way. I always
just wished that more of the true story -- whatever that may be -- could be
known,'' McMillen said. ``When the investigation was closed, it was like
something just sank underwater and receded. But now, my hope rises again --
I can feel it.''