It was a Monday afternoon in August 1983, the kind of scorching summer day where the heat radiates off the pavement and the only thing on a child’s mind is playing outside. In Sheridan, Colorado, a working-class neighborhood where front doors were left unlocked and neighbors knew each other by name, 3-year-old Lori Poland was playing in her front yard. She had just finished lunch with her parents. Her mother, Diane, was at work, and her father, Richard, had stepped inside for just a moment to grab popsicles for the kids. In that brief window of time, innocence was shattered.

Witnesses saw an orange Datsun pull up to the curb. The driver, a stranger to the neighborhood, offered the oldest trick in the predator’s book: candy. “Do you like candy?” he asked. Lori, a trusting toddler with blonde hair and blue eyes, simply said “Yes.” In seconds, she was in the car, and the vehicle sped away. When Richard Poland emerged from the house, his daughter was gone. Her tricycle lay on its side, a wheel still spinning in the hot sun.

The Search for a Ghost

Panic set in immediately. This was 1983—there were no Amber Alerts, no instant social media blasts, no GPS tracking. The police had to rely on old-fashioned detective work and the media. The community mobilized in a way that is rarely seen today. Hundreds of volunteers combed through parks, wilderness areas, and neighborhoods. But as day turned to night, and then into a second and third day, hope began to dwindle. In the heat of the summer, the odds of finding a toddler alive after 72 hours were terrifyingly low.

Police had a lead, though. Witnesses had noted the car: a faded orange Datsun with a black vinyl top and a partial license plate, “ADV-2.” It matched a vehicle registered to a 21-year-old golf course worker named Robert Paul Thayet. But when police interviewed him, he denied everything. He was cool, calm, and claimed he was home. Without a body or the child, police had to let him go, though they kept him under surveillance.

A Miracle in the Mountains

On Thursday morning, three and a half days after Lori vanished, a couple from Pittsburgh was bird-watching in the mountains west of Denver. Steven and Cynthia Gan had made a wrong turn and ended up near an old outhouse—a pit toilet—at a campground. Cynthia needed to use the facilities. As she approached, she heard a sound that stopped her cold. It was crying. Then, a small voice from the darkness below: “Mommy, I want some Kool-Aid.”

Steven shined a flashlight down the hole, which was 12 to 15 feet deep. There, standing in the waste, was a tiny figure. “What are you doing down there?” he asked, stunned. Lori’s response was heartbreakingly simple: “I live here.”

Rescuers were called immediately. A volunteer firefighter was lowered into the pit to retrieve her. The conditions were horrific. Lori had been standing in sewage for three days. She was shivering, disoriented, and suffering from exposure to methane gas. Her legs were severely infected. But when the firefighter reached her, she grabbed him and wouldn’t let go. She had been thrown away like trash, intended to perish in that dark hole, but she had held on.

The Justice System Fails

Lori’s physical recovery was miraculous. Despite fears that her legs might need to be amputated due to the infection, she healed rapidly. But the psychological scars were deep. And the legal battle that followed would open new wounds for her family and the community.

Robert Thayet was arrested. The evidence was overwhelming: witness descriptions of his car, the license plate match, and most damning of all, hair samples found in his car that matched Lori’s. But the legal system, designed to protect the accused, ended up failing the victim. Defense attorneys challenged every piece of evidence. A judge ruled that 3-year-old Lori could not testify in court, weakening the prosecution’s case significantly.

Fearing a total acquittal, prosecutors made a deal. Thayet pleaded guilty to sexual assault and attempted murder. In exchange, other charges were dropped. He was sentenced to just 10 years in prison. The public was outraged. A man who had kidnapped a toddler and left her to die in a sewage pit would serve less time than some drug offenders.

The Nightmare Continues

The tragedy didn’t end there. Under Colorado law at the time, inmates could earn “good time” credits. In 1990, after serving only six years, Thayet was released. He walked out of prison with no parole, no probation, and no supervision. The system had no legal way to track him. He moved to California, and tragically, history repeated itself. He was later convicted of molesting another child—a victim who might have been spared if the system had kept a dangerous predator behind bars.

Lori, now an adult, was devastated when she learned of the new victim. “That’s another child whose life was changed because of one person and a failure of our system to protect us,” she said.

Turning Pain into Power

Lori Poland refused to let her trauma be the end of her story. She didn’t just survive; she fought back. Her case was instrumental in the creation of sex offender registries in the United States. Because of what happened to her, laws were changed to ensure that authorities could track dangerous offenders after their release.

Lori grew up to become a licensed professional counselor, specializing in trauma and child abuse. She dedicated her life to helping others heal from the kind of darkness she had experienced. In 2018, she reunited with Dr. Richard Krugman, the pediatrician who had treated her after her rescue, to co-found the National Foundation to End Child Abuse and Neglect (EndCAN). The organization approaches abuse not just as a legal issue, but as a public health crisis that can be treated and prevented.

A Legacy of Resilience

Today, Lori is a mother herself. She speaks openly about her experience, not to garner pity, but to empower others. She admits that the trauma never fully goes away—she is still triggered by certain smells and dark places—but she chooses to live a life of impact.

“I choose to be the change I wish to see in the world,” Lori says. Her journey from the bottom of a dark pit to a beacon of hope for thousands is a testament to the human spirit. She proved that even when the system fails, and even when the worst happens, it is possible to rise again.

The man who tried to end her life is now an aging transient on a registry, his life defined by his crimes. Lori Poland, however, is defined by her strength. She didn’t just survive the pit; she climbed out and built a ladder for others to follow.