The Back Building

by Julie Dewey

  “You will not go to school today, Iona. Instead, I am taking you to see Dr. Morgan. I think we need to see what is going on here. Maybe there is a reason behind this pressing madness.”

  A tear escaped and I let it trail down my cheek and my chin and drip onto my clothes. I was ordered to bathe and dress (fourteen paces to the bathroom). Then we would head into town and get to the bottom of my ‘condition’.

  After being poked and prodded, questioned and humiliated, I was deemed ‘unwell’ by a doctor who hardly knew his head from his arse. Whether or not my illness was a physical or mental matter was in question and needed further investigating. I was not allowed to attend school in either case, both to protect the good name of my family and to prevent the spread of any disease, should I be harboring one. The hair perplexed the doctor the most. The missing clumps were random and, he said, no one in their right mind would subject themselves to that type of bodily harm or pain. It was indeed painful, but I would never admit it.

  My father didn’t tell my mother the doctor questioned my sanity. Instead, he told her I was to stay at home and get plenty of rest. I had an unidentified illness that would benefit from proper nutrition, extra portions of meat, and lots of rest.

  My mother complied with the doctors’ orders and began to give me second helpings at supper-time over the course of the next few weeks. As a result of proper nutrition, I gained weight and my hair grew back in. It formed spikes in patches across my head and I liked the feel of it so much I took my mother’s shears and cut the rest of it off to match.

  When I entered the kitchen the following morning my mother took one look at me and fainted. My father ran to her and cursed me. I was deemed mentally ill by the doctor and it was advised I be sent away.

  Chapter Two

  Willard Hospital for the Insane

  I was allowed to bring one suitcase with me to the treatment facility in Lodi, New York. In it my mother carefully packed everything she thought I would need while I was away. I would be gone for one month during which time the change of scenery and care of the specialized doctors was supposed to make me ‘better’. The Willard State Hospital on the eastern shore of Seneca Lake was known as the best, particularly for disturbed women and children.

  Neatly folded one on top of the other were my nightgowns, underwear, socks, two skirts, and their corresponding blouses. Beside them, were a bible, my toothbrush, a hairbrush, and ribbon. Peculiar, I had no hair to use the ribbon on, and my time away was supposedly temporary. There was a small sewing kit, two small needles and two spools of thread. No scissors. My indoor slippers sat on top of the clothing, and the blanket I had had since my birth was on top of my toiletries. At the last minute my mother added stationery and a pen. She hoped I would write and promised to do the same.

  A black automobile pulled up at eight in the morning on October twenty-ninth. Two stodgy gentlemen dressed in tweed suits entered our home and one took my suitcase. It was placed in the trunk of the car (twenty–six lengthy paces from hallway to trunk). The other man escorted me outside quickly, in case my parents changed their minds. My mother’s hug lingered, she kissed my cheeks and her tears melted into my skin, for a brief moment I even felt loved. My father was emotionless, he spoke to the men quietly and watched from the window as I was led away by the elbow.

  I did not understand what it meant to be mentally ill. I felt fine, unabridged in both mind and body. I was aware of myself and my surroundings and didn’t suffer any breaks from reality. I didn’t feel overly sad or happy, or even angry. My parents simply didn’t understand me. I liked my new haircut and the freedom from its previous weight around my neck, and I saw no reason why I shouldn’t wear it short. I did my counting in my head so no one was bothered. I wouldn’t miss the constant nagging to be a perfect young lady, but I would miss Hetty. She was the only friend I had in the world and I made a vow to follow the doctors’ orders so that I could get back to the farm, and back to her.

  The drive to Willard took less than one hour. The hospital was situated along Seneca Lake and was quite pretty if not for the imposing barbed wire fencing all along the north side.

  “The fence was put in place to keep the thieves out.” The larger of the two men with the twitchy nose said, sensing my distress. He told me that the gardens had been thinned out by thieving migrant workers and that they had to put up the fence to keep them from whittling down the food stores. Also, in recent years people came in droves to witness the lunatics in the asylum as if they expected to see patients with two heads. I felt satisfied but stunned by this honest answer, and suddenly grateful for the fence. I didn’t wish to be heckled by oglers.

  We drove along the lakeside and wound our way across two miles of road leading from the gate to a massive brick building. This was the Chapin House that also served as the administration building. Here, I would be given my room assignment. I would be placed in the south wing where all women were housed. I was not considered severely disturbed so I would be placed on ward number three. The more disturbed patients were on wards one and two, and the back building housed the insane patients that could no longer function in society. The female administrator smiled hopefully at me when she learned my attendant would be Emily Black. Emily was known for her kindness, her understanding, and especially for her charges’ good manners and cleanliness.

  “Pardon me, Miss, but my suitcase hasn’t been retrieved. May I please have it?” I suddenly grew anxious that my possessions were out of my sight. Nerves were getting the better of me and I felt that I could be sick at any moment. I bit my nails and tasted the blood.

  “It will be brought to your room as soon as we go through it. We need to catalog all of its contents, I am sure you understand.” She said to me dismissively.

  “Oh. Okay.” I took a deep breath and stood up feeling woozy. I grabbed the edge of the desk to secure myself and then felt more stable.

  “Now, then, let’s show you around and get you to your room.” The administrator stood up and led me out of the small office space she inhabited and through the main building towards a large hall. I tried counting the paces but found it difficult because of all the corners and hallways.

  “Look around. Everywhere your eye can see is part of the Willard Asylum, excuse me, Willard Hospital. We have over six hundred acres on our property. The land is used for everything from a working farm, piggery and its slaughterhouse, to a dairy, vegetable gardens, and a firehouse. We have a beauty salon, a chapel, a bakery, laundry, and we even have a hall solely for entertainment. Here it is now; Hadley Hall has a bowling alley and theater too. Do you like to bowl, Iona?”

  “I have never bowled before, Ma’am.” I said, feeling overwhelmed and shy. I was missing my family and the familiarity of my own home and farm and could hardly get excited about bowling.

  “Well, it also has a projection room, a basketball court, and a snack bar. We even serve hot buttered popcorn on movie night. You’ll like that.”

  “I am sure I will.” I muttered more for her benefit than my own.

  “Here we have Elliot Hall, over there is the Campus Hospital, and off in the distance you can see a few of our houses. That’s where the superintendent stays as well as the steward.” She pointed out the buildings that surrounded us.

  “What’s that building?” I asked, pointing to a shorter brick building that was rather unremarkable.

  “That’s the nurses’ training school. Now, here we are at your hall. The third ward is located on the third floor. You’ll have no trouble remembering that.”

  We walked through a large set of double doors, the windows inside were large and expansive letting in a bounty of light. Iron grates protected them from the outside with military precision. I was led by the administrator to my adequate room (eighty-six paces by my first count from the building entrance to my room). The room was a nine by eleven foot space and for now I had it all to myself. The mattress looked brand new and I had a wardrobe and small desk. The furniture was not overly decora
tive but it had enough flourishes that it felt homey and comfortable as opposed to institutional. I imagined it was all made right here on the campus in the sewing room and wood shop.

  Inside the wardrobe hung five sets of dresses. One dress stood out from the others because it was slightly fancier, I assumed this was my Sunday church attire. There were four full suits of underclothes, two pairs of shoes and one pair of slippers. There was also a pretty shawl in a light blue color and a hood with a hat. I was confused because I brought my own clothing with me, but these outfits seemed to be my size. I reached out to feel the cotton gowns and I supposed they would be comfortable enough. I thanked God that they weren’t made of scratchy wool like a few of my ensembles left in my closet at home.

  “I’ll leave you to your room for now. Emily will be here shortly to meet you. Enjoy your time here.” The administrator closed me into my room, I thought her parting comments were an odd thing to say to a patient. I wasn’t on vacation. Although my parents insinuated that I should relish my much needed rest and relaxation away from whatever stresses I had.

  I sat in the corner of my room, knees pulled to my chest and cried. Loneliness crept in all around me and my heart broke in two.

  A half an hour later, a gentle knock came at my door. I wiped the snot from my nose and rose to answer it. A woman, who I guessed to be in her thirties, was standing before me with a welcoming smile. She held out a thin pillow and its case as well as a set of towels and sheets.

  “Hi, and welcome, I am Emily. I will be your attendant while you are here. If there is anything you need, anything at all, please let me know. How about I help you make your bed up?” (Emily walked five lengthy paces from doorway to bed, it took me seven paces, but her legs were longer.)

  Together we unfolded the sheet and spread it across the mattress, then pulled it taut over each of the mattress’s four corners. Emily fluffed my pillow and stuffed it inside its case. Next, she walked towards my wardrobe and reached inside to grab the blanket that I hadn’t noticed laying beneath my clothing. I studied Emily’s movements. She was very deliberate with everything she did. I liked her right away. She was missing her right eye-tooth which caused me to stare briefly, but otherwise she was just normal looking. Her hair was held up in a bun of sorts and she wore no make-up. I noticed the smattering of freckles across her nose and thought she must spend a good amount of time outdoors to acquire them. She was probably a gardener.

  “Shall we get acquainted then?” Emily asked plunking herself down on my bed.

  “I guess.” I reached for the pillow and held it defensively across my lap.

  “Tell me about yourself, Iona is it?” She met my eyes and stared, but it was an accepting kind of gaze, not one of sympathy or scorn.

  “Well, I am fifteen and in ninth grade. My best friend is a girl named Hetty. She doesn’t go to school anymore, but still has dreams of being a teacher one day. I don’t know how she is going to do that with her workload. Hetty helps my mother around our house. My mother is due to have a baby soon and because I am causing her stress (I pointed to my nearly bald head of hair), I was sent here.”

  “Ahh, I see. Well, it’s my job to make you comfortable here. I want you to feel welcome and so do the other girls. You are among the youngest I’ve ever had on my floor. Most of the women are older and I will warn you now, they aren’t all as astute as you are. Many are from very poor backgrounds and have no schooling. Still they are a very welcoming bunch. As a matter of fact we have our art class in an hour if you would care to join. It would be a good opportunity to meet the other patients.”

  “I guess I would like to go,” I answered, surprised by the invitation and insinuation that I was smarter than the women who were older than me.

  “Good. I will give you time to settle in a bit and get acquainted with the facility. The bathroom is just two doors down if you need it. You won’t be bothered otherwise. I’ll come get you when it’s time to go.”

  “Emily?” I asked feeling vulnerable.

  “Yes, Iona. What is it?” her arm gently across my shoulders.

  “I need my suitcase. They haven’t brought it to my room yet, and it has my things. I just want my things.”

  “I will look into that for you, okay? For now don’t worry, your things are safe.” She quietly closed the door behind her and I sunk into my thin mattress. I tightened my grip on my pillow, holding it to my chest and worried.

  There were seven girls, and myself, who went to the art participation class. (Counting paces was too difficult because I was busy sizing up the women.) Today we were making collages. We were to cut out pictures that appealed to us from magazines and then adhere them with glue to a canvas. I thumbed through a June edition of The Delineator from Butterick. The magazine mostly consisted of women’s fashions and rules of etiquette. Nothing interested me so I dispersed it into the common pile before me and my fellow charges.

  I made it a point to keep my eyes in my new magazine, Good Housekeeping, because one of the ladies in our group was growing irritated by something she saw. She started ripping the pages from the magazine and shredding and throwing the pieces she tore. She cried into her palms and began scratching and clawing at her skin like a wild animal, drawing blood. She seemed inconsolable, but then Emily reached for her hands and held them tightly together. Emily stopped the woman from hurting herself further and was able to calm her with her soft reassuring voice and by redirecting her focus to another magazine entirely.

  I learned this woman’s name was Mary and that she suffered from depression. Mary was subject to fits such as these regularly. The woman beside me was a chatty thing, she introduced herself as Ruth and claimed she was a grand duchess. Her duke was on his way to rescue her and would be here by nightfall. She described her castle in great detail from the turrets to the moats and described her silk gowns and jewels that waited for her upon her rescue. I listened empathetically, thinking how dire her circumstance was. It was no wonder why she was here and no wonder Emily said I was more astute. Some of these women had no sense of reality whatsoever. It was apparent that I was more together than the women I just observed, giving me hope my stay truly would only last one month.

  So far I knew Mary and Ruth. None of the art group participants were young like me. The lady across from me had one blue eye and one brown eye that I couldn’t help but stare at. She said I reminded her of her daughter. I later learned that her name was Patty, and that she had delusions of grandeur. Not only had she never been married, but she certainly didn’t have any children.

  Everyone progressed with their collage except for me. I couldn’t find one single picture that appealed to me so instead I began to draw. I drew a forest lush with trees and animals. I sketched the outdoors, it was where I belonged and I wondered why this was so wrong?

  After class, we lined the hallways with our projects as I had done as a child in grade school. A few of the women behaved as children, skipping and whistling through the corridors as they admired everyone’s work. I came to understand that they had regressed to this state after traumatic incidents and that it was best just to play along with them.

  “Ladies, if you wish to use this time to rest in your rooms please do so. Otherwise, the lounge is open for refreshments. Everyone is welcome.”

  I paused at my door but Emily walked toward me and said, “Would you like to join me for a snack? Perhaps some of the younger ladies will come to meet you.”

  “Yes, I am hungry.” I felt the rumble in my stomach and realized I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was well into the afternoon. (Sixty-three paces from my room to the lounge.) I had a hot cup of tea and three pastries. Emily and I sat alone in rocking chairs side by side, overlooking the lake in the distance. The view was nice. I saw a pier that stretched far out into the water and watched several people wandering down a pathway along the edge. There even appeared to be benches and picnic tables.

  “We’ll go there for a picnic tomorrow if you’d like,” Emily said noticin
g the spot in the distance where my eyes gazed.

  “I’d like that.” I wanted desperately to go there now, to be outside and sit still in the sun.

  Just then a disheveled patient shuffled into the lounge. Her attire was clean, but she looked as if the cat had been sucking on her hair all day. Of course my short spikes must have appeared off kilter as well.

  “Hi. I am Rose Mary. I heard someone close to my age was here.” She said, putting out her hand for me to shake.

  “Hi. I am Iona. How old are you?” I asked while extending my hand in response. I watched as she piled her plate high with food from the spread put out for us. I smiled at the new friend I had made and felt hopeful that my month-long stay would not be so boring after all.

  Rose Mary was prey to seizures. She had epilepsy and needed a place where she could be confined and taken care of properly. Her family didn’t have the means for a live-in nurse so this was the next best option. She ate her scones, licking her pointer finger and then dabbing it on the crumbs and licking them clean. Rose Mary brushed her hair out of her eyes and I could see the violet hollows beneath them exposing her exhaustion. Emily left us alone to go check on her other charges.

  “I am sweet sixteen. So, did you meet the other cuckoos yet?”

  “Ha!” I laughed out loud. I was so happy to hear her confirm my initial thoughts.

  “Only a few. I met Ruth and Mary, and Patty. The others kept to themselves during art class. Ruth is too much.”

  “Wait until you see her tonight. She will be all made up and waiting to be rescued from this hell.” She gestured half-heartedly to the lounge surroundings.

  “That’s so sad.” I said, “How long has she been waiting?”

  “For over a year now. But she never gives up hope.” Rose Mary shook her head sadly.