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I am taken in custody under armed guard and remanded to the madhouse...Memiors 76
I recall that on the first weekend in a southern Utah town very far away, I noticed Robert Hyde Wilson in the audience. He had driven the three hundred miles to opening night to the kind of play that I knew he scorned. He and Lees laughed and talked together after the show, like happy school chums on a lark away from home. I heard later they partied together at Lees motel.
A couple of days after we got home from our first out of town trip with more journeys planned, Lees told me he wanted to see me in his office. I figured my behavior had been reported to him by some of my perplexed teachers. Lees, however, did not find the appointment important enough to keep. I waited an hour for him and left. He had the secretary call me and make another appointment. By the time he was 45 minutes late to the second appointment, I decided he needed a moment of truth. When he arrived and asked me to tell him some of my problems, I simply gave him my now patented intense look and refused to answer a word.
I had begun using this technique when I thought it important to make a particularly strong point to someone especially aggravating. I would hold the eyes of my tormentor and maintain such a long unnerving moment of silence; he or she was bound to be shaken. This technique also worked wonders on very attractive men, some of whom were knocked over by it. In fact this technique worked so well with them, that I decided that it could be a very effective method of evoking true and honest feelings for all kinds of reasons. But it was not to be used unless all else failed. It required too much energy and nerve.
Lee's response to the look was rather startling. He suggested at once that maybe I should visit the school psychiatrist, since I wouldn't talk to him. I was somewhat intrigued by this novel suggestion and immediately responded. I said that I had never talked to one of those, but in my freshman year a university counselor had asked me some questions. I mentioned to her, I told Lees, that my family thought that I had experienced a nervous breakdown when I was twelve years old, the symptoms of which subsided when I left my troubled home and went away to high school.
Lees went into his inner office, and I presumed called for an appointment. He came out saying that the school psychiatrist would see me within the hour. I agreed to go as I thought I might as well have that experience, too, before I left the university forever. I knew that I had reached a new milestone in my subtle clash with Lees. The end of my college education was clearly in sight. I walked swiftly across the campus to the Doctor’s office, hoping that the visit would prove compelling.
As soon as I met the psychiatrist, a Doctor Andersen, and he had asked me only a few questions, I decided that I couldn’t expect anything extraordinary from him. His detached air was a big disappointment. He acted very bored with students who imagined they might have mental problems. I decided that I would relieve him of his boredom in a dramatic fashion before I departed. I probably wouldn’t receive or want another opportunity to talk to him. He asked me another question in an indifferent way. I steeled myself and looked him straight in the eyes and did not answer.
I thought I could see faint surprise flickering across his countenance, but he had cultivated an impassive look so well, I couldn’t be sure. He asked me another question. It took all the nerve I could muster, but I looked him straight in the eyes and didn't answer that question either. I did this one more time to one more question, which I thought, with relief, was quite enough to make my point. I waited for him to ask me something else so I could answer. I intended to explain my actions, if he had become genuinely curious.
Instead of saying anything more, he excused himself and left the room. I twiddled my thumbs alone for a half an hour. I finally decided that nothing was penetrating this man’s mind, and I may as well leave now. He had undoubtedly left to attend to a far more important person than I. I even wondered if he had to go pee and forgot I was there. I decided I would simply exit the clinic by a side door. I wasn't going to accept this expression of mindless indifference from another important figure in the university hierarchy.
Just as I was gathering myself to depart, the doctor appeared again, "Geraldine," he said, "Do you want to go to a hospital?
His response took me by complete surprise. I told myself I shouldhave prepared for unexpected results. This man was not a teacher. I realized I had no idea what he was capable of. I did have the good sense to know that his statement meant trouble, and I began to talk very normally to see if I could stop what I had set in motion. "No," I said very calmly. "I can’t."
I realized that I must relieve the doctor of his fears for my sanity before it was too late. "For one thing I have the ingénue lead in a play on tour, and I couldn't possibly let my director down. Lees who called you is the director, and he’s the head of the theater department." I thought surely he would not jerk one of his leading ladies out of a play she was performing on the road for God's sakes. Hadn't he heard the sacred adage, "The play must go on?"
A disturbingly cold look appeared in the Doctor’s eyes. Seeing it, I added very swiftly and reasonably, "I will consider treatment, if you really think I need it, but I don’t want to go into the hospital. I don’t think I need that."
"Geraldine," said the psychiatrist, "You are going to the hospital!"
He left the room after this stunning announcement. Almost immediately another man entered that he had apparently alerted while he was gone so long. I soon deduced from the man’s uniform and subsequent behavior that he had been sent in to guard me until I could be safely transported. Reminiscent of fabled jail policy, the guard said that I was entitled to one phone call.
I thought of all the relatives, including my Grandfather Wilson who lived in Salt Lake, I could call who might understand how I had gotten myself in this predicament, but there was none. I declined the privilege.
I knew enough about mental wards, thanks to Uncle Reed, that I realized that I might have a real problem in getting out of one, once committed. A doctor was saying in so many words that I was disturbed and irrational enough to require transport under armed guard. I had seen the Sheriff come for Uncle Reed and he had endured every radical treatment for nut cases except lobotomy in endless attempts to restore him to sanity. What might be in store for me? As far as I knew, Uncle Reed had not agreed to one of his treatments. They had all been carried out with force. I began to fear for the first time that my rebellion might result in enforced treatment. I had not imagined that such a thing could happen at the university, a supposed center of enlightenment, as a result of a truth telling experiment. Naively, I had not anticipated this outcome at all.
At the very worst, I thought that I might just have to leave the
university uneventfully, once I had made all the dramatic statements possible. When I agreed to go see him, I had not realized that a psychiatrist is akin to the police. He had apparently determined that I defied the law when I refused to answer his questions, as if I had done the same thing to a policeman. I was being apprehended like a dangerous criminal.
What was my crime, I asked myself. My sanity was questionable, which was apparently a far more serious matter than mere criminal actions. I wondered if I would be expected to repent of what I had been doing, if I were to have any chance of getting out of a locked ward. I doubted if even that would secure me a quick release.
I quickly committed myself to not repudiating any of my actions no matter what was done to me. Did that mean I had truly gone insane? As two guards prepared to escort me out of the building, I had a quick visionary flash of life in a communist country. So this was what it was like to disappear from sight for mysterious reasons. I had waited too long. I had not escaped the university in time. Under the direction of the school psychiatrist, their uniformed guards had taken me into custody. I had been caught committing an act of--was it sedition?
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Wow. I hope your stay was short and non-eventual enough, for your sake. I'm glad you're able to write about it now. How scary, have your own control removed from you.
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I cannot even begin to imagine how awful this must have been.
Kathi -
You need to start writing a script now and sell it!! I have my own history with "the nuthouse", but have never really written about it in a serious way.
Russ -
Horrific actions! I'm not sure if this is even legal, at least in this day and age. It just shocks me at how quickly those that perceived defiance in others could have them locked away. Frightening, to say the least. Chris
5/16/07 5:46 AM
Marti