The Back Building (26 page)

“She was employed at the facilities barn, working with the horses, and initially appears to do well in the position. Then Dr. Macy receives complaints that Iona is disturbing the other patients, he notes that she has become violent and has even resorted to theft. As a result, it is decided that at night-time her wrists must be shackled to her bed posts and her room remain locked so that she cannot get out. He describes her room and personal hygiene as grave. She sleeps in her own fecal matter and urine, no longer brushes her hair or washes. The doctor has a notation that he is considering other forms of therapy such as insulin shock therapy or skull drills. The doctor notes that six months after her admittance, she falls gravely ill and is in quarantine for five days. She is diagnosed with the flu and taken care of in the infirmary. Then she disappears along with his horse. The last note indicates that several search parties were sent to locate the patient but that she was never found.”

Dr. Saul closed the manila envelope with Iona’s records and sipped his coffee. “The field of psychiatry has obviously advanced in the last century. Dr. Macy’s definition and understanding of delusions of grandeur may have been a blanket diagnosis for a wide range of illnesses. However, because he describes her hallucinations in great detail, we can infer that she was schizophrenic. She didn’t have some of today’s classic symptoms that we look at when diagnosing a person with delusions of grandeur, in other words from what I can tell she didn’t have fantastical beliefs about herself. She didn’t think she was a queen with great wealth, or that she was all powerful. It’s possible she had bipolar disorder that went undiagnosed. I say this because the images she saw are described as coming and going. If she were in a manic state for instance, she would have been more likely to see them. Does that make sense?”

“It sounds like Jenna.” I said.

“It certainly helps to have these records. Now we know for certain there is a genetic component. Unfortunately, because it was so long ago we don’t have treatment options to use as a guide.”

“What about the hydrotherapy? Is that still used today?” Camille inquired.

“When we think of hydrotherapy today we envision nice relaxing baths and calming music. However, back in the early 1900s the baths were altered based on the patient’s constitution. In other words, if a patient was lethargic and unresponsive to any other therapy, they were treated with stimulating sprays or submerged for hours in ice filled tubs. Some institutions practiced a procedure that involved wrapping the patient like a mummy in soaked towels and then submerging them in water. They were strapped tightly to the tub and blasted with high jet streams of water. Conversely, if a patient was hyperactive, they were given warm baths and often kept in the water for days at a time in order to subdue them. Today all of this has been replaced with psychiatric medications which I believe work better and are more humane for the patient.”

“It’s hard to imagine my grandmother enduring such cruel treatment.”

“Yes, I understand. However, doctors back then did their best to implement therapies that they believed worked. They didn’t think they were in the dark ages, but using the most modern advances to help treat patients.”

“Where do we go from here with Jenna? The ECT doesn’t seem to be having much of an impact.”

“We have to give it more time. Some patients take longer to react to the therapy and Jenna may be one of them. Have you discussed the half-way house situation yet?”

“Yes, briefly. It’s difficult to imagine Jenna being under someone else's care when she could be at home with us.”

“I understand. The house I have in mind for Jenna is located in Cazenovia. It is a co-ed facility for adolescents and has two full time chaperones with nursing degrees that reside there. There are eight children residing there with four aides at all times. There is twenty-four hour care by professionals. If you want to set up a tour you may do so. Here is the phone number and the contact person.” He handed us a piece of paper with the information scrawled across the top.

“We will do that.”

“For the rest of the week we will continue our current course of action and reassess her situation as necessary. We will get her stabilized before we make any big moves.”

When Camille and I came home Marlin was making phone calls of her own to the Mental Health Agency. She was interested in obtaining her grandmother, Cat’s records. She desperately needed information on the woman, and thought it might help her nephew as well. Records were not released unless there was a doctor who requested them so Marlin put calls into her brother, Dave’s, ex-wife. Their relationship was estranged but she prayed that the call would be returned.

In the meantime we prepared a list of questions for our meeting with Jon Crispin. Jon was the photographer who cataloged the suitcases that were found in storage after the Willard Asylum for the Insane closed in 1995 due to budgetary constraints. Our research indicated that the suitcases were found by a former employee who was tasked with emptying the old buildings of their contents. The woman, Beverly Courtwright, opened a door to the attic of one of the back buildings and found among the cobwebs and debris, racks of possessions and suitcases belonging to former patients.

Beverly contacted a curator at the New York State Museum and told him of her discovery. The curator, Craig Williams, then oversaw the collection of more than four hundred suitcases. The contents of each case were cataloged, and photographed. Then they were stabilized and placed in a collection at the museum.

It was not only possible, but probable, that if Iona ran away her belongings were left behind. While Jon’s exhibit only included a small number of suitcases, he had access to the rest.

When the day of the exhibit arrived we went early to Ithaca. We had lunch at the Ithaca Bakery and did a quick tour of Cornell University. Camille, Marlin, and I met with Jon an hour before his presentation.

“Thank you for meeting with us, Jon. We have obtained records for our family member, Iona, and we are praying her suitcase may be among the ones in your exhibit.”

“Unfortunately, it isn’t in my exhibit, I only have six with me today. However, the name rings a bell. Mind you I photographed over four hundred suitcases, I seem to recall the name Iona. If you have time today, after the exhibit I will call Craig Williams and have him check our records. If the suitcase was left behind, he would be the man to talk to.”

“May we have it back, I mean if it’s there?”

“I am not sure, you’d have to discuss that with Craig. Right now they are the property of the museum, but I suppose if you can prove it belongs to your family member, there is always the possibility they will release it to you.”

“Wow. What an incredible discovery.”

“You can say that again. It’s been a humbling journey. I think it’s incredibly important to share the collection of photographs with a wider audience in order to understand the human side of the disease of mental illness,” Jon said.

“I agree, maybe it will help shed light on mental illness and how far we have come to understand it.”

“Yes, and how far we still need to go,” Camille added.

The presentation Jon gave was educational and well done. To gaze upon the belongings of people admitted to Willard Asylum and to learn about their life histories was thought provoking. The dignity with which the time capsules were preserved was a testament to Jon and the interns that handled the contents. The suitcases differed greatly in their contents, offering a glimpse into the mind of the troubled patient who lived during a time when being different meant being isolated. Of tremendous interest was what the patient packed, or had packed for them. What the cases had inside described the patients more fully than any medical records could. Jon described the contents of several suitcases as examples. For instance there was the woman who did beautiful needlework. There was the obsessive compulsive man whose notebook contained every single railway station in the United States. There was the gay military man and the leather worker. Most troubling was that the full names of the patients could not be revealed. This brought up the question as to whether or not this stigmatized the patients and their families further.

Jon opened the floor for discussion. He started by saying that ‘normal’ can be a relative term. Depending upon when and where you were born and who your family was. The discussion that ensued delved heavily into the subjective nature of what defines a human being as being mentally ill and then how they must be treated. The historical treatment of mental illness, and the use of restraints, along with sedatives and hypnotic agents in the past versus the medicated climate we live in today was examined. We discussed the ideology of the Prozac nation, and the fact that as a society we were taking more and more pills to cure our problems. There were no right or wrong answers to the questions posed during the discussion, but it did serve to bring attention to the plight of mental illness.

After the discussion Jon called Craig and we scheduled a meeting with him for the end of the week. We would travel to Albany and be taken to the viewing room of collection.

Chapter Twenty- Seven

Suitcases

We arrived in Albany and went directly to the museum. Craig Williams set aside time so that he could personally meet with us and escort us to the suitcase collection. We were taken into a storage room that contained numerous shelves of musty smelling luggage. There were cases of all shapes and sizes. Some were in mint condition with straps and buckles that remained in working order. Others looked to be falling apart. As Craig directed us to the far right corner of the room, the ghostly remains of all that surrounded me sent a shiver down my spine.

Propped on its back side and opened before me was a small brown leather suitcase. Inside it were the contents that would presumably belong to a small girl. Neatly folded one on top of the other were nightgowns, underwear, socks, two skirts and their corresponding blouses. Beside them was a bible, a decaying toothbrush, a hairbrush, and faded ribbon. There was a small sewing kit, two small needles and two spools of thread. There were no scissors. A pair of hand-knit indoor slippers sat on top of the clothing and a blanket was on top of the toiletries. Tucked in the side was a set of pretty stationery and a pen.

The name beside the suitcase read Iona Meuller. We had found my grandmother’s belongings.

Overcome with emotion, I reached out to touch my grandmother’s personal effects. Craig caught my hand and asked that I only look at the objects. The items weren’t meant to be disturbed and I understood that. He showed me photographs of each item individually and offered to make copies as well.

“May we have the suitcase, Craig?” I asked boldly.

“It’s interesting, Shirley, years ago we tried to track down family members of the patients so that the cases could be claimed. However, in most cases no one was interested. Either the patient was such a blight on the family that succeeding generations didn't know of their existence, or family members had died. I will put your request in writing and discuss it with the board. I believe you should have this. However, it is part of a collection now, and an important part of our history.”

“Yes, but looking at the other suitcases, Iona’s is so simple. She doesn’t have anything really personal inside. It looks like she didn’t pack it herself.” I said.

“I would concur. It was most likely packed by her mother. If a child of fifteen packed it I would expect to see a different assortment of items, maybe a doll or some trinkets and a diary. Not necessarily sewing needles and thread.”

“It certainly gives us a lot to think about and discuss. Thank you, Craig, for handling a piece of our family’s history with such dignity.”

“You are most welcome, ladies. I will let you know what the board decides.”

Walking away from Iona’s suitcase was cathartic. Her contents did not display the woman we knew she had become. Rather it indicated what her mother wanted her to become. Perhaps the suitcase was better left with the collection, for it didn’t represent Iona as we knew her anyway.

Cat was another story. Her suitcase was not among the collection and her name was not listed among the patients residing at the asylum. Although Marlin was persistent, the health department was adamant that there was no such person at Willard.

We presumed from the letters we read that Cat was a nick-name, but were never able to deduce a full name for the woman that would have been my great aunt. Delving into the bundles of correspondence became our priority in the succeeding days.

It was evident from the letters that Cat only had the education of a primary student. Conversely, Iona and Jennifer were both extremely well read and written. Iona detailed Daniel’s growth and features as best she could to her friend. She detailed his first steps, his first words, and his likes and dislikes. She even included an imprint of his foot that she dipped in dye and stamped directly on the paper. Daniel was not a fussy baby and grew to be a strong, happy boy. His hair was fiery red, like Cat’s, and he had her eyes as well. Iona included pencil drawings of Daniel whenever she sent a letter, and Cat always thanked her for doing so.

Cat’s letters were short and concise and included drawings of her own that she labeled the back building. She did not live so much as exist in a world of torment. She often talked of her fears and drew pictures depicting them. One such letter had an image of the ghost that she claimed roamed the halls where she resided. Another had a drawing of a four-sided cage with the word ‘bad’ written above it. Another image depicted a person being shackled to their bed, this time she wrote the word ‘Cat’. It was in that particular letter that she also wrote the word ‘die’. It was her wish to be put out of her misery. As time went on her letters were even more pathetic. She described a fear of the back building, where patients were taken in shackles, never to return.