The Winston Affair (24 page)

“What do you mean by verbally, Major?”

“That is a method of conversation or interview by which we attempt to more fully diagnose the nature of a psychosis. Actually, I ask questions. The patient answers them. I attempt to lead the conversation and to elicit salient points of knowledge.”

“Now, when the patient was admitted, he was sick, was he not?”

“I should not have admitted him if he was not sick.”

“Was his sickness at the time of admittance mental or physical?”

“There is no separating the two, Captain. A man's mind is a part of his body—his brain and nervous system, these are parts of the body. Lieutenant Winston was a very sick man when we admitted him. He has recovered in some part from the fatigue and shock which he was suffering then, and I managed to bring his blood pressure down somewhat, but he is still a very sick man.”

Major Smith rose with this and objected that Major Kaufman had no right to a diagnosis of a man he had not examined for weeks.

Mayburt put the objection aside, telling Smith, “We will not get into a dispute over this use of competence. The witness is a physician, and physicians are entitled to their observations as part of diagnosis.”

“What is the nature of Lieutenant Winston's disease?” Adams then asked.

“Lieutenant Winston is suffering from paranoia. Paranoia is a generic term for a group of mental diseases which fulfill the terms of a general description. Medically speaking, I would describe paranoia as an organized irrational system of mentation and response—which is characterized by projecting into external society causation by unreal factors. It is persecutory in its direction and usually accompanied by intermittent depression.”

“Could you describe it in lay terms, making the description at least in part a direct diagnosis of the defendant?”

Winston's interest had at last been wholly caught, and he watched witness and counsel with intense, trembling concentration.

“I can try, sir. Our habit is not to think these things through in ordinary language, and perhaps that is a fault. Let me begin by saying that the paranoid personality is not uncommon; but we do not consider people who have this personality pattern to be psychotic. We differentiate and ascribe the psychotic factor to the mind which organizes an entire irrational system. I am trying to simplify, but it is not easy.

“In the case of the defendant, the paranoid roots go back to childhood, and even in childhood the irrational system was in process of organization. In other words, Lieutenant Winston began to create in his mind a picture of society in general and human beings in particular that departed more and more from the reality, until at last he was utterly incapable of coming to grips with reality. At this point, he became the prisoner of his own system.

“Why this happened, I cannot say. There are factors in our society that do this to children, but, I would speculate, only to children who have an area of specific weakness. These children develop a fear of people, a fear which increases with growth and intensifies itself constantly. And since this fear is unreal, without any foundation in society, it can be handled and controlled only with unreal defenses. Thus we get the persecution complex, which is the common and vulgar explanation of the paranoiac. But the paranoiac is basically afraid, and his fear is a disease, a sickness which so far society has not been able to cure.

“The paranoiac, as he matures, has only two choices—either to cope with his fears or to destroy himself. When he sets out to cope with his fears, he begins to fulfill a pattern which has come to be known as the power compulsion. Again, a misleading vulgarization. It is not power in itself which the paranoiac is driven to command—for power in itself is meaningless—it is power over those whom he fears. And since he fears all mankind, the accomplishment of power can never cure or even balance the paranoiac. It is only an analgesic, a temporary assuagement of his terrors.

“The other alternative is depression—and its ultimate conclusion, suicide. When the paranoiac's defenses of power and authority over others finally crumble beyond hope of repair or reconstruction, then the fear begins to submerge his personality. His personality begins to disintegrate, and this disintegration is progressive. In a manner of speaking, he retreats into himself, cuts his connections with the outer and real world, turns his fear and hatred upon himself—and destroys himself. Even if prevented from suicide, this disintegration will continue and the soul will die. It is usually during this stage that he becomes delusionary. Bereft of real power, he invents power and sometimes comes to believe that he is a tool of God, or more usually, he the master of God and God the tool. Thus, he frequently places God within him, as part of himself.”

They were all listening intently, Winston's face staring and fixed, only the tic on his mouth breaking the immobility, the court leaning forward over the table—even Smith caught, attentive and silent.

It was not Adams but Colonel Mayburt who broke the silence after Kaufman had finished, asking, “Did this breakdown—the beginning of this disintegration you speak of—did this come as a result of the murder of Sergeant Quinn?”

It was to the point, the key to the point; and Kaufman considered it before he answered. Then he said, “No. It was the other way around. Lieutenant Winston was the only commissioned officer at Bachree. He had the power and the authority. But Sergeant Quinn broke down this authority. He undermined Lieutenant Winston. He laughed at him and mocked him, and the process of disintegration began. The murder of Sergeant Quinn was the last desperate effort of Lieutenant Winston to defend himself with the exercise of power. But already, at that point, he was insane. Yes, he was insane then and he is insane now,” Kaufman finished coldly.

Winston rose, pointed a shaking finger at Kaufman, and screamed, “You're a lousy, mother-friggen Jew bastard liar! I'm sane! Sane! Sane—do you hear me, sane!”

Tuesday 1.40 P.M .

Major Kaufman had identified his report and had read two paragraphs from it on the social connotations of paranoia. During this, there was no one in the courtroom who could forbear to glance at Winston. But they looked at a shell. The withdrawal of Charles Winston's soul and personality was almost an apparent physical fact. Beaten down and back by the scathing anger of Thompson, who had finally found an outlet and direction for his frustration and annoyance, Winston collapsed upon himself. His eyes became empty, his face slack. He sat at the defense table, his left hand upon the table, his right hand probing and examining his left hand.

Outside, the rain had started, strong and steady. Adams had just asked Kaufman what the purpose of his report was.

“It's main purpose, of course, is as a medical record—that is, a part of diagnosis and treatment. No physician worthy of the name will treat a patient without making a record of the case. In a situation like ours, with hundreds of patients entering and leaving the hospital each week, the report is essential. It goes with the discharged patient when further treatment is indicated, or it remains in our records for reference. Its secondary purpose is to supply information and data to the hospital command.”

“Your report, Major, runs to eleven typewritten pages. Surely a report of that length is unusual?”

“Yes, sir—unusual but not unprecedented. I knew about the events at Bachree. Lieutenant Winston was a most unusual patient. He interested me, and I developed his case at some length. I also felt an obligation to my commanding officer to make his own position more tenable by supplying him with full and accurate medical data.”

“More tenable? Did you suspect that his position might be untenable?”

“I did.”

Major Smith began to rise, but Wells held him back almost physically, whispering in his ear. Moscow noticed this and said softly to Bender, “They're wrong. Adams won't hang himself. But now they're going to give him rope.”

“Will you explain that?” Adams said to Kaufman.

“I knew of the feeling against Winston, the hatred and the bitterness. I knew that there would be pressures upon Colonel Burton.”

Thompson interrupted sharply, “You know, Captain Adams, that this whole line is most improper. The witness cannot testify to unfounded gossip. This court knows of no pressures. You will strike that out, Sergeant Debbs.”

Adams just glanced at Mayburt, who made no response at all to this.

“As the court pleases,” Adams said, and then to Kaufman, “In any case, Major Kaufman, you felt that the Winston case was of sufficient importance and interest for you to report it at length and in detail?”

“That is so, Captain.”

“And when you had completed this report, you took it to your commanding officer, Colonel Burton. Is that so?”

“More accurately, it was sent to him through regular channels.”

“And he read it, sir?”

“I presume that he did.”

“Then, concerning the report, Major, did Colonel Burton send for you?”

“He did.”

“And what took place at that meeting with him?”

“We discussed the report, which he found unsatisfactory. He—”

“Please, Major—we can't take testimony as to what Colonel Burton said. However, with the court's permission, I would like to read a few lines of Colonel Burton's testimony to Major Kaufman, and then ask him whether this is to the best of his own recollection?”

Thompson hesitated, and then whispered to Mayburt, who said, “Would you bring the testimony in question to the bench, Captain Adams?”

Moscow was already underlining the passages in his notes, which he had typed out the evening before. He handed this to Adams, who took it to the bench. Mayburt and Thompson examined it, and then Mayburt said a few words, softly. Thompson shrugged. Mayburt gave the paper back to Adams and told him to proceed.

“I read now from the record, Major,” Adams said, and read as follows:

“‘Did Major Kaufman submit his report to you before or after he refused to discharge Lieutenant Winston?'

“‘I believe it was before.'

“‘Did you read the report?'

“‘I did.'

“‘Did you read all of it, Colonel?'

“‘I read most of it'

“‘Yet you saw fit to reject it?'

“‘As I told you some days ago, Captain Adams, the report was not competent or scientific.'”

Adams paused, and then added, “I read these few lines merely to fill in Colonel Burton's reaction to your report, according to his own testimony. Now, Major, did Colonel Burton reject your report?”

“He did.”

“Were you instructed to prepare another report?”

“Yes, I was.”

“And did you agree?”

“No, I refused.”

“Why did you refuse, sir?”

“I refused because my report was both accurate and reliable, insofar as any knowledge of my own could determine. If I had prepared a second report, I would have changed nothing. I've spent my entire adult life in training for my profession and in the practice of my profession. Colonel Burton, sir, is not a psychiatrist. I am.”

“Would you tell the court exactly what your training and professional background consist of, Major Kaufman?”

“I'll be happy to. I was graduated with honors from Bellevue Medical School and I interned at Bellevue Hospital in New York. I had three years of psychiatric training, a year at the Phipps Clinic, a year and three months at Johns Hopkins Hospital, and nine months at the Menninger Clinic in Topeka, Kansas. I took three years of night courses in psychoanalytical training at the Institute in New York, and during this period I was on the staff at Bellevue Hospital, Staff Assistant and then Associate Attending Psychiatrist—in which position I continued after setting up in private practice of psychiatry. Two years before I enlisted in the armed services, I became an assistant professor in psychiatry at New York University Medical College. There is my training and my professional background, sir! Do you wonder that I refused to alter and falsify a report at the behest of Colonel Burton?” Kaufman finished hotly.

Major Smith objected. “Colonel Burton testified under oath, may it please this court! I must object strenuously to this irresponsible accusation!”

Colonel Mayburt took this in his own hands, and before Thompson could make any comment, he replied to Smith: “An objection in court is a legal procedure, Major. There is nothing in this testimony that calls for the court's sustaining such an objection. If you are expressing your indignation at the charge laid against Colonel Burton, you have the right to recall Colonel Burton or to institute separate proceedings on a perjury count—if the court so agrees.”

He turned to Adams then and said, “Meanwhile, Captain Adams, I would like to question the witness further on this point.”

Adams nodded. Colonel Thompson scribbled a note to Mayburt, and Mayburt answered softly, “Of course, Colonel Thompson.” And then said to Kaufman: “You understand, Major Kaufman, that you have made a most serious accusation. I also feel that you have spoken in some heat—and that possibly a connotation is placed upon your statement that is not entirely warranted. Yesterday, in his cross-examination of Colonel Burton, Captain Adams asked him whether he had advised you to change your conclusions. Colonel Burton answered, and I quote him, ‘I advised him to restudy the case.' Then Captain Adams asked Colonel Burton, I quote, ‘Did you advise him—Major Kaufman—to find Lieutenant Winston sane?' Colonel Burton's answer was the same as for the previous question. Now I am asking you, sir, did Colonel Burton instruct you to prepare a report which would find the prisoner sane? In other words, did he spell this out?”