tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7172126761985265482024-03-17T20:02:01.659-07:00Memoir MadnessDriven to Involuntary Commitment (excerpts)Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger64125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-76766262400351114782023-09-07T12:12:00.003-07:002023-09-07T12:26:58.361-07:00Outtake: Three Challenges and a Triumph (?)<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicq3k2dz3gK3C2qZS4tpTraZqB69TLES3fKjGx8WZgTCaCSWjPu5z-o20mLcoHGdslEKtPCRhO1scZGXInVTA_SFDfulgCV1DI0BDj5zvf75oqE-mkimB72qn1qBfnfc_dS28CIem32hW9aycHTNy2JiWTxGcMLFchR7uwwnTix482eLHs_8C_rsEJ1gCD/s4032/ShadowTreeArty.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="1964" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicq3k2dz3gK3C2qZS4tpTraZqB69TLES3fKjGx8WZgTCaCSWjPu5z-o20mLcoHGdslEKtPCRhO1scZGXInVTA_SFDfulgCV1DI0BDj5zvf75oqE-mkimB72qn1qBfnfc_dS28CIem32hW9aycHTNy2JiWTxGcMLFchR7uwwnTix482eLHs_8C_rsEJ1gCD/s320/ShadowTreeArty.jpg" width="156" /></a></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: .25in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.25in 12pt;"><i>This essay, originally written in 2008
(and updated in 2023) – along with 350+ other pages, did not make it into the
final version of </i><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Memoir-Madness-Driven-Involuntary-Commitment/dp/0988624230/" target="_blank">Memoir Madness: Driven to Involuntary Commitment</a></b>, <i>now
available on Amazon.</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: .25in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.25in 12pt;"><i>I have posted some of these “outtakes”
on this website. See </i><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank">Table of Contents</a></b>: “Outtakes.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">After years of
mulling my mental institution experience, my serious memoir journey began in
late September 2004, when I traveled to Skopje, Macedonia, to spend the
2004-2005 academic year with my husband Jerry Siegel, a Fulbright Scholar.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The plan: to finally tell my story.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I lugged photocopies of articles, letters, and hospital and court records
across the ocean, a hefty file of sources.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">In my carry-on bag – I couldn’t risk losing these primary sources
somewhere in Eastern Europe.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">After recovering from jet lag, I, not quite sure where to start, sat down
at my laptop.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I needed to figure out my purpose for writing this book:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><i>To achieve some kind of closure, to work
on forgiving my grandparents, long deceased, and even the state of Iowa, and to
not forget.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b><u>The facts</u>:</b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><i>In February 1969, Woodbury County, Iowa,
in cahoots with my grandfather Harley D. Semple, committed me, an 18-year-old
hippie chick, to the </i><b><a href="https://hhs.iowa.gov/mhds/mental-health/in-patient/mental-health-institutes/cherokee" target="_blank">Cherokee Mental Health Institute</a></b><i>. At a competency hearing in Sioux City, I
admitted to using LSD – evidently enough testimony to force an involuntary
commitment, culminating in my loss of freedom. I had not been convicted of a
crime.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">My incarceration seemed unfair, and in 2023, it probably would have been
illegal as well. But this was 1969, at a time when unfair situations could be
fixed by those wielding power over a powerless teenager.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">In an attempt to tell my story, I faced three challenges.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b><u>Challenge 1
(Significance)</u>:<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">I had a story, but how compelling was it?
Technically, my imprisonment was inconsequential. Designated as a “screening
center patient,” I was tested and warehoused while my psychiatrist lobbied for
my release; then, after two months, I was discharged.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">But for me those months
represented a significant bubble in my life – time itself stopped and expanded
far out of proportion to actual time. I was livid, my anger at “The
Establishment” palpable and constant, persisting for years and affecting the
course of my life. No matter how minute, it was still time not mine.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><i>I must </i>write<i>
about my incarceration at <b><a href="https://hhs.iowa.gov/mhds/mental-health/in-patient/mental-health-institutes/cherokee" target="_blank">Cherokee</a></b> and the events leading up to it.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b><u>Challenge 2
(Memory)</u>:<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">How much of my story could I remember?
Letters between my ex-husband and me during my commitment helped to fill in
major gaps, but how would I contend with the drug-crazed Hollywood months
leading up to it? I remembered major incidents, but details felt hazy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><i>Do I fill in with
supposition?</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">If so, is this part of my
memoir still memoir, or is it fiction?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><b><a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=when+is+a+memoir+not+nonfiction&oq=when+is+a+memoir+not+nonfiction&gs_lcrp=EgZjaHJvbWUyBggAEEUYOdIBCTEyNzk5ajBqN6gCALACAA&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8" target="_blank">This question, overall, remains up for debate among the writing community</a></b>. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b><u>Challenge 3
(Disclosure)</u>:<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><i>I </i>will<i> disclose this part of my
life</i>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Scary thought, even now,
after the fact.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 1in;"><i>I’ll face whatever consequences befall
me; however, my family and friends have not chosen to have their past lives
sliced open and bled dry.</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I changed most names and
minor details about people. Nonfiction purists may claim I have skirted the
truth, but what, exactly, is truth? Yes, this memoir has slashed open some
psychological wounds and exposed them, but it also has minimized inflicting
pain on others. I had a moral and, maybe, legal obligation to protect
identities, especially those of other ex-patients and ex-hippies who may have
indulged in youthful indiscretions and don’t really want to have that part of
their lives exposed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I used my ex-husband’s
actual name, an issue faced head on: I presented to him an unfinished draft and
showed him every subsequent draft and final product. I’ve read horror stories
about ex-lovers, parents, siblings, family, and friends being blindsided by
published memoirs, their secrets exposed, without any warning. Who could blame
them for being upset?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Before embarking on my
ex-pat life, I had told my ex about the proposed memoir; he didn't threaten to
sue, though he expressed some unease about exposing our past drug use. We have
an adult son, after all.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“But it’s a necessary part
of the book,” he said. “It has to be in there. So I’ve been overruled.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">By sharing, I have offered
him a voice in my project.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">My caution paid off: he proved
to be an important ally, instead of a bitter enemy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b>Triumph?</b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">Catharsis, to finally leave Cherokee behind,
retracing, via the power of the keyboard, my past – drug use, involuntary
commitment, and eventual discharge – revisiting 18-year-old Jennifer and
attempting to make sense of what happened and why.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Ultimate triumph? Now
published through Amazon, perhaps <i>Memoir Madness</i> will find its place in
the literary canon.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">But, if not, that’s okay,
too. At least I have my story out there, at home in its small corner of the
internet.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I have attempted to explain why I needed to tell my story and the
challenges I faced in revealing the past that might have remained hidden and how
my story intertwined with the stories of others around me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">For more about the impact of writing a memoir, see <a href="https://www.whyiwrite.com/2019/11/the-politics-of-memoir.html" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">The Politics of
Memoir and the Making of <i>Memoir Madness</i></a>. </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a name="_Hlk141902981"></a><a name="_Hlk136439681">______________________<o:p></o:p></a></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i> Excerpts: Return to
Table of Contents</a><o:p></o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-font-kerning: 1.0pt;">______________________</span></p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">“Outtake: Three Challenges in Search of a Triumph,” © copyright 2004 - present, by Jennifer Semple Siegel, may not be reprinted or reposted without the express permission of the author.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-7557453223554728542023-08-07T18:24:00.000-07:002023-08-07T18:24:44.589-07:00Outtake: A Note on the Manson Family and the “Cult of Personality” (with a 2023 update)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji5CFmbPSqodhP-3nTulkuvJr6kXXQsY2W52Umu21Fu9lhCdYkDB9mLr4pFWSnkISyGx5L84ud3zs9Iptkw9tytPeIOYFUDrKngybIQHUTT-FfupKKPyfAJ1-Sam0yWEpmTpcnnyccKhA4/s1600-h/Charles+Manson+3+water+dark.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218197249729669266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji5CFmbPSqodhP-3nTulkuvJr6kXXQsY2W52Umu21Fu9lhCdYkDB9mLr4pFWSnkISyGx5L84ud3zs9Iptkw9tytPeIOYFUDrKngybIQHUTT-FfupKKPyfAJ1-Sam0yWEpmTpcnnyccKhA4/s400/Charles+Manson+3+water+dark.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">On New Year’s
Eve (1968), <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Manson" target="_blank">Charles Manson</a></b> told his murderous Family:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">“Are you hep to what the Beatles are saying?
Helter Skelter is coming down. The Beatles are telling it like it is.” – <b><a href="https://famous-trials.com/manson/244-influence#:~:text=According%20to%20former%20Family%20member,refrigerator%20at%20the%20LaBianca%20home." target="_blank">Family member Brooks Poston</a></b>. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">On that same New Year’s Eve, I was in L.A., at a wild party at The
Mission Hotel, fighting my own demons <b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapters-4-and-6-fire.html" target="_blank">(Chapters 4 and 6: Fire)</a></b>. Still,
I consider myself fortunate, <b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/caged-prologue.html" target="_blank">Cherokee</a></b> notwithstanding.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Although Charles Manson and his entourage of adoring girls, when not at
Spahn Ranch, hung out at some of the same Hollywood places I and my friends
frequented, I do not remember meeting any of them. They weren’t widely known in
late 1968 and early 1969 – the Tate-LaBianca murders hadn’t yet occurred.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">But, what if?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">What if I had remained in L.A. and continued to wander around the streets
aimlessly? What if my grandfather had given up on me and the <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manson_Family" target="_blank">Manson Family</a></b>
found me? The timing would have been exactly right, and I might have been drawn to such a
group – that is, before the murders. Would I have had the courage and strength
to leave after the situation turned ugly?<o:p></o:p></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2OEs8JwOat7g0bonIntdbrrFK1iK61IPaJ1cizDfr2j0ssWZL2qpWuRjapR7Gp1kuFj4PxvaGcnyrljnnOOv3HbS72yQyWcHHYP4Te_F-3hqGUy-7P9GgiTiTDNiXssbKkAo5DecERiax/s1600-h/Charles+Manson+3+negative.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218194901009498306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2OEs8JwOat7g0bonIntdbrrFK1iK61IPaJ1cizDfr2j0ssWZL2qpWuRjapR7Gp1kuFj4PxvaGcnyrljnnOOv3HbS72yQyWcHHYP4Te_F-3hqGUy-7P9GgiTiTDNiXssbKkAo5DecERiax/s400/Charles+Manson+3+negative.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">To my credit, after the episodes with the spiked tea and the bullet fired
through Rudy’s apartment window <b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-12-downers.html" target="_blank">(Chapter 12: Downers)</a></b>, I did ditch Rudy and his family-esque
entourage. I have no reason to believe that Rudy was a killer like Charles
Manson, but he did share some similar characteristics, such as attracting young
women and holding sway over them. But other than the spiking of my tea, which I
did <i>not</i> appreciate, Rudy treated me okay – “okay” being a relative term –
and allowed me some space: when I refused his sexual advances, he didn’t press
too much. But the girls in Rudy’s orbit seemed to be totally devoted to him,
even when he treated them like objects, expecting them to do sex work for his
financial benefit <b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-8-rudy.html" target="_blank">(Chapter 8: Rudy)</a></b>. Would they have also killed for him? I don’t know.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Although some of the Manson girls left the Family when Manson started
ordering the murders, <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Susan_Atkins" target="_blank">Susan Atkins</a></b>, <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leslie_Van_Houten" target="_blank">Leslie van Houten</a></b>, <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Linda_Kasabian" target="_blank">Linda Kasabian</a></b>, and <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patricia_Krenwinkel" target="_blank">Patricia Krenwinkel</a></b> remained and participated in those heinous acts, although Kasabian, later
granted complete immunity for her testimony in the Manson trial, did not
participate in the murders but acted as an outlook and getaway driver.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">When they joined the Family, these young women had not set out to murder
innocent victims; they had been ordinary young women in transition, looking for
someone to accept them. Manson, the archetypal heart of darkness, filled that
role.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I, too, was a young woman trying to find my place in the world. Yet I
also seemed to enjoy natural instincts that warned me against people who would
prey upon me – certainly, as a savvy six-year-old child who wandered the
streets of L.A. alone, I had been able to fend off potential predators, by
running like the wind when they offered candy and unknown substances (another
life, another book, not yet written – perhaps never to be written).<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The Family rule about group sex would have given me pause; I found
indiscriminate sex repugnant, preferring to establish monogamous relationships,
albeit with the wrong men. However, at the time, I was extremely vulnerable to
peer pressure – and Family pressure to engage in sex with several partners
prevailed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The young women who joined the Manson Family were very much like me, middle
class girls ranging in age from 15 to 28, and experiencing issues with their
families and looking for acceptance from anyone who would offer it. They bought
into the hippie lifestyle and took drugs – LSD, amphetamines, marijuana, and
even heroin. They rejected the establishment, but some of them crossed that
proverbial line, murdering ordinary people and celebrities who represented the
so-called “establishment.”<o:p></o:p></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4xcke1aKif8gKutKVKEyVNVlhymlciwk9Hh6ieCzjj2xV9k_BpT-QJyNx8a_K1VGSsB6gJEUc7Sa9ufiOg95OqfP5fGwpO7celqYKlB_5tOwdxG6aJ5gedqrcpqgk2cux5hM19zPtcob2/s1600-h/Manson+Girls+1+cutout+sepia.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218195238348760578" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4xcke1aKif8gKutKVKEyVNVlhymlciwk9Hh6ieCzjj2xV9k_BpT-QJyNx8a_K1VGSsB6gJEUc7Sa9ufiOg95OqfP5fGwpO7celqYKlB_5tOwdxG6aJ5gedqrcpqgk2cux5hM19zPtcob2/s400/Manson+Girls+1+cutout+sepia.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Could I have crossed that line?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I like to think that I couldn’t have been swayed to plunge a knife into a
human being.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Certainly, some of the Manson girls <i>did</i> leave the Family shortly
after the murders. The following three have reportedly led exemplary lives and,
after the murders, had nothing to do with Manson, for example:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manson_Family" target="_blank">Ella Jo Bailey</a></b>, age unknown, left the group for good when
their activities included homicide. She died in 2015. <b><a href="https://www.charlesmanson.com/witnesses/ella-jo-bailey-witness/" target="_blank">More...</a></b> <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manson_Family" target="_blank">Stephanie Schram</a></b>, 16, tiring of the group’s activities, left in
October 1969, and became an important witness for the prosecution in the
subsequent Tate-LaBianca murder trials. <b><a href="https://www.charlesmanson.com/family-members/stephanie-schram/" target="_blank">More...</a></b> <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Linda_Kasabian" target="_blank">Linda Kasabian</a></b>, 20, who was present – waiting outside of the murder scenes in the getaway car –
at both the Tate and LaBianca murders but supposedly did not participate,
turned herself in Concord, New Hampshire, December 1969. She turned on the
Family, becoming the prosecution’s star witness at the Tate-LaBianca trials,
for which she was granted complete immunity. On January 21, 2023, she passed
away at age 73 in Tacoma, Washington.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Over the years, other women drifted away from Manson’s influence,
including the three women who were convicted of murder and sentenced to death.
In 1972, California overturned the death penalty and imposed life sentences
with the possibility of parole:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Susan_Atkins" target="_blank">Susan “Sadie” Atkins</a></b>,
arguably the most notorious Manson girl, had embraced Charles Manson’s
beliefs fully. At the Tate murder scene, she had rounded up the victims and
helped her accomplice Tex Watson tie them up. When Voytek Frykowski tried to
escape, she stabbed him in the legs, crippling him so that Watson could finish
him off. Atkins reportedly held Sharon Tate down. As Tate, eight months
pregnant, begged for her and her unborn son’s life, Atkins said, “Look, bitch,
I don’t care a thing about you. You’re going to die and there’s nothing you can
do about it.” Watson then stabbed Tate to death. After the killings were over,
Atkins dipped her finger into Tate’s blood and painted the word “Pig” on Tate’s
front door. By 1974, Susan Atkins<b> </b>had become a born-again Christian and
even started a ministry at the California Institution for Women (CIW). In 2009,
terminally ill, she applied for parole, citing “compassionate grounds,” which
was denied. She died at the Central California Women’s facility in Chowchilla,
California, on September 24, 2009, of “natural causes.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patricia_Krenwinkel" target="_blank">Patricia “Katie” Krenwinkel</a></b> had, on the night of August 8, stabbed Sharon
Tate’s friend Abigail Folger several times and, on the following night, stabbed
Rosemary LaBianca. In a 1994 Diane Sawyer interview, Krenwinkel expressed
remorse: “I wake up every day knowing that I’m a destroyer of the most precious
thing, which is life; and I do that because that’s what I deserve, is to wake
up every morning and know that.” As of June 2023, Krenwinkel remains
incarcerated at the California Institution for Women in the Chino district of
Corona, California. Her next parole hearing is scheduled for November 17, 2023.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leslie_Van_Houten" target="_blank">Leslie van Houten</a></b>, who had stabbed Rosemary LaBianca 16 times in
the back, gradually pulled away from Manson’s influence and, reportedly, became
a model prisoner. <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Manson-Women-Me-Monsters-Morality/dp/0806538589" target="_blank">The Manson Women and Me</a></b>, by Nikki Meredith, offers some more insight
to van Houten’s prison life, although some critics feel as though this book is more
about the author than the Manson Girls.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">According to Wikipedia, despite
the California parole board’s recommendation that van Houten be paroled, <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gavin_Newsom" target="_blank">Governor Gavin Newsom</a></b> blocked it several times. However,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .75in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.75in;">On May 30, 2023, a California Court of Appeal in Los
Angeles set aside Governor Newsom’s denial of van Houten’s parole, thus
becoming the first Manson family member to have a Court rule in her favor for a
parole recommendation. On July 7, 2023, the governor announced that he would
not appeal to the California Supreme Court to block her parole, paving the way
for her release. <b><a href="https://www.npr.org/2023/07/12/1187225790/leslie-van-houten-manson-murder-freed-prison-parole" target="_blank">Van Houten was released on parole</a></b> on July 11, 2023.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">At least two of the women remain faithful to Charles Manson:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Squeaky_Fromme" target="_blank">Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme</a></b> received a life sentence for her 1975
attempted assassination of then-President Gerald Ford. However, in 2005, Fromme
became eligible for parole and was released from the Federal Medical Center,
Carswell, on August 14, 2009, reportedly still loyal to Manson.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sandra_Good" target="_blank">Sandra Good</a></b>, who currently lives in Hanford, California, where Charles Manson served his
life sentence until his death on November 19, 2017. She credits the Manson
Family for saving “my health, my brain, my emotional health, my mental health,
my physical health. I’m thankful to them all.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I could have been on my way to being any one of these women, living
either in a bricks-and-mortar prison or experiencing another kind of prison,
the knowledge that I, as an immature teenager, had participated, albeit
indirectly, in activities leading to the destruction of at least eight lives,
maybe more.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">What would I have told my son, and, years later, my grandchildren?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">A more chilling possibility: a <b><a href="https://www.missingleads.com/post/are-the-murders-of-marina-habe-and-reet-jurvetson-connected-reexamining-the-manson-family-link" target="_blank">Missing Leads</a></b> story suggests that the December 30, 1969, abduction and slaying of <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hans_Habe#Murder_of_daughter" target="_blank">Marina Habe</a></b>, 17, daughter of a film actress and novelist, may have been linked to
the Manson Family. The
girl’s body was discovered in West Hollywood on New Year’s Day 1969, at a time
when I was still in the area. Police suspect that Habe’s murder <i>may</i> have
been related to her ties with the Manson group. Although nothing has been
proved conclusively, this murder <i>does</i> suggest that at least some of the
Family members were in Hollywood area at the same time as I. <b><a href="https://lostgirls.home.blog/2020/01/14/a-murder-on-mulholland-drive-marina-habe-and-the-twisted-odyssey-of-1960s-l-a-crime/" target="_blank">Missing Leads...</a></b> <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I not only hitchhiked with <b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-11-luckiest-hand.html" target="_blank">Stoney</a></b> and others and with <b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-8-rudy.html" target="_blank">Rudy</a></b> “for money,” but I often hitched alone, mostly on the
strip, getting into cars with strangers. At various points in the memoir, I
mention some close calls.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Fortunately, in the end, I wasn’t confronted with choosing Manson’s path,
nor was I a victim of the Family or a predatory driver.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">My close call: early on New Year’s Day, when faced with the dense teargas
smoke at the Mission Hotel, I was presented with two choices: to go out a second-story
window – from where I could see – and drop from the window onto a concrete slab
or run blindly toward the stairs. Fortunately, I chose the right course by
choosing the stairs. <b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapters-4-and-6-fire.html" target="_blank">(Chapters 4 and 6: Fire)</a></b>. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;">Despite close calls on the streets of Hollywood, I never encountered the
Manson Family, and, perhaps, I have my grandparents to thank for that.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMAmgV_QPFkACrBqWLBA38xwk1mIJG3vhxW7_NCkJQuphi08ArFAiefQJFRgJiwipsUrGdwiZ2aunNdy4k9Rb73IYWoNrBbxf0DqSHxg-zUAw5rZDgEdw_yrDcGW_2ZS-2_yryRV2QbqnO/s1600-h/Charles+Manson+2+Sharpen.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5218199441642390018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMAmgV_QPFkACrBqWLBA38xwk1mIJG3vhxW7_NCkJQuphi08ArFAiefQJFRgJiwipsUrGdwiZ2aunNdy4k9Rb73IYWoNrBbxf0DqSHxg-zUAw5rZDgEdw_yrDcGW_2ZS-2_yryRV2QbqnO/s400/Charles+Manson+2+Sharpen.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>2023 Addendum<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">As I wrote
this essay back in 2008, I was astounded at how one man – one who was totally bonkers,
evil, brutal, and not even physically attractive – could influence a stable of
young women and men to do his murderous bidding, but I wonder no more.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">From 2015 to present day, I have observed a <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cult_of_personality" target="_blank">cult of personality</a></b> sweeping the U.S. – one-third of the voting population
– around a man who became president, one who threatens to repeat his atrocity
of an administration.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Even out of office, he continues to do untold damage to our democracy.
Despite his two impeachments and numerous criminal indictments, his acolytes
are sticking with him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I don’t get it, but I can’t dispute the facts – people I know and love
would possibly follow him to the death, and that scares me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">This ex-president could be re-elected, and I guarantee that if this
happens, a second term could prove to be disastrous for the United States.
Democracy could give way to a Putinesque autocracy, including mass
incarceration – and worse – of the political opposition and protesters because his
enablers do nothing to stop him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">This evil man exhibits signs of a <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cult_of_personality" target="_blank">cult of personality</a></b>, complete
with loyal followers:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">1. Acolytes believe
everything, no matter how nutty, their beloved leader – usually a patriarch
– wants them to believe, holding complete sway over his True Believers. <b><a href="https://repositories.lib.utexas.edu/bitstream/handle/2152/46763/POPAN-DISSERTATION-2015.pdf" target="_blank">Adrian Teodor Popan</a></b> defined a cult of personality as a “quantitatively
exaggerated and qualitatively extravagant public demonstration of praise of the
leader.” In other words, members exhibit unquestioning loyalty to the cult, its
leader, and ideology.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">2. Acolytes will do
anything for their leader, even if the act goes against their core beliefs. For
example, some evangelists fully support the former president, although his personal
life and actions go against everything their faith dictates. They rationalize: “I
know he’s not a very good person, but he votes the way I want” (which is not
necessarily true). This blind trust has already had serious consequences:
remember <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/January_6_United_States_Capitol_attack" target="_blank">January 6, 2021</a></b>? Many of those faithful followers are doing hard prison time for participating
in an insurrection against the U.S.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">3. Acolytes refuse to
question the faults and foibles of their leader; no matter what he does, it is
always right, no questions asked. Thus, little dissidence exists within the
cult founded by the leader.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">4. Without question, many
acolytes would die for their leader and his or her beliefs. Remember the <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heaven%27s_Gate_(religious_group)" target="_blank">Heaven’s Gate</a></b> cult? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">5. Chillingly, all-in acolytes
would kill <i>for</i> their leader, should they be asked, as happened in the
Manson Family.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">6. The leader, <i>typically</i>
extreme right-wing (but not always), demonizes “the other,” such as Muslims, Jews,
Blacks, Progressives, Intelligentsia, Democrats, LGBTQIA+, etc. For a leader’s cult
to succeed, there must be a bogeyman.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">7. If the “cult” is a
country, patriotism is comically exaggerated, which is promoted by its leader
by way of symbols, flags, large rallies, and slogans. Often, acolytes will fly
numerous flags on their houses, automobiles, and trucks, creating a carnival effect.
However, there is nothing funny about a cult of personality and his movement.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">8. The leader and the
enablers around him employ extensive media and social media to spread the word: TV,
radio, and internet. The leader encourages his <b><a href="https://psychcentral.com/pro/exhausted-woman/2019/07/narcissists-and-their-flying-monkeys#1" target="_blank">flying monkeys</a></b> (henchmen)
to troll websites of “the other,” attempting
to spread chaos and discourage counter movements.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">9. Unknowingly, the
mainstream media often falls into the cult leader’s trap by offering outsized
coverage of the cult’s activities, thus drawing in even more True Believers.
Once the media catch on and begin issuing warnings, the leader and his enablers
work within the system to get their henchmen elected in positions of power.
They then work on enacting laws that limit freedom of the press and other
rights, such as a woman’s right to choose her own reproductive options.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">10. Ironically, the leader despises his lower echelon followers, often mocking them and their perceived stupidity and views them as expendable, albeit necessary as foot soldiers for maintaining his power. He would never socialize with them except at rallies, and, even then, he maintains his distance. Women are typically regarded
as inferior, often used as objects of pleasure and as breeders for future generations. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Charles Manson’s reach, while deadly to eight people (and possibly more)
and life-changing for the young women and men who followed him, was relatively
small.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The reach of this present-day evil authoritarian, however, is vast and
could spell the doom of millions.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Could acolytes kill in the name of our present-day autocrat should he be
reelected? I’m afraid so. Like Manson, autocrats keep their own hands clean of
blood and farm out this job to their followers.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">One last thought: when a democracy dies, it’s nearly impossible to restore.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Once his acolytes realize their mistake – and some will – it will be too
late because once power is seized, it’s game over.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a name="_Hlk136439681">______________________<o:p></o:p></a></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i>
Excerpts: Return to Table of Contents</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">______________________<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">“A Note on the
Manson Family and the “Cult of Personality” (with a 2023 update)” is copyright © 2008 (updated 2023) - present, by
Jennifer Semple Siegel, and may not be republished or reposted without express permission
from the author.</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">______________________<o:p></o:p></p>
<p> </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-86868327375909559252023-07-21T08:58:00.000-07:002023-07-21T08:58:38.680-07:00Outtake: Letter from Hollywood to Cynthia*<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi178i0a0hyVsKm3Syi4MZqmrXP4Mo7AyGw3R-5WVTnw78gc9S7KECAn0ANRl3c6oP7rH_4khb6OzVdBTCxmPV_RsywocmggAgV19VImXVQfg85Z3JsKwuSkzW6INqzJczVDnmVCMIcBgBvjI_6F-Lqg4YHMsjZsON-mTtVHtZgd5Yun1uD4REcJJNbGoTZ/s375/Jennifer1970-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="281" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi178i0a0hyVsKm3Syi4MZqmrXP4Mo7AyGw3R-5WVTnw78gc9S7KECAn0ANRl3c6oP7rH_4khb6OzVdBTCxmPV_RsywocmggAgV19VImXVQfg85Z3JsKwuSkzW6INqzJczVDnmVCMIcBgBvjI_6F-Lqg4YHMsjZsON-mTtVHtZgd5Yun1uD4REcJJNbGoTZ/s320/Jennifer1970-3.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><u>Jennifer, 1970</u></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">I can only
imagine what Cynthia must have thought when she read the letter.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Was she alarmed?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Did she think, “I don’t know this Jennifer; this isn’t the slightly kooky
Jennifer I grew up with. This is a wild, rambling Jennifer, who’s into illicit
drugs and indiscriminate sex.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">So it seemed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">But much of that letter was exaggerated, hyped to present a persona
invented not to inform but to impress.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Cynthia was not impressed; she was terrified at what she thought I had
become and turned the letter over to my grandmother, Olive Semple.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">At the time, Cynthia’s decision felt like a terrible betrayal; I vowed to
never speak to Cynthia again, though, eventually, I did. In fact, we still stay
in sporadic touch. In my old age, I get why Cynthia did what she did.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Cynthia may have saved my life; her courage to transcend peer pressure
set in motion a series of events, beginning with my grandfather coming out to
California to rescue me, his adopted daughter, from the clutches of Ivar Street
and its cadre of hippies, acid freaks, heroin addicts, bums, prostitutes, and
crazies with guns.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">In a sense, I have unfairly maligned the messenger; the letter, unedited,
speaks for itself (Warning: the letter is absolutely bonkers – no wonder Cynthia
was alarmed, and my grandparents thought I had gone around the bend, enough to
send me packing to Cherokee):<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><o:p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmgfNrRuxuDSEL2HMZl0bu_ryPJSc8g8-kqKoZLdmJYSInHcK277WDWFBuhS2ns9n2u2eeUtCx6_HfCNbNBZuJBjz2CxVrceBJ0bDPSpwNXAup0IY5J_XtBmpbxT7-l3dfBtnMRVVIVBSbiBNl3BYX_mLts7g0Nwm9ZL9fvjhulPCSDVQqjf8MWAIqTmXp/s586/JenniferGraumansChineseTheater--1968.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="586" data-original-width="447" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmgfNrRuxuDSEL2HMZl0bu_ryPJSc8g8-kqKoZLdmJYSInHcK277WDWFBuhS2ns9n2u2eeUtCx6_HfCNbNBZuJBjz2CxVrceBJ0bDPSpwNXAup0IY5J_XtBmpbxT7-l3dfBtnMRVVIVBSbiBNl3BYX_mLts7g0Nwm9ZL9fvjhulPCSDVQqjf8MWAIqTmXp/s320/JenniferGraumansChineseTheater--1968.jpg" width="244" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><u>Jennifer, Summer 1968. Hollywood</u></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">October 29, 1968 (Tuesday)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">The Dorm [<b><a href="https://calisphere.org/item/afc5a739785435027456ebd488f1ac0e/" target="_blank">Francis de Pauw</a></b>]<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">Hollywood, Calif.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">Hi Cynthia,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">You’re gonna blow your mind when I tell you
the haps. Wow! Gosh, I should have waited to tell you over the phone, I mean, I
should have called you this week instead of last! Well, Rick and I are split (I
don’t know if permanently, but even though I’m crazy about him, I kind of hope
so, but you know how it is).<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">It’s a long, long, long
story.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">The whole thing (alias
mess) started last Thursday. I <i>accidentally</i> met Rick on Hollywood Blvd.
I knew something was wrong, so I tried to ask him, etc., but I couldn’t talk to
him, it was just like talking to a stone wall (ICE!). He did manage to say he
was going to jump off Laurel Canyon. I just laffed & said that I would help
sweep the mess off the street. Well, for awhile I was beginning to believe him,
he sounded so serious. So we split, not for good then, I just went home. Friday
night was slightly a disaster until we went over to these guys house to crash
(sleep). Out here, everyone crashes! It’s really great! But I fell asleep right
away (natch). I had been running around all week, so I was smashed (tired).
Sat. night, I took <i>FIVE</i> uppers (speed – code name for me to write to
you: “gas”). Oh, I was rapping all nite. On gas, you <i>NEVER</i> shut up &
you have all this crazy energy, I mean CRAZY – like your head rushes & you
can feel every hair on your head.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">God, I saw Percy Fri.
night – I hadn’t seen him around in <i>ages</i>. Everyone thought he’d been
busted (He just got out of the clink last week for possession).<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I met “Stoney” last night.
He’s kinda cool. I’m going to the Halloween happening with him. Well, Bob,
Linda, me, and Stoney went to these guy’s house to crash (same place as Friday
night & we found (to my relief) Eleanor and Rik there. Cynthia, it was one
big happening, 40 million people around. Stoney was stoned (smashed) on
Downers, & me on uppers, Well, Stoney crashed & I stayed up all night
talking to Bob & Linda (Bob’s Old Lady). God, Cynthia, Sunday, I was so
goddam sick. I found out that I took too many uppers for the first time! Wow – But
I was terrible depressed & very ill with terrible awful chills! So guess
who called that Sunday that I haven’t heard from in ages? Frank * – Good Lord,
I was really quite mean to him over the phone. But I was sick out of my head.
He’s got a problem & he wants to discuss it with me (Whoopie). Oh well. I
guess that comes tomorrow. But a little later, Rick Babe called & wanted me
to come over. Well, as I said, I was smashed & a half! But, against my
better judgement, I went anyways. Well, it was <i>the</i> worst thing I could
have <i>ever</i> done. When I got over there, I was ready to sleep, I mean
really. This may sound bad, but I fell asleep on Rick’s bed. Well, he got mad
(because I wouldn’t make love to him – would you believe I met him last Monday.
He yelled, “This isn’t no flophouse.” Then I got very angry & said
something very nasty. He called me a spoiled Brat & told me to go back
where I came from & I said “Really want me to go?” He said “Not really.” I
just answered “I’m going anyway,” so I slammed his bedroom door, & stomped
out. I saw Rick all alone tonite & I was with Stoney. So I really put on a <i>show</i>
– Well that’s the way it goes – Later I saw him with another chick – Well, if
that’s all Rick wants me for is <i>sex</i>, forget it!! So I figure if Rick
really did care for me, he would come back in spite of my refusal to do it with
him. I’m still crazy about the guy, But I can also live without him. I did
before I met him, I can do it now. Well, I’d better split.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Love Jennifer<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">P.S. Write.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW32knZxhjcP3PlIx8-4nKYsCY7AdM5hGgZeWsmL50dYZ5z_QSPUNqIyEtSF2NEUE3A8HQEF221hEShI1BDHcSziFrw833uGYs51OjOF8IBxKWlQz60-IkGJD_BZkBx_6CR_wy_0tTix5W-xeBZhuFproyBBe0o1vlsA1b8G5npQMNR_ZoDEsOz_PQv_3h/s400/Jennifer_1970_Blue-accent--12June2023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="337" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW32knZxhjcP3PlIx8-4nKYsCY7AdM5hGgZeWsmL50dYZ5z_QSPUNqIyEtSF2NEUE3A8HQEF221hEShI1BDHcSziFrw833uGYs51OjOF8IBxKWlQz60-IkGJD_BZkBx_6CR_wy_0tTix5W-xeBZhuFproyBBe0o1vlsA1b8G5npQMNR_ZoDEsOz_PQv_3h/s320/Jennifer_1970_Blue-accent--12June2023.jpg" width="270" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><u>Jennifer, 1970</u></span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><div style="text-align: center;">*</div><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: red;">FLASH! FROM THE HOT LINE!</span><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">Well, you’re not gonna believe this, But
what I’ve already done, I guess you could believe almost <i>anything</i>, Well,
I’m in love! With Mel. Listen, it’s not the type of love that would settle me
down. It’s sweet, wild, etc! Mel is something else. I met him about a month
& half ago or so, & we’ve been friends but then he left for Oklahoma
etc. & I met Rick, so nothing happened. But last Monday he came back, &
on Tuesday night, a bunch of us, Me, Mel, two other chicks, and Ratt went to
democratic headquarters for some free food, & really nothing romantic or
like that happened. We just were acting like good friends. I mean I’ve always
grooved on him on the side. Well, somehow, we just split. I mean we got
separated. So I mean I thought nothing of it!! Wednesday night, I was feeling
great, gay & giddy, so when I saw Mel, I ran over & threw my arms
around & moaned “Hi baby.” (I’ve really changed! I’m not the type who waits
for things to happen. I promote happenings!) So, anyway, he grabs me &
said, “Want to go to the Strip?” Just like that! So we hitched (In a red pickup
truck in the back) & off to the strip. But really, it really means little
around here when guys have their arms around girls. So even then, I knew
(feeling) that something great was going to happen. We just walked around the
strip. Pam and Virgil [Jeff Brown] were with us, & Virgil split, & I
really didn’t know which one of us Mel grooved on. Pam was trying to make it
with Mel also. But when we hitched back to Music City, a van picked the bunch
of us up, & Mel & I got the back, Pam was stuck in the front. And Mel
started to kiss me <i>wildly</i>. The Strip is about 3 or 4 miles from
Wallichs. And that kiss lasted the whole time almost. Wow! I’ve crashed with
him two nights in a row, & he hasn’t tried any funnies, if you know what I
mean. So it’s really groovey!! Let me describe Mel. His hair is curly &
quite long, But, it’s really great! It’s sort of red, not shocking, but a
golden red. His eyes are <i>superfantastic</i> Brown. He’s not light complected
like a lot of red heads, but then again, he’s not dark. He’s 5’6 ½” & he’s
lost quite a bit of weight since Oklahoma. But after I’m thru he’ll have to put
it back on. I had some V-A [LSD] with him the other night. It was really <i>superfantastic</i>!
No bummer! (Except that I had to work the next day!)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Oh, I really Blew it with
Mo – When I talked to her over the phone last week, it slipped that I hitched
from the strip alone. God – Mo is so worried. I’m really blowing my cool
lately. I’m going to tell her that I’ve only hitched once & that I was so
scared that I put down. I met Wayne through hitching. He’s cool, & we’re
really great friends.<o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkj6pDjqFeRxLOzToqZVUszafsOdvf2IHqwPnNo4vzV7lWOZSszq7k1jzliD5kFI4-8Xe14ePhrfCXy4-64tY9N72q5rYb5_yvXc-1Lz5gO9jhr-gd3ia40XnrktMcNAasMHjNWqsKN5dsfpccQKzo39dAHNcT8IRzi3D7ecHGTtfc0f6H9QtYWsofRJL3/s400/VW%20van%20Glowing%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="385" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkj6pDjqFeRxLOzToqZVUszafsOdvf2IHqwPnNo4vzV7lWOZSszq7k1jzliD5kFI4-8Xe14ePhrfCXy4-64tY9N72q5rYb5_yvXc-1Lz5gO9jhr-gd3ia40XnrktMcNAasMHjNWqsKN5dsfpccQKzo39dAHNcT8IRzi3D7ecHGTtfc0f6H9QtYWsofRJL3/s320/VW%20van%20Glowing%202.jpg" width="308" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><u>VW Van. Rendition by Jennifer</u></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">*</div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>ANOTHER FLASH!!!<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">Mel & I are split. I fell for <i>Denny</i>!
Denny is <i>gorgeous </i>I mean like really! But Cynthia, I swear to God that
I’m not going to fall for a guy until I’m ready for marriage. Like with Rick, I
really fell hard for him, & all he wanted to do was Ball me. Goddam mother
fucker men! That’s all most of them want. Oh, well. Stoney asked me to live
with him, which I may do (A matter of convenience, girl). I may be asked to
leave Francis De Paw. My behavior has been most unsatisfactory – Like staying
out all night on work nights – [Mrs.] Horton always asks everyone else where
I’m at! Oh, whoopie. Well, if I move in with Stoney, I’ll be living in
Silverlake. I mean, Cynthia, don’t worry, I’m <i>still</i> a virgin, & I
intend staying that way until I find someone I truly & deeply love, then I
won’t care if I’m married to that man or not. But until I find that guy, I’m
not getting sexually involved with someone I don’t love. I’m not a slut, &
although some of the things I’ve been doing have seemed a bit strange, I’m
still (& hope to be always) basically a moral person. I mean, like living
with Stoney, it will just be a place to sleep & keep my stuff. A lot of
hippies & other people are set up in this way. We both work etc. If I do
get in this setup, I’m not going to tell Mo and Dee Dee about it. You know how <i>they’d</i>
take it!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Well, about Denny, he’s 6’2”,
tan, sort of brown hair (Blonde in the summer.) He reminds me of a surfer, kind
of. He’s 19 (20 on May 22). I haven’t fell for him really. He’s just a fun guy
to be with. I found out that getting hung up over someone is a <i>HANG UP</i>.
When I break up with Peter, I’m not breaking up to get into another mess. <i>Forget
it</i>. Cynthia, let me tell you something, & I’m going to be blunt. I
don’t think you really love Eugene*. Listen, <i>you can’t</i>! You haven’t gone
out with that many guys. You’ve limited yourself so much, It’s Eugene this, and
Eugene that! That’s all I’ve heard for two years. Not that I’m sick of hearing
about him, that’s not the point or not the <i>truth</i>! But, listen, I almost
found out too late! Jesus Christ, I got the engagement ring last week in the
mail. What in the fuck am I going to do with it? Peter is probably breaking his
butthole [in Vietnam] trying to stay true & I’m running my ass around &
having fun. What the hell do you expect me to do, sit around, write letters
& smell roses. I found a new insight through speed. (I don’t shoot it–NEVER–I
drop it!) I’ve only taken it once, & I found out so much about myself that
I never knew. I met Stoney (real name is *****) while I was on Whites, & I
rapped to him for hours on end, & he loved listening. That’s why I dig him
so much. Great listener! I can dig on that sort of thing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I just want you to know
that I haven’t taken a dive off the deep end. I’m still around, & still
basically alright. My head is a bit screwed up from everything. I turn onto to V-A
once a week, & I’m trying to find ways to improve my trips.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">When <i>are</i> you coming
out? You’ll dig it here, ‘cos you’re so much like me. Come out here & <i>try</i>
it. Cynthia, if you don’t give yourself a chance with other guys, you’ll end up
leading a very dull life with a bunch of babies & diapers. <i>Be sure</i> when
you have that hang up, it’s with someone you truly love, then it won’t be so
bad.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Either hide or get rid of
this letter. Say “hi” to Isabelle for me, & let her read this letter, I
never get much of a chance to write because I lead a very strenuous & weird
life. Oh, Stoney calls me “Beautiful Woman,” never by my name! OUTASITE! KEEP
YOUR KOOL, AND WRITE SOON.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">LOVE YA! JENNIFER<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">*<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJoQ_s24tgEhrGsO8c6ejmf7O7i-AOMmPjHXI-rQEXdyC9u7bVnt5mvGcJ_MfhrfDSBFH8msGm0EOVwMbQCn8CxJgJePt0AVYWq5QEEQ3hl-FvPHXKITfyseVgrviId06sHru3nHtOkbV24i_-ilYBmW9epvFAFzRFjxCUjJXVy9AE4rPnlHFWMS0tk5B/s400/Hippies%202%20Glowing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="299" data-original-width="400" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJoQ_s24tgEhrGsO8c6ejmf7O7i-AOMmPjHXI-rQEXdyC9u7bVnt5mvGcJ_MfhrfDSBFH8msGm0EOVwMbQCn8CxJgJePt0AVYWq5QEEQ3hl-FvPHXKITfyseVgrviId06sHru3nHtOkbV24i_-ilYBmW9epvFAFzRFjxCUjJXVy9AE4rPnlHFWMS0tk5B/s320/Hippies%202%20Glowing.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><u>Group of Hippies. Rendition by Jennifer</u></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Tuesday, Nov. 26, ‘68<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">Hi!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">Well, here I am, your long lost best friend!
Really, I apologize for not writing sooner – so much has happened.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I had to write Peter a
Dear John, ‘cos he guessed everything anyways, so, I imagine by now, he’s got
the letter. I mailed it Friday, & today is Tuesday.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I’ve been going out with
scads of guys – there’s Mel, Denny, Jeff (would you believe?) & <i>Stoney</i>
(Drool–my latest). Mel is sweet, although we were serious a couple of weeks
ago, we’re really great friends now, & that’s really all! I really dig on
Mel, a fantastic personality, & cute. He’s only about 5’6” but he’s so-o
cute. He’s got a mop of sort of red curly hair. Then, there was Denny. Denny is
Mel’s best friend. In fact, that was the reason Mel and I split. Denny is
really great looking – Cynthia, I mean like <i>REALLY</i>. I’m not spoofin’
either! He’s about 6’3”. Long hair & husky – he wears a size 12 shoe (Men’s,
no less!). & his hands are about twice the size of mine. Then he’s got sort
of a “baby” face, not really, but just sort of. I mean, you’d have to see him
to believe how good looking he is! But the trouble is he knows it, & he’s
on an “ego trip.” He loves himself so much yet he does have a fantastic
personality. Well, he decided he was getting too hung up on me, & he didn’t
want to get hung up so we’re just friends now. But I never was hung up on Denny
– just fascinated how cute he was.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">*<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9fdP5fmoUAYXM_juU4yfIFScLawpbC0GHW_W5UvSTbRjCcuxb8Pf6MEMKEHBmPZarR7OnEG5k3yfPjPa-1tiRAf4gg_mMqcsnj_l_lSED5MyaQ0CDbwuwaJo9W8i33dcp7NJJgfXu3h5WG3dWjouNYOBiYpW7-8NS7sS0JdgspgbhR6ElVYVAN0EORn8y/s900/Jeff1970%20Dry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="653" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9fdP5fmoUAYXM_juU4yfIFScLawpbC0GHW_W5UvSTbRjCcuxb8Pf6MEMKEHBmPZarR7OnEG5k3yfPjPa-1tiRAf4gg_mMqcsnj_l_lSED5MyaQ0CDbwuwaJo9W8i33dcp7NJJgfXu3h5WG3dWjouNYOBiYpW7-8NS7sS0JdgspgbhR6ElVYVAN0EORn8y/s320/Jeff1970%20Dry.jpg" width="232" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><u>Jeff Brown, 1970</u></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I don’t like to get involved with people who
are on ego trips. Oh, well. Jeff [Brown] is sort of the Big Brotherly type of guy. He’s
not what you’d call a boyfriend. He gives me advice about my love life, etc.
& we have big rap sessions – I love talking to Jeff. He’s from Penn. &
he’s from the Dutch part of the state, & he’s got the coolest accent. <i>Now</i>
to Stoney! I <i>love</i> him! When I first met Stoney, he was really luped – he
was on V-A – Reds, Whites, etc. I mean it was really funny. He came up to me
& said (Moving his eyes around in such a way that he looked like Satan),
“Hi, my name is Stoney & I’m <i>STONED</i>.” I really cracked up laffing. I
mean he just walked up to me on the street and introduced himself. Stoney is a
doll in his own right. (Stoney just called – he was supposed to meet me on
Friday & he didn’t. He got <i>BUSTED</i>! I had a feeling that’s what
happened!) Bob (a guy from Frisco) and me almost got Busted on Friday night – I
was stoned on V-A out of my head. I didn’t know what I was doing – It was after
curfew, & let’s thank God I’m 18, otherwise I’d be writin’ this from the
L.A. Slammer.) Bob was holding <i>5</i> tabs, But “they” didn’t find it. Wow!
It would have been my ass if they had because I was with him (They call it
conspiracy out here. So if I can almost get it, I knew that the possibility was
quite high that Stoney got it. Wow! But it wasn’t a big offense – They only
kept him 36 hours (36 hours <i>too</i> long). Cynthia, I <i>love</i> him. He
asked me to live with him a few weeks ago. I thought he meant it as a joke, but
now I know he’s <i>dead</i> serious. And I’m getting hassled at the place. That
bitch Horton doesn’t like the guys that I have brought over. She swiped the
ashtray from Denny one night & said, “We don’t smoke in here – you’ll have
to go outside if you want to smoke.” I haven’t brought Stoney over yet. But he
will really blow her mind. I mean really. He puts on the grooviest devil act.
Stoney is tall, about 6’4”. He’s got big green eyes & dark hair. Well, I’m
at work now, & I’ve gotta split! They’re gettin’ suspicious.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Jennifer<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">*<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK0JrqAaYq0GS9atLoCHugljaye8VhtT8TFw53dK9WigKU3sjRqWUiQvqhg-a9lUwNB3TB33Y9oXsNX1g2OGQagQdtuPnxWNeTZdKWTEhnxif47JU7DZkNq2nnFwRLYXFz48Jv8o8J4IvR4n8MTzZrEgfhyo8Ufv9KHpIqzWZ1H_fY-wZ2PeMWEmnn9hTy/s1351/StoneyOnSandpaper2ByJenniferSemple--1969.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1351" data-original-width="1050" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK0JrqAaYq0GS9atLoCHugljaye8VhtT8TFw53dK9WigKU3sjRqWUiQvqhg-a9lUwNB3TB33Y9oXsNX1g2OGQagQdtuPnxWNeTZdKWTEhnxif47JU7DZkNq2nnFwRLYXFz48Jv8o8J4IvR4n8MTzZrEgfhyo8Ufv9KHpIqzWZ1H_fY-wZ2PeMWEmnn9hTy/s320/StoneyOnSandpaper2ByJenniferSemple--1969.jpg" width="249" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><u>Stoney. Rendition by Jennifer, 1969</u></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />P.S. Went out with Stoney tonight – Everything
is <i>super</i> cool – Believe me! Wow! On Thanksgiving, Stoney, me, Pam, Jeff
(Big Brother) & maybe Eleanor & whoever wants to come along, are going
to Griffin Park Observatory. We might have some V-A – Wow! A real traditional
Thanksgiving. Oh, Stoney, me, Mel, Denny & Gary are going to be on Channel
7 on Thursday evening. We were each interviewed on what we have to be thankful
for – Wow! Wow. I didn’t even want to, but Stoney gave me a big push, so I had
no choice. Stoney, me, Todd & another chick are going to San Francisco for
the weekend. Isn’t it great? Stoney is going to make me a jade ring – wow – especially
for me – Wow! Class. My aunt is really uptight about the Frisco bit. If she
knew I was going with a guy she’d have about a million fits. Wow!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I almost got raped twice
last week, hitching. Good God was I scared. I jumped out of one car at the stop
sign, & like ran as fast as I could, & the other time, I gave the guy a
dirty look & I moved & he stopped his funny business. I swear, I’m gonna
have to be more selective who I ride with.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I dropped V-A three times
last weekend, plus 1 fuckin’ downer which had my head all screwed up on Monday.
Stoney was arrested for hitching on the freeway. I just had a damn feeling that
he got busted for something stupid.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I’m staying out all night
tomorrow night. There will probably be a party somewhere around. Like at
Stoney’s.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I guess I was just meant
to get all hung up – I’m really hung up on Stoney.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Do you realize that as of
Dec. 6th I will have been in Calif. 6 months?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Be good & write.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">What’s the haps?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Gotta get some sleep – Big
weekend ahead of me!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Lots of Love. God, Destroy
this letter! Let Robbie read! Jennifer again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">P.S. I love the song
“Stormy.” I always sing “Stoney” instead of “Stormy.” Do you like “Canned
Heat”?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Outasite!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><o:p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMw2pIQCMsJGlmNKP7RXZ4WD2Wcnqqv8XRiez0PZ0tLkhH6d0Us9zsJuAW6QIVBeV_lojp-su7bfeBygIwhZZS_WjCTCIuK9nCylirch60ejhnD1RTCIPknC7__f2qiiwvygCnteHsFwigNdKPmB9JFFr6ynwbgeUlrOlxypkcf6r7-TneHWWwQR2SPxeS/s900/JenniferStopTheWar1969l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="798" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMw2pIQCMsJGlmNKP7RXZ4WD2Wcnqqv8XRiez0PZ0tLkhH6d0Us9zsJuAW6QIVBeV_lojp-su7bfeBygIwhZZS_WjCTCIuK9nCylirch60ejhnD1RTCIPknC7__f2qiiwvygCnteHsFwigNdKPmB9JFFr6ynwbgeUlrOlxypkcf6r7-TneHWWwQR2SPxeS/s320/JenniferStopTheWar1969l.jpg" width="284" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><u>Jennifer in a more lucid moment, Fall 1969</u></span></td></tr></tbody></table></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">This letter,
Cynthia’s reason for betrayal, eventually came back into my possession after my
grandmother confronted me with it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“See what you have become,” my grandmother said. “What happened to the
moral girl we sent to California?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I had no answer.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a name="_Hlk136439681">______________________<o:p></o:p></a></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk136439681;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i>
Excerpts: Return to Table of Contents</a><o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">________________________<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">*Most names
have been changed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">“Letter from
Hollywood to Cynthia,” is copyright <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">©</span>
1968 -present, Jennifer Semple Siegel, and may not be reposted or republished
without express permission of the author.</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">________________________<o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-8719110001897566702023-07-17T19:18:00.002-07:002023-07-18T19:45:29.125-07:00Outtake: 1968 – The Year That Shaped a Generation (Jennifer’s Viewpoint)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7wHLqPwAHrWULfQpmmMwJl72HjySXnkOA8Ci9fXFpmeN48r4l96u7vxVNADSNXln3jkFf3_s5YM9QmAsjWEaXyg9dPG7Lu9txUiuHs7haqAYilzyx2b1P0X_odHNAJtKL4ggInQPGPG7n/s1600-h/Jennifer_Graduation+Picture_1968.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235713959571974514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7wHLqPwAHrWULfQpmmMwJl72HjySXnkOA8Ci9fXFpmeN48r4l96u7vxVNADSNXln3jkFf3_s5YM9QmAsjWEaXyg9dPG7Lu9txUiuHs7haqAYilzyx2b1P0X_odHNAJtKL4ggInQPGPG7n/w219-h320/Jennifer_Graduation+Picture_1968.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="219" /></a> <center><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><u>Jennifer Semple, high school graduation picture (1968)</u></span><br /><br /></center><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">For baby
boomers, 1968 was a defining year, a year in which we, as a generation, lost
our 1950’s innocence. The assassinations of <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Assassination_of_Martin_Luther_King_Jr." target="_blank">Martin Luther King</a></b> and <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Assassination_of_Robert_F._Kennedy" target="_blank">Robert F. Kennedy</a></b> simply added another sickening dimension to <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Assassination_of_John_F._Kennedy" target="_blank">President Kennedy’s assassination</a></b>
four and a half years earlier.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">President Kennedy had been assassinated at a time when, essentially, 1950’s
values were still in place and the shameful significance of the Viet Nam War
was still unclear.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Nineteen sixty-eight brought all these pieces together, and the result
was not pretty.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">In 1968, while the slightly older members of my generation set out to
change the world, I went from naive girl to young woman, lost in the counterculture: sex, drugs, and rock and roll.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">My official memoir – available on <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Memoir-Madness-Driven-Involuntary-Commitment/dp/0988624230" target="_blank">Amazon</a></b> – begins in Hollywood, California, on Christmas Eve, 1968, but, really, my back
story begins in Sioux City, Iowa, on June 5, 1968:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">Ten days after high school graduation from
Heelan High Catholic School.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">6:00 a.m.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Mo, my grandmother, yanks
my covers back.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">9:30 a.m. flight. Still a
bit groggy, I go over my itinerary: Sioux City to Denver on Ozark, Denver to
L.A. on TWA, L.A. to Mother and stepfather Larry, then – who knows?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><i>L.A., here I come!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“My God, they’ve got
Bobby, too!” Mo says.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><i>Bobby who? I don’t know
any Bobby....</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“What’s this damn world
coming to, anyway?” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">And then it hits me, last
night’s California primary, Bobby Kennedy’s expected big win – JFK’s younger
brother, our hope for the future, now apparently gone.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I sit up in bed. “What
happened?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“He was shot by a goon.”
She stands up and runs her fingers through her hair. “A Goddamn goon.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">It’s not like Mo to take
the Lord’s name in vain, and the profanity sounds shocking coming from her
lips.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“A Goddamn goon,” she
whispers, as if she has read my mind and wants me to know that at this moment
she hurts enough to risk her immortal soul and eternal Hellfire should she drop
dead right now.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“A Goddamn goon...”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I kick the sheet off, sit
at the edge of the bed, and put my arms around her. “Is he dead?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">She shakes her head. “But
it don’t look good. Not good at all.” Then she covers her face. “God, don’t
they ever learn? Don’t they know Bobby was just asking for it? You’d think of
all people he’d know better than to expose himself like that....” She starts
crying again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I get out of bed and hug
Mo, and we both cry together, remembering another time almost five years ago
when we stood in another room – another house even – and mourned the loss of
another Kennedy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Years later, I’ll look
back on the Kennedy and Martin Luther King assassinations and realize how much
they have changed my generation, but, more than that, how they have changed me
personally – I think it has something to do with loss of trust.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">But, today, the day I’m
supposed to embark on my new life, all I feel is sad and a sense of complete
helplessness.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">After I have finished
dressing and packing, Mo, Dee Dee (my grandfather), and I gather around the TV
and watch the <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Today_(American_TV_program)" target="_blank">Today Show</a></b> to try to sort out what has happened. For the first time, we hear words like
“<b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ambassador_Hotel_(Los_Angeles)" target="_blank">The Ambassador Hotel</a></b>,” “Lone gunman <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sirhan_Sirhan" target="_blank">Sirhan Sirhan</a></b>,” “How could this happen
again?” And for the first time we see the scenes that will become a part of the
historical landscape: the victory speech; the camera being jostled; Bobby
lying in his own blood on the floor and someone yelling, “The gun, get the
gun”; a man in a white jacket, or maybe it was a woman, supporting Bobby’s head
as he lay dying; and Bobby’s last public words, “Is everybody okay?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">And we understand that
while Bobby clings to life, he’s not expected to live. And if he does live,
he’ll be a vegetable, definitely not the brilliant man who campaigned so
vigorously for the presidency, who had an obsessive desire to continue the
Camelot years.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Yes, I’m unhappy that
Bobby’s been shot, but after the deaths of JFK and Martin Luther King, I almost
expected that another Kennedy would die violently.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">And as <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbara_Walters" target="_blank">Barbara Walters</a></b> and <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hugh_Downs" target="_blank">Hugh Downs</a></b> try to sort through what has just happened, I remember another time: when a
line was drawn down the middle of November 22, 1963, my 14th year, clearly
dividing <i>Then </i>from <i>Now</i>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">My grandparents, Harley
and Olive Semple, had no idea what kind of a world they were sending me into.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I had a vague idea,
though, and I was ready to go:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“It’s time to go,
Jennifer,” Dee Dee says in an unsteady voice. He has tears in his eyes, but I’m
not sure whether it’s because he’s going to miss me or Bobby. Maybe both.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I’m all sweaty and
uncomfortable in my maroon polyester jacket and skirt; Mo insists that a real
lady dresses up for traveling. I disagree, but now it’s only a few hours to
real freedom, and then I can wear whatever I want. I know one thing: this
smelly outfit goes straight to the Goodwill.<o:p></o:p></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_Jbmv2dhJ6RVs3JVwLBRX5V9dxz5iFdh51ne8EhdcRu_Uf1U_N7tsZakok-4vpXT9YmYqPq3qwYOmtsrjB0lDLdgCZ-cnYkHEvtRZy6XR_3hkmV3CBLWS7ByiyQSVj8zlyR0q9c-ladu/s1600-h/Jennifer+and+Mo--June+5+1968.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235715567572523250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_Jbmv2dhJ6RVs3JVwLBRX5V9dxz5iFdh51ne8EhdcRu_Uf1U_N7tsZakok-4vpXT9YmYqPq3qwYOmtsrjB0lDLdgCZ-cnYkHEvtRZy6XR_3hkmV3CBLWS7ByiyQSVj8zlyR0q9c-ladu/w205-h320/Jennifer+and+Mo--June+5+1968.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="205" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><u>Jennifer, </u><u>in her <span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 24px;">“</span>smelly<span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 24px;">”</span> outfit,</u><u> and Olive Semple, June 5, 1968</u></span></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">*<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">Dee Dee picks up one of my suitcases and
takes it to the car. I drag the other bag across the carpet until he returns
and takes it from me. He puts both cases into the trunk and slams the lid shut.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Well,” he sighs. “That’s
that.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Don’t forget to write
once in a while,” Mo says.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I won’t.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Never forget where you
came from,” she says. “We’re your people.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Then, in silence, he and
Mo slide into the front seat, and I into the back, where I sprawl out, pulling
my skirt up to my thighs in hope of catching a slight breeze from the air
conditioner.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Not likely: the crotch of
my pantyhose digs into my groin, and the band cuts into my waist. My panty
girdle also cuts into my gut, the top rolling down around my belly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Who invented these torture
chambers, anyway? Women shouldn't have to suffer like this.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">My bra is new, a size 38
C, stiff and formal. This morning, when I took it out of its box, it crackled
like a piece of paper, and the cups resembled those steel cups that opera
singers wear on stage. Now, sweat rolls down from between my breasts and onto
my midriff, and I can only hope the temperature on the airplane is turned down
low.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I won’t miss Sioux City
humidity.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">On the way to the airport,
Mo clicks on the car radio. “<b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gSWInYFVksg&ab_channel=TheTroggsVEVO" target="_blank">Wild thing</a></b>/ You make my heart...” blaring through
the speaker, and I’m thinking “Wow! What a send off....”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Caterwauling,” Dee Dee
says, running through the dial. More music: “Hot town/ <b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U7ofnHmxE-I&ab_channel=TheLovin%27Spoonful-Topic" target="_blank">Summer in the city</a></b>...”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Damn hippie stuff!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Then “<b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=naoknj1ebqI&ab_channel=TheBeatles-Topic" target="_blank">Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds...</a></b>” (crackle)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“And it’s Summa-time in
the city, a SIZZLING eight-o at 8:00 a.m.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Dee Dee mutters something
about “disrespect for Bobby” as he continues to search.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">He fiddles with the dial
until he finds what he’s looking for: Bobby Kennedy is barely hanging onto
life, I barely hanging onto my sanity....<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“It don’t look good,” Mo
says, shaking her head.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">*<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">My plane sits on the tarmac, waiting for me,
engines revved up, heat waves distorting its potbelly. At the thought of
climbing aboard and waiting for that bucket of bolts to lift off, I feel ill.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I hate airplanes.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">But it was either fly or
stay in Sioux City and settle down into a boring job. No matter how much I
begged to take Union Pacific instead of the plane, Mo and Dee Dee nixed the
idea. Why, I don’t know. Maybe they figure that I need to grow up, to get over
my fear of flying.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">And I have decided I’d
rather die in a fiery plane crash than slowly suffocate in Sioux City.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Here, take this pill,” Mo
says, handing me a blue and white capsule and a cup of water. “It’ll calm you
down.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“What is it?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Just a tranquilizer.
Here, just take it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I pop the capsule in my
mouth and under my tongue and pretend to wash it down with the water. “Someone
told me marijuana has the same effect,” I say.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Someone” being my high
school Homeroom teacher, but I’m not about to snitch.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Don’t you be gettin’ no
ideas,” Mo says, shaking her finger at me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Oh, Mo.” But the idea has
been in my mind for a long time.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I turn away from my
suddenly aging grandparents and walk toward the plane.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I don’t look back.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I spit the soggy pill into
my hand and drop it into my pocket.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">*<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">As the plane taxis down the runway, I think
a lot about death, about dying in a burning heap of twisted metal. I’m not
afraid of death, really, not even a violent one – getting run over by a large
orange truck at six quelled that mystery long ago.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">But I <i>am</i> afraid of
dying without having yet lived.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">The flight goes without a
hitch – no turbulence or incidents.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">The captain on the Denver
to L.A. leg updates Bobby’s deteriorating condition, and several passengers
sniffle during the bulletins, but I’m past that now.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">JFK had already drained
every significant emotion from me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">And then the plane lands.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I disembark to my other
life.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">When 1968
started, I was still in high school and only vaguely aware of world events
unfolding around me; I was more interested in getting through high school and
leaving home – June 5th was supposed to be a festive day.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">By December 31, 1968, I was stoned and living with my drug dealing
boyfriend, still superficially involved with the world around me. Other than
the two assassinations, my most vivid memory was <b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-1-crystal-ship.html" target="_blank">Apollo 8, juxtaposed with an acid trip</a></b>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">It was only later that I realized the significance of 1968.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">In 2005, as I was finishing up the first draft of Memoir Madness, I tried
weaving relevant news clips throughout the main narrative and spent two months
building a day-by-day history through short news clips – a good idea that didn’t
work out, at least for my memoir because<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">1. Given my then-disinterest in current
events, the clips felt out of place and phony.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">2. The clips added more than 300 pages to
the manuscript.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">3. They detracted from my narrative.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">But when I decided to create a blog containing excerpts from the memoir,
I soon realized that the clips would work out well on the internet. Since 2005,
YouTube and other video technology has advanced enough so that I, a casual
user, would have little difficulty finding and embedding relevant video content.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">As I combed through the various video clips from 1968 and documentaries
about that year, I realize how 1968 has shaped me personally, even though at
the time I was not very engaged in current events.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">See <b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2023/07/1968-the-year-that-shaped-a-generation-documentary.html" target="_blank">1968 – The Year that Shaped a Generation (A Documentary in Six Parts)</a></b>. This documentary pretty much covers the highlights of 1968 in about an hour.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_________________________<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i> Excerpts: Return to Table of Contents</a></b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_______________________</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-32281028943634710202023-07-17T19:10:00.001-07:002023-07-17T19:32:46.935-07:00Outtake: 1968 – The Year that Shaped a Generation (A Documentary in Six Parts)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYXtmp7qhxrRJQ-Q5svyUgKYvwTv8gZEhJf8IzSlSTD5TsvJe9yPOM7WpMjEf6qy8FE-35o-W0-vYHIuwjS7MgQp2bxl4cZMhxGm5vd6pr-zamfSFetNeTlCw4GyFhnvEjInSXnF5GSIXPmCYSh5fNa1yoIFKotYI9l_rwg9C7qCkcwOgm6Lkzgv9JgzQ/s1024/Hippie-Girl.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1006" data-original-width="1024" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYXtmp7qhxrRJQ-Q5svyUgKYvwTv8gZEhJf8IzSlSTD5TsvJe9yPOM7WpMjEf6qy8FE-35o-W0-vYHIuwjS7MgQp2bxl4cZMhxGm5vd6pr-zamfSFetNeTlCw4GyFhnvEjInSXnF5GSIXPmCYSh5fNa1yoIFKotYI9l_rwg9C7qCkcwOgm6Lkzgv9JgzQ/w320-h314/Hippie-Girl.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />1968: The Year
that Shaped a Generation (Six Videos)<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">War. Assassinations. Riots. This dramatic
program examines the turbulent political and social landscapes of 1968 by
combining dramatic archival footage and interviews with many key participants,
including Walter Cronkite, Reverend Jesse Jackson, Senator Tom Hayden, Barbara
Ehrenreich, Carlos Fuentes, and Pat Buchanan. Individual sections spotlight
topics such as Vietnam, Robert Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr. and the civil
rights movement, student revolts, the counterculture, the Democratic National
Convention, the Prague Spring, the Mexico City student massacre, and the ‘68
presidential campaign and election.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 1in;">Text by <b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6vVZP2T60wI&ab_channel=artstar11" target="_blank">artstar11</a></b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 1in;">Release Year: 1998<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 1in;">Total Run Time: 57 minutes<o:p></o:p></p>
<center><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b>1968: The Vietnam War Protests<span style="text-align: left;"> (Part 1 of 6):</span></b></p>
<object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6vVZP2T60wI&hl=en&fs=1" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed allowfullscreen="true" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6vVZP2T60wI&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /></center><center><b>1968: Black and White –</b></center><center><b>“Martin Luther Assassination”</b></center><center><b>(Part 2 of 6):</b><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/hynKUzZtDuw&hl=en&fs=1" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed allowfullscreen="true" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/hynKUzZtDuw&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /></center><center><b>1968: Counterculture (Part 3 of 6):</b><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/zs_5A55MOrY&hl=en&fs=1" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed allowfullscreen="true" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/zs_5A55MOrY&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /></center><center><b>1968: International Protests (Part 4 of 6):</b><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/VyCYmqIrZdo&hl=en&fs=1" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed allowfullscreen="true" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/VyCYmqIrZdo&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /></center><center><b>1968: The Long, Hot Summer – </b></center><center><b>“The Whole World is Watching,”</b></center><center><b> “Prague Spring,”</b></center><center><b>and “Mexico City Massacre”</b></center><center><b> (Part 5 of 6):</b><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/0l4n5uw_GFM&hl=en&fs=1" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed allowfullscreen="true" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/0l4n5uw_GFM&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /></center><center><b>1968: Lawlessness, Protest, and Politics –</b></center><center><b>“A Night of Sorrow,”</b></center><center><b> “The Black Power Salute,”</b></center><center><b> “Law and Order Movement,”</b></center><center><b> and “The Selling of a President”</b></center><center><b>(Part 6 of 6):</b><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/3tOMk5IpygA&hl=en&fs=1" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed allowfullscreen="true" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3tOMk5IpygA&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /></center><center>_________________________</center><center><br /></center><center><span style="font-family: inherit;">See also <b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2023/07/1968-the-year-that-shaped-a-generation.html" target="_blank">1968 – The Year that Shaped a Generation (Jennifer’s Viewpoint)<span style="font-size: 11pt; text-align: left;"></span></a></b></span></center><center><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_________________________<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i> Excerpts: Return to Table of Contents</a></b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_______________________<o:p></o:p></p><br /></center>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-44936062856661056282023-07-16T17:35:00.000-07:002023-07-19T17:43:01.875-07:00Memoir Madness – Special Thanks and Acknowledgments<p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizv8GmDy44Ns3n6zVWTo-mHGCz0ZDbprE5KbCRTYiGiM2jFtI1UoGG4poCnx8TPGthYjJxuUTHXE0jNw18gLP_uzXg7JUZml1deZsOnjZHBsPjwXjnkh3xUndo7DfOWXGc0-6z95Su4l1aGPKpCQjOaxiXQO85HuxlyxG9LCrAEUcJi4JOCLToKQLtIv_U/s1024/Men-in-cafe--6June2023-2--cutout-Blue.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1007" data-original-width="1024" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizv8GmDy44Ns3n6zVWTo-mHGCz0ZDbprE5KbCRTYiGiM2jFtI1UoGG4poCnx8TPGthYjJxuUTHXE0jNw18gLP_uzXg7JUZml1deZsOnjZHBsPjwXjnkh3xUndo7DfOWXGc0-6z95Su4l1aGPKpCQjOaxiXQO85HuxlyxG9LCrAEUcJi4JOCLToKQLtIv_U/w320-h315/Men-in-cafe--6June2023-2--cutout-Blue.png" width="320" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt;">To Dr. Mariano
A. Favis, Jr., for being one of the good guys. Your wisdom changed the course
of my life. Thanks to <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/Michael-Klein/author/B000AQ0C6G?ref=ap_rdr&store_ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true" target="_blank">Michael Klein</a></b>, author of <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Track-Conditions-Memoir-Michael-Klein/dp/0299192245" target="_blank">Track Conditions</a></b> and my former Goddard advisor, for his careful comments on my draft; he helped me
to decide what to add and delete – mostly delete.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">Thanks, also, to York College of Pennsylvania’s Faculty Development
Committee for a much-needed grant so that I could finish this book in a timely
manner. Last, but definitely not least, thanks to my husband Jerry Siegel who
read several drafts and offered me many valuable comments and insights.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">Apologies to Jeff Brown, a starring player and still my friend, for his
immense understanding. I can only imagine what it might be like to have one’s
past life dragged out and exposed to the world by an ex-spouse. Also, thanks to
Jeff for reading the drafts and commenting on them.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">Apologies to one bit player: although my husband Jerry had no role in my
life during the late 1960’s, he has patiently accompanied me in my various
quests for information. It must feel strange to read about that other Jennifer,
not quite the Jennifer he met, courted, and married.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">Additional apologies to three offstage players: Eric, my son by Jeff;
Casey, Jeff’s late wife; and Rhia, my granddaughter – Eric’s daughter. They
have absolutely no role in this drama, and yet, by association, they are a
peripheral part of it.<o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-19521061341088642962023-06-12T18:22:00.009-07:002023-06-18T16:20:55.923-07:00Memoir Madness: Driven to Involuntary Commitment<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyYjUU5on9GLi1p-bZqXuCiIAsAn1an8CwT7vmwH4v189G_ttRXRnohivg3V1W8h4hW6PEab3BskeQHhpBbakfghiEmaOx1NkDpAueHWR3wb4EI4DfZPkyOxkKVyFAlMbpIvEzIMGATE3_1EuU6qN35RL3J0NdtjKemu9-Z3odmJdKK7FouBWGQ7IXlg/s3569/FrontBookCover.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="569" data-original-width="394" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyYjUU5on9GLi1p-bZqXuCiIAsAn1an8CwT7vmwH4v189G_ttRXRnohivg3V1W8h4hW6PEab3BskeQHhpBbakfghiEmaOx1NkDpAueHWR3wb4EI4DfZPkyOxkKVyFAlMbpIvEzIMGATE3_1EuU6qN35RL3J0NdtjKemu9-Z3odmJdKK7FouBWGQ7IXlg/w134-h200/FrontBookCover.jpg" width="134" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Memoir-Madness-Driven-Involuntary-Commitment-ebook/dp/B009Z06ESS?" target="_blank">Available on Amazon</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-72765575760550072612023-06-11T18:05:00.003-07:002023-06-17T18:25:21.446-07:00Outtake: San Francisco Municipal Railway Bus Transfer, 1968-1969<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9rHh0F7RnbXNsSG9emN3D7iIEjtzRnYywSldnVcgH1C7cXKwnZAYPBRIKOBOX3duAfTqAm3FtZjxsfO7BUvhZVntXNojWcRJs9KRLkgAStkCXd5gEPlZm-RPgiQn734dM6LKxE12f6htw/s1600/SanFranciscoBusTransfer1968-1969-2--FrontBack.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644851303141610130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9rHh0F7RnbXNsSG9emN3D7iIEjtzRnYywSldnVcgH1C7cXKwnZAYPBRIKOBOX3duAfTqAm3FtZjxsfO7BUvhZVntXNojWcRJs9KRLkgAStkCXd5gEPlZm-RPgiQn734dM6LKxE12f6htw/s400/SanFranciscoBusTransfer1968-1969-2--FrontBack.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 315px;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">San Francisco Municipal Railway Bus Transfer, 1968-1969<br />________________________________________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">In late 1968, Stoney
and I hitchhiked San Francisco.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Evidently, while there, we rode the bus, as evidenced by this bus transfer,
but I don’t recall using public transport, although I do remember construction
was going on for BART.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Even then, I was astounded that the city was actually building a subway
in an earthquake zone ꟷ I mean, who does that?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">We had hitched from Los Angeles; some kind truckers picked us up, so our
trip (going and returning) was fast and easy. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">DISCLAIMER: I don’t recommend hitchhiking at
all, but Stoney and I were young and stupid, and we thought we were invincible.
There were dozens of ways our trip could have gone sideways.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">What I remember most about this trip:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .75in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in;">ꟷ We stayed in a “crash pad”
that was painted a vivid purple and inhabited by a lot of “freaks” (term for
hardcore hippies, not carnival oddities) who liked to party.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .75in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in;">ꟷ I suppose the statute
of limitations has run out by now, so I can admit this: Stoney had about 25
tabs of acid sewn into the lining of his jacket (Later, in early 1969, he made
the same trip alone with 487 tabs sewn into his coat; I decided not to
accompany him on <i>that</i> trip). To tell the truth, I was terrified we would
be picked up by the police; in those days, being caught with drugs in <i>any</i>
amount could have resulted in <i>serious</i> prison time. On my own, I would
have never had anything to do with drug trafficking, but I, impressionable and
naive, was in love with someone who had no problem with selling dope.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Not my best moment in
life.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">I was incredibly lucky in
that I was given another chance to change my life without having to serve time
in the big house. My involuntary commitment in Cherokee was peanuts compared to
what could have been.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .75in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in;">ꟷ I refused to take off
my plastic go-go boots during the entire trip because my feet stunk, and I was
embarrassed about it (Stinky feet have plagued me all my life, but I refrain
from wearing footwear that doesn’t allow my feet to breathe).<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .75in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.75in; text-indent: -0.25in;">ꟷ At Haight-Ashbury, a
stranger gave us brownies baked with marijuana, and we actually ate them. How
stupid was that? I, obviously, lived to tell about it, but, still, eating <i>anything</i>
offered by strangers is risky.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">That’s about it for memories of that infamous trip, but as they say about
the late 1960’s: if you remember them, you weren’t really there.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Who would think that an old bus transfer would stir up so many memories?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_________________________<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i> Excerpts: Return to Table of Contents</a></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_______________________<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">“Outtake: San Francisco
Municipal Railway Bus Transfer, 1968,” © copyright 2008 - present, by Jennifer
Semple Siegel, may not be reprinted or reposted without the express permission
of the author. Published in <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Memoir-Madness-Driven-Involuntary-Commitment-ebook/dp/B009Z06ESS?" target="_blank">Memoir Madness: Driven to Involuntary Commitment</a></b></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-64938410037900995302023-06-10T18:37:00.002-07:002023-06-17T18:34:51.998-07:00Outtake: Jane and the York YWCA<span style="color: white;">* </span><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtxwoOI-HhV5Ucj4RMV_Sfbx-kZOBbckNds1dEJd3vetC_Ws_FxDV-taJ33Zdwl3hV9KNRuJtOSVFFhkyuQVZL4hNaaPnZNe0BNote4CRHoAijZnesoLTZny_Y0Z9qphANtlyYsMXbbKUZ/s1600-h/YWCA+sign+4.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264543780146794866" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtxwoOI-HhV5Ucj4RMV_Sfbx-kZOBbckNds1dEJd3vetC_Ws_FxDV-taJ33Zdwl3hV9KNRuJtOSVFFhkyuQVZL4hNaaPnZNe0BNote4CRHoAijZnesoLTZny_Y0Z9qphANtlyYsMXbbKUZ/s400/YWCA+sign+4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 315px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: .25in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.25in 12pt;"><i>(“Outtakes” are snippets that, for
various reasons, never made it into the published memoir. This essay did not
make the cut because the author decided to end her story [the 1969 thread] just
before she settled in York, and poor Jane* just didn’t fit.)<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>Thursday, May 8, 1969<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>(York, Pennsylvania)<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">After spending
a chilly night in Jeff’s old Valiant, I check into the YWCA.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">My roommate is kind of cool, though she guzzles a lot of beer. She looks
a bit like Mom ꟷ hell, she <i>reminds</i> me of Mom, right down to the red
hair, globs of eye makeup, glazed half-closed eyes, languid hands clenching a
large brown bottle and lit cigarette, lipstick stains on the filter.<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAtQ6EXcovE2dJATdP-JYS6bV4PeHGSG56CgDo_PAyjIY2CI8Jmct71fgwRUTip7zkVolwV3VX5J5foiSg0mwpruSRlR26ivmQwn0wWbkKhhwmr5M_KMDJ1mD64K7wV4iNZ0KMJK5p7Z8h/s1600-h/Bud+Bottle+2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264544368207266994" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAtQ6EXcovE2dJATdP-JYS6bV4PeHGSG56CgDo_PAyjIY2CI8Jmct71fgwRUTip7zkVolwV3VX5J5foiSg0mwpruSRlR26ivmQwn0wWbkKhhwmr5M_KMDJ1mD64K7wV4iNZ0KMJK5p7Z8h/s400/Bud+Bottle+2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 94px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Hey,” she says, as I step into my new (temporary) digs, a large sunny
room with five beds. “I’m supposed to have this room to myself.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I shrug. “This is where the front desk told me to go.” I show her my key.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">She sizes me up. “Well, then, pick a bed,” she says, apparently deciding
I must be okay. “But not too close. I can’t stand snoring. I’m Jane, by the
way.” She doesn’t offer her hand.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Still in her robe, though it was well after noon, Jane sits lotus style
on her bed, pen and cigarette in the same hand, a letter in front of her on the
spread. “I’m writing to my daughter. She’s 13.”</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaX7nQ6kF6IJFiuTYykqo3MIOZ_doX3UIDakq_RZbDj8zuKbiUqaH61obViINcLDjRpI-mGKw09zqH7PDL70DAVEM0hUaTsJXHIk62rm-d9Umg9-o2_3GI_yuLgVf0LonXfma_cZv8-l4RBh-TWJor-WOJzLJdFl-s2jrZjNNeAcgPqr3ILXXLsM9wiA/s1024/Red-headed-woman-on-bed-2.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1009" data-original-width="1024" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaX7nQ6kF6IJFiuTYykqo3MIOZ_doX3UIDakq_RZbDj8zuKbiUqaH61obViINcLDjRpI-mGKw09zqH7PDL70DAVEM0hUaTsJXHIk62rm-d9Umg9-o2_3GI_yuLgVf0LonXfma_cZv8-l4RBh-TWJor-WOJzLJdFl-s2jrZjNNeAcgPqr3ILXXLsM9wiA/s320/Red-headed-woman-on-bed-2.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Jeff follows behind me with my trunk. I point to the bed furthest from
Jane, and he flips the trunk on top of it. He kisses me on the cheek. “Well, I
gotta go,” he says, looking slightly uncomfortable. “You get settled. I’ll pick
you up later.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Okay,” I say, gripping his arm.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">He edges away.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I release him ꟷ he escapes through the door.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">As I unpack a few things ꟷ enough for a couple of days ꟷ Jane, with the
straightest face I’ve ever seen on a drunk person, says, “Okay, house rules of
the Y-W-C-A.” She raises her beer bottle into the air. “No drinking and no
smoking. Got that?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I’m not quite sure what to say.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">She bursts into laughter, a chain smoker’s hacking cackle. She reaches
into a cooler beside her bed and pulls out another beer. “Here,” she says,
pushing the bottle toward me. “I won’t tell, if you don’t.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I take it and pick up the bottle opener on her stand and uncap it.
“Deal.” I take a swig.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“You got man trouble, I see.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Nope.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“He sure flew out of here.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“He’ll be back.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Jane nods.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">My relationship with Jeff will work out ꟷ it just has to.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I <i>won’t</i> go back to Sioux City, no matter what.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a name="_Hlk137665052">_________________________<o:p></o:p></a></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i>
Excerpts: Return to Table of Contents</a><o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_______________________</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">“Outtake: Jane and the YWCA,” © copyright
2013 - present, by Jennifer Semple Siegel, may not be reprinted or reposted
without the express permission of the author. Published in <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Memoir-Madness-Driven-Involuntary-Commitment-ebook/dp/B009Z06ESS?" target="_blank">Memoir Madness: Driven to Involuntary Commitment</a></b></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;">_____________________<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">*Names and
identifying characteristics of some people have been changed to protect their
privacy</span>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;">_____________________</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-89233041889327039902023-05-31T08:27:00.025-07:002023-06-05T14:26:46.195-07:00About Memoir Madness<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yyBsUJEMi0YY2f3oTaQFDAY0mv3qbDBvd6tHRdhLqyKPK9GpQLFBhpXDxmSEUAeyx1YwM5xN6mvLbt6GOk3SHrtmlaAgruTTw6AcwGFkW0lIA88_T4_hFcQ1COUIUfnNBwojkSEYmKLwI-Gp5PBLRfsn5oSs_tAHZZUZqPc1I6pGd5Lh-OINHSyusw/s1024/Celestial-in-blue-and-yellow-2.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1006" data-original-width="1024" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yyBsUJEMi0YY2f3oTaQFDAY0mv3qbDBvd6tHRdhLqyKPK9GpQLFBhpXDxmSEUAeyx1YwM5xN6mvLbt6GOk3SHrtmlaAgruTTw6AcwGFkW0lIA88_T4_hFcQ1COUIUfnNBwojkSEYmKLwI-Gp5PBLRfsn5oSs_tAHZZUZqPc1I6pGd5Lh-OINHSyusw/s320/Celestial-in-blue-and-yellow-2.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><b><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;">About <i>Memoir
Madness</i></span></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/i-driven-memoir-of-teens-involuntary_26.html" target="_blank">Summary</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/i-driven-memoir-of-teens-involuntary_8190.html" target="_blank">Blurb</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/i-driven-memoir-of-teens-involuntary_3567.html" target="_blank">Synopsis</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/i-driven-memoir-of-teens-involuntary_8756.html" target="_blank">Notes on Narrative Threads</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/i-driven-memoir-of-teens-involuntary_9651.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: medium;">Research Note</span></a></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2010/08/excerpts-table-of-contents-for-memoir.html" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: medium;">Excerpts: Table of Contents</span></a></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.whyiwrite.com/2021/12/private-vs-public-writing.html" target="_blank"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Article: Journaling or Memoiring: Private Vs. Public Writing</span></b></a></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">(Jumps to Why I Write website) </span></p></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"> <a href="https://www.whyiwrite.com/2019/11/the-politics-of-memoir.html" target="_blank"><b>Essay: The Politics of Memoir and the Making of Memoir Madness</b></a></span></p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">(Jumps to Why I Write website)</span></p></blockquote></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
</blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left;"><o:p></o:p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-76744149915844368672023-05-30T19:54:00.002-07:002023-06-08T08:39:08.285-07:00Copyright, Privacy, and Accuracy Notice<p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNdbxY1jkaWS4e8OW0JrkUbA5vaamzxL7ug98hMGJgS-pHbd6-yRaa0Rc7j3iTGA560Zaeh_pnyw5t8WNkZyYOJDUrfWUCF0A7kXyoTIzP0K-QI8HYqOcwyNWqBb07j5--e3eStgwrCvS6kJRNNtorFz85UNGVsJi1F3Fr64p5jxA9OyUAWBOZJnGD-A/s1023/Quarter-Moon-Blue-and-yellow-5.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1007" data-original-width="1023" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNdbxY1jkaWS4e8OW0JrkUbA5vaamzxL7ug98hMGJgS-pHbd6-yRaa0Rc7j3iTGA560Zaeh_pnyw5t8WNkZyYOJDUrfWUCF0A7kXyoTIzP0K-QI8HYqOcwyNWqBb07j5--e3eStgwrCvS6kJRNNtorFz85UNGVsJi1F3Fr64p5jxA9OyUAWBOZJnGD-A/s320/Quarter-Moon-Blue-and-yellow-5.png" width="320" /></a></b></div><b><br /><span style="color: red;">Copyright
Notice:</span></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">All creative nonfiction excerpts posted on <b>MemoirMadness.com</b>
are copyright © Jennifer Semple Siegel (unless otherwise specified), 1969 -
present, and may not be reposted or reprinted without express permission from
the author.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Guest writers and artists,
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indicated, all text is original.<o:p></o:p></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b><span style="color: red;">Accuracy Notice:</span><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><i>Memoir Madness: Driven to Involuntary
Commitment </i>is a work of nonfiction.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">However, some names and/or
minor characteristics of real people have been changed to protect their
privacy. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Nicknames have been used
for some real people, most notably, Stoney.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Some minor locales have
been changed. The Crystal Ship was a real rock/head shop, but the name and
locale have been changed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">For coherence and literary
purposes, some passages have been compressed, expanded, or shifted around. Some
scenes and dialogue have been recreated.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">The timelines, late 1968
to May 9, 1969, April 2002, and August 2004 are accurate, and the facts of the
case are correct, including the amount of time the memoirist spent in the
Cherokee Mental Health Institute in Cherokee, Iowa.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Events for which the
memoirist has no documentation and/or memory of exact dates have been presented
as flashbacks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-indent: 0.25in;">Minor factual errors,
albeit unintentional, are the memoirist’s alone. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-75576821527335259462015-09-15T14:19:00.052-07:002023-06-12T18:03:43.913-07:00Welcome to Memoir Madness: Driven to Involuntary Commitment<p style="text-align: center;"> <b><span style="color: red; font-size: 24.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Welcome!</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt;"><i>Memoir
Madness</i>, a coming-of-age story, chronicles 18-year-old Jennifer Semple’s remarkable
counterculture journey, beginning on the colorful streets of 1968 Hollywood and
culminating in 1969 with her escape from an Iowa mental institution.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">More about <i>Memoir Madness</i>:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .25in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><b>Christmas Eve, 1968</b>, from lunar orbit,
Apollo 8 astronauts deliver their Christmas message, a passage from Genesis.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .25in;">On earth, 18-year-old
Jennifer Semple embarks on her own odyssey, happening on the steamy streets of
Hollywood, where heads, hippies, drug dealers, freaks, strippers, groupies,
college students, Jesus Freaks, counterculture gurus, drag queens, rock stars
and wannabe rocksters, Svengalis, and con artists converge during one of the
most volatile periods in history.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .25in;">After Jennifer’s drug-dealing
boyfriend abandons her and cops threaten incarceration, her legal guardians
convince the girl to return to Iowa, to “get her head on straight.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .25in;">Instead, Jennifer is involuntarily
committed to a mental institution in Cherokee, Iowa, where she is introduced to
a world of questionable psychiatric treatments, doctors, psychologists, and
social workers.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .25in;">While incarcerated, she
corresponds with a new boyfriend and interacts with other patients: a
psychopathic predator; a 17-year-old unwed mother; a teen cutter obsessed with
rats; a young married mother enthralled with “10 ways of suicide”; and a mentally
challenged man, a 25-year resident, among others.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .25in;">Finally released, she
flees Iowa, escaping to Pennsylvania.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .25in;">Years later, Jennifer,
seeking another kind of release, has returned to Cherokee, this time
voluntarily and as a visitor.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .25in;">“I was driven to Cherokee,”
the memoirist says, referring to a northwest Iowa regionalism synonymous with
being committed. “Writing this memoir has driven Cherokee from me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .25in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .25in;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Memoir-Madness-Driven-Involuntary-Commitment-ebook/dp/B009Z06ESS?" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness: Driven to Involuntary Commitment</i> is available
on Amazon</a> </b>(print or ebook).<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">Sample excerpts, which may differ slightly from the final version found
in the published book, are posted here and accessible via the <b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank">Table of Contents</a></b>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">Getting around this site is simple; no matter where you are, the panel on
the left, accessed by clicking on the three bars (upper left), offers relevant
internal and external links: author’s homepage <b><a href="https://www.whyiwrite.com/" target="_blank">Why I Write</a></b>, author’s bio (<b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/jennifer-semple-siegels-bio.html" target="_blank">short</a></b> and <b><a href="https://www.whyiwrite.com/2019/11/why-i-write-jennifers-story.html" target="_blank">long</a></b>),
<i>Memoir Madness</i> excerpts, and <i>Memoir Madness</i> <b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2023/05/about-memoir-madness.html" target="_blank">notes</a></b>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; text-indent: .25in;">Again, welcome to <i>Memoir Madness</i>!</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-69123199639275354972015-09-11T22:18:00.008-07:002023-06-21T21:33:34.434-07:00October 1968: Wild Man Fischer's Merry-go-round<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b></b></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMOAwvacRswfRDTZbg24Bni0D8MAuc09JRlflDgVURJnu24WnwWzHPqFtjlWgaD8ZzNa9Qd-xD1u8At8pq_-Z_zbYasu5QscY6MZMTo-BWxZOucLaGP17gHXdmXw61DWRwVLvP_sMKvbjELDQeyFF6Od4YcZN_f7_CZ2qIjgHuDbteM6tHWBpvvi1O3dwi/s1112/Wild-Man-Fischer--Public-Domain--21June2023.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1112" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMOAwvacRswfRDTZbg24Bni0D8MAuc09JRlflDgVURJnu24WnwWzHPqFtjlWgaD8ZzNa9Qd-xD1u8At8pq_-Z_zbYasu5QscY6MZMTo-BWxZOucLaGP17gHXdmXw61DWRwVLvP_sMKvbjELDQeyFF6Od4YcZN_f7_CZ2qIjgHuDbteM6tHWBpvvi1O3dwi/s320/Wild-Man-Fischer--Public-Domain--21June2023.jpg" width="230" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Wild Man Fisher
in front of the Troubadour Los Angeles around 1975.</span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">By Serarphoto - <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wild_Man_Fischer#/media/File:Wild_man_fisher.jpg" target="_blank">Public Domain</a></b></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">____________________________________</div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>(Hollywood)<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">As Stoney,
Jeff, and I prowled the strip, we ran into <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wild_Man_Fischer" target="_blank">Wild Man Fischer</a></b>, clenching a tape recorder, one of those portable <b><a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=juliette+portable+tape+recorder&ei=ZReTZLG2Nq2v5NoP6M22qAI&ved=0ahUKEwjx_Jn-1tT_AhWtF1kFHeimDSUQ4dUDCBA&oq=juliette+portable+tape+recorder&gs_lcp=Cgxnd3Mtd2l6LXNlcnAQDDIFCCEQoAEyBQghEKsCMgUIIRCrAjoKCAAQRxDWBBCwAzoFCAAQogQ6CAghEKABEMMEOgoIIRCgARDDBBAKSgQIQRgAUL4JWP9jYN52aAFwAHgAgAH8AYgBshuSAQYwLjE3LjSYAQCgAQHAAQHIAQg&sclient=gws-wiz-serp#ip=1" target="_blank">Juliettes</a></b>,
blasting a song from his new album <i>An Evening with Wild Man Fischer</i>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">He shoved it under my nose and shouted, “Hear my song?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/CHqR1Rql5r8&hl=en&fs=1" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed allowfullscreen="true" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/CHqR1Rql5r8&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425"></embed></object></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Merry Go Round Song, by Wild Man Fischer (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CHqR1Rql5r8&feature=related"><strong><span style="color: #01ffff;">hleaf</span></strong></a><span style="text-align: left;">)</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;">__________________</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><i>C’mon let’s merry go, merry go, merry go
round! Boop boop boop!</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><i>Merry go, merry go, merry go round! Boop
boop boop!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><i>Merry go, merry go, merry go round! Boop
boop boop!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><i>Me and you can go merry go round!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><i>It’s very easy, just go up and down!<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><i>C’mon, c’mon let’s merry go, merry go,
merry go round! Boop boop boop!</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: right;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ꟷ “Merry-Go-Round,”
Wild Man Fischer<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Yes, Wild Man, we hear it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“You like my song?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“It’s a cool song.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“You wanna buy it? Only ten cents.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Not today, Wild Man. Thanks, anyway.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">A pest, but harmless ꟷ probably a <i>rich</i> pest. He fit his name; he
was manic, always wound up tight, fast like a fly or hummingbird. He even
looked manic: eyes practically popping out of his head, his hair, black and
frizzy, stuck out at all angles. He wore a loud yellow shirt with blobs of red,
orange, and green, and flip flops, though, sometimes, only one, even when it was
cold. Plus, he was constantly running around the strip with that tape recorder.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I’ve heard that he’d spent some time in a mental hospital.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I’ll play it again,” he said, pushing the rewind button.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“That’s okay.” We inched away.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but he had a way of getting under
your skin. And then he’d be off to the next group of freaks. They were all out
tonight, unusual for a weeknight: Julius Caesar, drag queens, streetwalkers ꟷ a
circus. We verbally sparred with Caesar, an old dude, his Roman soldier costume
stolen from 20th Century Fox. He harassed tourists, the middle-aged straights
who arrived on the strip decked out in Hawaiian shirts, Bermuda shorts, straw
hats, and sunglasses, big clunky cameras around their necks, loud voices: “Hey,
Herman, look at the dirty hippies.” Everyone was a dirty hippie because the
straights couldn’t distinguish between groups that populate the strip.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Caesar yelled out his standard slogans: “LBJ is a necrophiliac; he digs
dead dudes” and “All the way with LBJ; Lady Bird Johnson is a nymphomaniac.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">What a freak; his slogans angered many of the gawkers, who turned red.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Some even yelled back, “America: Love it or Leave it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Caesar paid no attention to the counter-yellers ꟷ like he was in a
trance.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">What a nark.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_________________________<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i> Excerpts: Return to Table of Contents</a></b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_______________________<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">“Flashback: Wild
Man Fischer’s Merry-go-round (October-1968),” © copyright 2008 - present, by
Jennifer Semple Siegel, may not be reprinted or reposted without the express
permission of the author. Published in <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Memoir-Madness-Driven-Involuntary-Commitment-ebook/dp/B009Z06ESS?" target="_blank">Memoir Madness: Driven to Involuntary Commitment</a></b><o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-91758666855780828962015-09-07T19:19:00.009-07:002023-06-22T08:57:08.755-07:00Anonymous: A Young Man's Journey to and From Cherokee: Afraid and Involuntary, So When Will You Listen?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg956AddnLv6isRakrh-B23jUH0KnWVVpm3voNj7JJvzs5aD6_3aMHU1MdNT0qKw9gWG91fmKtpWEG2jDfhqaYEGKVudjGJCxlF7cAVE2zOVEnwKx4usLBFEPQgwb05vWzCJrW0FJkfFmg3WrQsjz6TvwHuZD118UqJahJITArOv6muHHKi4X0CCPh090LZ/s800/Cherokee600x800Ink.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg956AddnLv6isRakrh-B23jUH0KnWVVpm3voNj7JJvzs5aD6_3aMHU1MdNT0qKw9gWG91fmKtpWEG2jDfhqaYEGKVudjGJCxlF7cAVE2zOVEnwKx4usLBFEPQgwb05vWzCJrW0FJkfFmg3WrQsjz6TvwHuZD118UqJahJITArOv6muHHKi4X0CCPh090LZ/s320/Cherokee600x800Ink.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">[<i>Editor’s note: The following was written
by a young man who emailed me using his real name. He has given me permission
to publish this piece here. However, I have decided to post this anonymously,
given how, even in the 21st Century, there is still a stigma attached to mental
health issues. For informational purposes, I have also provided links to the
books and websites he has mentioned, but I have not vetted them. As of June 22,
2023, the links to websites were live.</i>]<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">I was
involuntarily committed to Cherokee in May 1990 for a month and a half. I was
court ordered there through Mary Greeley Hospital in Ames, Iowa. I wanted a
cigarette and there was no smoking on the psych ward in Mary Greeley.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The doctor recorded in my file reported I went “berserk.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I was not allowed to smoke, so yeah, at 21, scared, and addicted, I
wanted to smoke.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Open door with a white line from door jamb to door jamb, a young black
male attendant at his desk inside, my name under an open shelf just inside this
line to my left, I played with the attendant putting my steel-toed boot toe
over the line, pointing to my cheap cigs. Play became power play, and he gave
me an ultimatum.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I ended up here because I was terrified of the half-way house in Ames. I
was having a reaction to Prozac and whatever else they had me on, and seeing
young people drooling from over medication, my roommate having a <i>petite-mal</i>
seizure while I was sleeping, seeing people for the first time with razor marks
all over their legs and arms, sneaking out and drinking while on medication,
unable to connect with anyone there with any empathy or clarity. I climbed up a
pine tree in the front yard like when I was a child. Hiding there a while, I
began ranting to the people below about my ideals, what I had wanted in life.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Then the cop came.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I cried because I was scared of what he would do. I came down, and they
had my Mom on the phone; she convinced me to sign myself in as I couldn’t come
home like I desperately wanted. I didn’t know what I was signing. So was I
voluntary now? I still don’t know.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I was led to a waiting room by the cop. My little suitcase, my boom box
that I had just received for my 21st birthday sitting on a sterling steel
table. Mary Greeley Hospital’s psych ward was full. The cop shackled my arms
and legs as I cried desperately asking why. Driven to Iowa Falls to another
psych ward, there for less than a week. Climbing a tree and ranting was
reported in the file as a “bizarre suicide threat.” I do not remember saying I
wanted to die up there.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Back at the white line and ultimatum, the black male attendant grabbed my
arms and forced me into a white room. I fought back for a cig! The white room
had a ceiling that lifted. Found some metal bars. Shoved them through the small
glass window. Fucking with them. “I’ll cut myself with this if you won’t give
me a cig...” I hid an iron bar down my pants. They opened the door. Five-eight
men. I asked them, “So are you giving me a cig?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“No, we’re not.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Okay.” I pulled out the iron bar dramatically and began pleading with
them that I just wanted to smoke and it’s all of this.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">They convinced me they would let me smoke if I handed over the bar. The
tender hippie in me overcame the punk rocker in me, apparently. I handed them
the bar, still deal making, and wanting to believe them.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">They led me to the room with the gurney.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I walked in, defeated, but going to try and fight one more time. “Ah,
man, you’re going to strap me to THIS!? OKAY, I’m gonna try and run out of
here, you guys ready? ONE, TWO, THREE!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">They caught me mid-air and threw me down on the gurney, shackled me
violently, and shot me full of I-don’t-know-what. I was out for what seemed
days. I vaguely remember someone having to lead me to the bathroom, to help me
wipe my ass. I was in a similar state when my court-appointed attorney was
sitting next to me for committal to Cherokee.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I was diagnosed and believed and wanted to know what I WAS for almost 20
years, ALL of which I now do not believe. Manic depressive, mood disorder,
personality disorder, psychotic features, major depression. I have been
med-free for four years. I still suffer and grieve from the trauma I
experienced through the psychiatric system. So-called friends and family still
want to believe in diagnosis to explain this trauma, still want to believe medication
is a NEEDED part of the solution.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Now 21 years clean and sober, I know that abandonment and rejection
issues as well as authority figure issues have nothing to do with diagnosis. At
21, I was experiencing intense trauma and fear after my first breakup, a
tumultuous three-year relationship that I desperately believed I needed more
than having a direction for my life. I had been smoking pot and drinking
addictively, tripping on acid, taking mushrooms, and not eating or sleeping
well. I believe this led to my suicidal ideation at the time of my break-up,
where my Mom, an RN, only knew of psychiatry to take care of me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I don’t remember getting into a helicopter, but do remember landing and
being shackled to another man as we slowly touched down to the landing strip
near Cherokee. I was taken by a cop inside. Questioned in a large room at a
large desk by a woman. Taken to the adult ward and immediately shot full of
something that I had a reaction to as my jaw and body seized up. She shot me
full of something else, and I slept. I was terrified of my surroundings. I was
terrified of people who were “rotting” there for I don’t know how long. I was
terrified by the ignorance and apathy towards other patients and me, the lack
of empathy or understanding or kindness by nurses or doctors, the judgment, the
distrust. So, I got out by telling them what they wanted to hear. I remember
talking to Mom once at a pay phone, desperately crying to be rescued from this
place. She wanted me to go along with the “treatment” there and do as they say
and not get into power struggles. She had heard I “questioned” the food and
“argued” with the cafeteria worker about what I was eating.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The traumatizing experiences I witnessed while there offered no
protection. I was terrified of many people who were patients there as well. The
sounds they made, their shaking and drooling, and zombified looks from
medications, smells, sadness, anger, feeling lost. No connection, paranoia,
delusional stories, and I listened and protected myself by staying away.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The one good session I remember involved asking the doctor what he
thought Robin Williams’ diagnosis was. I forget his answer.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">But the traumatic examples? Seeing a woman bloody after putting her arm
through a window, screaming; being leered at by sexual predators; a man paying
another man for sexual favors when the man being used had no self-esteem. This
abused man had an older man from the outside drive me and him off the grounds
in an older Cadillac and buy us a carton of cigarettes and candy. This older
man tried to make out with me, but I politely said no. He didn’t force himself,
fortunately. How this older man got me out on a [town] pass when I was court
ordered, twice, I will never know. I found out later this older man used this
man sexually for sex routinely when he was let out of Cherokee.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The tunnels connecting the buildings at Cherokee were terrifying and
unmonitored, from what I could tell, though I’m sure there were cameras.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I saw so many women overly sedated and unable to speak, let alone think
clearly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I was overly sedated as well. However, the sedation I enjoyed was some <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feral_cannabis" target="_blank">ditch weed</a></b> from a harmless guy who
had been there since the 70’s, scraggly brown beard and long hair, teeth
rotting out of his head, kind eyes, scared eyes. He talked like Scooby-Doo.
Beers from a Vietnam vet who snuck off the grounds and who had first welcomed
me. A job cleaning the golf course sized grounds of debris while listening to
my Walkman playing Simple Minds Live, OMD, MLK giving his “free at last” speech
on one of the songs, bringing me to tears.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I hope Cherokee shuts down. I am glad to hear they are considering
Community-based mental health treatment centers instead, hopefully based on a
model, similar to the peer run center in Western Massachusetts with its <b><a href="https://wildfloweralliance.org/" target="_blank">Recovery Learning Community Center</a></b>. I have
considered going to Cherokee to see it shut down for good!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">We need more advocates for people in the mid-west, more people who are
peer supporters who are psychiatric survivors! The indignity and shame and
trauma these places bring with NO accountability because it’s the system and
fear based and shame-based!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Check out the book <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Mad-America-Medicine-Enduring-Mistreatment/dp/1501215469" target="_blank">Mad in America</a></b>! Check out <b><a href="http://willhall.net/" target="_blank">Will Hall</a></b>! Check out <b><a href="https://www.madnessradio.net/ " target="_blank">Madness Radio</a></b>! Connect with peer support on <b><a href="https://fireweedcollective.org/" target="_blank">The Icarus Project</a></b>! Don’t listen to the shame and
trauma from the American Psychiatric Association! Don’t listen to their power
and control! Find empowerment in yourself! We do not have chemical brain
disorders! This is a lie! Find out for yourself. Check out the Mad in America https://www.madinamerica.com/
website. Read or listen to <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/0307452417/?tag=googhydr-20&hvadid=51905088925&hvpos=1t1&hvexid=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=4537982250037447463&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=b&hvdev=c&ref=pd_sl_5ga1ckc2ig_b" target="_blank">Anatomy of an Epidemic</a></b>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">You are all not alone! You’re right! These people who are clinging to
power and control and FEAR, who have lived and been engrossed in believing they
are “doing what's best” in this outdated mental health system are broken just
as our system is! Find compassion and lived experience empathy. <i>Say</i> NO
to power and control, you know it when you hear it and feel it! <b><a href="http://www.dialogicpractice.net/" target="_blank">Open Dialogue</a></b> is available! Let’s find empathic
support that isn’t being motivated by drug company money!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">If you do not feel safe, I understand. If you need medication and a
diagnosis to feel safe, I understand. I am speaking from a place of survival
and a desperate need for hope and connection that brings empowerment to my
life. I have my story, I grieve, and I confront how my experiences have broken
my heart and those who have been close to me. I want to believe there’s another
way to heal than what I’ve had. Insanity, as I’ve heard described in recovery
several times, is doing something over and over again and getting the same
results. Whoever reads this, I hope you find a way to survive and live within
yourself and ultimately be safe and empowered with different results.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_________________________<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i> Excerpts: Return to Table of
Contents</a></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_______________________<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">“A Young Man’s
Journey to and From Cherokee, Afraid and Involuntary, So When Will You Listen?”
© copyright 2015 - present, by Anonymous, may not be reprinted or reposted
without the express permission of the author.<o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-69201199371451481132015-08-26T11:11:00.035-07:002023-06-05T13:39:04.172-07:00The Politics of Memoir and the Making of Memoir Madness<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPTv1S8PIjkCDDP7EFk0OJIaDG3hmLxjcshA0VpRvbtxBI6je67ilUYsrg6mFY1F6JnH_YNBgeiZaHkWOVy67aBFpdqXcK9vWKsPQGP-1t9JYObOcTlQws8swNb5edu8hkGVJ4aJFA9Do/s1600/JenniferJeffJubilant1970waterBrightPoster2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="783" data-original-width="900" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPTv1S8PIjkCDDP7EFk0OJIaDG3hmLxjcshA0VpRvbtxBI6je67ilUYsrg6mFY1F6JnH_YNBgeiZaHkWOVy67aBFpdqXcK9vWKsPQGP-1t9JYObOcTlQws8swNb5edu8hkGVJ4aJFA9Do/s320/JenniferJeffJubilant1970waterBrightPoster2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jennifer Semple and Jeffrey Brown<br />April 1970<br />_________________________</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .75in; margin-right: .75in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.75in 12pt;">
<i>While my ex-husband Jeff might feel
uncomfortable with my treatment of him, my memoir isn’t about our life together
but our life apart at a time when we wanted to be together.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 1.25in; margin-right: .75in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.75in 12pt 1.25in;">
~ Jennifer Semple Siegel<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">
_______________________________________<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">
When <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frank_McCourt" target="_blank">Frank McCourt</a></b> published his poignant coming-of-age memoir <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angela%27s_Ashes" target="_blank">Angela’s Ashes</a></b>, he did not set out to enrage readers and the people he portrayed. Certainly, a
cursory check on <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B000FBJFSC?_encoding=UTF8&isInIframe=1&n=133140011&ref_=dp_proddesc_0&s=digital-text&showDetailProductDesc=1#iframe-wrapper" target="_blank">Amazon for book reviews</a></b>, one would be hard-pressed to find too many negative reviews for this Pulitzer
prize-winning masterpiece. However, in Ireland, specifically Limerick,
controversy regarding the veracity of the book continues. On <b><i>Limerick</i></b>
(Now a revamped <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limerick_Leader" target="_blank">Limerick Leader</a></b>, whose online articles begin in 2006), journalist <b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kevin_Cullen" target="_blank">Kevin Cullen</a></b> describes an incident at a local book signing:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: .5in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.5in 12pt;">
In July [1997], when [McCourt] did a
book-signing at <b><a href="https://www.omahonys.ie/" target="_blank">O’Mahony’s</a></b>, a Limerick bookstore he got thrown out of as a child, one of his
contemporaries, <b><a href="https://www.thefreelibrary.com/PORTRAIT+OF+AN+UNHAPPY+CHILDHOOD%3F-a060857267" target="_blank">Paddy Malone</a></b>, stood before him and denounced him while tearing up a paperback copy of the
book. Malone was a classmate of McCourt’s at <b><a href="https://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/profiles/passedfailed-an-education-in-the-life-of-frank-mccourt-author-517596.html" target="_blank">Leamy School</a></b>, which McCourt portrayed as a place where most teachers delighted in humiliating
the students, especially those who came from the lanes, the slums that housed
the poorest of Limerick. (Note: <b><a href="https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/obituaries/culture-obituaries/books-obituaries/5867097/Frank-McCourt.html" target="_blank">The Telegraph</a></b> covers some of this controversy in Frank McCourt’s 20 July 2009 obituary,
albeit without this direct quote.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">
Cullen notes that Malone’s complaint may have more to do with money than
truth. Malone claimed that McCourt had purloined a schoolboy photo that Malone
owned and used it for his book cover without permission, and, subsequently,
McCourt’s old school pal has hired a lawyer. This legal battle continued, at
least through 1999.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;"><a href="https://www.whyiwrite.com/2019/11/the-politics-of-memoir.html" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">Read More Here</a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">For Memoir and Journaling Tips, <b><a href="https://www.whyiwrite.com/2021/12/private-vs-public-writing.html" target="_blank">Read Here</a></b>.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">(Both links jump to <b><a href="https://www.whyiwrite.com/" target="_blank">Why I Write</a></b>, the author’s homepage)</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_______________________________________</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-12721532954287553072010-08-20T00:38:00.075-07:002023-09-07T12:17:43.861-07:00Excerpts: Table of Contents for Memoir Madness<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><span style="font-size: 130%;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnXK2ubWt51ENhsupbsoLle78j0ijJoB20f-4k87a5z-e7A8A0T2qOtuUdqhVlQIxNB4VAjaOO73_YSYmeWuD4wozRfHV_AnKQnFDkBtnNj1Fn9ORayDoysxtcu7wDl-FSBj71His2386m8OTYUgWRLYBC2fpM3bBXVoqQYl8I2AT4e4qCrhjUPJ7Pzg/s909/2MemoirMadnessCoverJSSiegelKindle100.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="909" data-original-width="624" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnXK2ubWt51ENhsupbsoLle78j0ijJoB20f-4k87a5z-e7A8A0T2qOtuUdqhVlQIxNB4VAjaOO73_YSYmeWuD4wozRfHV_AnKQnFDkBtnNj1Fn9ORayDoysxtcu7wDl-FSBj71His2386m8OTYUgWRLYBC2fpM3bBXVoqQYl8I2AT4e4qCrhjUPJ7Pzg/s320/2MemoirMadnessCoverJSSiegelKindle100.jpg" width="220" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Memoir-Madness-Driven-Involuntary-Commitment-ebook/dp/B009Z06ESS?" target="_blank">Available on Amazon</a></b></td></tr></tbody></table><br />*</span></strong></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b>Before the Institution<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/caged-prologue.html" target="_blank">Prologue: Caged</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-1-crystal-ship.html" target="_blank">Chapter One: The Crystal Ship</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-1-blue-moons.html" target="_blank">Chapter One: Blue Moons</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-2-dark-side.html" target="_blank">Chapter Two: Dark Side</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-2-flying-solo.html" target="_blank">Chapter Two: Flying Solo</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-2-weed-and-seeds.html" target="_blank">Chapter Two: Weed and Seeds</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-2-funny-little-naked-clowns.html" target="_blank">Chapter Two: Funny Little Naked Clowns</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-2-decision-time.html" target="_blank">Chapter Two: Decision Time</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-2-thirteen-tabs.html" target="_blank">Chapter Two: Thirteen Tabs</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-3-wallichs-music-city-and.html" target="_blank"><b>Chapter
Three: Wallichs Music City and Eleanor</b><b>’</b><b>s Radio</b></a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapters-4-and-6-fire.html" target="_blank"><b>Chapters
Four and Six: New Year</b><b>’</b></a><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapters-4-and-6-fire.html" target="_blank">s Eve, 1968 – Fire</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-8-rudy.html" target="_blank">Chapter Eight: Rudy</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/chapter-10-cops.html" target="_blank">Chapter Ten: Cops</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-11-luckiest-hand.html" target="_blank">Chapter Eleven: The Luckiest Hand</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-12-downers.html" target="_blank">Chapter Twelve: Downers</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-23-sioux-city-blues.html" target="_blank">Chapter Twenty Three: Sioux City Blues</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-24-while-i-kiss-sky.html" target="_blank">Chapter Twenty Four: ...“While I Kiss the Sky”</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-26-miracle-of-google.html" target="_blank">Chapter Twenty six: The Miracle of Google</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-30-there-must-be-some-way-outta.html" target="_blank">Chapter Thirty: There Must be Some Way Outta Here</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-38-what-to-do-with-my-life.html" target="_blank">Chapter
Thirty Eight: What to <i>Do</i> With My Life?</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-41-my-country-tis-of-thee-sweet.html" target="_blank">Chapter Forty One: My Country ‘Tis of Thee, Sweet Land of Tyranny</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-51-nabbed-at-bus-station.html" target="_blank">Chapter Fifty One: Nabbed at the Bus Station</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-53-lets-see-what-police-have-to.html" target="_blank">Chapter Fifty Three: “Let’s See What the Police Have to Say”</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-54-possible-scenario-at-police.html" target="_blank">Chapter Fifty Four: A Possible Scenario at the Police Station</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-56-driven.html" target="_blank">Chapter Fifty Six: Driven</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/chapter-58-driven-2.html" target="_blank">Chapter Fifty Eight: Driven 2</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b><o:p> </o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b>The Institution<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/institution-first-five-days.html" target="_blank">The First Five Days</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/other-patients-perky-penny.html" target="_blank">The Other Patients: Perky Penny</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/other-patients-carrie-cutter.html" target="_blank">The Other Patients: Carrie the Cutter</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/other-patients-joyce.html" target="_blank">The Other Patients: Joyce</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/other-patients-dj-mighty-sage.html" target="_blank">The Other Patients: D.J., The Mighty Sage</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/other-patients-anna-on-lam.html" target="_blank">The Other Patients: Anna on the Lam</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/institution-proving-my-sanity.html" target="_blank">Proving My Sanity</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b><i><o:p> </o:p></i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b>After the Institution<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/release-from-insitution-denises-tips.html" target="_blank">Denise’s Tips</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/leaving-sioux-city-dee-dee.html" target="_blank">Leaving Sioux City: Dee Dee</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/epilogue-short-history-of-cherokee.html" target="_blank">Epilogue: A Short History of the Cherokee Mental Health Institute</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b><o:p> </o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b>Flashbacks (Fall 1968)<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/october-1968-rev-arthur-blessitt-and.html" target="_blank">October 1968: Rev. Arthur Blessitt and His Place</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/october-12-1968-mothers-warning.html" target="_blank">October 12, 1968: A Mother’s Warning</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/october-12-1968-birthday-party.html" target="_blank">October 12, 1968: The Birthday Party</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/12/october-1968-wild-man-fischers-merry-go.html" target="_blank">October 1968: Wild Man Fischer’s Merry-go-round</a></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b><br /></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><b>Outtakes<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2023/07/1968-the-year-that-shaped-a-generation.html" target="_blank">Outtake: 1968 – The Year that Shaped a Generation (Jennifer's Viewpoint)</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2023/07/1968-the-year-that-shaped-a-generation-documentary.html" target="_blank">Outtake: 1968 – The Year that Shaped a Generation (Documentary)</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2023/06/outtake-jane-and-york-ywca.html" target="_blank">Outtake: Jane and the YWCA</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2023/07/letter-to-cynthia.html" target="_blank">Outtake: Letter from Hollywood to Cynthia*</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2023/08/outtake-note-on-manson-family-and-cult-of-personality.html" target="_blank">Outtake: A Note on the Manson Family and the “Cult of Personality” (with a 2023 update)</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2023/06/bus-transfer.html" target="_blank">Outtake: San Francisco Municipal Railway Bus Transfer, 1968-1969 </a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2023/09/outtake-three-challenges-and-a-triumph.html" target="_blank">Outtake: Three Challenges and a Triumph (?)</a><o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">__________________________________</p><p></p>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-69383634960862693222008-12-02T22:10:00.007-08:002023-06-22T11:52:43.408-07:00Flashback: The Birthday Party (October 12, 1968)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidx6HD0U5q_70VGSxcjehE7F4WEv1QsjQttAhXmmcU7gE0KC8Z4bsWFxIVHLTmmF4dsDGlPfasmyI8iH1ThbFSjW5B50NEVKFAfHvdwbRjfLuKra-iwU3TEipfIIauebEwadnfYCYvL3C7PLWEbaQucz6kXoC6wZcSDaHJcle2VzueOorNdxyPzoA_eQtY/s432/SkopjeRainbowArtistic.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="324" data-original-width="432" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidx6HD0U5q_70VGSxcjehE7F4WEv1QsjQttAhXmmcU7gE0KC8Z4bsWFxIVHLTmmF4dsDGlPfasmyI8iH1ThbFSjW5B50NEVKFAfHvdwbRjfLuKra-iwU3TEipfIIauebEwadnfYCYvL3C7PLWEbaQucz6kXoC6wZcSDaHJcle2VzueOorNdxyPzoA_eQtY/s320/SkopjeRainbowArtistic.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Rainbow (Artwork by Jennifer Semple Siegel)<br />____________________________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>(Hollywood)<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">Finally! My <i>real</i>
birthday party.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">When Eleanor and I arrived at Rudy’s, Pam was already there with her new
old man, a tall, about 6’5”, Indian dude, like from India, with wide shoulders
and huge brown muscles.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“This is Draino,” Pam, barely five-foot, said, tucked under his arm.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I dreenk anything, hence the name.” He crushed Pam against him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“He <b><i><a href="https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/drop%20acid" target="_blank">drops</a></i></b> anything.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The party in full swing, Mel, Derrick, and some chick with them were
stoned out of their heads. She looked about 15 ꟷ no way should she have been at
a party like this.<o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvk-ALDQ9SdMfV1ECH67mP2ViYklAJAvZ74Nbjmo1vQbKAwP4zHbBAb_Q_Wugnzs98oU2t7T97eM51l6elFPZR9qjB5NxsIpD1Wd1julis58KVW0AGYUnxAccISqcP19fg3Sz6tkBn4ZZD1ugz5ehxJh7KdwR4vPc9iBy6M6xTyqew3h2S_7XtmVGJ6ffv/s400/Hippies%202%20Glowing.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="299" data-original-width="400" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvk-ALDQ9SdMfV1ECH67mP2ViYklAJAvZ74Nbjmo1vQbKAwP4zHbBAb_Q_Wugnzs98oU2t7T97eM51l6elFPZR9qjB5NxsIpD1Wd1julis58KVW0AGYUnxAccISqcP19fg3Sz6tkBn4ZZD1ugz5ehxJh7KdwR4vPc9iBy6M6xTyqew3h2S_7XtmVGJ6ffv/s320/Hippies%202%20Glowing.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Party (by Jennifer Semple Siegel)<br />____________________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="text-indent: 0.25in;">Eleanor and Derrick on the outs.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">There were some new people here, too, my eye on a dark-haired dude across
the room.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Rudy greeted me like I was his best friend in the world. “For the
birthday girl, I have a special present.” He handed me a tab of multi-colored
acid. “Rainbow. Supposed to be the best on the street.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The Rolling Stones’ “She’s a Rainbow” blasts from two large speakers.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I slipped the Rainbow into my pocket. For later. I wanted to check out
the dude across the room, who had caught my eye.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“We get together tonight?” Rudy slid his arm around my shoulder.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Maybe later.” I slipped away. “Thanks for the present.” I found Pam, on
the sofa, her top off, kissing Draino.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Pam,” I said, tapping on her bare shoulder.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Honey, can’t you see I’m busy?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I need to talk with you.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Pam sighed, disengaged from Draino, and threw on her top. “What’s up?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Rudy wants to ball me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Cool!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Not cool.” I nodded toward the dude across the room. “I want to meet<i> him</i>.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“You don’t know what you’re missing. You’ve been anointed.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“That’s okay. How do I get out of it?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Look. The thing about Rudy, he doesn’t push ꟷ doesn’t have to. He’s got
women lined up. He’ll get over it, maybe try again some time, but not tonight.
Go to Prince Charming over there.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I pulled the tab out of my pocket. “He gave me this.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Whoa, girl, that’s some super shit. You lucky bitch.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Maybe I should give it back.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“That’s another thing about Rudy ꟷ he’s not an Indian giver*. Now, I’ve
got a date with a super-stud. Split.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I drew a deep breath and moved across the room.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Prince Charming smiled and introduced himself as Richard, but call him
Rick.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I was drawn to this guy, his dusky complexion, brown eyes, and perfect
teeth. He didn’t strike me as a true hippie ꟷ he was dressed too well and his
hair was too short ꟷ but he was so gorgeous, and he was interested in me. He was
already tripping, his pupils fully dilated, two black coals.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">He could be the one.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I dropped my Rainbow.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Rick and I stayed up all night, talking and tripping ꟷ<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">A birthday sendoff, the best acid I’ve ever had.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Rainbow colors, dimensions, music that paints the sky with its broad
strokes, fluid walls, incredible glittering trails flowing from our fingers and
mouths, even our feet...Maybe some day I can describe an acid trip without
stumbling over my own words.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Rick and I slow danced, swaying to the music, even fast hard rock, he
growing hard.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I was excited, too, but ꟷ<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I want you,” he whispered.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Let’s just stay this way.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">He didn’t push, though I sensed impatient animal instinct, something
sexually dangerous about him, like a panther, held back by a thin tether. That
if I offered all myself, he’d rip into my body and consume my flesh, leaving
behind nothing but a pile of bones.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">We made out, French kissing and feeling each other up ꟷ each kiss reaching
deep into my throat and down to my loins ꟷ<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Each kiss a different color of the rainbow; a different note on the
musical scale; each flick multi-textured: flutter, rock, hot lava, feather,
pillow, sand paper, fire and ice.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">He undid his belt and unzipped his jeans ꟷ no underwear. He thrust hard
against my jeans, a shudder rumbling through him, me, the room, all of
Hollywood, like a quake. He jerked upward and groaned. When he stopped, a warm
wetness on my jeans. “Oh, baby.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Too stoned to worry about the stain on my crotch.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Rick grew slack; we sprawled on the floor, he, apparently satisfied and
calm, I relieved I hadn’t balled him.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">We fell asleep.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a name="_Hlk138289158">_________________________<o:p></o:p></a></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk138289158;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i>
Excerpts: Return to Table of Contents</a></b></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk138289158;">_______________________<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small; mso-bookmark: _Hlk138289158;">“The Birthday Party (October 12, 1968),” © copyright
2013 - present, by Jennifer Semple Siegel, may not be reprinted or reposted
without the express permission of the author. Published in <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Memoir-Madness-Driven-Involuntary-Commitment-ebook/dp/B009Z06ESS?" target="_blank">Memoir Madness: Driven to Involuntary Commitment</a></b></span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_______________________<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><i>* “Indian giver”
(a pejorative and ethnic slur, which means to rudely take back something) is not
a term the author would use in present day. However, given the time period and
the narrator’s youth, the author decided not to sanitize the language.</i> <b><a href="https://www.npr.org/sections/codeswitch/2013/09/02/217295339/the-history-behind-the-phrase-dont-be-an-indian-giver" target="_blank">More on the origins of this ethnic slur</a></b>.</span><o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-68472197292533970992008-12-02T22:04:00.007-08:002023-06-22T12:30:27.823-07:00Flashback: A Mother’s Warning (October 12, 1968)<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL_cQ_JKaykRVzPRQRUXOiSl6B0YMK2X-tw-yv1LPjo-NV2MCPDKXiLS5_8jxoUpXkzhvewL02oN-HnIDvPS7e4h3KBM5xflZjVrr3D1HQZFvB38tuiAfQ-MoQlZ3Uk9TkR1dwvrJkGQucBNben0ne3J-pP-Oi1mmsC7P9r-hEbsWu5ELJEksxU9rxcNqA/s959/Mother2cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="959" data-original-width="542" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL_cQ_JKaykRVzPRQRUXOiSl6B0YMK2X-tw-yv1LPjo-NV2MCPDKXiLS5_8jxoUpXkzhvewL02oN-HnIDvPS7e4h3KBM5xflZjVrr3D1HQZFvB38tuiAfQ-MoQlZ3Uk9TkR1dwvrJkGQucBNben0ne3J-pP-Oi1mmsC7P9r-hEbsWu5ELJEksxU9rxcNqA/s320/Mother2cropped.jpg" width="181" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">The author<span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 24px;">’</span>s mother<br />_________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></b></p><div style="text-align: center;"><b><b>(Hollywood)</b></b></div><b><o:p></o:p></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">Mother called
about 2:00 a.m.<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3zWmMJ3kEUNInSCehVzgRpRDStBCmpQEi-WdJkuPk57Lw6eC9bUVzb4kORGAkt3HQxwLJrX9VQ9x0_Hdei74NMYhBEx9aFECO8OU2u6zvk1vDiGCblVIFEgyCF08SCJUy8rfAjvBLeH6v/s1600-h/telephone+dial+3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243116960448218786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3zWmMJ3kEUNInSCehVzgRpRDStBCmpQEi-WdJkuPk57Lw6eC9bUVzb4kORGAkt3HQxwLJrX9VQ9x0_Hdei74NMYhBEx9aFECO8OU2u6zvk1vDiGCblVIFEgyCF08SCJUy8rfAjvBLeH6v/s400/telephone+dial+3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I grabbed the phone before it awakened everyone, including Mrs. Horton,
that old busybody.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I knew it was Mom even before she spoke, the only person I know who calls
in the middle of the night, rip roaring drunk.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Jevfer?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Yes, Mother.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“How’d you know it wush me?” Her petulant, little girl voice.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I read your mind.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Mom’s into all that Edgar Cayce and astral projection stuff.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Shee? You shouldn’ pooh-pooh the shupernat’ral.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Okay, I won’t.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">She called to warn me, in her slurriest voice: Mo and Auntie had cooked
up a surprise birthday party; my quiet celebration with my grandparents and
great aunt would now be a full-blown affair with some of my California
relatives and friends of Auntie and Mom.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Great. A fucking circus.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Anytime my family gets together, it <i>is</i> a circus, filled with fussy
and feuding relatives.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Act bijchin’ shurprised.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I assured her I’d <i>be</i> surprised.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Mom kept me on the phone for the next hour, lamenting her lousy life, and
complaining about my brother Sidney, Larry (my stepfather), and having to deal
with Mo.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Better her than me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Mom was angry with her best friend Cee, but it wasn’t clear why. If it
was a man thing, I didn’t <i>want</i> to know. Mom’s affairs have always
baffled me. As she slurred her way through the early morning, I muttered “um”
and “un-huh,” etc. at appropriate intervals, drifting in and out of
consciousness. Still, I was glad to be warned about the surprise. Mom passed
out; I knew because she snored in my ear. She’d be out for the night; in the
morning, Mo probably found her slumped over the dead phone.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I quietly hung up.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Far out! I’m 18!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a name="_Hlk138329300"></a><a name="_Hlk138289158"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk138329300;">_________________________<o:p></o:p></span></a></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk138289158;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk138329300;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i> Excerpts: Return to
Table of Contents</a><o:p></o:p></b></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_________________________</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk138289158;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small; mso-bookmark: _Hlk138329300;">“A
Mother’s Warning (October 12, 1968),” © copyright 2013 - present, by Jennifer
Semple Siegel, may not be reprinted or reposted without the express permission
of the author. Published in <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Memoir-Madness-Driven-Involuntary-Commitment-ebook/dp/B009Z06ESS?" target="_blank">Memoir Madness: Driven to Involuntary Commitment</a></b></span></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-12656868320478237092008-12-02T21:36:00.002-08:002023-06-17T20:08:14.902-07:00Flashback: Rev. Arthur Blessitt and His Place (October 1968)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTp__Q9ryGaY-G21jTqfLeXPZGTP-cUWLWvNCqUPRLueLXxBKwNFNqOr2HESvlfpuWVH07K4xEzm8FxUbi-K2PaJXnTYQOaNKWP5rqRxoG8gDAZlJv2mn5Qh0SKnt6BpaZ27s542sLp7W3/s1600-h/HisPlaceSepiaInk.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239793298751042690" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTp__Q9ryGaY-G21jTqfLeXPZGTP-cUWLWvNCqUPRLueLXxBKwNFNqOr2HESvlfpuWVH07K4xEzm8FxUbi-K2PaJXnTYQOaNKWP5rqRxoG8gDAZlJv2mn5Qh0SKnt6BpaZ27s542sLp7W3/s400/HisPlaceSepiaInk.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">His Place, Late 1960's<br />___________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>(Hollywood)<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">Jeff, Eleanor,
Pam, and I were hanging out at Wallich’s, though not much was happening.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Eleanor met up with Jim, her new guy, and split.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Before Pam, Eleanor and I had been getting close, but now we seemed to be
pulling away. Maybe it was because she was still in high school. True, she had
all this freedom to come and go as she pleased and did drugs on weekends, but
she still had to go to school and do her homework, so we didn’t do as much
together anymore.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">When we were roommates, I had to be quiet on weeknights.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I also found out that Eleanor wasn’t supposed to do drugs on school
nights, only on weekends; her dad came down hard on her when he discovered she
was dropping acid on weekdays.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Rick, who stood me up the previous night, showed up.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">My heart skipped a beat.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Sorry about last night.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I tried to act nonchalant. “It’s cool.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Rick eyed Jeff up and down and threw his arm around my waist.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Hey,” Pam said. “Let’s go to His Place.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“What’s that?” Jeff asked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“It’s this really cool church on the strip, filled with freaks,” I said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I don’t want to go to church,” Rick said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“It’s not an ordinary church,” I said. “You’ll just have to see it to
believe it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I heard someone spiked the Kool-Aid with acid one night,” Pam said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Groovy! Getting high for Christ!” Jeff said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Over a hundred kids were stoned out of their gourds. Must’ve freaked out
Rev. Blessitt.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Gives Jesus freaks a whole new meaning,” I said. “I can’t even imagine
being around 100 acid heads. In church, yet.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Good thing the pigs didn’t get wind of it,” Rick said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Funny thing. The cops weren’t even around that night. How lucky was
that?” Pam said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I still don’t wanna go,” Rick said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Come on, it’s really far out, and they serve food,” I said, suddenly
starved. I couldn’t eat the gruel served at the dorm: Fish sticks and
overcooked broccoli.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Bagels and sandwiches, Kool-Aid –” we all snickered “– and coffee.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I <i>am</i> hungry,” Rick said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8vpf3xfW1iZQaF18RRZPoLejsH73NrSqKWsM5gUF17tP3s7tuiB-1d7k6368ji6eIhSqkNkbWhwD4do4fT5pz7T31EBDSdZ-LNkmPmX2NlQk2y88-89-uX74TaICC4eJ_wzguU6EfmCL/s1600-h/His+Place+Blue+7.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239806234035807970" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8vpf3xfW1iZQaF18RRZPoLejsH73NrSqKWsM5gUF17tP3s7tuiB-1d7k6368ji6eIhSqkNkbWhwD4do4fT5pz7T31EBDSdZ-LNkmPmX2NlQk2y88-89-uX74TaICC4eJ_wzguU6EfmCL/s400/His+Place+Blue+7.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Witnessing at His Place, 1968<br />________________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">*<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">When we
arrived at His Place, a toilet service had just begun.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Rev. Blessitt read from the Bible,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;">“Therefore, if any man be in Christ, he is a
new creation; old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new” [2
Corinthians 5:17].<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">A few heads witnessed in the john as they tossed their dope into the
toilet and sang,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">Down, down, down, down,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">All my dope is gone.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">Down, down, down, down,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">All my dope is gone.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I fished around in my pocket; I still had that Blue Cheer from Rudy’s
party two weeks ago – no way was I going to dump it down the toilet and watch
it swirl away.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">After the service ended, we dug in and ate bagels smothered with peanut
butter and jelly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">We hung around for a bit.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I don’t buy into the religious bit, but I can’t help it: I like Rev.
Blessitt. He believes in what he does, not just going through the motions, like
some of those priests back home. The Reverend puts his ass on the line every
day, and the Establishment kicks it daily, especially the religious
Establishment. What hypocrites. You’d think they’d want to help Rev. Blessitt
in his mission. But they can’t see past the run-down church on the strip, the
long hair, and the dope.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Still, there was something creepy about ex-heads taking up Jesus in place
of acid.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The <i>worst</i> converts in the world, always shoving tracts and Bible
verses in your face, the “Eithers/Ors,” the black and whites – you’re either
for Christ or against him, no room for doubt.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">If I wanted to be told what to believe, I’d still be going to Mass.</p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicNBy3eat5yP59sp-EU4_iwzaR7SmaDDPZx-MUuJvIpogn1Kw-qu13eTQh9Ad2DGa6Rlg7Sg6ooW1ZIF3VMzr2NzvHG82gvf0jmpDfxJXDptxnbWPMKqhRdW6p6XymcaDnsS5li-kuGcr0/s1600-h/His+Place+Solar+3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239794251880734946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicNBy3eat5yP59sp-EU4_iwzaR7SmaDDPZx-MUuJvIpogn1Kw-qu13eTQh9Ad2DGa6Rlg7Sg6ooW1ZIF3VMzr2NzvHG82gvf0jmpDfxJXDptxnbWPMKqhRdW6p6XymcaDnsS5li-kuGcr0/s400/His+Place+Solar+3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Hippies and others just hanging out. Everyone was welcome. Late 1960's<br />___________________________________________________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_________________________<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><i>2023 Update:</i> Rev.
Arthur Blessitt is now known as “The man who carried the cross around the world
in every nation, The World’s Longest Walk as listed in the Guinness World
Records.” He seems to have scrubbed his webpage of His Place years. <b><a href="https://blessitt.com/" target="_blank">His Website</a></b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arthur_Blessitt" target="_blank"><b>Arthur Blessitt (Wikipedia)</b><o:p></o:p></a></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_________________________<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i> Excerpts: Return to Table of Contents</a></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_______________________<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">“Flashback: Rev.
Arthur Blessitt and His Place (October 1968),” © copyright 2013 - present, by
Jennifer Semple Siegel, may not be reprinted or reposted without the express
permission of the author. Published in <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Memoir-Madness-Driven-Involuntary-Commitment-ebook/dp/B009Z06ESS?" target="_blank">Memoir Madness: Driven to Involuntary Commitment</a></b></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-34760012111236210852008-12-02T20:20:00.024-08:002023-06-16T22:30:42.365-07:00Epilogue: A Short History of The Cherokee Mental Health Institute<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigY9oImWkRIQE4SnUnEpucEgn96E-8cwhvz92Adzt1bY1sp_v0f9abjiu9djFdi4shNDHr2bk-hhwro7Znc7QCsIyqYZlT1zukIQbbnpKHMyhNQDeQwlJLVvu-AyS9E56PuE0Xob-zmjOV/s1600-h/Cherokee_Building_Spires.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237075735609229378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigY9oImWkRIQE4SnUnEpucEgn96E-8cwhvz92Adzt1bY1sp_v0f9abjiu9djFdi4shNDHr2bk-hhwro7Znc7QCsIyqYZlT1zukIQbbnpKHMyhNQDeQwlJLVvu-AyS9E56PuE0Xob-zmjOV/s400/Cherokee_Building_Spires.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a> <center><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Cherokee Mental Health Institute, August 2004</span></span><br />___________________________________<br /><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>Summer 2008<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>(York, Pennsylvania)<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNP2UFCLE80nmKnb63ObHK9Q76zhCrFEEUn-wAdVB5K5hRkf_p39vz-nb8KSd3vFgOqyeXtopzMxHd68J1FJ_wI3m9w76yYu8pzvJbhnScstr0tN-PPfe0q25r5-yXETvc_CycXKrFQhEV/s1600-h/Cherokee+Map+Front.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237072896417259298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNP2UFCLE80nmKnb63ObHK9Q76zhCrFEEUn-wAdVB5K5hRkf_p39vz-nb8KSd3vFgOqyeXtopzMxHd68J1FJ_wI3m9w76yYu8pzvJbhnScstr0tN-PPfe0q25r5-yXETvc_CycXKrFQhEV/s320/Cherokee+Map+Front.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left;">In late
September 2004, I gathered my laptop, notes, photocopies of old letters to and
from my ex-husband, <i>Cherokee Mental Health: 100 Years of Serving Iowan’s</i>
(Cherokee centennial book), maps of Iowa and Cherokee, and the August 30 issue
of the Chronicle Times. I carried them to Skopje, Macedonia, where I spent
October 2004-May 2005 cranking out a 700-page draft.<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCIUFsZzSQjUuCkeJjl1BAX1p1Z2m4yncwN-hHKMUIEqAgNJwnrHft8k9JLZ3H-uZSHG17xaKXGIF2D9NgJ3zZzlkEll-w7negVFN0wgAhZdhs-CZm3gKppdjDjpY4MwBLgxNV3ZfHAKWb/s1600-h/Cherokee+Book+Cover.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237068043927913362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCIUFsZzSQjUuCkeJjl1BAX1p1Z2m4yncwN-hHKMUIEqAgNJwnrHft8k9JLZ3H-uZSHG17xaKXGIF2D9NgJ3zZzlkEll-w7negVFN0wgAhZdhs-CZm3gKppdjDjpY4MwBLgxNV3ZfHAKWb/s320/Cherokee+Book+Cover.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">A stranger in a strange land attempting to codify an unresolved past.
Still, writing that first draft was exhilarating: I had few distractions: for
eight solid months, I simply wrote.<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEN7LWjWK13L2zOZwSIr5Yox6iUyuFtqPHwlv06G9qaiodu3Sv-TbjIpvz3MhnwBtzHMTz0Iwvdn3SFhJjDmzy03EZ1MJm2WDJaLjb7GpYAsiDQLxNf0ZSk_4Xf0kD-OAL0A2t2jBGR6Mw/s1600-h/Chronicle+Times+August+30+2004.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237073260769143218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEN7LWjWK13L2zOZwSIr5Yox6iUyuFtqPHwlv06G9qaiodu3Sv-TbjIpvz3MhnwBtzHMTz0Iwvdn3SFhJjDmzy03EZ1MJm2WDJaLjb7GpYAsiDQLxNf0ZSk_4Xf0kD-OAL0A2t2jBGR6Mw/s320/Chronicle+Times+August+30+2004.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Often tapping away eight hours a day, five days a week, I became 18
again, an odd space for a 21st century baby boomer.<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1B_Cuvup7cZtxamSIK3EeHxQ-Ch6gCaLkJSMVE9l07Hphrdf81Fc0aXTDzun_phXIw3_evHZkfJhU5KF0EB20L0CTZSlJaLpbmucXJb_JDmIxCrRl4UtZGNUz2o9QxoAuCCiL5JH5k75b/s1600-h/Letter+to+me+Poster.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237130988729401778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1B_Cuvup7cZtxamSIK3EeHxQ-Ch6gCaLkJSMVE9l07Hphrdf81Fc0aXTDzun_phXIw3_evHZkfJhU5KF0EB20L0CTZSlJaLpbmucXJb_JDmIxCrRl4UtZGNUz2o9QxoAuCCiL5JH5k75b/s400/Letter+to+me+Poster.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Not only did old issues and angers rise up again, but after rereading my
ex-husband’s letters, I even developed a slight (albeit temporary) crush on him
ꟷ also compounded by the impending birth of our granddaughter Rhia, born late
2004.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Since my July 2005 return to the U.S., the revision process has presented
a rockier road, ordinary life often interfering and my trying to decide what to
delete and add. Because this is my story, every detail seems important, so
deleting has often been problematic.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">A short history of the Cherokee Mental Health Institute does feel like an
important aspect of my story, but it seemed out of place in the main narrative
thread, so I moved it to the end of the book and here on this blog (a 2012
update of this article appears in the published book.).<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv3GEhyphenhyphenoMTYYy4eGYSNfh9-A5dCla1P5AvruQI0LBarOrSWu7d8ON7XhJowdIso2jaHhxhVlpddROkvrEB4ELRaX6TYzMKSoFc4EozJPk3tUpZgpGmzyRsJ7rRUiEAqCWgi4Tilq9y3AV-/s1600-h/Cherokee_Administration+Building_Closeup5_Center_8by6.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237065660494371714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv3GEhyphenhyphenoMTYYy4eGYSNfh9-A5dCla1P5AvruQI0LBarOrSWu7d8ON7XhJowdIso2jaHhxhVlpddROkvrEB4ELRaX6TYzMKSoFc4EozJPk3tUpZgpGmzyRsJ7rRUiEAqCWgi4Tilq9y3AV-/s320/Cherokee_Administration+Building_Closeup5_Center_8by6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">*<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left;">The exterior
of the Cherokee Mental Health Institute does not resemble a state hospital.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">The grounds, on a gentle slope leading up to the main buildings, are
stunning and kept pristine by the groundskeepers and not walled or gated from
the community. In summer, a lush greenery dominates ꟷ the carpet grass is cut
and watered regularly, and several varieties of trees, including conifers and
deciduous types, majestically dot the landscape. Iowa trees in general tend to
be sparse and scrubby, so these grounds offer an oasis, a gift to Sioux Valley
Iowans, perhaps explaining their broad appeal to the community, who often use
the roads as hiking trails.<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrG53CvOt7XHHm-uE6hPH7Xt8Aghxijjafu9DonxYAoewBY86pnMD8hyphenhyphenA8Ex5pshqgVzDwnztXtmgl7mSx4pwgWL2UuIlBaC79rpsFzof8NchWzQyG1D5OegJwIluV7y5eVX8uy4GOvCn/s1600-h/Cherokee_Road_Grounds_5by7.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237074939563987506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrG53CvOt7XHHm-uE6hPH7Xt8Aghxijjafu9DonxYAoewBY86pnMD8hyphenhyphenA8Ex5pshqgVzDwnztXtmgl7mSx4pwgWL2UuIlBaC79rpsFzof8NchWzQyG1D5OegJwIluV7y5eVX8uy4GOvCn/s400/Cherokee_Road_Grounds_5by7.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">The buildings are over 100 years old, some of them resembling red stone
and brick castles, with spires and circular annexes, but in good exterior
condition.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">If there is anything forbidding about the place, it can be found in its
history and my commitment there. According to <i>Cherokee Mental Health: 100
Years of Serving Iowan’s</i>, the institution was founded in 1902 as the
“Cherokee State Hospital for the Insane.” It is not a stretch, then, to view
the long shadows cast by the trees and spires as sinister. Also, the red brick
portion is somewhat an anomaly in Iowa, not indigenous to this area, known more
for its black, loamy earth.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">The facility resembles a private secondary school or even a college
campus, except for one section, now used as a sex offender unit and housing
35-80 inmates. According to a Department of Human Services press release from
Governor Thomas J. Vilsack’s office, the Civil Commitment Unit for Sexual
Offenders (CCUSO), dedicated on September 8, 2003, has been designed to treat
“dangerous sexual offenders.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSh1z0ejuL5RV1emBe7f_PuJShWXIVVWUqjWzgVI0vVhaUdYoRM0jEqTNNsOiAgQEoOPKFbMML_mYWpfyEbJgLTlMq5Qv7qfk1GrzV8t1FfwvMgeijE4hhJa9OHoqe2hei57y2WoBpXNlk/s1600-h/Cherokee_Sex_Offender_Unit.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237077119979377042" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSh1z0ejuL5RV1emBe7f_PuJShWXIVVWUqjWzgVI0vVhaUdYoRM0jEqTNNsOiAgQEoOPKFbMML_mYWpfyEbJgLTlMq5Qv7qfk1GrzV8t1FfwvMgeijE4hhJa9OHoqe2hei57y2WoBpXNlk/s400/Cherokee_Sex_Offender_Unit.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">“The litmus test for everything we do is safety,” said Kevin Concannon,
Director of the Iowa Department of Human Services. “We’ve gone the extra mile
to make sure this facility is safe for patients, safe for staff, and safe for
the community.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">CCUSO is housed in a remodeled wing of the institution, the sex offenders
having “no contact with patients at the mental health institute.” The section
does resemble a maximum-security prison, cordoned off with steel fences and
barbed and razor wire, incorporating “security cameras and locks,” and
mandating “special training for security personnel.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">At 18, I would have been upset about having a sex offender unit housed on
the same grounds. Safety is a relative term, “safety and sex offenders” an
oxymoron, no matter how many security cameras, bars, locked doors, and razor
wire used. In a 2005 blurb on <b><a href="https://www.ohwy.com/ia/m/md164002.htm" target="_blank">Online Highways</a></b>, the sex offender unit is not mentioned:<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhnp4wA5bLu8Cw_7EikUG2oKhPsSGHi-8PA3xheCMYb6KjjkO08PB2r0qjcohBO4P9m21AXewWzJ4mikJzZwjTV0OIAvFdSq9vQlzbY60Yf10dewzjOObajpdLlEjCMw2qsz5NyamNgBwy/s1600-h/Cherokee_Trees_Grounds_8by6.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237115842627622962" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhnp4wA5bLu8Cw_7EikUG2oKhPsSGHi-8PA3xheCMYb6KjjkO08PB2r0qjcohBO4P9m21AXewWzJ4mikJzZwjTV0OIAvFdSq9vQlzbY60Yf10dewzjOObajpdLlEjCMw2qsz5NyamNgBwy/s400/Cherokee_Trees_Grounds_8by6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left;">The Cherokee Mental Health Institute (MHI)
is a state of Iowa psychiatric facility, operating under the Department of
Human Services. The institute provides psychiatric inpatient and outpatient
services. Forty-one counties in northwest Iowa are served for adult patients
and fifty-five counties for children and adolescents.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left;">The MHI is proud of its campus, The Cherokee
Human Resource Center offers patients, as well as the Cherokee community,
access to a hiking trail and nature study. In addition to the MHI, the campus
is also home to other agencies including Synergy (Chemical Dependency) Center,
The Boys’ and Girls’ Home, the YES (Youth Emergency Services) Center, Job
Service of Iowa, Vocational Rehabilitation, Juvenile Court Services, and the
Ecumenical Institute.<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgres8rN9GCfsIGCcbGZRDJJhLgalasxd5nl4j9jmFewkgVatUp3p9UbiqVdbt6_lDjsfgiLHO_oz2svGy1HO3CT9NEkSyC4nAvywThBLYtqmi3PAhMxoJt58_2ZJudJ0ju1X-qLD2mO6IY/s1600-h/Supreme+Court+2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237132475397620530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgres8rN9GCfsIGCcbGZRDJJhLgalasxd5nl4j9jmFewkgVatUp3p9UbiqVdbt6_lDjsfgiLHO_oz2svGy1HO3CT9NEkSyC4nAvywThBLYtqmi3PAhMxoJt58_2ZJudJ0ju1X-qLD2mO6IY/s400/Supreme+Court+2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Traditional psychiatric inpatient admissions have dwindled since
involuntary commitment of patients for frivolous reasons was struck down by two
significant Supreme Court decisions: Humphrey v. Cady, 405 U.S. 504, 509
(1972), which ruled involuntary civil commitment to a mental institution as “a
massive curtailment to liberty,” and O’Connor v. Donaldson, 422 U.S. 563, 574
(1975), which ruled that there is “no Constitutional basis for confining such
[mentally ill] persons involuntarily if they are dangerous to no one and can
live safely in freedom” and that the presence of mental illness “does not
disqualify a person from preferring his home to the comforts of an
institution.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Evidently, incorrigible minors at Cherokee are still not accorded the
same rights as adults. A May 10, 2002 <i>Des Moines Register</i> article
reveals that<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 0.5in; text-align: left;">An 11-year-old boy with extreme behavioral
problems is subjected to enemas, made to wear diapers and forbidden to bathe at
the DHS-run Cherokee Mental Health Institute until a judge orders the procedure
halted. DHS promises an investigation into the boy’s treatment. Another state
agency later finds that the DHS staff implemented treatments that were
“conducted in accordance with doctor’s orders.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Fortunately, I wasn’t incorrigible enough to be subjected to such
indignities.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">At the time of my involuntary commitment, my only protection was the
Supreme Court decision Specht v. Patterson, 386 U.S. 605, 608 (1967), which
offered legal protection at the mercy of the court system itself:
“...involuntary commitment to a mental hospital, like involuntary confinement
of an individual for any reason, is a deprivation of liberty which the State
cannot accomplish without due process of law.” Even a neophyte can see how a lower
court could (and did) interpret that decision; my court record speaks for
itself.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Back in 1969, I met some of the employees, many of them dedicated to
serving Iowans. But Cherokee owns a sad history of warehousing the mentally
ill, the incompetent, and the incorrigible. Before the two important Supreme
Court decisions, people not fitting into conventional boxes prescribed by the
dominant culture were often punished and hidden away.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Forgotten.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Cherokee itself simply fulfilled a mandate created by an antiquated
judicial system mired in nineteenth-century wild west justice.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">My residual anger lies with Woodbury County, Iowa, and the police
officers, lawyers, judges, and doctors who pushed through sloppily prepared
paperwork and trumped-up reasons without considering a person’s constitutional
rights.<o:p></o:p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTEIkOsvlRA-hq_01s-nDu8TiIeu6r3lvpbub_4TFemhBN8H_676Ipf5sS3Je92JWJoyb6vWCjB5tMJDHAA0Ph5EhAmPGJ9Qcdcyn5rXG9jF2TmZi1Hwz6HplBziCPv4yvV6NY2K8IdV7/s1600-h/Cherokee+Old.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237125058170767090" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTEIkOsvlRA-hq_01s-nDu8TiIeu6r3lvpbub_4TFemhBN8H_676Ipf5sS3Je92JWJoyb6vWCjB5tMJDHAA0Ph5EhAmPGJ9Qcdcyn5rXG9jF2TmZi1Hwz6HplBziCPv4yvV6NY2K8IdV7/s400/Cherokee+Old.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">The Cherokee Grounds, late 1800's or early 1900's<br />________________________________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">I came out of my experience fairly well-adjusted, though my “inclination
to conflict with social convention,” as predicted by R. Lowenberg, has
persisted, for I have always believed that so-called conventional wisdom is
vastly overrated. Ralph Waldo Emerson articulated the herd mentality best: “A
foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.” The world <i>needs</i> people
who would flout conventional wisdom, not warehouse and silence them.<o:p></o:p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKaqLXb8OEWx5J8X5z02FBM9FiyTEPa0736PEuEA6_IYiJlLWx9r1WP3LYT_aWL6VfndXTYyPYyYHTCpawvenPhPVj_2-HChsXtOHDBgL17jbeX4ZcMXXh-uxtzDWSGCaEZiycec6NfbdS/s1600-h/Cherokee+Staff+3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237087095284258546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKaqLXb8OEWx5J8X5z02FBM9FiyTEPa0736PEuEA6_IYiJlLWx9r1WP3LYT_aWL6VfndXTYyPYyYHTCpawvenPhPVj_2-HChsXtOHDBgL17jbeX4ZcMXXh-uxtzDWSGCaEZiycec6NfbdS/s400/Cherokee+Staff+3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><i>Standing:</i> Dr. Long, Assistant Superintendent; Dr. Earl, Night Physician; Ella McNiven, Matron; Dr. Dragoo, Assistant Physician.<i>Seated:</i> Dr. Mathew Nelson Voldeng, Superintendent; Dr. Lena Beach, Physician; Andy Rae, Farm Superintendent.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">_____________________________________________________</span></div></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">The Cherokee book does offer some interesting history about the
institution’s origins. The first superintendent, Mathew Nelson Voldeng, M.D.,
was hired in 1902 ꟷ his beginning salary $250.00 a month. He served from 1902
to 1915 and died in 1934.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">One would not suspect Cherokee as being a hotbed of feminism, but,
surprisingly, Iowa’s first female physician, Dr. Lena Beach, served there,
starting in 1902, for which she was paid, as Woman Physician, $100.00 a month,
less than the 1st and 2nd Assistant Physicians (presumably men), who were paid
$133.33 and $116.66 respectively, but more than the 3rd Assistant Physician,
paid $91.66. Somewhere, there exists a biography of Dr. Beach, this pioneer
spirit who started the wheels of women’s rights rolling in Iowa. (<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=%22Dr.+Lena+Beach%22&oq=%22Dr.+Lena+Beach%22&aqs=chrome..69i57.8005j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8#ip=1" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">A Google search brings up sparse entries regarding Dr. Beach.</a>) <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">In the early years, many of the staff lived on the campus; however,
children were not allowed. Children born to employees were “farmed out to
foster homes within the community to be raised.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimxGfuN0wu7DxAIaMmO0-N1u3rZq_2axydAicYP9QI4BH04OTXLhE6SBR724oelmQKW7VH63r7vz6Gc5mvr87K1Vx4Ob-nlWr7-bWBtW5vNCfJxHMcHL8hzmfMiqGnGTMn55thYYlP1j5Y/s1600-h/First+Cherokee+patients+1902+2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237090113676809474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimxGfuN0wu7DxAIaMmO0-N1u3rZq_2axydAicYP9QI4BH04OTXLhE6SBR724oelmQKW7VH63r7vz6Gc5mvr87K1Vx4Ob-nlWr7-bWBtW5vNCfJxHMcHL8hzmfMiqGnGTMn55thYYlP1j5Y/s400/First+Cherokee+patients+1902+2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">First Cherokee Patients, August 1902<br />_____________________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Now <i>that’s</i> workplace loyalty.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">The first eight Cherokee patients were admitted between August 15 and
August 26, 1902. In late August 1902, 563 patients arrived via two trains: 310
from Independence and 253 from Clarinda. In Independence, curious citizens
looked on as the stronger patients walked two miles from the hospital and the
weak and sickly were transported by trolleys or hay wagons to the Cherokee
train. According to the 29 August 1902 Cherokee newspaper, Clarinda offered a
higher class of patient: “better dressed, better behaved and showed a little
more intelligence.” More patients, 777 from Clarinda and 144 from Mt. Pleasant,
were expected in the next few days.<o:p></o:p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP4hU838h3bZNydQ7dMnZFo1PmogE2TkIgWW7gum3T6u9gIbCZw07nBrmiAU_ayOYlHQJ5ec48BB0z7VIWvLEuUv55NI1Q5fM88wDDEwOA27lE67TR6gAqjg1d0rkxr7eGSUr7Dx3oggC9/s1600-h/Cherokee+Ground+Privilege+Card.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237125961742128434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP4hU838h3bZNydQ7dMnZFo1PmogE2TkIgWW7gum3T6u9gIbCZw07nBrmiAU_ayOYlHQJ5ec48BB0z7VIWvLEuUv55NI1Q5fM88wDDEwOA27lE67TR6gAqjg1d0rkxr7eGSUr7Dx3oggC9/s400/Cherokee+Ground+Privilege+Card.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Each patient was issued a “Ground Card”;
specific privileges depended on the patient’s mental health progress. For
example, the author's privileges were fairly liberal in that she could travel
the grounds by herself (without a fellow patient or staff person). The date of
this photo is unknown.</span></div><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">____________________________________________________________</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Between 1933 and 1951, Cherokee boarded over 1,400 patients. At its peak,
the institution housed over 1,700 ꟷ no date is given for this number, but with
the 1954 introduction of Thorazine, patient population began declining. The
book offers no figures for 1969, but the population must have still been fairly
substantial, for most of us had roommates.<o:p></o:p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoWJYlA7ggQ0jn7TO2XtI7abFpg1tnh3KmLC1zWrtVHV2NhQfdJlZXaDj3OXmql_VXrGAblKxXP-2J1ezRf8p38jYXr6sEaqypEJlEd1tpJqdgs88xqNTLICypvdQ7wFFcvKVdmTX_mHrh/s1600-h/Cherokee+Hydrotherapy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237105158020656274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoWJYlA7ggQ0jn7TO2XtI7abFpg1tnh3KmLC1zWrtVHV2NhQfdJlZXaDj3OXmql_VXrGAblKxXP-2J1ezRf8p38jYXr6sEaqypEJlEd1tpJqdgs88xqNTLICypvdQ7wFFcvKVdmTX_mHrh/s400/Cherokee+Hydrotherapy.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Cherokee Patient Undergoing Hydrotherapy, date unknown.<br />________________________________________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Throughout the years, patients have been subjected to insulin and
electric shock therapies, integral parts of Joyce’s* treatment [another patient
who appears in my memoir].<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Straitjackets were discontinued in the early 1950’s, but lobotomies were
performed into the early 1970’s. Had I known what a lobotomy entailed, I would
have been terrified that if I didn’t behave, the procedure would be in my
future. However, lobotomies were done as a last resort, reserved for the most
violent patients. To my knowledge, I did not meet any lobotomy patients at
Cherokee, but, at that time, I would not have been cognizant of their
characteristics. I suspect that these patients were kept segregated from the
general population.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Years later, I met a person who had endured a lobotomy; it was
frightening to witness the damage done to him. He would simply turn on and off
like a light switch, talking one minute and then drifting off into some kind of
trance and then coming back, picking up exactly where he had left off.<o:p></o:p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7q-otV6C0Cq0lTGXZKq8GW4bnilWSb-2Cl6fzncKLRtDeU51cbSGgM2h5zBbEtxz9-rmjAr-cWxbBt4nRJlXffPpc3wHbZWNWtZhR8GwMwhtzk5uc78Mev9UVmr8hxIuFw43W8x3Afrw3/s1600-h/Cherokee+BirdsEyel.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237112290315290178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7q-otV6C0Cq0lTGXZKq8GW4bnilWSb-2Cl6fzncKLRtDeU51cbSGgM2h5zBbEtxz9-rmjAr-cWxbBt4nRJlXffPpc3wHbZWNWtZhR8GwMwhtzk5uc78Mev9UVmr8hxIuFw43W8x3Afrw3/s400/Cherokee+BirdsEyel.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Cherokee Facility, Bird's Eye View, date unknown.<br />_________________________________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">During World War II, from February 1944 to May 1946, the Civilian Public
Service Company #131, made up of conscientious objectors, served at the
facility in lieu of military service. This company consisted of 25
conscientious objectors, 10 of their wives, and one sister. They served as
nurses’ aides, kitchen workers, drivers, lawn and garden assistants,
housekeepers, and stenographers. I would have appreciated knowing this bit of
history, given my own objection to the Vietnam war and my fears for Jeff
[Brown, my ex-husband] and my cousin Steve.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">At its peak, the hospital, on its 840 acres on the hill was, in itself, a
small functioning town, boasting its own coal-burning power plant; a complete
working farm; hospital facilities, including a dentist’s office, lab, geriatric
ward, and morgue; a cemetery; a full restaurant; a butcher shop; laundry
facilities; residences; carpenter and machine shops; a sewing factory; a
bakery; an “amusement hall” and orchestra, made up of staff, who were often
“hired on their ability to play an instrument”; a softball team; a pharmacy; and
a barber and beauty shop.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Certainly, if the rest of the world disappeared, the institution could
have survived, taking care of its patients and following the standard drug and
psychological therapies.<o:p></o:p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzYu3TQHVrQkGLZl0U6KEgk4RIOEk_bk6TBisp9fz0e2nnVLS_O7N-gCDPOmPYdEr3kc0lF0fU6YngFObFkLB3ojuHLdabWKY9xCkdAGUjaEZxM1qXsZdFof5jExVFX0yg9H5CaYEZviQM/s1600-h/Cherokee+Exhibit.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237118224446730258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzYu3TQHVrQkGLZl0U6KEgk4RIOEk_bk6TBisp9fz0e2nnVLS_O7N-gCDPOmPYdEr3kc0lF0fU6YngFObFkLB3ojuHLdabWKY9xCkdAGUjaEZxM1qXsZdFof5jExVFX0yg9H5CaYEZviQM/s400/Cherokee+Exhibit.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Cherokee Exhibit at State Fair, date unknown.<br />____________________________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">The book does clarify one matter that, for years, has puzzled me: in
April 1969, I spoke with a Mrs. Williams about job training in Floriculture; I
could never figure out why she was pushing this career so hard, but the book
reveals that Cherokee, in addition to its working farm, complete with vegetable
fields, flower gardens, orchards, and beef and dairy cattle, also maintained an
extensive greenhouse, overlooking the southeast section of the grounds, where
the institution grew flowers and vegetables year round, even exhibiting some of
their products at various state fairs.<o:p></o:p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioRAQop5zbFhsqc5jclNZW6xWNcqBKTs_bi1e9Hp9hPyEdaKaMMr2dr_JWDjVJ1_98jOOZZTfuach4QtzD5fhjJmuHU3-kPPZF0FM6ULG9fzyaXiyoi7YZqk9bhW7EZ87B4zMMeClPWYaD/s1600-h/Cherokee+Greenhouse+1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237114383322537250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioRAQop5zbFhsqc5jclNZW6xWNcqBKTs_bi1e9Hp9hPyEdaKaMMr2dr_JWDjVJ1_98jOOZZTfuach4QtzD5fhjJmuHU3-kPPZF0FM6ULG9fzyaXiyoi7YZqk9bhW7EZ87B4zMMeClPWYaD/s400/Cherokee+Greenhouse+1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Cherokee Greenhouse, date unknown.<br />_______________________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">I don’t remember seeing or even hearing about this greenhouse, but I
might have embarked on a career because of its existence.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">At various points in its history, several other training programs were
offered to patients: bakery and butcher schools, to name two, and a physician
residency program, for doctors just out of medical school. Currently, the
facility offers a physician assistant specialty training program.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">I complained bitterly about the food; in my mind, a good Cherokee meal consisted
of roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, and peach cobbler, reserved for
Sunday dinner. However, most of the time, we were served such delights as
instant scrambled eggs (with a green tinge), overcooked vegetables (mushy
cauliflower comes to mind), a strange meat ꟷ which I suspected was liver ꟷ and
wicked coffee, often served lukewarm, so I was surprised to read about the
T-bone steaks and oyster stew served during the 1960’s. I don’t recall such
meals, but I do remember losing a lot of weight there.<o:p></o:p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzLT6WTDdPKMswK9kyxZJ4sCG2lNgJ7m3LAH2MrMy9hgYkjqhIkhHOXVogVz7-rxS3D5qMPIz7kFCHIDaGsaYGKhBZj8CjXQH5L0T18RLTzJ60_07UnNE1w6lxYRVb5MZeiBI_KsxvXjUO/s1600-h/Horny+Women+at+the+Sewing+Factory_Cherokee_Bigger_JustPicture_GrayColor.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237119580538654450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzLT6WTDdPKMswK9kyxZJ4sCG2lNgJ7m3LAH2MrMy9hgYkjqhIkhHOXVogVz7-rxS3D5qMPIz7kFCHIDaGsaYGKhBZj8CjXQH5L0T18RLTzJ60_07UnNE1w6lxYRVb5MZeiBI_KsxvXjUO/s400/Horny+Women+at+the+Sewing+Factory_Cherokee_Bigger_JustPicture_GrayColor.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Female Cherokee Patients Sewing, early to mid 1900's.<br />_____________________________________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">One odd, though darkly humorous, note: 100 years ago one group of female
Cherokee sewing factory workers were scrutinized very carefully, for “...some
medical authorities warned that professional seamstresses were apt to become
sexually aroused by the steady rhythm, hour after hour, of the sewing machine’s
foot pedals.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Had I known that, I would have happily taken up sewing as a career path,
but then the next part of this equation might have given me pause: “[These same
medical authorities] recommended slipping bromide ꟷ which was thought to
diminish sexual desire ꟷ into the women’s drinking water.” [In response to this
“minor” reference to these women who were so cruelly treated, I was inspired to
write a <b><a href="https://www.whyiwrite.com/2023/05/horny-women.html" target="_blank">poem</a></b> and an <b><a href="https://www.whyiwrite.com/2023/06/sixteen-horny-women-in-search-of-a-poet.html" target="_blank">essay</a></b> in
honor of them.]<o:p></o:p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik5uH_g3T6SKxDxfWUPIwBgblDUi71BEaa9PLeO_2JKWE_jE77GNQYjV6Ed6URQvBzwJw8CQQGDsPyJGG2kRcDfIVNm0Mreie5EcAB8TPXDXmQObkFQdUAZfov99JPDgs1D0GaxjWgxWaD/s1600-h/Cherokee+Graveyard+1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237120698562865842" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik5uH_g3T6SKxDxfWUPIwBgblDUi71BEaa9PLeO_2JKWE_jE77GNQYjV6Ed6URQvBzwJw8CQQGDsPyJGG2kRcDfIVNm0Mreie5EcAB8TPXDXmQObkFQdUAZfov99JPDgs1D0GaxjWgxWaD/s400/Cherokee+Graveyard+1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Cherokee Cemetery, date unknown.<br />____________________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">The hospital also had its own morgue, but this building was torn down in
1966, well before my time as a patient. Interestingly, the morgue was located
near the Kinne Building, demolished in 1972, where the tuberculosis patients
were kept. The morgue may have disappeared, but a cemetery remains on the
grounds ꟷ 831 patients interred between 1907 and 1962, the last a 62-year-old
woman. The deceased, unclaimed by family members, were placed in wicker baskets
in graves marked with numbers, for being a mental patient was considered too
shameful to be made public, even after death. I never saw or heard about this
cemetery ꟷ and D.J.*, a patient who had worked on the grounds, never mentioned
it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglu8bRrPZRzCKEAtgGnXNSENN1uI8PESn2CQko7FyAKI7sa_f9AUCeZS6JHiuf166mNTN7afMU_-wBXzWiNhRai4CLEzxr5jkxcwka6arWsQM4KZhAEgVmyp-PuVdQGl13frpxlHCCkLGg/s1600-h/Cherokee+Graveyard+wicker.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237122168384290210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglu8bRrPZRzCKEAtgGnXNSENN1uI8PESn2CQko7FyAKI7sa_f9AUCeZS6JHiuf166mNTN7afMU_-wBXzWiNhRai4CLEzxr5jkxcwka6arWsQM4KZhAEgVmyp-PuVdQGl13frpxlHCCkLGg/s400/Cherokee+Graveyard+wicker.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Wicker Caskets Used to Bury Deceased Patients, date unknown.<br />__________________________________________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Back in 1969, I knew nothing about the morgue and cemetery, but I must
have suspected something; on April 11, after recounting a frightening nightmare
I had at age four, I asked, “I wonder if anyone has ever died here?” I’m glad I
didn’t know; I was frightened enough about the possibility of being
incarcerated for a long time and then dying in the institution.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;"><i>Chronicle-Times</i> (Cherokee) journalist Ken Ross noted that “The
cemetery is down a road beyond a locked gate. Trees surround the cemetery and
Beacon Hollow Creek runs nearby.” So I wouldn’t have stumbled upon it during my
walks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">In 2001, as mental illness became less of an embarrassing secret and more
visitors asked to see the cemetery, the institution decided to create a
memorial and formed a committee to plan the cemetery reconstruction, offering a
dignified resting place for the 831 patients. In the past, when descendants
visited the graveyard grounds, they were disappointed. “We were apologetic
about the condition of our cemetery,” said Mike Thompson, plant manager for the
institution. The project was completed in 2002 and slated for dedication in
time for Cherokee’s 100th anniversary celebration on August 15, 2002, denoting
the 1902 arrival of the first patient.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">I don’t know how much <i>Cherokee Mental Health: 100 Years of Serving
Iowan’s</i> really explains in terms of my time in Cherokee, but it does reveal
some of the ingrained attitudes toward mental patients that still persisted in
1969. I would have liked more information about the history of the institution,
including the subsequent superintendents, psychiatrists, and psychologists who
practiced there, and more detail about the therapies, but confidentiality
issues might have hampered the committee charged with pulling this history
together.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;">Perhaps my story will reveal something important about Cherokee and other similar state hospitals. </p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSidzgNRWp94aiHuI2kAsv55ALuO-Qo8PSG9WqiPJ4gJm4FQ2DSvHnAzbxTt71Dv8916I96JDYL_YH47iMJShm9boeRUJ1QlX_nDB0rnRmaQj40ibFU7nzxS4o7nj_RxHBAM1LvcMbYzSy/s1600-h/Cherokee+Greenhouse+4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5237129106849017874" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSidzgNRWp94aiHuI2kAsv55ALuO-Qo8PSG9WqiPJ4gJm4FQ2DSvHnAzbxTt71Dv8916I96JDYL_YH47iMJShm9boeRUJ1QlX_nDB0rnRmaQj40ibFU7nzxS4o7nj_RxHBAM1LvcMbYzSy/s400/Cherokee+Greenhouse+4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Flowers in Cherokee Greenhouse, date unknown.<br />________________________________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i>
Excerpts: Return to Table of Contents</a></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_______________________</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">“Epilogue: A Short History of The Cherokee Mental
Health Institute,” © copyright 2008 - present, by Jennifer Semple Siegel, may
not be reprinted or reposted without the express permission of the author.
Published in <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Memoir-Madness-Driven-Involuntary-Commitment-ebook/dp/B009Z06ESS?" target="_blank">Memoir Madness: Driven to Involuntary Commitment</a></b></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;">_____________________<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">*Names and
identifying characteristics of Cherokee inmates have been changed to protect
their privacy.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;">_____________________<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"></span>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><i>Source:</i>
The CMHI Centennial Committee. <i>Cherokee Mental Health: 100 Years of Serving
Iowan’s</i>. A Pictorial History. Iowa Department of General Services Printing
Division, November 2001.</span></p></center>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-44634008618694277352008-12-02T16:53:00.007-08:002023-06-15T17:54:40.051-07:00Leaving Sioux City: Dee Dee<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFkAvZTS4PLDm6CAn6ziZx_ARS09dCKR5NUdnwXhjAz0nZUGlPKNB-ad-vMmcla9MQzxhUeEHdIrNrCPJjueBPiS28VMTZg_eY6MaliiWxJkMgJWEh9juLjIyagJ36qGo_RpAIvhYoK1uV4keUFYNbH-_plcSM3ZswbT--FM8DsjRz32KefXCIQo2hTw/s900/JenniferandDeeDee1965--cropped.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="606" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFkAvZTS4PLDm6CAn6ziZx_ARS09dCKR5NUdnwXhjAz0nZUGlPKNB-ad-vMmcla9MQzxhUeEHdIrNrCPJjueBPiS28VMTZg_eY6MaliiWxJkMgJWEh9juLjIyagJ36qGo_RpAIvhYoK1uV4keUFYNbH-_plcSM3ZswbT--FM8DsjRz32KefXCIQo2hTw/s320/JenniferandDeeDee1965--cropped.jpg" width="215" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Better times: the author and her grandfather Harley “Dee Dee” Semple (1964)<br />_______________________________________________________________</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>(Sioux City, Iowa)<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>Monday, May 5<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">I wake up at
6:00 a.m., ready by 7:00. I splurge and take a taxi to the bus station, there
by 7:30 ꟷ this is one bus I don’t want to miss.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I’m not angry with Mo and Dee ꟷ well, maybe a little with Mo, but only
because she was so ridiculous the other day. I wish they understood that this
is something I have to do and would do eventually anyway. I’m not running away
to get even with them for the Cherokee bit ꟷ<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I’m running <i>to</i> my new life.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Once, when I was four, I ran away from home. I wanted to be in the
movies, and I thought that one had to run away to do that. I was not angry at
anyone ꟷ it was just something I had to do. Hours later, when Dee Dee and Uncle
Dude found me wandering around in the dark, they snatched me from the street,
and slid me into the car.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">It was deep into an Iowa winter. I wore only a red snowsuit; they must
have felt relieved to find me alive and okay.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I bawled and pitched a fit; I was <i>so</i> angry with them for thwarting
me. They just didn’t understand I wasn’t running away to leave them but to find
something else.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I would come back.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://www.whyiwrite.com/2023/06/running-away.html" target="_blank">Running Away…</a></b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Obviously, I was too young back then, but I’m not too young now...<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I show my ticket to the agent and check the footlocker at the desk ꟷ fortunately,
no one questions my business. I sit and wait.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Dead time, but, nonetheless, necessary.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">At 8:45, Dee Dee, alone, slips through the station door.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;"><i>Oh, oh.<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Dee Dee spies me and slides toward me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Before I can even open my mouth, Dee says, “Before you say anything, just
hear me out.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Okay.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I’m not going to stop you from going.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“That’s good.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I just want to make one more plea ꟷ”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“My mind’s made up.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“You’re breaking our hearts ꟷ”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I’m sorry about that ꟷ”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“No, you’re not ꟷ you wouldn’t be leaving if you knew how much this was
killing us.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I have to go.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Dee Dee sighs. “Stay a few months, get a good job, save up some money ꟷ think
about what you’re doing.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I’ve had several, <i>long</i> months to think.” Like I’m going to fall
for <i>that</i> ploy again. “I’ve made up my mind.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“You know, your grandmother was going to call Cherokee and report you as
a runaway, but I told her it wouldn’t do any good.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Thanks.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“She might still do it. Once she’s decided something, you know how she
is.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I know.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I was hoping to reason with you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Dee Dee, I’m leaving in a few minutes.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I see. You know, you’ll always have a home back here.” Dee pauses. “If
you <i>ever</i> need a bus ticket back to Sioux City, just call.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I’ll keep that in mind.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I despise Jeff Brown with all my heart; he has only one thing on his
mind ꟷ”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“It’s time for you to go,” I say, turning away.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Without another word, Dee Dee disappears, through the crowd and out of
the terminal.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">*<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>(Greyhound bus)<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIfh3HL2twNBn6-JDhzbMF093KMY1a2XmkRcrhWqVAaeOGNbS_-7I2htHozbZcaWGJdDR8-yp_4gmr4DsBrnFs6KZ266fvjbUupZ3mZNlcf_e536_GmHzFckElxw9nHrF2nnfVKV3nTXsZ/s1600-h/Greyhound+Bus+Ticket+3.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263017195992855794" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIfh3HL2twNBn6-JDhzbMF093KMY1a2XmkRcrhWqVAaeOGNbS_-7I2htHozbZcaWGJdDR8-yp_4gmr4DsBrnFs6KZ266fvjbUupZ3mZNlcf_e536_GmHzFckElxw9nHrF2nnfVKV3nTXsZ/s400/Greyhound+Bus+Ticket+3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 237px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a> <center><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><span>The author</span><span style="text-align: left; text-indent: 24px;">’</span><span style="text-align: left;"><span>s actual bus ticket receipt</span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">__________________________________________________</span></center><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">The bus has
just pulled out of the station, and we’re headed out of town, toward Des
Moines, where I’ll pick up my next connection to York, Pennsylvania: a long
journey. Des Moines, Chicago, Pittsburgh. York. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 1in;"><i>Goodbye, Sioux City and Woodbury County
ꟷ<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlAGFWtxRDWbmmrnmnJqAZepXO9oiNEuQlMAZAPCEwmPEbMR3UGf1oltSnOqkduMbIIxxgbxKKENGQukK-gAmsyTPW4O_8LduPa_3UWbax2iOfF1iLPpJIcujjhWQKc3A0AbFvPcIzgApf/s1600-h/Greyhound+Bus+Ticket+Envelope2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263019354897158514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlAGFWtxRDWbmmrnmnJqAZepXO9oiNEuQlMAZAPCEwmPEbMR3UGf1oltSnOqkduMbIIxxgbxKKENGQukK-gAmsyTPW4O_8LduPa_3UWbax2iOfF1iLPpJIcujjhWQKc3A0AbFvPcIzgApf/s400/Greyhound+Bus+Ticket+Envelope2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 189px;" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 1in;"><i>Good riddance to Cherokee and all of
Iowa.</i></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a name="_Hlk137665052"><br /></a></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a name="_Hlk137665052">_________________________<o:p></o:p></a></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i>
Excerpts: Return to Table of Contents</a><o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_______________________</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small; mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;">“Leaving Sioux City: Dee Dee,” © copyright
2013 - present, by Jennifer Semple Siegel, may not be reprinted or reposted
without the express permission of the author. Published in <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Memoir-Madness-Driven-Involuntary-Commitment-ebook/dp/B009Z06ESS?" target="_blank">Memoir Madness: Driven to Involuntary Commitment</a></b></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-72943931611321431402008-12-02T16:43:00.004-08:002023-06-15T16:52:03.157-07:00Release From the Institution: Denise’s Tips<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVhegQbUpDZtBmVnIp1bks0DXzo1MhdDzho1MYqo_QJXJM9jeJ63phyphenhyphenu9p48_VNKVTvGN-ZcdVQJosqvWO9tY2nHkHj1XJxiTM1AX68H_Vo7jXYFy9voVWJOb6-ELvZXSV535mMqp4y5uT/s1600-h/diner--outside+11+copy.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262420564224087410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVhegQbUpDZtBmVnIp1bks0DXzo1MhdDzho1MYqo_QJXJM9jeJ63phyphenhyphenu9p48_VNKVTvGN-ZcdVQJosqvWO9tY2nHkHj1XJxiTM1AX68H_Vo7jXYFy9voVWJOb6-ELvZXSV535mMqp4y5uT/s400/diner--outside+11+copy.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 292px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>April 1969<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>(Sioux City, Iowa)<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12.0pt; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: .25in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0.25in 12pt;"><i>(Note: upon the author’s conditional
release from Cherokee, she was required to find a job ꟷ or return to the
institution. She accepted a job at Denise’s Diner, a greasy spoon on West 7th
Street.)<o:p></o:p></i></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnkBGrcmr6-k_a95wlPUGvNcdlA8X4dviqeeeGmf6d9gKF_8LovWASsce6ZBphSUBo_4ymaL8ffIVR_I_B-Y7NP4FFGb9DUL3LaHtrImgi5F0JKdMPE6OnDSjQRlojK_3T1db0y_aJE0D6/s1600-h/diner--waitress+8.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262412032903810322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnkBGrcmr6-k_a95wlPUGvNcdlA8X4dviqeeeGmf6d9gKF_8LovWASsce6ZBphSUBo_4ymaL8ffIVR_I_B-Y7NP4FFGb9DUL3LaHtrImgi5F0JKdMPE6OnDSjQRlojK_3T1db0y_aJE0D6/s400/diner--waitress+8.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 291px;" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">Denise*, the
owner of Denise’s Diner*, is about the hardest, wrinkliest woman I’ve ever met,
a nervous, bird-like chain smoker. She’s old, probably in her late 50's, maybe
early 60's, and all skin and bones. Her hair, red with purple highlights, is
teased into a rather large bouffant, overshadowing her tiny body, and her teeth
are yellow with dark specks between them. Her voice is deep and raspy, like a
man’s ꟷ she could out-cuss a sailor.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“You’re gonna work your goddamn ass off around here, for shit wages,” she
said when she interviewed me. “But you can earn some good tips.” She took a
drag on her cigarette. “Just play along with the guys ꟷ they like giving the
girls a hard time ꟷ and don’t get all fuckin’ women’s lib on ‘em.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I can do that, at least for a few weeks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“And get your ass in gear, and don’t poke. I do most of my business at
lunch ꟷ these men gotta get fed fast and back to work.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I’m glad this job’s temporary. A shitty buck an hour, plus tips, to
start. But I’m just interested in staying out of Cherokee and splitting this
town. Soon, I’ll be getting that $116.00 refund from the government, and I’ll
save every spare penny.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Lazy bitches don’t last here,” Denise said as I headed out the door. “Be
here, at 7:00 sharp, or don’t bother comin’ at all.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlTYtXKMdO1e-_XROEegkY3skBH_XZu4CKtyYshR4zQiZmg4PGcrpnQCV1k5n8EWtO097J-BbE0y7R6oca414Lh7yqJSSIVoeBacUgYZ5S60jsxspK2RZ9bhZrqAz4xdYNDtPQh-e_BqK/s1600-h/diner--waitress+6.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262414968417653858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlTYtXKMdO1e-_XROEegkY3skBH_XZu4CKtyYshR4zQiZmg4PGcrpnQCV1k5n8EWtO097J-BbE0y7R6oca414Lh7yqJSSIVoeBacUgYZ5S60jsxspK2RZ9bhZrqAz4xdYNDtPQh-e_BqK/s400/diner--waitress+6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 262px;" /></a>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">*<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">I can’t wait
to quit this job. Denise is such a two-faced bitch, jabbering about working
hard, but she lounges around, chewing the fat with the guys, and chain-smoking
those god-awful Camels without filters. If there was ever a reason to quit
smoking, she’s it. I don’t want to grow old looking like a dried up prune.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Even when it’s super busy, she doesn’t hustle her butt any ꟷ she just
barks at the help to move faster. What kind of an example is that?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The guys talk dirty to her, she thinks it’s hilarious, but it’s just
gross. Customers or not, I’m not taking that kind of crap. After one creep
pinched my butt, I told him off.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“You better watch your step, honey,” Denise said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I’d like to tell her to go to hell, but I need this job, at least for a
few days. But, damn it, no old fart had better touch me, unless I give him
express permission.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">*<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsZZI98wzfW9mKd46zQ1X2ITlav3_k-rlSDcywBpA65x_fH5sk3_xmBsy2C3LLB_KeVuQvHY_YscvYLvICz4lMOn0n2rFePrK8bBYQdLYPYoHmUx8F4dzqLVhPFfUO6Pnc9ihjSWJbUbh/s1600-h/diner--waitress+10.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262414634869519458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilsZZI98wzfW9mKd46zQ1X2ITlav3_k-rlSDcywBpA65x_fH5sk3_xmBsy2C3LLB_KeVuQvHY_YscvYLvICz4lMOn0n2rFePrK8bBYQdLYPYoHmUx8F4dzqLVhPFfUO6Pnc9ihjSWJbUbh/s400/diner--waitress+10.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 291px;" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">Denise is not
only a bitch, but also a crook.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I was about to clear the counter in my station ꟷ it was a mess because
lunch had been busier than usual, so I was behind in my cleanup ꟷ when Denise
said, almost too sweetly, “Honey, you take a short break.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I got a bad feeling ꟷ it just didn’t fit; usually, she’s yelling at me to
get my ass in gear. Still, I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, so I
got myself a Coke and sat in a booth.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">You can tell Denise has been at this job a long time: she had that
counter cleared and cleaned in five minutes, but she wasn’t quite fast enough
with her sleight of hand: from the counter she slipped a dollar bill, my dollar
bill, into her pocket.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">A measly one buck an hour, and your fucking boss rips you off. If this is
the Establishment, then you can have it. “You took my dollar,” I said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“What dollar?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The gall. “My tip.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Lazy girls don’t get tips.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I wanted to strangle that woman, but if I confronted her, she’d deny it,
and then fire me for false accusations and insubordination.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Call the police? Right.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I’m going to quit as soon as possible and split this godforsaken town.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Where is that tax refund, anyway?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a name="_Hlk137665052">_________________________<o:p></o:p></a></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i>
Excerpts: Return to Table of Contents</a><o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_______________________</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">“Release from the Institution: Denise’s Tips,”
© copyright 2013 - present, by Jennifer Semple Siegel, may not be reprinted or
reposted without the express permission of the author. Published in <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Memoir-Madness-Driven-Involuntary-Commitment-ebook/dp/B009Z06ESS?" target="_blank">Memoir Madness: Driven to Involuntary Commitment</a></b></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;">_____________________<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">*Names and
identifying characteristics of Denise and her diner have been changed to protect her privacy.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;">_____________________</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-57979183365478687572008-12-02T16:36:00.002-08:002023-06-15T15:43:39.070-07:00The Institution: Proving My Sanity<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj1TNxbtQlR8c9zQevZs___ern5a9Tu2nAKFB1dui1jHmIW6lN4rqOjKA02OhfzGAX2QRyp3FimdMh0HLhL17mzU0O5nCRHk6qx7dtdSHXa2tEvs-sCOtkvMoafUc5ykrmrl_omlOALr0J/s1600-h/Jennifercloseup--1969.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262047948893118546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj1TNxbtQlR8c9zQevZs___ern5a9Tu2nAKFB1dui1jHmIW6lN4rqOjKA02OhfzGAX2QRyp3FimdMh0HLhL17mzU0O5nCRHk6qx7dtdSHXa2tEvs-sCOtkvMoafUc5ykrmrl_omlOALr0J/s400/Jennifercloseup--1969.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 303px;" /></a><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>(Cherokee, Iowa)<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>March 1969<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">Staff meeting
today. About 30 or so doctors and nurses sit in on this gala affair. More like
the gallows. I’m not sure why they have these meetings ꟷ I feel like a bug
stuck on a pin, struggling for life.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">When Carrie* had her staff meeting a few months ago, she ran out in the
middle of it, and ended up on locked ward for two months.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Dr. Kirkus will be here ꟷ that dude scares the shit out of me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">And he’s late. This session is supposed to start at 9:45 a.m., Kirkus
rolls in at 10:10.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I swear, he does it just to make me sweat.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">A nurse I don’t know calls me into a room designated “Group Therapy I,”
where I face an audience of unfamiliar and familiar faces, all watching,
waiting to see if I trip up.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Maintain, Jennifer, maintain.<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIXsmOGl1Ni7i6cq6jTwXGgU_4qbxmQIny9IWEhIhFPPK7Y31P0Pzv_u4ylVdumlUGDhaAzvJY7z9ftkolFrbiXH4QNXpVO7qB5eHOEpQdn17kGPnDT71f6rTVlyITBKyzlNnTvo94LktL/s1600-h/girl+on+couch+cheesy+13.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262033929991575618" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIXsmOGl1Ni7i6cq6jTwXGgU_4qbxmQIny9IWEhIhFPPK7Y31P0Pzv_u4ylVdumlUGDhaAzvJY7z9ftkolFrbiXH4QNXpVO7qB5eHOEpQdn17kGPnDT71f6rTVlyITBKyzlNnTvo94LktL/s400/girl+on+couch+cheesy+13.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 374px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I assume a pose of certainty, but I feel dizzy and lopsided. I take my
place up front, in a chair, positioned exactly in the middle. I smile at the
audience as if I were going on a picnic instead of a grilling.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Dr. Brooks introduces himself and begins questioning me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I answer truthfully, and to my surprise, quite calmly. Everything about
my past six months: job, drugs, sex, boyfriends, family fights, all laid out on
the table. None of it looks ugly anymore because it’s past, I can’t change it,
and I’m ready to move forward. I’m well prepared for this battery, which
surprises me ꟷ I thought I’d be tripping all over my tongue, but I’m not.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I like Dr. Brooks ꟷ he asks questions in a way that encourages.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I don’t feel like hiding anymore.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Dr. Favis, today an observer, peeks around another doctor, smiling ꟷ I’ve
never seen him yet when he wasn’t smiling. He nods his encouragement to me, I
nod back.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Dr. Brooks announces that the floor is open for questions from other
doctors, and I just know whose hand will pop up.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I’m right.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Dr. Kirkus, smirk on his face, slowly raises his hand. It seems as if
everyone else in the room has vanished, and it’s Dr. Kirkus and me facing off
in a duel. He stares me down; I stare back. He smiles sweetly, a sarcastic “I
gotcha!” smile.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“What states would you have to pass through to get to Pennsylvania?” he
asks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">The very same question asked at my bogus hearing! A snap!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I nearly blurt out, “That’s a dumb question,” but I hold my tongue.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I gather my thoughts. “You would go straight west to east,” I say. “You
would start out in Iowa, from Cherokee or Sioux City, cross the Iowa border
into Illinois, pass through Illinois into Indiana, from Indiana to Ohio, and,
finally, into Pennsylvania, where you would travel about 225 miles southeast to
York.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I have memorized the route to Pennsylvania.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">As the meeting breaks up, I know I have won ꟷ I have proven my sanity,
once again. I’m all smiles when, a few minutes later, Mr. Benson, my social
worker, confirms I have won my case ꟷ I’ll be released in two weeks ꟷ though I
haven’t quite won because I will need to stay in a foster home for a few months
and work for a while to earn some bread.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">We’ll see.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I applied for a town pass for Saturday. Cherokee’s nothing but a hick
town, but it’s an escape from the nuthouse.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I’ll grab whatever I can.<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW0PZYrvxxTbUMrsrFluVkMLNxF-dZwDL8qfV9SVhmy3w7ElzAfkvUkaTp-lrjA45wmOUC6HScD1P0FEXIYT8y2tMxIqhYbbDIx5gNC-z-2FclMXtUPJB8eaNSk3JpWj3h50XWAQz4Yfkr/s1600-h/Girl+in+Car+4.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262012572888813778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW0PZYrvxxTbUMrsrFluVkMLNxF-dZwDL8qfV9SVhmy3w7ElzAfkvUkaTp-lrjA45wmOUC6HScD1P0FEXIYT8y2tMxIqhYbbDIx5gNC-z-2FclMXtUPJB8eaNSk3JpWj3h50XWAQz4Yfkr/s400/Girl+in+Car+4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 273px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a name="_Hlk137665052">_________________________<o:p></o:p></a></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i>
Excerpts: Return to Table of Contents</a><o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_______________________</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">“Proving My Sanity,” © copyright 2013 -
present, by Jennifer Semple Siegel, may not be reprinted or reposted without
the express permission of the author. Published in <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Memoir-Madness-Driven-Involuntary-Commitment-ebook/dp/B009Z06ESS?" target="_blank">Memoir Madness: Driven to Involuntary Commitment</a></b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;">_____________________<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">*Names and
identifying characteristics of Cherokee inmates have been changed to protect
their privacy.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;">_____________________</span></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfUG6I1Yp-heEkpNsmf9gTK5APPooCndJcMY7Xq9eMY3fXXeGCrtWpJB8xV_IxbjhOqXEyNu2FzBGAhI3-NpylVWMBshaKOEf9wt8VgZaKnPd8l6lOGNCoDxeecTnkN7dyUhW6nZ-U5hg2/s1600-h/Girl+in+Car+5.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262014741761123298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfUG6I1Yp-heEkpNsmf9gTK5APPooCndJcMY7Xq9eMY3fXXeGCrtWpJB8xV_IxbjhOqXEyNu2FzBGAhI3-NpylVWMBshaKOEf9wt8VgZaKnPd8l6lOGNCoDxeecTnkN7dyUhW6nZ-U5hg2/s400/Girl+in+Car+5.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 323px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-19360996153850714302008-12-02T15:06:00.003-08:002023-06-15T15:13:01.740-07:00Other Patients: Anna on the Lam<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOkFRjBvOdhQ9bBanw4ZRR1jOwwrBTK_u0agx9fae6lEMJhMr4wl80A015S_UctR6YWBji_Dep1RRWJPj5B51wCl6KYrezSsq6NvSBtlOotZgA4MwndNDLSsr7xrhUkEOcVvauPxqfRSQ9/s1600-h/Anna+2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261610239686986658" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOkFRjBvOdhQ9bBanw4ZRR1jOwwrBTK_u0agx9fae6lEMJhMr4wl80A015S_UctR6YWBji_Dep1RRWJPj5B51wCl6KYrezSsq6NvSBtlOotZgA4MwndNDLSsr7xrhUkEOcVvauPxqfRSQ9/s400/Anna+2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 337px;" /></a>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>(Cherokee, Iowa)<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>February - April 1969<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">What a wild
weekend. Anna*, a chick who was admitted shortly after me, and her boyfriend
Benito, took off from the hospital on Saturday. I knew that they were planning
an escape, but I didn’t say anything to the staff. I figure it was their bag ꟷ they
would have to suffer the consequences, whatever that might be.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Also, even after Anna told me about their plan, her daring escape still
surprised me; of all the people I have met in here, Anna seemed the most
together and the least likely to pull off such a bold stunt.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">She’s smart, a natural leader, always reading The Great Books, and always
very carefully groomed, unlike the rest of us who slouch around like bums.
She’s not a pretty girl, at least in the traditional sense. She’s tall and raw-boned,
swarthy complexion, but almost sapphire eyes. She has short black hair, but
with a hint of gray ꟷ although she’s only 19 ꟷ and it’s styled in early Beatles
mop top, pudding bowl. She exudes a mannish quality, both in the way she
dresses in golf shirts and slacks that look like they’re part of a man’s dress
suit, and her mannerisms, especially her strident gait, like a businessman on
the way to an important meeting.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Goes to show that appearances aren’t always what they seem.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">But, alas, Anna and Benito got caught on Sunday ꟷ they didn’t even get to
the state line ꟷ and dragged back by the police and thrown into locked ward
(separate, of course). God, they’ll be there forever. They might even go to
jail.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Makes me think twice about just running off into the night ꟷ no money, no
extra clothes.<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_JZsy8THIo4jH9Ivf1oTIFBIO6sFYEr2hX8iTJ0lvMi_oNXYC4ny6gwzR2MYLUtsdoCkI_6gJLQ2MenNpLxkClo83SnoQ89ZDnzB5fsFbxAkpdt75SyzBVMhJaoNbnWtWxPcCSlQkNO28/s1600-h/CherokeeLongRoad.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261619491705540466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_JZsy8THIo4jH9Ivf1oTIFBIO6sFYEr2hX8iTJ0lvMi_oNXYC4ny6gwzR2MYLUtsdoCkI_6gJLQ2MenNpLxkClo83SnoQ89ZDnzB5fsFbxAkpdt75SyzBVMhJaoNbnWtWxPcCSlQkNO28/s400/CherokeeLongRoad.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 330px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a name="_Hlk137665052">_________________________<o:p></o:p></a></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i>
Excerpts: Return to Table of Contents</a><o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_______________________</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">“Other Patients: Anna on the Lam,” © copyright
2013 - present, by Jennifer Semple Siegel, may not be reprinted or reposted
without the express permission of the author. Published in <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Memoir-Madness-Driven-Involuntary-Commitment-ebook/dp/B009Z06ESS?" target="_blank">Memoir Madness: Driven to Involuntary Commitment</a></b></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;">_____________________<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">*Names and
identifying characteristics of Cherokee inmates have been changed to protect
their privacy.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;">_____________________</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-717212676198526548.post-72260843497404102732008-12-02T14:54:00.006-08:002023-06-15T13:56:09.182-07:00Other Patients: D.J., The Mighty Sage<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNAu6vNUqgrBV_oOD53rhed07i6oe1LO_W2BySUkZiSros7YzuyXS59vm5PgyiNy-8ImLypOXY-rRxapfFSQ61OChD38wGvfLE5T2oy9-VrsGQ4_LKB6g4dDrIBec-tveffH5unJriSVda/s1600-h/gardener+17.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260811280650978818" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNAu6vNUqgrBV_oOD53rhed07i6oe1LO_W2BySUkZiSros7YzuyXS59vm5PgyiNy-8ImLypOXY-rRxapfFSQ61OChD38wGvfLE5T2oy9-VrsGQ4_LKB6g4dDrIBec-tveffH5unJriSVda/s400/gardener+17.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 222px;" /></a>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>(Cherokee, Iowa)<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><b>February - April 1969 (Select Passages)<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">I meet a new
friend today ꟷ it’s kind of cold, a cruddy day, but I have to get out of that
stuffy ward and take a walk, get away from Carrie* and her wild escape stories.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Try not to think about Joyce* and her ten ways of suicide.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Clear my head, figure out this thing with Jeff and his sudden feelings
for that 17-year-old-chick who suddenly popped up.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I will go mad if I don’t go out and kick some snow banks.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">A middle-aged guy, carrying some two by fours, is tromping through a snowbank
when he drops the boards to the ground, stumbles over them, and then falls flat
on his rear.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I run over to help. “You okay?” I assume he’s part of the maintenance
staff.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“No, no, I mean, yes, I’m okay.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Let me help you.” I grab his hand and help him up.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Thank you.” Very formal.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“You’re not hurt?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">He laughs and brushes himself off. “Nope.” He sticks out his hand. “I’m
D.J.*”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">He looks about 35, a big man but not fat, with dusky, reddish skin and
slicked back shiny black hair, blue eyes, and thick lips. He wears a red
knitted winter cap with ear flaps. No mittens or gloves.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I take his hand. “I’m Jennifer.” D.J. has the biggest hands I have ever
seen, broad like paddles, with long thick fingers. His handshake is tentative,
respectful.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">He wears no winter coat, but he’s obviously layered in several shirts,
the top one a gray flannel. A matching scarf wrapped around his neck. He’s clad
in brand new overalls and old rubber boots, the kind with those lattice metal
buckles that we all wore as kids. He looks a bit unsteady on his feet.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“You sure you’re okay?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Yeah, I’m always tripping over my own feet. I got a little bit of
palsy.” Then he says, with a bit of a stutter. “I’m-m re-tard-ed.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I see.” I help him pick up his boards and walk with him to the
maintenance shed, just to make sure he’s really okay. We rap ꟷ mostly, he raps
ꟷ all the way to the shed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">D.J.’s kinda cool, and he’s only slightly retarded ꟷ if he hadn’t told
me, I would’ve just thought a little slow. He works on the grounds, but he’s also
a patient.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">He’s been here for 26 years, since he was 17!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Oh-my-god! I can’t even imagine being here when I’m 43. I’ll be an old
lady, one foot in the grave.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">But D.J. seems happy. When I asked him, “Don’t you want to split this
joint?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">He shrugged. “Not really,” he said. “I been here almost all my life. I
got a job, my own room, and three meals a day.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“But what about your freedom?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“To do what?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Well, you could get an apartment, a job on the outside, an old lady ꟷ ”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">He shook his head violently. “Naw, no, I don’t think so. See, I don’t add
and subtract too good, and I can’t read or write none too good either.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“You like it here?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I dunno. It’s all right, I suppose. I don’t know any different.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I hadn’t considered the possibility that someone would actually want to
stay.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Maybe that’s what happens when you get stuck in the system and can’t get
out.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">*<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhfWvvGazV5_IFYQLy7Px2G6bZtHG_6H5qN-FJUaNH-QxjzkllwuiYXbGN8tENltUe3xgTLwoIuBsNVkl_oU9OSz_c-L2HO526sGUlq6JnssDQ_3IS9UoAqK4ppxg0jSLXW3tZSjpjYTT8/s1600-h/gardener+24.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260817207363638914" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhfWvvGazV5_IFYQLy7Px2G6bZtHG_6H5qN-FJUaNH-QxjzkllwuiYXbGN8tENltUe3xgTLwoIuBsNVkl_oU9OSz_c-L2HO526sGUlq6JnssDQ_3IS9UoAqK4ppxg0jSLXW3tZSjpjYTT8/s400/gardener+24.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 394px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 301px;" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">I go to
Donohoe to shoot baskets and then go for a walk and see D.J. again. I only ever
see him when I’m outside, walking around on the grounds, never in the dining
room or at any of the events.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">When I ask him why he never goes to the social events, he says, “I’m too
shy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I tell him he should go to the dance tonight, but he just shakes his head
violently. “Too many people.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I can’t imagine isolating myself like that. Scary to think that I might
be D.J.’s only friend.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I went to a dance once, when I first got here,” he says. “Some boys
called me ‘re-TARD-do,’ and boxed me into a corner.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Some guys are so immature, picking on someone like D.J., who’s about as
sweet as they come. “Didn’t the attendants do anything?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">When Wolfie* the psycho danced me into the corner, they were on him like
a fly on shit.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Naw, they just laughed.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">Man, this place must’ve really sucked back then. “It’s probably different
now. You might have fun.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">He shakes his head, so I let it drop.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“How did you get in here, anyway?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“My mother told me I had to live here.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Oh.” How must he feel, being rejected by his own mother?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“My dad left when I was five. Said he didn’t want to live with no retard.
Mom tried her best, but when I turned 17, she got sick. I had to go to court.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Yeah, I know all about that.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“You had to go to court?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Oh, yeah.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Are you retarded, too?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I laugh. “Just stupid.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">His face brightens. “My mom visited me every week, but then she died.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I’m sorry.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. But she’s still right here,” he says,
his hand over his heart.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“You have a good attitude, D.J.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Do you get visitors?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I picture Mo and Dee Dee driving to Cherokee, via icy back roads, only to
be turned away. “A few. All my friends live far away.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I don’t get visitors no more,” he says.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Oh, D.J.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“But it’s okay.” He outstretches his arms and twirls around. “This is my
family now.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I can’t even imagine it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">*<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOo-9kZNw5rlB4VsG74dX__n0cmqlM-u4TsU9V7Kc166W1ZT67XzwTO7n1JAiWqpt46jVhgjrsdzXmWICeT6idf_LoM1yez7O9PgMf-N-9KlT86-o3M6XHyhbLd0RVMvye9LYKsdXcW7yo/s1600-h/CherokeeGrounds+4.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260829164071177154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOo-9kZNw5rlB4VsG74dX__n0cmqlM-u4TsU9V7Kc166W1ZT67XzwTO7n1JAiWqpt46jVhgjrsdzXmWICeT6idf_LoM1yez7O9PgMf-N-9KlT86-o3M6XHyhbLd0RVMvye9LYKsdXcW7yo/s400/CherokeeGrounds+4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;">I’ll be so
glad to split this joint ꟷ<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">But not until I say goodbye to D.J.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">I find him watering a fir tree. “Hey, D.J.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">He nods.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Well, this is it; I leave tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I know.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I just want to say goodbye.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I hate goodbyes.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I do too.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Will you visit me?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I’m going to Pennsylvania, D.J., and it’s far away.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Yeah, I know. To see Jeff.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“That’s right.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Thanks for inviting me to the dance. It was fun.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Yeah, it was.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“I’m gonna miss you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">“Me too.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">He continues watering the fir, lightly shaking the hose as if to nudge
the water out faster. Then he puts the hose down and hugs me, a tentative,
holding back hug. I’m going away, after all, out of his sphere, and he has
already begun the process of disconnecting.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">My life is about to take a dramatic turn ꟷ how it eventually plays out,
I’m not sure ꟷ but I’ll be out of here and into the world, doing my thing.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">But D.J.’s day-to-day life is here, always to be the same, following the
seasons, nurturing new plants, mourning the dying and dead.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-indent: 0.25in;">If I were to return 25-35 years from now, I might find D.J., an old man,
in this same spot, the fir tree a mighty sage.<o:p></o:p></p>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWrLd-DC8dDQcfd1wZkqqFd2xWGMWDzGntV7B511quv6qsjkKRgszdE6R4OJaGtKeW3Vos6E189Sbm9ZFRnGC2qCxjTAcl0rzAUo__77vJ0UqAi9LyooT6PGxhJkKwaz1PTGUAi4SNNJI/s1600-h/Giant+Fir+4.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260819869216275090" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWrLd-DC8dDQcfd1wZkqqFd2xWGMWDzGntV7B511quv6qsjkKRgszdE6R4OJaGtKeW3Vos6E189Sbm9ZFRnGC2qCxjTAcl0rzAUo__77vJ0UqAi9LyooT6PGxhJkKwaz1PTGUAi4SNNJI/s400/Giant+Fir+4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a name="_Hlk137665052">_________________________<o:p></o:p></a></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"><b><a href="https://www.memoirmadness.com/2008/11/table-of-contents-for-i-driven-memoir.html" target="_blank"><i>Memoir Madness</i>
Excerpts: Return to Table of Contents</a><o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;">_______________________</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">“Other Patients: D.J., The Mighty Sage,” © copyright 2013 -
present, by Jennifer Semple Siegel, may not be reprinted or reposted without
the express permission of the author. Published in <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Memoir-Madness-Driven-Involuntary-Commitment-ebook/dp/B009Z06ESS?" target="_blank">Memoir Madness: Driven toInvoluntary Commitment</a></b></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;">_____________________<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">*Names and
identifying characteristics of Cherokee inmates have been changed to protect
their privacy.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk137665052;">_____________________</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0