By Bill Sharon
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During my first several weeks working as a teacher at the state mental hospital on Ward’s Island in New York City in 1969 (armed with little else that a BA in English and a pulse – attributes deemed more than adequate by the personnel office) I had the following experience:One day in the early fall I was walking on the grounds of the hospital with some of the children in my care. A well dressed man wearing sunglasses came up to me and started a conversation. He seemed well educated and was well spoken. Out of the corner of my eye I could seem my colleagues holding each other up as they convulsed with laughter. |
As I took a closer look at the man I was talking to I saw that he was had an additional pair of sunglasses perched on his head, a pair on a string around his neck and a pair in his hand that he gestured with as he spoke to me. I backed out of the conversation as quickly as I could and endured the good natured ribbing from the staff for some time. This man, according to the whispered story, was the son of a very wealthy family that had spent a small fortune on therapy and clinics and had finally given up and committed him to the state mental hospital. A few weeks after my encounter with him he disappeared into a locked ward having been deemed a danger to himself and others. (more…)
