TandC Associates, LLC

What follows is organized by answering some general questions about the “never-to-be-forgotten Forgotten People,” with specific lessons to be learned from individuals suffering with mental illnesses.  In addition to whatever memories I have of each of these men and women, I have included (when possible) their own words as part of their legacy.  It is no accident that I also will be reporting on the variety of different ways each and every one of these wonderful people has gifted me and added to my growth.  In the end, however, the ultimate purpose is hopefully to arouse in some others an understanding of what these “never-to-be-forgotten” Forgotten People can provide to all of us.  Their experiences and words can significantly contribute to the advancement of our society, if we can but be open to them.

My first memories are of Worcester State Hospital in Massachusetts during World War II.  My father was the Clinical Director and my mother was able to follow her career in social work, as some patients were considered “safe” enough to provide housekeeping and childcare services.  Patients assumed other jobs while the war progressed and increasingly staff members were drafted for the war effort.  Patients were utilized as ward attendants, artisans (plumbers, electricians), farmers, and so on.

Among my most vivid and long-lasting memories of that time were the constant vocal sounds of more than 2,000 patients 24 hours a day, seven days a week.  This was before any of the modern psychotropic medications were introduced. With the war’s end, staff returned and patients I had known, like Johnny, disappeared back into locked wards.

I grew up learning to play baseball in warm weather with patients and staff mixing together and not knowing who was which.  I had similar experiences roaming the hospital grounds meeting people who were performing such tasks as gardening, landscaping, maintenance activities, etc. — again with no labeling as to who was patient and who was staff.  In almost all cases, they would gladly stop to chat with children like myself, my two brothers and the children of other hospital employees who also lived in housing on the hospital grounds.

Lesson #1 – Patients are People

One such example was a gardener who helped us tend the Victory gardens we maintained during World War II, thus allowing us to successfully grow lettuce, beans and other fresh vegetables that otherwise would have been unavailable.  He was a most friendly, knowledgeable person whom I did not identify as a patient.

Similarly, another individual was a stonemason who constructed walls, many of which stand to this day, around the hospital grounds, never using cement.  It was only later that I found out that he was a patient.  As he grew older he utilized state employees to help by lifting and placing stones under his supervision.  I have a mind’s picture of a dump truck filled with stone slabs and a group of men around it at a stonewall work site.  The mason (the patient) was directing the men (the state employees, I learned later) as to where to place each stone.

Dorothy was the first patient-person in my life, as she was my Au pair and the family’s housekeeper from 1939-1948.  Having been diagnosed with mental illness at a young age, she had been hospitalized for over 20 years.  Her presence in our home allowed my mother, a trained social worker, to follow her career, knowing that her children and the home we lived in were well taken care of during the day.  Dorothy was a “significant other” for me during the first 10 years of my life.  I perceived her as a caring, “normal” person, instead of a chronically institutionalized patient.  We would talk about my day at school, plans for holidays and where some of my toys were that I couldn’t easily find – the normal everyday home conversations in which most children engage.  She also supervised my two brothers and me as we made our beds each day, and asked for our help in finishing some of the daily chores, where needed.

While these individuals all seemed “normal” to me, I do not believe they or many others with whom I came in contact with at Worcester State ever got discharged from the hospital.  Yet they all underscored the Lesson that although they were patients, they were first and foremost people.

Helen at Connecticut Valley State Hospital (Middletown, CT) is still another example of a patient whom I saw as a person.  She was an older woman who had been in hospital for some time.  I was a student at Wesleyan University and several of us began a volunteer program – visiting patients at the hospital, once a week.  Early on, I noticed this lady sitting in the day room all by herself away from others, unsmiling, not looking at anyone nor apparently involved in anything that was going on.  Near the end of our time volunteering there one week, I moved a table over by her, sat down next to her and began putting a jigsaw puzzle together.  I left the just started puzzle to be continued the next week.  When I returned, I again moved the puzzle table over by her and began putting pieces together, and noted that she was following my work with her eyes. The next week, I asked if she would help me, she smiled and put a piece into place.  As we got to know each other, I learned that she never had a visitor, and that I was the first outsider to pay attention to her.  I interacted with Helen, in her words, as a “relative”; a person, not a patient.  Again, our conversations were filled with the mundane everyday items in which “normal” people engage.  As the school year ended, I learned that Helen was so improved that she was to be transferred out of the hospital to a nursing home.

What all of these men and women underscore is the Lesson that although they were patients, they were first and foremost people.

Again, we at TCA wish to remind readers that this abstract is from a larger body of work pending publication; therefore, any reference to it or quotation from it must be with the author’s permission.  Readers interested in obtaining permission may get in touch at

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