WORKING
AT FAIRFIELD HILLS HOSPITAL
IN NEWTOWN,
CONNECTICUT.
Jerry Haffke Remembers:
Part VII
My last days in the Army and Return to Fairfield Hills
My last days in the U.S. Army, where I had become a Spec. 5 (Sergeant) were spent at Fort Hamilton, Staten Island, New York. It was the end of February 1967 and the Vietnam War was in "full bloom". Fort Wadsworth was an induction and discharge point and thus extremely busy with soldiers and paper work. I had been so lucky not to have been sent to Vietnam. Although once, I had orders for Korea which the Brigadier General whom I worked for had been able to cancel. I had spent about a year and a half working in the General's house as an "orderly" stationed on the tip of the Sandy Hook State park, called Fort Hancock. This State Park was a peninsula reaching into the Atlantic Ocean off the New Jersey coastline. Asbury Park and even Atlantic City were not far away and I often went with the General's wife shopping at the P.X. in Fort Monmouth. Fort Hancock was a beautiful, serene post and I spent many hours in the dunes and at the Nation's oldest light-tower located there. One could see the outline of New York City across the bay and it was a spectacular view indeed.
View from the front entrance of
the General's house westward, towards New Jersey
On my weekends off, I would usually take a bus which came from Asbury Park
and stopped at a small diner right next to the State Park entrance, to New York
City. Changing buses at the huge bus terminal off 8th Ave. in New York, to
continue to Danbury, Ct.. I usually visited Pete, Ingrid and Pia at their
apartment in Bethel, where I was always welcomed like family. Often John
Kilpatrick would come by to visit me and we would go off for the afternoon. The
only problem was going back to Fort Hancock on Sunday evenings. Since the last
bus for New York City left on Sunday mornings, and I didn't want to leave that
early, I had to take the train from the small train station in Bethel in the
evening. This train came from Danbury and went to Norwalk where I had to change
trains for New York. Since this was a long, slow and taxing ride, I dreaded it,
but had no other alternative. Arriving usually around ten p.m. at Grand Central
Station in New York, I had to walk down 42nd street to the bus terminal to catch
the last bus to Asbury Park. Of course this time element was tense and I was
always afraid to miss the bus and thus not make it for work at the General's
house at seven a.m. on Monday morning and thus be "AWOL". Usually arriving at
the Sandy Hook State Park gate by 1:30 a.m., I had to, then, go to the little
guard house at the park entrance, talk to the lone guard there and tell him that
I would like to wait for a ride from a late service man returning to
Fort
Hancock. Sometimes the wait was endless, because it was already so late. But
there seemed to be always a kind soul who would eventually come by and give me a
ride to the post. Walking was out of the question because one had to get through the length
of the entire state park to get to Fort Hancock, and that was probably a good
two hour walk along a deserted and pitch-dark road... So I usually arrived at
the General's house between two and three o'clock in the morning. I had my own
key and quietly went upstairs to my third floor "apartment" in his house to
catch a few hours of sleep before cooking breakfast in the morning at seven
a.m.. Wearing black pants and a white shirt with black bow-tie, I hardly ever
wore my uniform. My position on post was highly respected, not the least because
I had instant "access" to the General and thus everybody from Colonels to
Privates, treated me with utmost care. This often embarrassed me, since I'm not
ever a person looking for power or "privilege" and would never even think of
"talking to the General" about my comrades. Nevertheless, I must admit, in
retrospect, that my "position" with the General, gave me pride to a certain
degree and "peace" from the usual harassment one finds on an army installation.
The General was a very kind but disciplined soldier of the "old school". A West
Point and War College graduate, I would never have dared, even if I wanted to,
to bother him with trivial nonsense. He and his wife always called me by my last
name: "Haffke" and all our interactions were based on formality and respect. His
wife, unlike the General, being around me all day, often spoke freely with me
about life and the military. We both loved to listen to WQXR, a classical music
station in New York City, on the kitchen radio. She was a Southern lady from
Virginia, very traditional and conservative and didn't like the idea that I had
joined AMORC and took their study course. AMORC, as most people might know, is a
"Rosicrucian" organization located in California. Having seen their adds in
various magazines, I joined and received their home-study material on a regular
basis. Since all my mail came to c/o General ...., she saw the tan envelopes
with the AMORC seal and logo on them and told me sincerely that she was worried
about my soul and spiritual well being... I only mention this, to show that the
General and his wife were genuinely concerned about me, despite my being just an
orderly in their house and treated me often like part of the family. I can not
and would not reveal their names nor any more details, because in my "position",
I had "Top Security" clearance and swore upon my "debriefing" before being
discharged, that all information related to the General was to remain secret.
Not that there was anything to tell, I feel, nevertheless, that to write
anything more about him or his family would be dishonorable...
The easterly view from the
General's house facing the parade grounds and
further on the main part of the installation. Most of the houses visible are
officer's residences.
Just about every evening, after
eight, I spent at the small service club. This club was run by a retired WAC
lady who took a liking to me and when
we
occasionally went to see Broadway plays sponsored through the USO, I served upon
her request as her "escort". We usually went by a special Army bus (school bus
type) to those plays and we enjoyed them greatly. With
special fondness I remember also our Sgt/Major on post, a black man married to a
German lady, who both helped me through my stay at the General's house. Their
son, Maurice, was a great friend and chess partner to me at the service club
although he was only a high school senior at the time. I only wished that I
remembered their last name, to perhaps find Maurice through the internet. Other
great friends at Fort Hancock were a career soldier, a sergeant, named "Kenny",
with whom I spent countless hours, mostly at the service club, listening to
classical records, especially Tchaikovsky's piano concertos and symphonies and
debating religion, philosophy and politics, and Phil? Weinberg from the Boston
area who was a kind and gentle soul who hated the army and couldn't wait to get
out. Unfortunately, and to my utter regret, I have forgotten so many names and
lost contact with so many friends, which I had made in the army.
For my discharge I spent about a week or so at Fort Wadsworth waiting for my Honorable Discharge papers to come and be processed. It was a "hell-hole" compared to quaint Fort Hancock and the barracks were overcrowded with soldiers in the same position as I was. Even to the last day we had to work in "details" on post which ranged from pulling K.P. (Kitchen police - which meant cleaning the kitchen and mess-hall and "prep-cooking") to cleaning the grounds and barracks. I remember distinctly my feelings of "un-ease" because one never knew what the army might do in regards to being finally discharged. Would they and could they possibly extend our time? Could our orders for discharge get screwed-up and thus make us serve an extended period in the army? Don't forget, we were hotly engaged in Vietnam at the time and thus anything was possible. The sergeants and other military personnel at Fort Hamilton seemed like a bunch of swaggering jail-keepers instead of fellow G.I's to me. Perhaps they were jealous about our imminent discharge? I don't know and can only guess, because their behavior towards their fellow comrades was worse then despicable.
Sure enough, when my discharge
finally came through, it was a "General Discharge" and I was stunned. How could
this be? Of course, our "jailers"
didn't want to hear of any problems and told me in so many words to either take
it or "shove" it. What a nightmare! How in hell would the army come up with a
"General" discharge for me when I had served faithfully and honorably... After a
lot of abuse by the sergeant in the office, he finally did put a call through to
the Sgt/Major (my friend) at Fort Hancock and put me at the end of the line. The
good Sgt/Major, a rough and tough battle-tried soldier of the old school, went
ballistic and told me to sign nothing, accept nothing and wait for his arrival
at Fort Hamilton the next day. Then he told me to put the sergeant back on the
line and gave him holy hell, telling him that I had been General ....'s orderly
and that he would contact the General immediately after their "conversation".
-For the first time at Fort Wadsworth, I saw a sudden change come over this crew
of swaggering tormentors. The sergeant whom I had been dealing with apologized
profusely for the "mistake" and gave me the afternoon off. Soon the rest of his
self-inflated goons began treating all of us with utmost care and correctness.
When my former Sgt/Major arrived the next morning, he had my discharge
papers in his hands. General .... had made some calls and everything was
suddenly cleared up. I was so happy to see my friend the Sgt/Major that I could
have kissed him. He was the best and still "one of the few" who would "buck the
army" when he saw an injustice done to his men. Going straight to the commanding
officer at Fort Wadsworth, I can only imagine what he told this colonel.... As I
was officially discharged the next morning, March 1, 1967 with an "Honorable
Discharge" in my duffel bag.
Walking by the guard house at the entrance of Fort Wadsworth, I felt like a prisoner released from jail. A heavy weight seemed to fall off my shoulders as I walked past the M.P. standing there. I was a free man, finally.... FREE AT LAST!
Lugging
my duffel bag containing most of my worldly belongings, including a
field-jacked, fatigues and two class "a" uniforms through the streets of Staten
Island, trying to find the "Staten Island Ferry", the one that still charged
only a "nickel" for the ride, to get to Manhattan and from there to Pete's home
in Bethel, Connecticut. Always reluctant to ask for directions, I finally did
ask somebody where to find the ferry. The harbor wasn't far away and I finally
boarded the large ship. God, I felt so good and so alive and so strong! Eating a
hot dog on board and watching the Manhattan sky line approach, my thoughts were
already back at Fairfield Hills and with all the friends whom I had left behind
for three years....
Since the ferry lands at the lower end of Manhattan, the "Bowery" and
"Battery Park" area and I had to get to the bus terminal by 42nd Street, 42
blocks would be too far to walk. The Subway would be a good option, I thought,
but not knowing much about the routes and stations, I decided to get a taxi
right at Battery Park, celebrating in a small way my new lease on life and
freedom.
At around two p.m. I was snugly and happily seated on an "Providence Arrow
Line" bus, bound for my beloved Danbury. I had, waiting for the bus,
called Pete and John Kilpatrick collect, telling them that I would arrive at
North Street shopping center in Danbury at about 4 p.m.. Unfortunately, Pete was
working the afternoon "relief" shift at Fairfield Hills and thus couldn't be
there to pick me up. Ingrid, his sister, was also working at Danbury Hospital
laundry. But my good old friend, faithful "uncle John", was there, waiting for
me at the bus stop in a recently bought Jeep "Waggoner", a forerunner to today's
popular SUV's. I was so happy to see him and shake his hand. How good it is to
have a true friend in life! And "uncle John" was just that. After admiring his
Jeep, we decided to go to a diner located right in the shopping center and had
coffee and a "Danish", while I talked and talked about Fort Wadsworth, my
discharge problems, the army in general (he had been a sergeant in the Army Air-Corps
during the Korean war) and my future... Which, of course, was for me my return
to work at Fairfield Hills Hospital, the place which had such an impact on me
three years ago. John told me the latest gossip from the hospital, how Harold
Huntington had once again gotten drunk and in a rage turned over the Coca Cola
machine in the Norwalk-Hall basement, because it was empty and didn't return his
quarter (or dime).... And how a female employee had been caught trying to climb
through Mr. Peterson's dorm window.... On and on went our chatter and suddenly
we realized that more than two hours had passed. John offered that I could stay
at his cabin in Southbury, but I declined because it was still in the same shape
as before, with the toilet
located
in an "outhouse" outside the cabin. Thus he took me to Pete's and Ingrid's "new"
house on Hickock Avenue in Bethel. Ingrid and Pia were there to welcome me
"home" and put me up in a small bedroom upstairs. John, having to work the night
shift at Fairfield Hills, left soon in order to catch some sleep before going to
work. He promised to return the next morning to drive me to the hospital so I
could see Mrs. Adams and process the paper work necessary for me to return to
work. Naturally, Ingrid and I had much to talk about. Smoking and drinking cup
after cup of coffee, we reminisced and I told her about my experiences at Fort
Hamilton and my plans to return to Fairfield Hills. Pete walked in on us around
midnight and Ingrid went to sleep in her little house adjacent to Pete's. In the
driveway I saw Pete's new car a Chevy "Camero", his pride and joy. He always
loved sporty cars, while I liked John's type of Jeep much more. Nevertheless, I
was happy for him. We sat up until three or four in the morning, talking and
planning until the exciting events of my day caught up with me and I had to go
to sleep. Despite being so tired, or because I was over-tired, it took a long
time for me to actually
fall asleep.
John rang the door-bell at around nine a.m. and woke me up from a
dreamless sleep. Pete too came out of his bedroom to see what was going on,
although I had told him about John coming in the morning to take me to see Mrs.
Adams. After getting "properly" dressed in a hurry, shaving and washing my face
quickly in the bathroom sink, John and I took off for Newtown.
Route 203, through Bethel and parts of Newtown was always my favorite scenic
road. I watched silently the pretty New England sights and remembered with a
sickening feeling in my stomach, how John had driven me a little over three
years ago, through an ice storm, on the same road, but in the opposite
direction, to the Draft Board office in Danbury for induction into the Army...
And now, three years later, I was back, but as a much more self-confident and
stronger young man. Having "survived" the Army, I felt that I was capable to
handle anything life could possibly throw at me. Hell, I had served my new
country, the America I loved, with honor and would soon be a full-fledged
citizen. I had gone through "hell" in "basic training" and AIT (Advanced
Infantry Training) and survived the mental and physical challenges...and I was
proud of it.
When we entered Newtown and Route 25, I was struck by the fact that
everything still looked the same. We passed "Amaral Motors", the Newtown
Chrysler-Plymouth dealership on the right and then made the left turn leading
into Fairfield Hills Hospital. And the hospital too, looked just the same as I
had left it behind on that icy February morning in 1964. I was "home".
Picture of Fort Hancock Headquarters
Offices and old Light Tower
As seen from the General's House. In foreground
is the Parade Ground.
This picture courtesy of:
www.nell.cc/Archives/
Continue to page VIII of "Working at Fairfield Hills Hospital"
Go back to Page I of Working at Fairfield Hills Hospital
If you have
worked at Fairfield State (Hills) hospital, especially from 1960 - 1980,
I would love to hear from you. Please don't hesitate to e-mail me at:
discoverer73@hotmail.com
If you remember me, all the better...
I now live in Savannah, Ga.
For more
pictures from Fairfield Hills go to:
http://new.photos.yahoo.com/starsbelowme/album/576460762337228785
Other websites of
interest with many pictures from whom I have stolen some:
http://www.fairfieldhills.com/bldFFH.html
http://www.fairfieldstatehospital.com/
I want to thank those
websites above for their efforts of keeping the memory of Fairfield State
(Hills) Hospital alive
and for the pictures taken after the closing of this once remarkable
institution. And I hope that you, who took and
published these pictures don't mind sharing them with me and my viewers. I have
attempted to contact
www.fairfieldhills.com by e-mail,
but the mail was returned to me as undeliverable. So I figured that
you wouldn't mind my "stealing".