WORKING
AT FAIRFIELD HILLS HOSPITAL
IN NEWTOWN,
CONNECTICUT.
Jerry Haffke Remembers:
Part V
Classroom Training and Going to Fairfield House
Trip to Plymouth Rock and Provincetown, Cape Cod
Over the first two weeks of
intensive classroom training on the third floor of Shelton House we trainees,
despite of our various backgrounds and age differences, became quite comfortable
with each other. During my first weekend off, while in class, Jerry Hatchey had
asked me if I would like to take a ride to Plymouth, Massachusetts and Cape Cod.
We left in his car on Friday evening after eating supper in Bridgeport
Hall. Taking Route 7 through Sandy Hook, Derby and Ansonia, and connected to
I-95 North in New Haven. Eventually getting to Providence, Rhode Island, Jerry
decided to drive through downtown Providence to show me the city. Of course, I
was always eager to see new sights in my beloved new home country and thus was
happy that Jerry was eager to be my guide. Providence, as I remember it, seemed
to me, generally speaking, just as seedy looking and dilapidated as downtown
Hartford and New Haven. Since we didn't have much time to really explore the
city, I don't want to sound too judgmental, but must say that from what I saw,
driving through the downtown area, the city didn't impress me at all. We stopped
at a Farm Shop restaurant and had a hamburger, fries and coffee and also bought
a cup of coffee each to take with us. Arriving in Plymouth it was already dusky
and getting darker quickly. Jerry knew his way around amazingly well
and
immediately drove me to see the famous Plymouth rock. Telling me a little about
it's historic significance, we got out of the car to look at and walk around it.
Happy that I had seen this historic landmark, we drove around Plymouth
for a short while and I remember that this struck me as quite fascinating with
it's old, well kept houses and buildings. By that time darkness had set in as we
drove on to Cape Cod. Listening to a classical radio station on the car radio, I
remember that I was startled to hear the broadcast of an event featuring a
speech by a National Renaissance Party speaker. What I heard was even more
startling because what he said was pure nazi ideology! Even martial music was
included, and I was completely dumbfounded... Jerry too was amazed and told me a
little about this strange party. I don't know what radio station it was that
presented this program, but assume that, since there were no commercials, it was
a public radio station. The broadcast wasn't an excerpt, but the entire rally.
Amazing, can you imagine this being broadcast today on public radio?
On
Cape Cod we made our way in the direction of Provincetown. Driving for a while,
with very little traffic around since it was off season already, Jerry pointed
to the gates of a compound with a large seeming mansion type of structure
sitting way back in a distance and told me that this was the Kennedy estate home
to our president's family. Since there was very little to see in the darkness,
we kept on going until we finally arrived at the outskirts of Provincetown.
Actually there were only lots of dunes and plenty of small motels along the road
and Jerry said that it would be best to check into a motel before we got too
close to Provincetown because the motel prices would increase drastically the
closer we got to the town.
He pulled into a "ma and pa" type of small motel, so typical of that era
and we went in to register. A room with two beds for two nights cost us about 20
dollars, I believe. After registering and looking at our room, we went back to
the car and Jerry drove into Provincetown. It was already past eleven at night
and there was very little to see or do besides going into one of the many bars
which seemed to flourish. Jerry pointed out that many of the bars in
Provincetown were gay bars because Provincetown, even in those days, had a
sizable homosexual community. Since neither Jerry nor I felt adventurous enough
to explore gay bars and we weren't "bar-people" anyways, we only stopped at a
seedy looking diner, had some coffee and drove back to our motel. Watching some
TV to wind down, we soon fell asleep.
The next day, Saturday morning, I awoke, took a shower, got dressed and
went outside into the very cool and windy morning. The sky was overcast and
didn't look very promising. Feeling cold I walked toward the large dunes in back
of the motel. Jerry was still asleep. Climbing up the dunes, I soon saw the
ocean. Actually I think it was more of a bay, since I saw the outline of land in
the distance. It was, nevertheless, a beautiful sight. But the icy wind soon
changed my adventurous mood and I went back to the motel. Jerry was up by then
and we made plans to go back to Provincetown.
Eating breakfast at a more "civilized" diner, Provincetown looked more
inviting than it had the night before. Since Jerry and I were both "outsiders",
which in today's English would be termed "nerds", we hadn't come to Cape Cod and
Provincetown to have "fun". We were there to look at the sights, observe the
people and learn. This old Portuguese fishing town was interesting to us because
we loved history. Having walked all over town, admiring it's small harbor, it's
old buildings and structures and it's beautiful, but deserted beach we returned
to the diner for a late lunch. After eating we walked some more and ended up
climbing sand dunes to do some beach-walking. This, remote area was completely
deserted. All alone by the magnificent Atlantic ocean we discussed, while
walking, religion, philosophy, history and politics. It was getting late and we
were hungry again. Jerry wanted to introduce me to eating lobster. I was
reluctant because eating those big ugly crabs didn't strike me as exactly my
idea of a meal. Jerry finally convinced me that I should at least try lobster
once. So we ended up in one of the many lobster houses in Provincetown. People
in the restaurant who were already eating wore those huge bibs and I remember
thinking that looked. The smell in the place struck me as repulsive. Being not
an enthusiastic fish eater, even the Friday fish meals at Bridgeport Hall and
the accompanying fishy odor in the cafeteria made me almost gag. And here I was
even paying to be exposed to this, to me, horrendous smell. After we ordered,
with Jerry ordering for me, the plates with the huge lobsters came. Jerry
explained the different dishes and utensils to me and I followed his lead. The
whole operation struck me as awkward and not worth the trouble. Eating some
bites of the meat I decided that it wasn't bad, but certainly not worth the
trouble and smell.
I couldn't wait to get out of that place and after Jerry, who loved
lobster, was eventually finished, we paid and left.
We were tired from walking all day and tracking through the sandy dunes. It had
been, all in all, an exciting day. Again, watching some TV, we went to sleep.
Sunday morning we checked out of the motel early and decided that we would
drive around Cape Cod some more and leave around noon to be back at Fairfield
State Hospital in time to relax and get enough sleep to go back to work in the
morning. Jerry wanted to take a ferry-boat to Martha's Vineyard, but we had to
give up that idea due to our time limit, when we checked out the departure and
arrival times. Driving around we saw many beautiful sight but I don't recall any
specifics. We passed again by the close-gated Kennedy compound, slowing down to
get a good look. But there was really not much to see except the road that lead
to a house in the distance surrounded by lawns, fields, bushes and trees. Back
in Plymouth, we took another look at the rock, bought some picture post-cards,
and went on our way back.
We arrived back at Fairfield State Hospital just in time to still get
supper in the cafeteria.
Back in class
Back in class, Monday morning, Mr.
Bouton rambled on in his usual monotone voice. The general mood was subdued. We
were going through the various psychiatric illnesses and their manifestations.
Becoming aware of his listless class, Mr. Bouton told us to pay close attention
since there would be a "quiz" at the end of the day. After a couple hours of
studying mental illnesses, we took a break back on the fire-escape. There was a
coffee put set up in Mrs. Dieffenbacher's office where we could get coffee in
paper cups. Holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other we
stood by the fire-escape taking in the autumn air. In a distance, to our left,
we could take in the beautiful surroundings of our hospital. It was calming and
reassuring.
Stepping back, after 15 minutes, into the classroom, Mr. Bouton came in
with a portable screen and asked me and Pete to get a movie projector from Mrs.
Dieffenbacker's office. Wheeling the projector on a special table with wheels, we
helped Mr. Bouton set it up and threat the roll of film. We pulled down the
classroom shades and then watched a thirty minute movie which was filmed, years
before our time, at Fairfield State Hospital. Black and white, it looked gloomy
and somewhat too clinical. The narrator praise the hospital and explained
various behavior patterns displayed by patients. The patients were real, because
I knew a few of them from my work in the linen room. Even some of the "old
timers" working in the hospital could be seen and some where even interviewed.
This movie must have cause quite a stir, when it was made and for some time
thereafter!
We watched the techniques of "hydrotherapy", restraining a patient,
seclusion rooms and various other topics with special emphasis on the inherent
dangers to the patients if wrongly restrained. It was an old-fashioned film even
in 1963 and some of the techniques were no longer applicable. But it was,
nevertheless, instructional to a degree and fascinating because I knew some
patients and employees in it.
After the movie we discussed with Mr. Bouton what we had seen and learned
for about thirty minutes when it was time to go for lunch to the cafeteria.
While sitting and eating with the rest of the class, Jimmy Fowler came to the
table pulling up an extra chair to it and began his union talk to the new
employees. Having a friendly, outgoing way about him, he seemed to have no
trouble in keeping the new trainee's attention. A smooth talker, only
occasionally breaking into a slight stutter, seemed to work to his advantage
because it made him seem more human and vulnerable. Everybody signed up for
membership in the CSEA. I couldn't help but admire the guy.
Coming
back to the classroom, we found Mr. Bouton there with a bunch of restraints. We
were each given one and told to observe as he demonstrated how to make the
correct loops and then how to place them on each other's wrists. He emphasized
how important it was to be completely proficient in being able to make these
loops correctly in a second and to know exactly how to place them on a severely
disturbed patient's wrists and legs. I had seen restraints, rolled up, in the
linen room and even delivered them to the various wards. But I had never known,
until this moment, how they were used properly. Making those loops, quickly and
efficiently wasn't easy, though it looked easy enough. Spending all afternoon
practicing, we finally seemed to have mastered the technique. We would practice
more during future classes and find, to our consternation, that we still had
problems doing correctly and speedily. The restraints were made out of some kind
of super-strong cloth material which was interwoven with some kind of padding in
order not to hurt the patient when he strained against them tightening the
loops. After countless washings in the laundry though, they would become thinner
as the padding wore off. Thus they had to be thrown-out, to be replaced by new
ones.
After endless practice, Mr. Bouton brought in our quiz papers and we had
multiple choice answers to mark. The questions were easy, but looking at the
sometimes tricky seeming multiple choice answers, one could easily become
confused and uncertain. I got most of the answers right and so did everybody
else. Mr. Bouton dismissed the class and we went back to the dorm.
Aerial view of the hospital
complex.
Our first two weeks of classroom
training were almost finished. We learned about taking temperatures and cleaning
the thermometers with alcohol wipes after using them. Then we practiced taking
blood-pressures on each other and how to move bed patients with a draw sheet. I
still looked back to working at the linen room with some sadness. Those were
innocent, worriless and happy days. Pete and I felt stifled and oppressed in
class. Both of us had never like school when we were younger in Germany, and
here we were, after having worked so happily at the linen room, pushed back into
being pupils again. Having no choice but to keep on going, we, nevertheless,
looked forward to going as trainees to Fairfield House. The only thing that
worried us was that this building had a bad reputation. It was the maximum
security building which housed the most violent and dangerous patients of
Fairfield State Hospital and even the employees there, the ones we had met
delivering linens and in the cafeteria, seemed like a bunch of super-macho
bullies to us. -Although, Gerald Brown worked there and he surely didn't fit
this image. Talking to Gerald, we couldn't get him to give us much hope either,
as he told us some horror-stories and seemed to get a kick out of our
anticipatory fears. Telling us about patients "going off" and attacking aides
and about employees who seemed to thrive on that kind of environment and
violence. He, himself, didn't like Fairfield House and wanted to get out of that
building. This surely wasn't very reassuring to two 21 year old, physically
small, boys who had never fought with anyone. I weighed only about 128 pounds
and had a waist of 28 inches. And Pete, though a little stockier, didn't weigh
much more. What were we going to do when a patient would go wild and attack us
or throw furniture around which probably weighed more than we did?
We had to report to Fairfield House the coming Monday and this was
finally the end of our two weeks of class. It was Friday and we looked forward
to the weekend. On our way, after class, to the cafeteria to eat supper, we ran
into Gerald Brown outside of Norwalk Hall. He was fiddling with his old Ford,
checking the oil and the lights. Asking him what he was doing, he explained that
he too had the weekend off and was panning to drive up to Montreal, Canada. As
always he was puffing on his cigar when he asked us if we wanted to go up there
with him. Pete said no, because he didn't like Gerald very much because he was
too "eccentric" for him. I, being more tolerant, because of being "odd" myself,
was delighted to say that I would love to go and see this city. Gerald seemed
happy that he didn't have to drive alone and told me to get some clothes and be
ready to take off immediately. It was about 6 pm and he was anxious to get
going. We would be driving all night, more or less and he wanted to have as much
day light time for the ride as possible.
A trip to Montreal with Gerald Brown
Cathedral in Montreal 1963. Gerald Brown is in foreground.
Gerald was a very nervous driver which made me quite nervous myself. We
went through the back roads of Newtown to Brookfield and Route 7. Gerald told me
that we would be going up Route 7, all the way to Montreal. We drove through
Canaan into Massachusetts, trough Pittsfield and further on until we reached
Bennington, Vermont. There we stopped at a diner and ate something and kept on
going. It was night time and I can only recall Vermont in a haze. There was no
traffic to speak of and I felt like we had reached the end of the world.
Mountains on both sides of Route 7, looked threatening and overpowering in the
darkness. We came to Manchester, Vermont, another small town and continued going
North. Then eventually, we came to Rutland and after driving about three more
hours we saw Burlington approaching. Gerald seemed happy and excited and
explained to me that we would soon see the lights of Montreal in the distance. I
too became excited, but Montreal seemed to be further than I thought because I
still didn't see it after driving quite some time. Then we came to the Canadian
border where a sleepy looking Canadian border guard just waved us through. And,
like a mirage, we could suddenly see the lights of Montreal in a distance.
Crossing a large bridge we finally had come closer as we went upon a web of
highways reminding me of New York City. And then we were in Montreal!
Gerald had been in Montreal many times and thus knew his way around. We
stopped at a cheap hotel, I think it's name was St. George hotel but I'm not
sure. There we rented two rooms at a very reasonable rate. Unfortunately the
room I had wasn't bigger than my room at Norwalk Hall and the bathroom and
shower was shared with many residents on the same floor. We had breakfast, bacon
and eggs, in the attached restaurant and decided to first get some sleep.
Gerald's knocking on my door awoke me after about four hours of sleep. I
went to the community shower and let the hot water give me new energy and
enthusiasm. When we hit the street, Gerald led me by a steak-house telling me
that later we would go there to eat. He explained that he knew
the owner, a
Jewish fellow, quite well and that we would get a special deal there. Then,
walking around, he showed me the famous Catholic church, which looks like the
famous Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. We walked up the endless steps of Mount
Royal and continued on to the Jewish Section of Montreal. There he stopped two
older ladies talking to them in Yiddish. They suddenly got very angry trying to
hit him with their pocket books. I couldn't understand what he said, despite
Yiddish being very close to the German language. I felt like a fool and very
embarrassed. After a few minutes the two ladies continued their walk, looking
back at us every once in a while and cursing us in this strange language. Asking
him what he was doing and what he had said to them, he only laughed and wouldn't
tell me. Well, that was "eccentric" Gerald Brown!
Finally, in the evening, after walking all day without eating lunch, we ended up
at the steak-house which Gerald had pointed out to me earlier. I was starving by
that time. The steaks were good and when the owner appeared, Gerald called him
over to the table. The guy surely knew him and seemed to treat him with a
certain reluctance. Gerald trying to perhaps impress me, spoke to him like a big
time wheeler and dealer and the owner just barely took him seriously. Another
embarrassing situation for me to go through. Gerald Brown was getting on my
nerves and I couldn't wait to get back to my world at Norwalk Hall.
We left Sunday noon to drive back to Newtown. The ride back was much more
enjoyable because it was day time and thus I could observe clearly what I had
only seen as dark outlines on our way up. Vermont was quaint and beautiful. The
green mountains surrounding Route 7 on both sides were impressive and I loved
the small towns and villages with their white New England type of houses and
stores. They looked in many ways like Newtown, Connecticut except for the
surrounding mountains. Connecticut was hilly but the mountains of Vermont were
breath-taking. Bennington, Pittsfield, Canaan, New Milford, Brookfield and
finally we were back in Newtown Sunday evening. In front of Norwalk Hall we ran
into Jerry Hatchey who asked me if I would like to go and get something to eat
at the drive-in on Route 25. Happy to see him and very hungry, I thanked Gerald
Brown and changed cars to go with Jerry who was smirking when I told him how
Gerald Brown had embarrassed me with his crazy behavior. He knew right away what
I meant, because he had know Gerald for some years.
We ate at the drive-in and went back to Norwalk Hall. I was tired from the
long ride from Montreal and wanted nothing more than to relax in my room and
read for a while, before going to sleep. Monday was a day I didn't look forward
to at all. We had to be at Fairfield House at 8 am and I wanted to be in good
shape to face this new challenge. I heard Pete come back from somewhere when he
knocked on my door. He too was worried about the next day and asked me to make
sure that he would be up in time.
Fairfield House
Waking up at about 6 am, I knocked on
Pete's door until he answered and promised that he was awake. Then I took a
shower, got dressed and waited until Pete knocked on my door. We went to the
cafeteria to eat breakfast. Having no appetite, I managed to eat some oatmeal,
noticing that Pete too wasn't eating much. The cafeteria was near empty because
most people had left to be at their wards by seven. Since the other trainees in
our class lived off the grounds, we didn't even see them. Only people who lived
in the dorms could eat three meals at the cafeteria. Thus they, working the
day-shift, could only eat lunch there. Gert, already at the end of the serving
line, made sure that nobody, unauthorized, would try to sneak a meal. She knew
everybody and was fully aware of who could eat three meals and who not. Jimmy
Fowler came in and after getting something to eat and drink, sat with us at our
table. Noticing our somber behavior and commenting on it, we told him about our
worries concerning Fairfield House. He laughed and told us not to worry as it
wasn't as bad as we had heard. At quarter to eight we left Jimmy behind and
walked over to our new place of work. Fairfield House, an ugly looking building
with a small entrance door loomed like a menacing giant in front of us. Holding
our breath, we walked into the dark looking little foyer where we had to report
to the building supervisor's office.
If I remember correctly, Kas Kobus was the building supervisor. A nice,
genial guy, he told us that we would be assigned to 1A and 1B, and that we could
decide between us where we wanted to work. I knew that Gerald Brown worked on 1A
and thus told Pete that I would like to go to 1A. Pete, since he didn't like
Gerald Brown, went gladly to 1B. The building elevator took us to the first
floor. The whole place smelled of urine and the hallway on 1A and 1B looked dark
an foreboding. There was a lot of screaming and aides were walking around
unlocking doors for half-dressed patients. I saw Gerald and latched on to him.
He was the ward-charge that day which made me happy. At least I knew him, crazy
or not, he was my best hope for survival in that crazy place. Gerald introduced
me to Jack Shanley, an old looking guy, who seemed friendly and helpful. Gerald
and Jack told me that the criminally insane and most violent patients were on
1B. Happy that I had instinctively chosen 1A for myself, I followed Gerald and
Jack in their daily routine. I think there was another aide there but I can't be
certain. In the first seclusion room, restrained wrists and legs, wearing
boxing-gloves, was a young looking creature making guttural sounds and jerking
his restraints. I was told that this was "Rudi" and that he was self
destructive. If loosened from his restrains, he would chew his own hands, arms
and legs and also scratch his eyes out. Gerald told me that Rudi's mother, who
came to visit him on a regular basis, was almost as crazy as her son. Rudy had
the strength and body of an eighteen year old and the mind of an infant.
Severely retarded, it was rumored that his mother had sexually abused him.
Gerald and Jack told me that Rudy's restraints had to be released every two
hours for a short while, which meant that two aides had to hold on to his arms
and legs for that time, in order to prevent him from harming himself. He also
had to be fed and usually spit food back at whoever fed him. His battered
looking body with previous marks of self-destructive attempts to eat his own
flesh was a horrible sight. To top it all off, he was also almost completely
blind. Never in my life had I seen anything like it, nor had I even imagined
that "people" so handicapped and so cursed by nature existed. To speak of him as
a "vegetable" might sound cruel and politically incorrect, but what else was he?
As I learned later, when I had to help release him from his restraints and
boxing gloves, he was incredibly strong and wily. One had an exceedingly
difficult time to hold on to him and prevent him from hurting himself by any
means imaginable. And to put restraints and boxing-gloves back on was an
indescribable time consuming battle.
Compared to Rudi, the other patients were no big problem. I only remember
David, who would follow me around and loudly repeat the same word over and over
again. He too was retarded, but more on the level of an eight year old child.
Being about my own age, he was strong and would when angered pick one of a few
very heavy wooden rocking chairs, like it was a box of matches and throw the
chair against a wall in the day hall. The day hall was furnished mostly with
heavy wooden benches, a few rocking chairs and a heavy wooden table. There was
an always playing television mounted in a box with doors to close and protect
the TV when needed. This box was bolted to the wall about eight feet off the
ground. The large windows surrounding the day hall were little squares in a
heavy metal frame which could be cranked out to open about six inches. One
needed to have a key to use the cranks.
Housekeeping had to be done by the aides and I soon found myself sweeping
and mopping the hallway, the unused seclusion room, the bathrooms and the day
hall floor. Most of the retarded patients on 1A were incontinent and I remember
having to stop my cleaning of the ward when smelling fecal odor coming from a
patient. This also meant that I had to pull their soiled clothing off in the
shower room, which they sometimes resisted and give them a shower and then get
them dressed again. Most of the patients didn't seem violent but, nevertheless,
didn't like to have their clothes changed and to be given a shower. There was
almost always a lot of coaxing, threatening with seclusion and a slight physical
struggle.
One older patient, who wasn't retarded, always reminded me of a hobo.
Having read many books about America in Germany, I had always loved to read
about the hobos, their camps and their riding trains in pursuit of work during
the great-depression. Pictures of these special eccentrics had a deep impact on
me. So this fellow, perhaps in his sixties, always reminded me of my beloved
hobos. I remember that his last name was "Lagerfeld", but can't recall his first
name. He used to have a harmonica and play the songs of a bygone time
frequently. I couldn't ever see anything wrong with him as he was a kind fellow
who, when he was in the mood, would help with the ward routine, like cleaning,
serving food from food-trucks unto trays, and even feeding some of the patients.
He was like a general factotum who had found his home. Not much different from
many employees of the hospital. Sometimes, when I had the time, I would sit and
talk with him while he sat at the large table in the day-hall rolling his own
cigarettes with "George Washington" tobacco. Cigarette papers, hand rollers and
tobacco were distributed freely to all the wards by the hospital. And aides
learned soon how to roll cigarettes for their patients. This tobacco was strong
and more suited for pipe smoking than cigarettes, but was better than not
smoking at all, because smoking seemed to break down barriers between patients
and employees in its peculiar form of social interaction. Often we would bring
cigarettes to work and share them freely with patients. Thus smoking with
patients was a very important aspect of our work, because it subtly created a
bond and a better understanding and acceptance of each other as just two human
beings sharing a smoke and thus bringing us together, not as patient and
"overseer", but as equals enjoying a social habit.
Since patients had so little else left in the world, smoking was an all
important issue and aides better learned that as soon as possible. Often just
the promise of a cup of coffee and a smoke, could change a tense, threatening
situation into a more harmonious one. So even non-smoking aides carried
cigarettes for just such an occasion.
Around noon the food trucks came, brought through the tunnels from Bridgeport Hall by patients. The locked doors between 1A and 1B were opened and I saw Pete again. He liked his wing but was too busy to tell me any details. There was a dining-room, which also served as a visiting room, between the two wards and most of our patients would eat there first, before the patients of 1B ate there. The food trucks were heated and plugged into wall outlets at Bridgeport Hall while waiting to be delivered. They had large stainless steel containers which could be removed as well as stainless steel food trays with sliced meat or whatever. The deep large containers were usually filled with soup and potatoes or similar items. On the wards were an assembly of large rinsing sinks and a commercial type of dishwasher with water-temperature gage. Food was served on army-style stainless-steel trays and ceramic looking soup bowls and cups. These trays, bowls and cups, as well as the silverware had to be washed by aides in the dishwasher and stored in the kitchen across from the dining room. Also the serving utensils like, ladles, serving tongues and large serving spoons were cleaned by us and stored in the kitchen. After eating the silver ware, butter-knives, forks and spoons had to be counted to make sure none was missing and thus kept by a patient as weapon. This whole process of feeding the patients rounding up the silver-ware and then washing it all in the dishwasher was a big operation and took time. Jack Shanley showed me how to operate the dishwasher, how to first preheat the water to the right temperature and then how much soap to add. It was a steamy, hot affair, but worked well. We also washed the dishes from 1B, because the patients there, many under court commitment, had to be watched at all times to make sure that they would not be able to escape. Thus, when their time in the dining room came, they were locked in and brought back to the ward as soon as they were finished when the ward door would be locked immediately after them. So it was left to the aides on 1A to wash the dishes for them and make sure that there was no miscount of the silver ware. We also had to sweep the dining room floor with straw brooms and mop afterwards.
Jack Shanley and I went to eat at the cafeteria and sat with some other employees from Fairfield House. Pete wasn't there but I saw some people from our class sitting with their respective co-workers.
When we got back to the wing,
Gerald Brown, being the ward-charge, was busy setting up the 2 pm medications in
the medication room. Having a medication tray with small plastic cups, sticking
out of holes in the tray placed on a special cart with small wheels, he pulled
out little cards of a certain color from a wall mounted contraption in which the
little cards were kept according to time and color. Patients names were written
on a small strip of white tape below each little plastic cup in the large tray.
He explained to me that after going through the correct cards for 2pm, he would
put the pills or liquids from large pill bottles and large liquid bottles into
the small measuring cups and then move the cart through the ward and pass out
the medications. Since this would not be my job for years to come, I was only
curious but not deeply concerned and moved on to see what else needed to be
done. There were indeed a lot of patients to be changed, as I could tell by the
odor. This kept me busy for quite some time and I soon realized that it would be
soon time for us to go home at 3:30. Sitting for a while in the day-hall,
smoking with my friend "Lagerfeld", I heard the afternoon shift coming in.
Gerald Brown introduced me to them, I believe there were just two of them and
then after listening to their jokes and banter, Gerald, Jack and I left the
building. Pete was already outside waiting for me. Jack took off in his big old
car and Pete, Gerald and I walked back to Norwalk Hall....
Continue to page VI 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".