WORKING
AT FAIRFIELD HILLS HOSPITAL
IN NEWTOWN,
CONNECTICUT.
Jerry Haffke Remembers:
Part VI
Working at Fairfield House
I worked at Fairfield House, some
days eight hours and on other days four or less hours with the remaining hours
spent in Shelton House for classroom instructions by Mr. Bouton, Mrs. Morris,
Mr. Peterson and Mrs. Dieffenbacher, until mid December 1963. Some days I even
had to work on Fairfield 1B, the maximum security, disturbed ward. There were
frequent "Code 99's", coming from 1B, when we had to just about drop everything
and run from 1A to 1B to help subdue a disturbed patient. Actually 1B wasn't all
that bad to work on, but it was certainly tense as one had to constantly watch
his back. One learned to use an almost psychic intuition when dealing with those
patients. I learned to be able to monitor facial expressions and body language
carefully in order to "know" when a patient showed even the slightest sign that
he was fighting some inner "demon" and was thus ready to "go off" and start
throwing objects or even attack another patient or employee. One had to always
be prepared to expect the un-expected. Often a patient would be just fine, even
talking to an aide quite rationally, only to turn around and try to attack him,
seemingly not recognizing the aide at all, but attacking a hallucinated "demon"
represented at that moment by the aide or nearest patient. The ferociousness and
strength displayed at such a moment is often frightening to behold. Even a
slightly built patient would often display an incredible strength, literally
lifting a day-hall bench over his head and hurling it like a spear. -A bench
that was almost too heavy to be lifted by two aides. Some patients, aware that
they would "go off" at any minute and not wanting to hurt anybody, would
suddenly approach an aide and ask to be restrained to a bed quickly. This
happened many times during my work at Fairfield House and I'm more than grateful
that some patients displayed such sense of responsibility and character under
such severe circumstances. We also used seclusion rooms to keep patients in for
a period of time, if they, after being restrained for some time, released and
then became violent again. There was a mattress on the floor of the seclusion
room and nothing else. The mattress was made of some virtually indestructible
material so that a very disturbed patient couldn't tear it apart. The patient
was stripped of all clothing and put in there completely naked. This was done so
that the patient couldn't harm himself with the clothing or commit suicide.
Often patients in seclusion rooms would scream endlessly and slam their body
weight against the seclusion room door. These were harrowing sounds which
sometimes would disturb the whole ward and agitate other patients to also "go
off" like in a chain reaction. This is when a "code 99", sounded over loud
speakers in all patient buildings, would bring aides from all those buildings to
the ward in trouble. The code would be like this, for example: "Code 99,
Fairfield 1B", repeated over and over again, until cancelled from the ward in
trouble. There were usually two telephone-operators working in Newtown Hall, the
administration building, to whom these requests for a Code 99 would be made and
they would then announce it over the loudspeaker system.
This is not to say that these incidents happened every day. Many days
would be relatively peaceful, if not even tranquil. But, nevertheless, it was a
constant threat which subtly pervaded one's mind and state of awareness. -Like a
slow acting poison it subtly accumulated and grew into an ever present fear and
paranoia. Thus, many employees were closet drinkers, if not alcoholics. I
noticed, for example, how Jack Shanley would go at lunch time to his car and
have a few swigs of bourbon from a pint bottle. On one occasion he even took me
to his car and offered me a drink too, which I gladly accepted. The occasion was, when our beloved
President Kennedy was assassinated on November 22, 1963....
President Kennedy is Assassinated!
I remember distinctly how I was sitting in the day-hall of Fairfield 1A, helping
"Lagerfeld" roll some cigarettes and trying to keep "David" calm, when
suddenly
the repeats on television were interrupted with the announcement by Walter
Cronkite that president Kennedy had been assassinated in Dallas, Texas.....
Stunned, I ran into the hallway calling the other two aides, Jack Shanley and
Gerald Brown, to the day-hall because president Kennedy was shot. We were all
completely in a state of denial. This was not possible right here in America!
No, it must be a mistake, perhaps a misunderstanding or misinterpretation of a
small incident... Dan Rather announced somberly that president Kennedy was
seriously injured by a bullet coming from a "book-depository" building. Then,
after a short while, there were pictures showing the motorcade, the open Lincoln
in which the president, Jackie Kennedy, Governor Connolly of Texas and his wife
were riding.... Then, later, came the announcement that president Kennedy was
dead... I don't remember any details and the timing of events, because I and
everybody on 1A watching the events being broadcast, were in a complete trance.
Everything seemed to have become unreal and we still couldn't believe what we
were told by Dan Rather and others. The shock was so deep, so
indescribable, that it seemed to have erased my memory beyond the words:
"President Kennedy is dead, assassinated". And this is when Jack Shanley took me
to his car to have a good shot of bourbon....
November 22'nd was also Pete's birthday and we had planned to go out to a
bar and celebrate with friends. Of course this never happened. We were in shock
and genuine mourning. Pete had a TV in his room and we were gathered there until
late in the night to follow the news-reporting of the assassination. We learned
about "Oswald" being the "lone" assassin and that he was connected to a
Communist organization called "Fair Play for
Cuba" and that he was a former
Marine sharp-shooter who had just recently purchased an Italian made cheap rifle
with a scope through mail-order. The whole thing sounded, even then, to me like
it was not quite right, but I didn't dare to voice my opinion to our friends.
And when Oswald was killed by Jack Ruby later, I just knew in my heart and soul,
that there was more to this story then we were told. Pete too, was convinced
that there was something strange about the whole thing. Perhaps it was our
growing up
through the post-war years in Germany and the constant barrage of
East German propaganda and West German counter propaganda, which had made us
more aware of political lies and manipulations than our naive American friends
could possibly understand. -But we knew right away, instinctively, that there
was something fishy about the story presented to the American public about the
assassination of president Kennedy. What we couldn't accept, though, was that
this could happen in our beloved America! It just didn't fit in with our
previous perception of this naive seeming, kind and gentle giant. Little did we
know that it was this event, this point in history, which would change America,
ever so gradually, into the destruction and perversion of all it's ideals.
Little did we know that this wonderful, generous nation, respected, emulated and
loved around the globe, would become a hated, maligned, bastion of Corporate
Fascism, with an all embracing, stifling bureaucracy as scheming and
debilitating as found in the former Soviet Union.
Oswald shot and killed by Jack Ruby
I want to join the U.S. Navy
For me, personally, there was
another looming prospect on the horizon. -To be drafted into the U.S. Army! I
don't quite remember how I knew exactly, but I think it was some kind of
notification from my draft-board in Arlington, Virginia, where Pastor Schumann
had registered me, according to the law, upon my arrival from Germany. Actually,
I wasn't adverse to going into the Army, seeing it as a new adventure and
challenge. The only thing was that I wanted to first finish my training at the
hospital and also to get to know the language and culture of America better,
before going into the Army. This was not to be though...
One day, I decided that since there was no hope of gaining more time and
experience at the hospital, I would, at least, go into the Navy. Why, at that
time, I was attracted to serving in the Navy, I don't remember. Except perhaps,
that I used to see Navy posters in Danbury and Bridgeport, showing the neat
looking white uniforms of Navy personnel and the promise of travel all over the
world. Anyways, talking to Jimmy Fowler about my thoughts regarding the Navy, he
offered to drive me down to Bridgeport to talk to a Navy recruiter. This we did,
and I ended up talking to a recruiter at the Bridgeport post office. He told me
that I could become a Navy medic and made the whole thing sound quite attractive
to me. Especially since I would continue to learn in the Navy what I had started
at Fairfield State Hospital.... The recruiter brought out a test for me to take
and to my own astonishment, I passed. I was on my way to become a Navy
"corpsman".
All that was left for me to do, was that I had to go to New Haven and pass
my physical to which he would personally drive me in his Navy sedan. Checking
some papers, he gave me the time and date when he would pick me up at Fairfield
State and drive me to New Haven.
Picking me up at Norwalk Hall a few days later, early in the morning, we
were on our way to New Haven. In the car were two other guy whom he had already
picked up.
The New Haven Induction Center, serving all military branches, was a good
sized, modern building. Upon our arrival, we were told that we could not leave
until all tests and physical check-ups were finished and that, if we didn't
finish, because the place was crowded with prospective recruits, we would have
to stay overnight to continue the next day. The whole atmosphere was quite
intimidating and regimented already and thus I got my first taste of military
life. Most of the personnel there, beside the military doctors, were Navy
corpsmen and some Navy nurses. During the course of the battery of physical
examinations, blood tests and other procedures, a young Navy corpsman took me
aside. I didn't know what to expect and thought that he had found something
wrong with me. He calmed my apprehension and began to explain to me what I was
really getting into. Asking me if I thought that I would serve aboard a ship or
in a hospital, I said yes, emphatically. He looked at me sternly and said that
my chances of that would be almost astronomical. No, he said, you will find
yourself being attached and serving with a Marine unit in Vietnam. Vietnam? I
had only hear this remote country, somewhere in Asia, mentioned a few times on
the news and had thus no idea what he was talking about. He said, that Vietnam
was getting "hot" and that already more and more troops, of all branches, but
specifically Marine units, were sent there and that I, sure as hell, would, as a
Navy corpsman, be sent there, attached to the Marines!
To this day I can still not figure out what motivated this Navy corpsman
to risk trusting me with such a devastating secret. Why did he care what
happened to me? I had never met him before, so what motivated him risking his
job in the Navy to help out a dumb immigrant from Germany? And again, I have no
answer, beside the fact which I mentioned previously, that the American people,
in those days were the most kind, generous and helpful people one could hope for
as a new immigrant. Really, there is no other answer unless one believes, as I
am tempted to do sometimes, that he was my guardian angel, appearing to me in a
time of great danger.... I thanked him profusely. He told me to finish the
physical as was required of me and then just tell the Navy, when they would
notify me to report for induction, that I had changed my mind and would wait
until the Army would draft me. Which I, indeed, ended up doing.
But decided on waiting to be drafted into the U.S. Army
II received my notice from the Navy to report to the Brooklyn Navy Yard on January 2nd, 1964, and immediately wrote them back, that I had changed my mind and would wait to be drafted into the Army. Sure enough, the Army would soon after send me a letter with the feared "Congratulations", that I was drafted into the US Army, and to report on February 17th, 1964 at 8 am to the draft-board office located on White Street in Danbury. They had simply used my Navy physical to make the whole thing even faster... We were to be sworn-in at the New Haven induction center and then put on a train for Army basic training at Fort Jackson, South-Carolina. So here I was, having narrowly escaped being a Marine medic, only to be drafted a little later into the U.S. Army! This was the middle to end of December, 1963 and I had only a good month left before reporting into the hands of the Army.
Soon the Army
"knocks" on my door
and I decide to make an unplanned visit home to Berlin
For my birthday on November 26th, my mother had sent me 150 dollars as a
surprise gift and so I decided, before going into the great unknown realm of the
Army, to use the money and visit her for Christmas as a surprise.
I booked a round trip flight on Icelandic Airlines which still used much cheaper
propeller planes for about 150 dollars and went to see Mrs. Adams. Explaining to
her that I had been drafted and the date when I had to report to the Army for
induction, I asked her if it was acceptable to her, that since I was leaving the
hospital anyways in February, I could visit my mother and family immediately on
a "leave of absence". She was quite understanding and told me that I could not,
by state regulations, get a leave of absence, but that she would let me live in
the dorm and eat in the
cafeteria when I returned from Germany, waiting to go
into the Army. In other words, I had to quit my job at the hospital before
leaving to go to Germany and could upon my return live on the grounds until
going into the Army. What a generous, kind offer! I thanked her, went to
"personnel" in Newtown Hall and resigned my job at Fairfield State Hospital with
only a few days notice. Selling my beloved Sears record player to a friend in
the dorm, I had just a little stuff left to store in Pete's dorm closet.
My Icelandic Airlines propeller flight to first Luxembourg and then Frankfurt and Berlin, was supposed to be leaving at eight pm on December 21st. It was snowing heavily that day and very cold. Jerry Hatchey drove John Kilpatrick, Pete and me to Idlewild Airport in New York. The drive was treacherous and frightening and I was worried whether the flight would even take off under such conditions. We drove I-95 and then the Long Island expressway, sometimes just inching our way forward due to the slippery road conditions and the heavy traffic. Finally arriving at the airport still in time, only to be told that the flight was delayed for another hour or so, because of the necessary de-icing to be done to the plane. When the time came at around 10 pm to board the plane, I said my "good byes" to my faithful friends and was on my way to Luxembourg and Germany. This was to be the last time I would see my good friend Jerry Hatchey, as he was gone when I would return from Germany.
The flight was arduous and seemingly endless. We flew from New York to Gander, Newfoundland again and then to Reykjavik, Iceland, Glasgow, Scotland and then to Luxembourg. There we had to change planes and fly on a much smaller plane to Frankfurt, Germany from where I would catch a Pan Am flight to Berlin.
Berlin Christmas 1963
I landed in Berlin, Tempelhof
Airport (where I had once worked as a Fire Fighter), on the 23rd of December,
just in time for Christmas.
Needless to say, my mother was stunned to see me standing at her apartment door,
but immediately worried that I had gotten into trouble in America and thus
returned, disgraced, to Germany. After explaining my reason for coming, because
I had been drafted into the U.S. Army, she wasn't happy to hear that either, but
tried to keep her fear hidden from me. Spending the Christmas holidays with
relatives, with my aunt Gerda who at age 94 is still alive to this day, my
Grandparents whom I would see the last time on that visit and many other friends
of the family and former friends of mine, I was happy to have made that visit. I
felt like a seasoned adventurer, talking about America and Canada. Everybody
seemed fascinated with my accounts of America and astonished about my "success"
there. I was on top of the world, so to speak, and decided to visit my old
friend and mentor the Jesuit Pater Manitius almost across from the still
partially
destroyed Anhalter Bahnhof at the rectory of a Catholic Church there.
He had indeed been a mentor to me, reading my "awkward" poetry patiently and
talking with me about religion, philosophy, politics and, of course, my possible
conversion to Catholicism, for countless hours. He had even taking me to a
personal visit to a Jesuit seminary in Berlin - Wannsee... And it would not be
presumptuous for me to say, that he had hoped for my conversion and for my
"call" to the priesthood. In fact, he, upon learning of my desire to emigrate to
the United States, had even promised that I could, in all possibility, attend a
seminary in Chicago. Only the unexpected, sudden arrival of my sponsorship
through the Lutheran Immigration Service, brought those plans to an abrupt
ending.
Having called him first from a telephone booth across from our apartment
building, to make sure he was available, I arrived at the rectory and was
received by him with genuine happiness. Telling him of my "adventures" in
America and my love for that country, I felt sorry that I couldn't offer him
"better" news, like my wanting to become a Jesuit, or even a "regular" priest.
Therefore, moved by his kindness and faith in me, I told him that I would like
to convert though, before returning to America and going into the U.S. Army. Of
course, he was happy to hear of my decision and gave me a booklet to study and
proceeded to tell me that he would want to personally confirm me into the church
and that he was giving a "High Mass" (Remember this was before Vatican II) on
New Year's morning at the church. So I was confirmed into the Catholic church
during this beautiful, moving ceremony with massive chorus, Bach's organ
concerto, Latin chants and a candle in my hand to begin a new year and soon, a
new life....
Visiting him, about a week later, I promised him that I would remain open to be "called" into the priesthood. He was quite an impressive person and it hurt me to have to say "Auf Wiedersehen" for the last time, leaving him behind in his ankle-length, black, Jesuit robe. He was such a great and noble man, so intellectual and yet, so practical too. -A man who had impressed me deeply with his devotion and unlimited willingness to serve his cause, the Catholic church. Reading nowadays about the corruption of the church and of the Jesuit order, I can only wonder, how this could be true since my experience with the Jesuit order has been nothing but positive. Pater Manitius was a hero to me, having told me how he had joined the German Wehrmacht, as an infantry soldier during the final days of the war, because he wanted to become a prisoner of war to serve, secretly, as a priest to the other prisoners. Ending up as a prisoner of war in the hands of the French, he had suffered many atrocities, from physical abuse to slave labor in France, just because he didn't want captive German soldiers to be without the Sacraments... No, this man, this Jesuit priest, belonged to a special and very rare breed of men and I knew that this was our final good-bye, with an awful feeling of finality and sadness in my heart and soul.
One very special visit was my introduction to Pete's sister Ingrid and her then four year old daughter Pia and Pete's brother Klaus Wagner. I had promised Pete to visit them and tell them about America, because he wanted nothing more than for them to come and live with him in Connecticut. Going there, their apartment was in Berlin-Wedding, in the afternoon, I ended up staying with them until one a.m. ... Ingrid in her thirties then and Klaus a little older, were fascinated by my stories about America and Fairfield Hills Hospital. Holding Pia on my lap, I felt like I had known them all my life. We drank beer and some cognac and the time flew with our animated conversation. Rarely had I met such wonderful people. Pia instantly called me "uncle" Holger and Ingrid and Klaus treated me like a long lost brother. Since Pete was already working on their visa and on finding a sponsor for their immigration to America, I had no doubt that I would meet them all again in Connecticut. And they did make it, except for Klaus, who, as Pete told me later, simply disappeared in Berlin. Somehow I get the sense that that is not the whole story with him, but, most likely, I will never know what really happened. Klaus was an avid reader and interested in the very same things that I was interested in. In other words, he was a "seeker" and semi-intellectual nerd like me and I was very disappointed to find out, after my stint in the U.S. Army, that Klaus had "disappeared". He would have been a great friend and kindred soul to me and I still miss him. Ingrid and Pia arrived in the United States in 1964 or 1965. I was in the Army then and that's why I can't remember the exact year. Pete, in anticipation of their arrival, rented an upstairs apartment in a two family house on Hickock Avenue in Bethel, where they lived for two or three years before they bought a two family house right next door. But all this I shall write about as my story continues...
Soon my time in Berlin was coming
to an end. Having visited all my relatives and friends and even been taken to
see Wagner's "Tannhauser", I re-confirmed my Icelandic Airlines return-flight
which was to leave from Amsterdam, Holland to New York, with stops in Shannon,
Ireland, Reykjavik, Island and Gander, Newfoundland, on, I believe, the 14th or
15th of January 1964.
Saying a sad "Auf Wiedersehen" to my mother, family and friends, I left
Tempelhof Airport one day before my Amsterdam departure date to New York.
Staying over night in Amsterdam, strolling through the streets of that
beautiful, old city, I could hardly believe the eventfulness of 1963 and early
1964 and wondered where this year, which had so promisingly started with my
"High Mass" confirmation into the Catholic church, would lead me. Amsterdam,
this beautiful old city, was calming to me but also exciting, but it was
certainly not my beloved America. And I looked forward to return there despite
knowing what lay in front of my... Having worked previously for the U.S. Army
and Air Force in Berlin, I thought that I knew already, quite well, that it
couldn't really be all that bad. Standing guard duty with many American soldiers
in Berlin and from my conversations with them, I thought that Army life seemed
quite good, all in all. Well, a big surprise was waiting for me, indeed!
Back in the
"good old" USA
and ready to serve in the Army
John Kilpatrick and Pete were
waiting for me at the newly named John F. Kennedy International airport in New
York. It was early evening and I remember that the roads back to Fairfield State
Hospital in Newtown, Connecticut, were still snowy. Almost as if I had never
left. John offered to have me stay at his "cabin", but I didn't care much for
that idea. Since the cabin, with it's outhouse and no running water, wasn't
exactly my idea of winding down from an almost 16 hour flight, I told him that I
would stay at the motel which I had often seen, just off the main road to the
hospital on Route 25. Thus, I registered there upon our arrival at the hospital
and visited friends at the dorm for a while. Being quite tired from the long
flight, John returned me to the motel where I went to sleep after taking a long,
hot and relaxing shower.
The next morning John came by and took me to breakfast at the hospital.
Seeing Gert standing, as usual, at the end of the serving line, I worried that
she would send me away. But Gert, having taking a liking to me, didn't say a
word and just smiled at me with a "knowing" smile (at least that is what I
perceived). Having eaten at the cafeteria, I went to see Mrs. Adams around 9 am
and she was so happy to see me, that she got up from her chair behind the desk
and embraced me against her ample bosom. Telling me that she had worried that I
might decide not to come back from Germany, she called "personnel" and told them
that I would be staying as a guest on the grounds, with a room again at Norwalk
Hall and complete meal privileges. And thus I lived for two weeks for free in
the dorm eating three good meals in the cafeteria! God, I was so happy to be
back in the "good old" U.S. of A! What a marvelous, free and uncomplicated
country America was in those days! Can anyone imagine this happening in today's
America?
"You're In the Army Now"!
On February 16th, an ice-storm hit our area and John Kilpatrick had a
terrible time driving me on the early morning of February the 17th 1964, to the
Selective Service office in Danbury. In front of the little office we saw a
large "Providence Arrow Line" bus parked and my heart took a sudden leap. This
was serious business and I was on my way to a rather dubious adventure. John
parked the car and went into the office with me, where we found about twenty, or
so, young men anticipating their coming doom accompanied by their parents or
friend. The little office was quite crowded, to say the least and little old
ladies and shrivel-up old men wearing VFW or "American Legion" head-gear, passed
out New Testaments and bags containing a small array of tooth past, tooth
brushes, combs and even hard candy. I struggled my way through the crowd to
report my presence at the desk. The old lady there checked my name on a list and
I was officially there. After a short, moral boosting, lecture by a
selective-service representative, we were told to say "good-bye" to our
accompanying folks and to board the waiting bus which would bring us to New
Haven to be officially sworn into the Army. The bus left after a few moments of
confusion and calling off the names on the list. Everybody was there, the bus
door closed and off we were. Seeing John standing by the curb waving, I waved
back and settled into my seat. I still couldn't believe that I was on my way
into the Army. The song, "You are in the Army now", came to my mind.... Yes, I
was in the Army now.
Since three years in the Army is a long time which would, inevitably, lead me away from the subject of my work at Fairfield State Hospital, I shall skip that whole chapter of my life, leaving it behind for another story and continue on the next page with my return to the hospital in March, 1967 with my "Honorable Discharge" papers, to continue where I had left off in February, 1964, continuing with classes at Fairfield State Hospital.
My official Army picture, taken in
April 1964,
right after basic training at Fort Gordon, Ga.
Continue to page VII 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".