THE LONG HALLWAY CHAPTER 9
During my summer working at Galesburg State Research Hospital, I encountered many unforgettable moments. One afternoon, when I was working on another ward, I saw a well-dressed Black woman standing at the door of C-11. The Aide hadn’t answered her knock, so I used my key to let her in. I asked if she was here to visit Robert. She touched my arm and asked if I had written the letter. When I said yes, she said, “We were so surprised to receive a letter from Robert. It’s been such a long time since we visited him.” I hoped he would be glad to see her. It was the first sign that the letter had reached someone who cared.
As summer drew to a close, I was walking down the long hallway with a birthday card for a co-worker, seeking signatures from the Aides. In the distance, I saw three figures approaching. The middle one was very tall. On his left walked a man; on his right was a woman wearing dark glasses and guiding herself with a white cane. As they drew closer, I recognized the grin – wide, exuberant – stretching across Robert’s face.
Robert looked distinguished in black-framed eyeglasses, a large paper bag tucked under his arm. He called out long before they reached me. “Jackson! Jackson! I’m goin’ home, Jackson! I’m goin’ home. I’m gonna have fried chicken and beer! I’m goin’ to Chicago, Jackson!”
Robert’s brother and sister-in-law introduced themselves and explained that this was his second visit to their home. They believed it would go well, and after a third successful visit, he would receive a conditional release. My heart swelled at the truth of everything he had told me – the brother, the blind sister-in-law, Chicago, fried chicken and beer, even the glasses – and at the sight of him standing there, ready to leave.
I wished them well and watched the three of them continue down that long hallway. For the first time, Robert wasn’t lagging. He was leading the way.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The men, the staff, and the hospital itself occupied my mind and heart that entire summer. My encounters at Galesburg State Research Hospital in 1966 were so foreign to my previous life that integrating them took years. I cherish all of it, for the depth and breadth of human experience it afforded me. At nineteen, I became intimate with frailty and strength, vulnerability and perseverance, and the indomitable human spirit.
Galesburg State Research Hospital was originally built between 1945 and 1947 as Mayo Hospital. The 155-acre property held 99 buildings, where 6,000 WWII soldiers were treated and prepared for discharge from the service. The hospital closed in 1949. In 1950, the Illinois Department of Public Welfare operated the facility as a psychiatric hospital until its closure in 1985. The summer after my freshman year of college, at Bradley University, I spent as a Summer Worker on the C wards. It was a different world in and out of the hospital. It was 1966.
The men I met that summer, the staff who worked with them, and the institution that held them have stayed with me ever since.
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