LITMIR.BIZ

      4

       The Toledo State Hospital was located five miles from the business center of Toledo to the south. From a distance, the main two-story colonial brick building situated on five hundred and eighty-eight acres of agricultural land, appeared more like an elegant plantation mansion than an institution for the mentally ill. An additional four hundred and eighty-three surrounding acres of land, leased by the Welfare Department for crop cultivation, six small lakes, more than a thousand trees and shrubs, as well as the small patient cottages that peppered the landscape greatly contributed to that effect. But the pastoral image quickly evaporated as one approached the structure and saw the heavy steel bars fixed immovably over the windows. Especially at night. Then, the mind conjured something more akin to the slaves’ quarters that hovered on the margins of the plantation’s genteel facade.

      Walking briskly across the hospital’s dewy, immaculately manicured lawn, breathing heavily as she approached the imposing, front locked doors, Sarah again noted with greater irony than usual the discrepancy between the benign appearance and what she knew to be the reality within. She had been here many times before, mostly to counsel women such as Lulu Carey, who had come through the courts and for one reason or another were sent here for treatment. Similar to the general probate court, the women’s division handled a range of cases, from the delegation of property to criminal charges of rape, white slavery, and even murder. Technically, Sarah’s job was to oversee officially the filings of all cases involving women, but she often served as confidant and friend.

      Sarah knew the routine well. In order to gain entrance, she would have to ring the outside bell and wait for the attendant to escort her into the front office. Then she would sign her name on a guest sheet and specify the reason for her visit. Despite such familiarity, however, she hesitated. Even in the most official of circumstances, one had to prepare for the sights and sounds found behind those doors. But to know that this time it was O’Brien who awaited her there, required a bit more preparation than usual.

      On paper, the Toledo State Hospital was a model facility. A pioneer in developing more humane treatment for the insane, it had, in the late 1800s, gained a worldwide reputation for its innovative practices and attempts to make, through the so-called “Cottage Plan,” a more habitable living environment for its patients. But, conditions had greatly deteriorated since that time. Though a pioneer in the last century, in this one the hospital was the last frontier of the reform movement. Inside those walls behavior was unpredictable and every human function and frailty brutally exposed. Indeed, the rules that governed the treatment of patients in other medical facilities seem to hold little sway here, allowing for neglect, psychological cruelty, and in some instances, physical abuse. There simply weren’t enough professionals like Dr. Miller, who cared deeply enough about the patient’s welfare. Every time Sarah was there she witnessed something that convinced her all the more of the urgent need for action, beginning with the building of a new psychiatric clinic.

      Ironically, O’Brien himself proposed such a facility, although his reasoning for doing so was something Sarah had questioned. In a recent lecture to the Toledo Chamber of Commerce, O’Brien had argued for the need of “weeding out” humanity, so that the society might be bettered. “Hundreds of citizens,” he claimed, “are running at large not knowing that they themselves are mentally ill, a condition which certainly is not known to the average person.”

      Obee’s heart was surely in the right place. He genuinely wanted to provide an environment where these patients would be treated decently and also where they would not pose a threat to others. But, as she told him after the lecture, “when people think of weeds, they think of something that requires permanent removal. Weeds overtake the healthy plants, and there’s nothing that can be done to rehabilitate them. Now, I know that’s not the kind of analogy you meant to draw, is it Judge?”

      He didn’t answer her then, but Sarah believed he would eventually see her point, especially considering his own rather . . . how should she say it . . . uneven psychological history. And no doubt his current situation would convince him all the more. Yes, I’m sure he would agree with me now, Sarah thought as she rang the bell, now that he very well might be numbered among those who would have to be plucked from the garden.