Portland, Oregon. A final thought from Donna’s. We discuss Sue a lot. She felt “Suzie” was special, that there was something about her that most children don’t have, particularly children with her specific experiences. Sue was a bright, lively, active and talkative child whose youthful innocence was stolen from her. Donna knows. Sue had hopes and dreams and only through the tremendous efforts of her absolute determination was she able to begin to rise above her childhood. She rose above it to create the circumstances for our little family to thrive. Donna is one of the few who know what a truly great woman Sue was. Without her sacrifice, I could not be me.

I take the shortest jaunt between two stops of my entire trip. It takes me about 20 minutes to make my way to Annie’s in Portland, ably assisted by Garmin. This is Anne McNeely, an old friend of ours from the days at St. Mary’s Hospital. Sue worked maternity and I worked on the Psych unit with Annie and an unbelievable cast of characters that we talk about throughout the day, which goes by in a flash. The names and experiences cascade from us in a rush of memories. This had been a truly unique time and place to be in. I started there in 1972, Annie in 1971,it was still wartime and the intensity that comes with that. I was 1 and 1/2 years removed from the Army and had finished one year at the U and decided I wanted to study psychology and work in “psych” as we called it. The psych unit was undergoing a pilot program to introduce “group therapy” to the unit, which at that time was a novel idea. They decided we should actually talk to people to see if we could help them. In these days of Oprah it seems like an “of course” idea but back then it was revolutionary. People didn’t talk about their problems to strangers.
We were PUA’s, Psychiatric Unit Assistants. We were superheroes, who were out to change the world and we led groups and cured people without any idea of what we were doing. The psychiatrists were on the periphery and “directed” us in our efforts. But we were in the trenches in the new war against mental illness and could and did do anything we wanted to without any real credentials at all. It was a brief moment when a group of actually highly educated young people who believed in possibilities worked in a menial job, were given outsized responsibility and made a difference, assisted by many hours at the Tempo peanut bar on Franklin Avenue. This could never happen today, I don’t think there are any peanut bars left.There are so many stories, but one we both vividly remember is the one about the manic-depressive criminal defense attorney. At the change of shifts one afternoon we got word from admitting that a real crazy guy was on his way up to 7a, and he was starting to take his clothes off. The elevator doors open and the admitting nurse runs off the elevator, charging down the hall toward the locked unit. She was being chased by a guy with no clothes on, in a very “excited” state. He had half a beard on one side of his face and half a moustache on the other. Our head nurse, who was about 8 and ½ months pregnant, was chasing after him holding up a hospital gown to protect other patients from this unusual sight. He chased her all the way into the locked unit where I happened to be working that day. What do you say to a naked, excited and crazed man looking to tackle a nurse? HELP! Don Ilse and I eventually replaced the nurse and a broken piece of pottery replaced his excited state as he chased us around the locked unit until reinforcements arrived (medical orderlies) and we could tackle him and inject him with massive amounts of Thorazine. Some solutions to problems could not be handled with mere talk. Enough for now, more stories from that day to follow. Jon