Signs

The dogs cuddled up together at the end of the bed last night, instead of separately. The fan was off for the first time in weeks. Some trees are turning and there are leaves in the yard, not many but not none.  There is a slight chill as I walk the dogs first thing in the morning and last at night. 

Summers are beautiful here, but short. The fall is often quite spectacular but can also be just a too brief foreshadowing of winter. There is more a sense of loss in this part of the summer than in the fall, which often has its own rewards. Now, with another hint, another reminder every day that this glorious season will come to an end, now is the time for letting go and the time for living in the moment, enjoying it all the more for knowing it will not last.

OK, Already

Okay, Already. No promises about discipline or frequency of blogging! Been busy with the usual things and have gotten myself involved in our local campaign for barack Obama. www.mohawkvalleyforobama.com. Work has been a drag. I'm trying to read more and rest more. Stuff around the house, etc. Golf now and then. Life its own self! So, no attention to this blog for two months. I'm not going to try and be ambitious or write long pieces as I have in the past. Just whatever pops into my head on any given day. 

Today, I'm thinking about Jon Katz, a wonderful writer whose blog I depend on to brighten my day. Jon lives and works Bedlam Farms in upstate NY and is a bear of a guy with enormous energy, multiple interests, and a great love for animals, especially dogs. Check him out! www.bedlamfarms.com.

Dumbing Down the Election

My loathing for the way Hillary has run her campaign is second to none. I have supported Obama from the beginning, in part because he reminded me so much of Bobby Kennedy, in whose campaign I was a young volunteer. Having said that, I think the current flap regarding her comments about Bobby’s assassination is much ado about nothing. I don't for a minute believe she was insinuating she should stay in just in case Barack is assassinated. I think it simply was a reference - albeit awkward and inaccurate- to extended campaigns. This is nothing more than the media engaging in gotcha journalism, as it did with Barack's "bitter" comment. The lesson to politicians is don't think while speaking and certainly don't express your thoughts before they have been thoroughly vetted and polished free of any - God forbid - spontaneity.

I have been a political junkie since watching JFK at the 1956 Democratic convention when I was 8 years old. I know how the game is played and that comments, no matter how innocent or qualified, contextual or tentative, can often be used against the speaker for political gain. Fair enough. What I think we are seeing in this campaign goes well beyond that. The spinmeisters in the campaigns – all of them – and the vultures in the media seize on every opportunity, no matter how trivial, to denigrate the opposition candidate. They treat the campaign as one giant game of whack- a mole, that old carnival attraction where you use a hammer to hit the mole on the head, only to have it pop up somewhere else where you joyfully get to whack it again. Substance is irrelevant. Nuance is a crime. Thinking through a position while discussing it is a felony. What matters is the ability to pounce, to shred the opponent for some supposed offense against the interest group or cause du jour. 

Much of this is driven by the cable news networks’ insatiable desire for the political equivalent of junk food. To function, they require something that is fast, cheap, requires no preparation or thought, and fills space without providing any intellectual nourishment. 

It is not entirely the networks’ fault. The attention span of the American people is very short and the demand for entertainment without effort very great. We want to feel much but think little. Passion is preferable to reason, and subtlety is suspect if not downright effete. 

How else to explain the phony fight over alleged elitism on the part of one candidate or the other? They all maneuver to prove they are “just plain folks” when they patently are not. If they were, they would not be running for president! It is an absurd notion that we want the president to be “one of us.” Call me a snob but I, for one, would like my president to be far smarter, wiser, thoughtful, considerate, and forward thinking than average. It makes no difference whether the president knows how to bowl or knock back a bourbon and beer. It makes a great deal of difference whether the president knows how to achieve peace, balance a budget, and defend the Constitution.

Our country faces huge challenges and complicated problems, many of our own making. Mastering these challenges and solving these problems will be complicated and difficult, requiring shared sacrifice and an abiding sense of unity, that we are all in this together. Unfortunately, the current campaign has degenerated into a search for the simplistic and the divisive. For a number of years both Democratic and Republican politicians have sought to win and retain power by slicing and dicing the electorate to get to 51% in elections. Karl Rove and the Clintons – about as far apart as possible ideologically – are equally masterful at this particular political strategy. As a philosophy for winning, it is arguably successful. As a philosophy for governing, it is a disaster. 

We are more concerned with proving that the other guy is not “one of us” than with what exactly it means to be us at this point in history. We segment ourselves by gender, race, income, faith, and education and in so doing divide rather than unite. We delight in going for the jugular and decry thoughtful analysis as somehow being “out of touch with the people.” We make our political opponents our enemies and therefore create a government in gridlock because compromise is seen as surrender to the “forces of evil” rather than a way of getting things done. This has been the case for at least the last 16 years with disastrous results for the country. And we keep doing it, somehow thinking it will be better if only our side prevails. In Alcoholics Anonymous, there is a word for doing the same thing over and over again yet somehow expecting different results. That word is insanity. 

Aging

50 is the new 40 and 70 is the new 60 and 90 is the new 80. Does that mean dead is the new hanging in there? 

As a dyed in the wool baby boomer I am, of course, contemplating my own aging. I approach 60 with more curiosity and less fear than the last ten-year milestone. Thirty was not even an issue (I always thought the line about never trusting anyone over 30 was narcissistic, not to mention stupid.) I had more problems with 39 than 40. Don’t know why, didn’t have a clue then and don’t now. 50 was a problem. I knew that physically and mentally things start to unravel at a little faster pace beginning in your early 50’s. I had lost my brother the previous November and my sister two days after turning 50. I didn’t like turning 50 – hated it in fact - and it depressed me for quite a while, more before than after the event. 

As 60 gets closer I think I am a bit more accepting of aging, the gradual decline in abilities, and inevitably death. I don’t say this morbidly or even fatalistically. I just see it as a natural process. It happens, and it happens with or without my cooperation and acceptance. So fighting the idea of it just doesn’t make sense. I am curious as to how I will go through it. Over some of it I have no control. Nobody, after all, gets off this rock alive. Yet I am able to influence events to a great degree, perhaps not much less so than at any time earlier in life. 

Attitude is everything. Simply put, if I dread my aging, my aging will be dreadful. I’ve tended to make comments about how old I am and how old I feel and how old I’m getting. That has to stop. It’s boring and it reinforces the negative and the stereotypical. (Jokes are another matter!) 

I also have some control over the physical aspect of aging if I choose to exercise it (pun intended.) This is where, for me, the struggle is greatest. Eating right and exercising are the great preventatives and the great tonics. It’s really pretty simple but it isn’t very easy. To some extent it is a matter of practicing what I preach. I have to act on what I know, not on what I feel. I know daily exercise helps the body and the soul. I know eating healthy extends both life and the ability to live life well. Nevertheless, I feel like sleeping in and eating whatever the hell I want whenever I want. I know that what I want to do with the rest of my life depends on a certain degree of health and well-being. I want to play golf until the day I die, preferably dropping dead after sinking a long birdie putt on the 18th hole. Earlier today I said to my wife that I wanted to live long enough to see how our granddaughter Amelia’s life would develop, her triumphs and troubles, challenges and choices. Cindy said, “So decide to do it.” I think it mainly comes down to that, the vicissitudes of life not withstanding. I need to decide to live as long as possible in as healthy a way as possible and then implement that decision one day at a time. 

Staying mentally active, according to the aging research, is just as vital as physical activity. There is even some evidence that the more intellectually curious and engaged you are earlier in life, the less likely you are to develop Alzheimer’s disease or, at least to postpone its onset and slow its progression. I don’t think I’ll have much of a problem with this part of the process. I don’t feel I’m any less curious about things than I was in my 20’s. In fact, I believe I am actually more engaged intellectually and in a more diverse way. I am also open to new experiences that I would have never taken the time for as a callow youth. In the last few years I have discovered the joys of art and have taken up pen and ink drawing. Turns out I absolutely love it. I’m able to do it and love it because of an attitudinal shift. I don’t really need to see myself as very good at it – I’m mediocre at best - because achievement is not the point of the exercise. The point is the experience of doing it. I want to do it well and I want to enhance my skills but my performance just doesn’t matter all that much. Just realized that this is also my attitude toward golf, something I absolutely love to do but rarely do well. Just being out there playing is its own reward, as is drawing. Next I’ll take up painting, inspired by a friend who has become a wonderful painter in her early retirement years.

I am blessed to have in my life some important models for aging, though all of them would dismiss that notion with great amusement. One is a tall, funny, charming, beautiful, and courageous woman about to turn 70. She is a Roman Catholic nun and has suffered all the indignities the church heaps upon religious women. She has done so with righteous anger but without any hint of whining or self-pity, and has with courage and determination made a wonderful life for herself. With grace and dignity, she has carved out an independent role as a hospital chaplain. She has been a blessing to untold numbers of suffering people and is universally loved by those who know her. She defies the stereotype of the nun. She can be irreverent, wickedly funny, and “get her Irish up” at injustice and pettiness. She is curious about and open to life in its fullest. When I met her some 25 years ago in the hospital where we both worked, I reflexively and wickedly held out my knuckles to be rapped. She laughed instead of taking offense, and I immediately fell in love with her. I’ve told her over the years that she has redeemed nuns for me and challenged my own prejudices and anger. She is simply a wonderful woman and a joy to know. 

The second woman is now in her mid 80’s and a bit troubled by health problems although you wouldn’t know it by her schedule or her lack of complaints. I actually saw her last evening at a reception for volunteers at our city library. She is as or more active than her physical limitations allow, and she has a broad array of interests and causes, from Celtic language and music, to social justice, to reformation of the church, to her children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She has a lovely smile and a great Irish voice, is open and welcoming to everyone, and is very passionate about her beliefs, committing time and energy that are precious to her. About ten years ago I was teaching a course on the psychology of aging at a local college. I brought her in as a guest speaker to talk about her life, her activities, and her interests. I wanted to undermine my students’ stereotypical ideas about older people. She blew them away and gave them an idea of what great things could be done and what great fun could be had in later life. If I were still teaching that class, I’d have her in again today. 

The third model is now in his early 90’s. To say that I owe this man my life would not be an overstatement. He has been a mentor, friend and role model for 36 years. During my turbulent mid 20’s, he offered me a research internship at Yeshiva University in New York City. I couldn’t know it then but that invitation would alter and set the course of my life from that day forward. 

At the end of the year he offered me a position with the R & D Center that I immediately accepted. That led to my finishing my Ph.D. at YU instead of the University of Missouri. It also led to my switching from special education to psychology and thus down a very different career path than the one I originally set upon. It exposed me to the richness, variety, humor, and wisdom of Jewish culture, history, and intellect. It also opened my eyes to the curse of anti-Semitism. To this day, when people find out where I went to grad school they assume I’m Jewish. That bit of data causes very interesting reactions, mostly very subtle but very often leading to an intuitive sense that I am being pigeonholed into a troubling category of “other” or “different,” one of “them,” not one of “us.” 

It occurs to me that during that period he was younger than I am now. Of course, he seemed much older to me and I had never known anyone quite like him. He had and has a wicked sense of humor, could play a mean game of ping-pong, and was the best boss I have ever had in my life. I learned so much from him, often simply by observing. He taught me how to manage people. He hired the right people, set the goals for the Center, and let people do their jobs. He also allowed them to be their sometimes nutty selves and never micromanaged. We had quite a crew, bright, irascible, argumentative, full of ego and conflict, but utterly committed to the work and to getting the job done. So what if there was the occasional dramatic outburst, jealousy, and resentment, or if one of the staff had to periodically go to the bin for a med adjustment. The conflict resolved itself and the staff member came back tuned up and ready to do a great job for another year or so. It all happened because he led us, nurtured and nourished us, and allowed us to be who we were. It doesn’t get any better than that. 

He also taught me much about myself. I was in my 20’s a very angry and arrogant young man, character defects that often resulted in unnecessary conflict with people I cared about. If anyone had told me that directly, I would have responded with an angry dismissal and righteous justification. Somehow he was able to hold up a mirror and show me in a gentle, kind and clear way what a pain in the ass I really was. Coming from him, in his way, I could accept it as true, loving, and corrective. In part to please him and win his respect, I wanted to change that aspect of my character and became willing to work on it, though the process took many years and is still ongoing. My gratitude to him was such that I dedicated my dissertation to two men, my father who had died in 1968, and him. Both were equally instrumental in developing the man I have become. 

I left the Center nearly thirty years ago and we have kept in contact though not as frequently as I would like or should. He long ago retired but has been by no means been retiring. He is as intellectually curious and active as he was then, open to new ideas, new lines of inquiry, and even contradictory facts that cause him to change his positions. That led him to publish his latest book as he approached his 90th birthday. Throughout the years he has been unfailingly solicitous, generous, and stimulating. After September 11th, when I went to New York as part of a disaster response team, I spent a night with him and his wife, who has also been a kind and constant presence in my life. That night I was exhausted, feeling the impact of the trauma on the people I was seeing, and physically and emotionally drained. Being with them that night restored my body and spirit and enabled me to continue the work. I don’t think I ever properly thanked them for being there that night. I will do so soon. 

I am simply in awe of this man and his life. He will forever have my gratitude and always be my role model. 

So, there it is. I hope I am able to re-visit this subject in another ten years and see how it all turned out.

Old age, to the unlearned, is winter; to the learned, it’s harvest time.

-Yiddish saying

The Best of Intentions

I’ve always enjoyed writing and frequently threatened to commit my thoughts, opinions and musings to posterity for others to consider. So, when I started this blog, it was my intention to write daily, posting something every other day or so. I thought it would give me opportunity to reflect upon and express what was important to me; hence, the title Ruminations.

So much for the best of intentions. I haven’t written now in nearly a month. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to write. There have been a lot of things worth reflecting upon, I just haven’t done it. Life has a habit of getting in the way. It isn’t that something special has kept me from writing. It has been the ordinariness of life that interfered. All the usual things that occupy our time: work, family, chores, and the tedium of daily existence.

So I just haven’t taken the time to write. Time is the critical variable. Time has become much more important to me as I approach 60. Time seems in shorter supply – a distorted perception perhaps, but a felt truth – and I tend to guard it jealously. There are a lot of things I think are worthwhile doing – I just don’t want to spend my time doing them.

We don’t always have a choice. There are things we must do. Yet the truth is I also waste a lot of time. I watch – obsessively – politics and news on cable TV, hours of the same re-processed bullshit that neither informs nor illuminates. I read articles in newspapers and magazines that are only of marginal and very passing interest to me, simply out of habit. I consume formulaic mysteries that entertain me but whose titles and authors I often don’t know even while reading them and whose plots, content, themes and conflict are lost immediately upon turning the last page. I read and forward essentially useless emails and surf the web in random pursuit of momentary amusement.

I know this so why do I do it? Ease and laziness, I suspect. It is easier to be entertained than it is to think. Clicking the mouse or the remote is just a hell of a lot easier than sitting in front of a blank screen thinking and writing about something that matters. Trying to find the right words to express a thought is just a hell of a lot harder than letting some talking head amuse or piss me off. For someone who has been accused of being a workaholic, I also tend to be lazy. It’s not that I don’t like to work and accomplish. I do but I also lack discipline. And I think if you are going to blog, discipline is a must. You have to make yourself sit at the computer and write. That means you have to make yourself think about something worth writing about, even if you are writing mainly for yourself, as I am.

I suspect discipline becomes more important the older you get. There is less energy and in a real sense less time, so using both energy and time wisely is crucial. In part that discipline means jettisoning those things that while important or interesting, aren’t important or interesting enough to justify the expenditure in time and energy they consume. Jimmy Breslin, the great New York writer, used to write a funny column at the beginning of every year listing the people he wasn’t going to talk to that year because they weren’t worth his time. I think I need to make a similar list of the things I’m not going to do. I will probably still do some of those things, but not all of them, thus saving time. If this blog is to be ongoing, I will also have to get behind myself and push a bit, perhaps by committing to the modest discipline of writing every day for 15 minutes. Lazy as I am, I can probably make myself do that, at least most days.

That is my intention. We’ll see.

Will Rogers Was Right

Will Rogers famously said “I don’t belong to any organized political party, I’m a Democrat!”

In what should be a tsunami year for Democrats, both leading Democratic presidential candidates are essentially tied with John McCain in the polls. 

Let me see, now, do I have this right or am I in some alternate universe: 

Home values are tanking and foreclosures are skyrocketing. Gas is moving inexorably toward $4 per gallon in time for summer vacation. Wheat prices have tripled in ten months and everything from bread to pizza to eggs, chickens, pork, and beef– anything made with wheat or fed by it - has shot up along with it. Anything transported by truck goes up in price nearly every day – my wife just told me even the cheapest paper towels are now $1.50 per roll. And anything imported (what isn’t?) gets much more expensive as the dollar becomes devalued in comparison to the euro and the yen – the dollar is no longer “sound as a dollar.” 

And John McCain – he who has promised four more years of Bushenomics – is tied with the Democrats?????!!!!!

The war drags on into its 6th year. Al-Qaeda is resurgent. We have many fewer allies than six years ago. More people hate us. Oh, right, I forgot. The surge is working. We’re losing “only” thirty dead Americans per month instead of 100 or more. That must be such a comfort to the families of the thirty. Never mind the 565 Iraqi civilians killed each month. Who counts them anyway? The total cost of the war – all borrowed from our grandchildren’s future earnings so tax cuts for the very wealthy can be continued now – is estimated at two to three trillion dollars. I know, I know, the Bush Administration estimated the total cost of the war would be “only” 150 to 200 billion dollars, all to be eventually repaid by Iraqi oil profits. Hey, what’s $2,998,000,000,000.00 among friends? After all, Exxon-Mobil will make about $13,000,000,000 profit these first three months of the year. And Dick Cheney’s Halliburton spin-off KBR has figured out a way to avoid paying those pesky Social Security taxes on the employees it pays with no bid Defense Department contracts. That should be of some comfort as you spend $65 to fill your tank to go to the store and buy a $4 loaf of bread. 

And John McCain – he who has promised to stay in Iraq 100 years if that’s what it takes to drive out the Al-Qaeda fighters who weren’t there before we invaded – is tied with the Democrats?????!!!!!

The Republicans, some of whom believe GOP means God’s Own Party, the party of family values, moral righteousness, and conservative principles have brought us gay bashing, Larry Craig, Mark Foley, David Vitter, and the trashing of constitutional liberty in the name of security. Mike Huckabee, who may yet be their Vice Presidential candidate, promised to change the Constitution to conform to his notion of God’s will. Never mind the separation of church and state. That radical Thomas Jefferson must have been a communist. 

And John McCain – he who sucked up to the bigoted Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson and actively sought the endorsement of the anti-Catholic nut case “Rev.” Ted Hagee– is tied with the Democrats?????!!!!!

How can this be? Why is it so? The answer I think lies somewhere in the long tradition of the Democratic Party and Democratic politicians doing almost everything possible to lose elections. In the last 40 years there have been only two winning Democratic candidates. Jimmy Carter – a nice man but a terrible leader – was driven out of office after one term. Bill Clinton – a good leader but perhaps not so nice a man – squandered much of his presidency and got himself impeached though not convicted. In 1968 many liberals sat out the election because they were pissed off at Humphrey. The result was Nixon. In 1972 the nominee was George McGovern – a great man but a lousy candidate – and we had a convention that began the fairness rules which have now evolved to the point where it seems impossible to pick a candidate. 1988 should have been a Democratic year given the cyclical nature of presidential elections. The candidate was Michael Dukakis who ran on competence and offered the famous Howdy Doody in a tank picture, squandering an early 18 point lead in the polls and giving us George I. In 2000 Al Gore was convinced to run a poll driven, sound bite campaign free of his prescient passion for the environment - “you don’t want to sound like a tree hugger, Al” - and the result was George II. In 2004 John Kerry the war hero somehow allowed himself to be transformed into John Kerry the windsurfing wimp. 

And have we (yes, in case you haven’t figured it out yet, I am a yellow dog though despairing Democrat) learned anything from all this? Have we profited from our defeats and finally learned how to win and win with enough of a Congressional majority to actually govern rather than fight rear guard actions in preparation for the next election? No, not on your endangered pension we haven’t. Instead, we seem headed toward a convention in which the candidate with the most votes, the most states, the most delegates, and the most appeal to independents and Republicans may lose the nomination. And in getting there it appears we will – again – fight each other so viciously that the eventual nominee will be so crippled as to prevent recovery. And the beneficiary is, of course, John McCain and the ‘Publicans. And we will yet again – as difficult as it is to imagine - honor the proverb and snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. If so, it won’t be just the loss of another presidential election. It will be the loss of an opportunity to transform our civil life, our politics, our party and our country. We will have failed to seize the opportunity to come together, heal as a nation, and actually do something about our many problems at home and around the world. 

Will Rogers was right.

No Justice

It has been exactly one month since Kathy Faughey died. Life moves on. The world is now pre-occupied with other stories which excite, anger and titillate: Governor Spitzer’s resignation, his prostitute’s story, the dust up over Geraldine Ferraro’s remarks. The tabloids and TV stations have found other tragedies to sell. And Kathy Faughey the victim of a senseless rage so brutal as to be incomprehensible, of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and becoming a(nother) casualty of our failed mental health system, is now the victim of our increasingly short attention span. A month ago she was the object of disbelief, concern, caring, pity, compassion, and confusion. Now she is off the radar, not thought of much if at all by those who a month ago read and watched everything they could about her wonderful life and awful death. What remains is the grief of her family, friends, colleagues, and patients. That hole in the heart that will never quite fill for her family and those who knew her well. That ineffable sadness, anger, and mystery for those who knew her not so well or, like me, knew her long ago.

Something else lingers. A question of justice. David Tarloff sits in jail awaiting a trial that may never come. What will be his punishment? What should be his punishment? What is just in his case? When I first learned of Kathy’s murder I expressed the fervent hope that her killer would be found, would resist arrest, and be shot to death by the police. The anger and the passion for revenge have subsided. I no longer believe killing David Tarloff would atone for Kathy’s death. It would just bring more pain to another grieving family. There is no justice in that. I do believe that David Tarloff should never again have the opportunity to hurt another human being. He should never again be free to refuse his medication and roam the streets fermenting his delusions into rage. That would be a form of justice adequate but not particularly satisfying.

I don’t really believe there can be any atonement, any reparations for Kathy Faughey’s death. Nothing can give her the years she rightfully had in front of her. Nothing can console her family’s grief or take away their deep horror in knowing the way in which she died. Any attempt to find meaning in her death would be another injury, another insult, another injustice. It was her life that was meaningful, not her death.

The meaninglessness of her death will be perpetuated – and replicated with other victims and other families - by a corrupt mental health system. A system that ultimately values money more than people. Upholds the individual’s civil right to be psychotic and homeless. Replaces institutionalization in hospitals with institutionalization in jails and prisons. Turns doctors and therapists into “providers,” and patients into “consumers.” Punishes providers who spend more than the allotted few minutes with consumers. Turns treatment into quantifiable units of productivity. Pushes consumer turnover rather than patient health and well-being.

There is no justice in this for Kathy Faughey. Nor for the mentally ill. Nor for the rest of us.

Dis-Inviting the Disabled

Had to go to downtown Albany this week for work. Interesting thing about Albany: the capital city of one of the most progressive states in the union basically invites anyone with a disability to stay the hell away. My meeting was in the Alfred E. Smith State Office Building directly across from the Capitol. The parking situation downtown is terrible for everyone. There are just not enough garages, lots, or spaces for all the bureaucrats and those doing business with them. State workers, business people, and local residents all complain, and they’re right. It is more difficult to find a parking space in downtown Albany than it is in Manhattan.

What is for most people difficult and daunting can be overwhelming or impossible for someone with a disability. Most of the time I walk with a cane, gimping around with a bad back and knees derived from poor genes and bad habits. As these things go, I don’t have much of a disability nor much to complain about but under the right circumstances, even my minor disability can be handicapping. Negotiating the Empire State Plaza is such a circumstance. There were some disability parking spaces in front of the Smith building but they were time restricted and I did not want to have to leave my meeting several times during the day, negotiating security each time to get back in the building after feeding the meter, presuming I could locate enough quarters. I knew enough to get to Albany early and, after some frustration, happened upon a lot that wasn’t full. The lot had no handicapped spaces so I found myself at its back, with an uphill walk of perhaps ½ to ¾ of a mile on a cold and windy morning. The lot and road surfaces were uneven and pot-holed from the winter’s wear and there were small mounds of snow and ice on the sidewalks, necessitating greater caution than usual to avoid ending up on my ass in Albany. As I approached the Smith Building, stiff and hurting, I saw that the entrances were not easily handicapped accessible – no ramps, and steps that were for whatever reason higher than usual. I know this because I tripped on one and looked at it to see if the cause was the step or my clumsiness.

As I entered the building I thought about the people I know with significant disabilities, most with much more limited mobility than I, some in wheelchairs. What was for me mainly annoying and irritating could for them become insurmountable. There would simply be no way for them to gain access and conduct their business with or for the State of New York. More than 17 years after passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act and equal access is an illusion more than a reality. That is unacceptable

Winter March

When I was a kid, I loved the winter. Couldn’t wait for it to snow so I could build an igloo in our tiny back yard in the housing project, or throw snowballs at the city buses, or rejoice at the rare snow day. I much preferred the cool and the cold to the warm and the hot. Fall and winter were “way better” than spring and summer.

Even as an adult, well into my thirties, I liked the winter more. There was something about the challenge of the cold and the snow that was invigorating, that somehow emphasized the sharp edges of being alive. The first winter we were in upstate NY was brutal – 24 inches of unexpected snow on Christmas day, the thermometer at our old farmhouse barely registering 0 for the first two weeks of the New Year. Slogging buckets of water out to the barn for our few but definitely hardy animals. It was wonderful. I don’t know that I ever felt more aware of and connected to my environment. Even driving was stimulating, though the 37-mile commute to work got old by March. I was generally much happier in the fall and winter than any other time of the year.

No longer. Over the last 20 years and especially the last few, winter has become a burden to endure rather than a joy to experience. The cold stiffens my arthritic joints and it is painful and sometimes debilitating. Snow is a mess to be moved – and moved – and moved again, not a scene of sheer beauty and exhilaration. The constant gray skies and short days depress the body, mind, and spirit. I dread the coming of winter, despair in the middle of it, and guard against intimations of its end just in case it doesn’t.

My relationship to the month of March has changed. As a child in Connecticut I simply didn’t like the month at all. Its arrival meant winter would soon end, although it always seemed to snow the first day of spring, even if only flurries. Now I experience ambivalence with a negative tilt. The days are definitely longer so that is good. The roads clear of snow much more rapidly so that is a relief. The time until golf begins can be measured in weeks (6 to 8) rather than months, so that is wonderful. Yet I fundamentally don’t trust the month. Some of the worst blizzards in memory occurred in March. The rapid warming is often followed by bitter cold spells, a chilling slap in the face of hope not dared earlier in the season. Experience teaches that although spring is around the corner, the corner is a long way off, no matter what the damned Pennsylvania woodchuck reported on Groundhog Day.

Casualties of a System That Worked

Kathryn Faughey died for de-institutionalization. As did Daniel Parmeter and Catalina Garcia. And Ryanne Mace and Julianna Gehant. And Gale Dubowski.

In less than 48 hours six innocent people lost their lives and six families were thrust into unbearable agony.

On the evening of February 12th David Tarloff walked into Dr. Kathryn Faughey’s office in New York and butchered her with a meat cleaver and a knife. The struggle was fierce and by all accounts she fought hard to live. But she died, and her last moments must have been terrifying and excruciatingly painful. She was slashed fifteen times, her blood was all over the office, and the meat cleaver was bent from the force of the blows.

On the afternoon of February 14th Steven Kazmierczak walked onto a classroom stage at Northern Illinois University carrying several weapons. Without saying a word he started shooting, killing five people in less than five minutes before killing himself.

Two days and a thousand miles apart, these murders have one thing in common. They are the result of society’s failure to effectively, even adequately, treat the mentally ill. The real cause of death is a failed policy of de-institutionalization with discharge to the streets and the criminal justice system.

Both killers have histories of mental illness and revolving door hospitalization. Both have histories of refusing medication and treatment. And in both cases the system worked exactly as it is designed to work. During acute episodes they presented to the criminal justice/mental health system, voluntarily or otherwise. They were evaluated and in most instances quickly released to the streets. They were considered not to present an imminent danger to themselves or others so they were sent on their way. No treatment except perhaps medication which they were free to take or not. No follow up. No attempt to actually ensure that these individuals got the help they needed.

David Tarloff’s illness tells him he is not ill. He sees no need for treatment or medication. And Kathy Faughey is butchered. Steven Kazmierczak’s illness tells him it is not him but the world that is wrong. And five people sitting in a classroom are slaughtered.

All this pain, all this senseless, meaningless loss occurred because the system worked the way it is supposed to work.

I have heard people angry with doctors for not keeping David Tarloff in the hospital when they had him there. The reality is that the doctors who evaluated Tarloff could not keep him. The criteria for involuntary hospitalization are very strict and usually require that the person present a clear and present threat to their own or other’s safety. Being delusional or psychotic is not enough. Patient privacy laws, well-intentioned but in some cases Kafkaesque, prevent doctors and health care providers from obtaining information that might enable them to make better decisions. I also suspect the last time Tarloff was evaluated, the hospital’s small psychiatric unit was filled with people who were even more acutely ill at the time than he was. So the doctors made the only decision they could within the system they have.

Even when hospitalization does occur, the goal is not resolution or even significant improvement in the patient’s underlying illness. The goal is stabilization and release, as quickly and cheaply as possible. Insurance companies demand it. The government demands it. Patient rights advocates demand it.

Treatment of mental illness most often consists of managing whatever symptoms are most troubling while ignoring the underlying illness in all its complexity. Treatment is largely and by design limited to medications. There have been major advances in medication for mental illnesses but they are not enough. The medications for severe illnesses like paranoid schizophrenia at best manage some of the more troubling symptoms. In many cases they simply do not work very well or have unacceptable side effects or are too expensive. Or patients simply refuse to take them, as did Tarloff and Kazmierczak.

The reality is that there is no comprehensive, integrated system of care to provide the mentally ill with the kind of treatment they need beyond medication: safe places to live, real support for meaningful integration into the community, psychotherapy to give hope and teach the skills needed to effectively manage illness and lead a successful life.

The overriding goal of most mental health treatment is economic rather than psychological. The government and insurance companies – as well as Medicaid and Medicare – are in the business of limiting – not providing – treatment. Managed care restrictions pressure doctors to release patients prematurely. Reimbursement rates for psychotherapy are lower than they were 25 years ago. There is no other profession where practitioners make less than they did 25 years ago.

In the last 40 years there has been a great movement to de-institutionalize the mentally ill. The cause was just and the motive noble. Many of those housed for years in state psychiatric centers did not belong there. Sometimes – but not always - the conditions were terrible. Sometimes – but not always - the treatment was little more than warehousing. Sometimes – but not always - there was awful abuse. So in New York State, 90% of the individuals who lived in the state psychiatric centers were discharged in a relatively brief period of time. While many of these discharges were successful, for many others the horror just shifted locations.

The closing of the psychiatric facilities was supposed to be accompanied by resources to provide the services needed in the community to prevent re-institutionalization. That’s not what happened. Adequate resources were not provided. However, since the institutions no longer existed, patients could not be re-institutionalized. Its advocates considered the lack of re-institutionalization a resounding success. What happened to the thousands of people released in the purge of the state hospitals? They were not suddenly and miraculously cured of their illnesses. They were not receiving services that didn’t exist in the community. Often, they slipped through the cracks and were lost to the mental health system, such as it is. (This too was a success because it meant fewer people receiving services.) Often, they joined the legions of homeless. Very often, they simply shifted from one system to another, from mental health to criminal justice. Living in poverty, often in squalid conditions, developing substance abuse problems that exacerbated their mental illnesses, they committed crimes, usually petty, sometimes serious. So, they were back in institutions but this time it was the county jail or the state prison. In New York State, one of eight prisoners is mentally ill. So much for the economic benefit of de-institutionalization to the taxpayer.

The mentally ill present to emergency rooms or police departments and enter the revolving door of hospitals and jails where they are managed but not really helped. And they suffer for it. And society suffers when their illness leads to horrific acts.

What passes in this country for a mental health care system efficiently meets its goals with David Tarloff and Steven Kazmierczak. And six people die.

David Tarloff and Steven Kazmierczak are not unique. Based on what is known about them, they are like thousands of others throughout the country, struggling with terrible illnesses within a system that fails them. They are not the first whose inner torment led them to destroy other lives. And they will not be the last.

None of this is meant as a criticism of those who work within the mental health system. Most are dedicated and competent professionals working extremely hard with a very difficult population and doing so with very limited resources. They are overburdened, have too many cases, and are limited by laws and bureaucracies in their ability to help those who suffer. They deserve support rather than criticism.

I have a personal as well as professional connection to these events. Kathy Faughey and I were in grad school together in the 1970’s and were good friends for a time. Although I had not seen her in many years, news of her death came as a profound personal shock. She was a wonderful, bright, funny, passionate, and caring woman who was so very full of life. She helped many, many people over the course of her life and career. She did not deserve to have her life ended in this brutal way. She did not deserve to die a casualty of our failed mental health system.


Ray Bepko, Ph.D. is a licensed psychologist. He lives and works in Utica, NY.