Monday, April 20, 2009

Growth Horizons

When i graduated from college and pondered a life in the theater, it occurred to me that while the arts are a noble and goodly undertaking, there was also an aspect of the full-time actor which might be the tiniest bit self-indulgent. So i decided to spend a piece of my life directly helping others.
I hit the want ads and found Growth Horizons. They were hiring vocational skill instructors for the mentally retarded. The next day, i was employed. They ran a warehouse that serviced eighty clients, handling basic assembly contracts that came from the business community. The warehouse was divided into higher and lower functioning sections. I took over one of the lower groups. Our most steady work was packaging nails into cardboard boxes. We assembled the boxes, weighed out one pound of nails, and sealed the boxes with a sticker. Our clients were aged twenty to eighty. In addition to MR, there were some who had MH (mental health) issues. Most of them had spent the bulk of their lives in huge state-run institutions, which had been disbanded only a few years before, for inhumane conditions. Any "problem" clients in these institutions had been taught violence, so violence was how they dealt with the world. About 15% of our clients fell into this category, so in addition to CPR, i had to learn self-defense (in practice, i defended others moreso than myself). My teenage brothers loved to make fun of the "pivot and parry" techniques i practiced on them. In real-life situations the techniques were helpful, although there's always an element of chaotic improvisation when violence is unleashed. Clients got paid for their work, usually a few pennies per unit. Which made for anywhere from a couple bucks to eighty bucks a month. Not much, but when you've got no monthly expenses, it ain't nothin'.
I loved my group. They were the least productive in the warehouse. There were only a few who could handle weighing, and a couple with the dexterity to do stickers. But they were mostly happy and willing.
There was John, who was non-verbal and grumpy. He mostly wanted to be left alone to nap the day away. He wore a hockey helmet because he had limited balance and dexterity. On occasion i had to help him in the bathroom (and that includes wiping).
There was Sheila, who was verbal, but so shy you would never know it.
There was Marcia, who was semi-verbal, and a pistol. She would playfully take a smack at me whenever i needled her. Once in a while i would offer her a hug, and she would almost blush. After a year, she worked up the nerve to hug me (one of the instructors opined that she had a monumental crush on me).
There was Charlie, a Down syndrome client who affirmed every loving Down stereotype.
There was John K., a thin, semi-verbal fellow with thick glasses who sometimes had a crusty exterior...but in that warehouse, a crusty exterior was often simply a defense mechanism. I quickly learned that he was one of the most gentle souls i would ever know, and he and i shared a very special connection, despite the fact that i could only understand about a third of his words.
There was Linda, who was non-verbal and somewhat maniacally wide-eyed. Once in a while she would get upset to the point of screaming and hitting her own head, but if you got her going in a happy direction, she would nearly hyperventilate with excitement.
There was Peggy, who was mildly verbal, confined to a wheelchair, and simply a classy lady...you could tell she had never been near an institution, and had a family who loved her.
There was Randy, the most childlike client in the place. He spoke in coos, like a dove. He was small and thin with pale skin and red, curly hair. We had to always keep an eye on him and his boyfriend from a higher functioning group, Brian, as they would try to meet in the bathroom for sex. I felt guilty about policing that behavior, but i accepted that if you made one exception, a barrel of monkeys would be let loose.
There was Cindy, who was quietly and patently disagreeable. She was non-verbal, but this may have been because she was intelligent enough to know that she couldn't be understood. She looked at the world through narrowed eyes, and wore headphones because she was sensitive to sound. She was capable of violent outbursts, but didn't do so often, as it was easy to spot the buildup signs. She would slowly approach and lightly tap her target with one knuckle. Harder taps would follow, until it was an all-out attack. I only saw it escalate that far once, which makes me think it was at least partly a defense mechanism. After a year, i got her to the point where she would give me a little almost-hug, with her eyes staring elsewhere. Her case workers blatantly took advantage of her nicotine addiction, implementing a system which rewarded work and good behavior with cigarettes.
There was Keith. He had surgery scars on his head, and pronounced his "R"s as "W"s. He was a favorite among the instructors, because he was sweet, and fun to mess around with. When you were joking with him, it would take him a few seconds to catch up. When he got it, he would exaggeratedly smack his head as he laughed and said "Oh Wob!" He then might try to give you a little spank. He was probably the most verbal client i had, and he took joy in being able to talk with me, and ask me real questions from time to time.
And finally, there was George. I can still remember the shape of his pearlike body as he hugged me. He was an older man who didn't hug everyone, but he and i always seemed to understand each other. He would talk to me for minutes on end, which was impressive, as i only understood about 10% of his words. I would just smile and comment on whatever the gist of his energy was. He treated me like i understood everything he said. He had thick, thick glasses and colitis. Once in a very long while he would get annoyed, and go off on a grumpy tangent. But he'd never stay grumpy long, not while i was around. When i think of hugs, and that at times i've been one of the more well-hugged people you'll ever meet, i think of George.
The other instructors were wonderful. In a near group was Cindy, who was laid back and fun, and had a little almost-romance with me. She decided to have a child that year, though she had no male in her life. I almost offered to be the biological father. In the other near group was Joyce. She was outgoing and funny, with a huge heart. She was engaged, but nursed a not-so-hidden crush on me. Further off, there was Big John (think Ossie Davis), Harry (Malcolm X), and Chuck (big, peaceful hippie). There were two wonderful client supervisors, Bill (cousin Eddie) and Tyrone (Magic Johnson). They covered our groups when we took breaks, and made everyone's life a little more light and fun. There was the nurse, Mary, as caring as could be. There was the resident goofball, Paul the forklift guy. His brash sense of play covered a big heart. He took great joy in needling the clients endlessly, to their exasperation and delight.
In the building's offices, the rest of the staff toiled. Steve and Beth were in charge, and they were about as wonderful as anyone you'll ever meet. I had a tender romance with Linda, one of the case workers. I had my very own desk, which was funny and fun. For social reasons, breaks were as enjoyable as the work itself.
There were other clients who will always be unforgettable. There was Jerry, a manic blind man who would hurl himself up and down when he was scared or angry, causing danger to himself and others. His spring-like jumping was undoubtedly a defense mechanism...i try to imagine what being blind in that warehouse would have been like, and it's almost too frightening to think about. He looked forward to connecting with me whenever he could. Talking him down from hysteria was sometimes a little comic.
Another blind client was Stuart. He was enormous, and thoroughly gentle and enjoyable when calm. But i think he had mental health issues, for his violent episodes were extreme and frightful. His buildup was his "wiggling". If you saw him start to wiggle, you had to react very very quickly, to take him somewhere solitary. On those occasions when his escalation wasn't diverted, he tossed eight foot metal tables around with ease. Paul was great with him, he would sing wiggle songs and shout out "Stu, i saw you wigglin'!" Stu would smile and insist, "No, you didn't see me wiggle...not gonna do no wigglin'."
And the client who instilled the greatest fear of all? A tiny woman named Joanne. She probably had the severest mental health issues in the place. Her violence was extreme, frequent, and mostly unpredictable. Her group station was the only one with a padded carpet, to cut down on bruises. There may have been voices in her head. Her eyes would wander as she talked with you. She could speak, but her words came out mangled. Under all that, you could tell that there was intelligence and a desire to be loved and understood. But every single client walked on eggshells when she walked by.
There was Michael, who resembled a gorilla in physique. He was beatific when calm, with his starry eyes wandering. But he would get to whispering to himself, and suddenly ka-blam, he would attack a staffer or client with all his sighted might.
One of the highest functioning clients, and i can't remember her name, was a little slice of brightness and fun i always felt a rather soft electric response to. It was a strange thing to admit, but one day Chuck and i were talking, and we discovered that we both had a big crush on her. I suppose i could claim the attraction wasn't sexual, but that'd be a lie. She was just so sunshiny and purely wonderful. I am both relieved and sad that i never faced the temptation of meeting her in the real world.
Anyway...i began working with my group. There was always a balance to maintain between production demands and the desire to teach. After a year, our production improvement was marked and impressive. I received a merit citation from Steve. And one day, just when i felt my efforts were finally paying off, he called me into his office and asked me to take over Joanne's group (it's telling that hers was the only group not identified by a staffer). She was so intimidating that they would bring in a new instructor, and after a couple days, or even a couple hours, they would walk out, never to return. I had a better seat to observe this than anyone. Joanne was just relentless. Whenever she had an outburst, three or four staffers would run to the aid of her instructor. They would wrestle Joanne to the ground, then hold down an arm or leg for three or four minutes. This happened at least once a day, disrupting several groups. Understanding Steve's predicament, i hugged George and John goodbye. In retrospect it was an obvious move, but i'm grateful that Steve had at least tried to find another solution. A few months before, Joanne's group had taken over the mantle of "least productive group". When she said my name, "Rob" came out as "Chubbie". Her spoken English was so maimed that all her staffers had to learn some sign language. To this day, i will occasionally sign "work all day" or "stop kicking" at random moments. My first day with her, i let her and everyone know that things would be handled differently. She attacked me, i took her to the ground, and pinned her torso and wrists. Other staffers came running, and i shouted them off. From then on it was just her and i, and after a few months, the incidence reports revealed that change was taking place. The frequency of her attacks was dropping, to one or two a week. The intensity was also diminishing, and after four or five months, our floor time was down to a minute or so. Sometime during this period, Beth shared an interesting theory. She said that Joanne's attacks had an element of repressed sexuality in them, and that her wrestling with me was a way of sublimating some of that energy. She definitely grew an affection for me...on the peaceful occasions when she hugged me, you could tell there was love. And the less violent she became, the more she was able to express her silly side...she would even curtsy once in a while.
There were times when my speed saved myself and others from considerable harm. Once, Joanne hurled a 15-lb. metal scale at Marcia. I leapt, batting it away with a forearm. Another time, i glanced up, sensing movement. My hand shot up, and a coffee mug smacked into my palm. It would have hit my head directly, and to this day i don't understand how i reacted so quickly...it seemed like my reaction was milliseconds ahead of my cognitive awareness.
My reflexes failed me once, though. I was watching my group and Joyce's for a few minutes, standing with Michael. I was relaxed, and thought he was too. Way too late to do anything about it, i saw him strike. His open palm came crashing down on my head.
After six months, and a merit citation for my work with Joanne, i decided it was finally time to go. They threw me a party, i said sweet farewells to all, and ended one of the most fascinating chapters of my life. I soon realized i had some empty time before my next adventure, so i decided to spend it working as a residential staffer in George's home. There were four clients, and i got my first taste of cooking for a big group. George was never childlike...he was in some ways a very conventional fifty year-old man. So perhaps it even surprised him that he was able to express a kind of tenderness for me that i've never felt from another male. Or maybe even any female, for that matter. After six extra months of George hugs, i moved on.

No comments: