benevolent neglect

another story for aimee's inspiration group

 

 















         The Trees was built in the 1920’s and served continuously its original purpose for well over 40 years.  Located in upstate New York, it was an easy day trip from the city by train, or as roads and vehicles improved, later by car. Its location was no accident. Far from civilization, but near enough if a little effort was made to get there. Out of sight, hidden among stately maple, elm and ash trees. The road was  deliberately left unpaved, discouraging unwelcome Sunday drivers and visitors from stumbling upon the majestic white frame building. If, by some chance, a driver did make it as far as the entrance, all the uninvited visitor would see is a locked wrought iron gate with brick columns on either side. On the right hand column was a simple brass plate with THE TREES written in block lettering. Beyond the gate, the road wound between tall trees and disappeared. No trace of the stately building could be seen from the road.

    My grandfather, Dr. Nathan Benjamin, built The Trees as a sort of convalescent center for the wealthy in the Roaring 20’s. Well, that’s not exactly true. Convalescence implies recovery and the patients who were checked into The Trees rarely recovered. They were simply kept there. Comfortable, controlled, and out of sight. You see, these were the children and adults that wealthy families kept hidden. The disabled, too burdensome to keep at home. The mentally deficient, too embarrassing to have identified with fine families. The drug addled, uncontrollable youth who required too much effort to keep reined in. These were the patients at The Trees.
    
    To be fair, Grandfather must have thought he was doing a service to society in providing a place and “treatment”, such as it was, to these unfortunates, but the skeptic in me simply sees Grandfather’s life’s work as a vehicle of benevolent neglect. It was a beautiful place, comparable to any of the mansions the patients and their families were used to. No family could feel guilty leaving a relative in such a wonderful place. And like I said before, it was an easy train ride from the city for regular visits. The visitors and patients could gather in one of the parlors or could walk the grounds, all under the ever-watchful eyes of the staff. But, with a few rare exceptions, those visits soon became less and less frequent and before long, they stopped completely.  And if guilt should rear its ugly head, the family would assuage that guilt with lovely memories of the beautiful place their relative then resided. Benevolent neglect.

    The truth of the matter is, once the visits stopped, things changed.  The Trees was divided into two sections. The west wing was for the manageable patients. The mildly depressed. The passive, withdrawn types. The harmless.. These patients had access to the grounds, the game rooms and the parlors. This was the part of The Trees that was shown on tours. The east wing, however, was a different world completely. This was the place where the violent, difficult, high maintenance patients resided. The paranoid. The schizophrenic. The mentally challenged who have become too strong to control when they become frustrated and angry. In the beginning, restraints were used. Straight jackets, shackles, padded rooms. Patients were shocked into compliance with ice baths.  Then in the mid 30’s two new procedures came into vogue which made patients much more manageable: the lobotomy and electroshock therapy. Both were used freely at The Trees, although neither was ever talked about. This continued till the mid-1950’s, when a miracle drug, Thorazine, was available which had much the same effect.

    I don’t mean to make my grandfather into a monster in telling this. He was a doctor at the cutting edge of the treatments of the times. While some may seem barbaric now, at the time they were considered the most promising treatments ever. My issues with The Trees is with the way it warehoused the unwanted. My issues are with the families who could put relatives permanently out of sight. And, as a grandson of  Dr. Benjamin, I have a real problem with him making a profit in this whole process.  And make a profit, he did. I know this because I was named his beneficiary.

    The Trees closed permanently in 1971. Grandfather was in ill health and began phasing out patients, not taking any new ones, finding other institutions to take some of them, convincing a few families to provide their own care. The days of benevolent neglect were over. These were enlightened times. The Trees was a dinosaur in a world of advanced therapy techniques, rehab centers and political correctness. The last patient checked out of The Trees in April of 1971. Grandpa Nathan died in August of that year.

    I inherited Grandfather’s fortune mainly to spite my father. Dad and Grandpa didn’t get along. You see, Dad was also a victim of benevolent neglect. The Trees was the Doctor’s world. Home was a place he visited, but was never a part of. When he finally realized the gulf that was developing between himself and his son, Grandpa began taking Dad to The Trees with him, trying to forge some sort of bond by showing him the importance of his work. By that time it was counter-productive. Dad already resented The Trees and seeing it through an already negative viewpoint only magnified the obvious dismal nature of the facility. Arguments ensued. Bitterness. Estrangement. I was his only other blood relative, so I became the beneficiary of his fortune.

    Among the things I inherited was The Trees. I drove that easy day trip to upstate New York one day in late fall the year after I inherited it. The dirt road was now over-grown, but passable. The railway station closed and boarded up. I found the brick columns and wrought iron gate. The brass plate was tarnished, but still legible. I took the key and unlocked the gate, then drove the long winding path to a clearing where the the amazing building loomed before me. I walked the hallways. I explored the rooms. I listened for ghosts.

     In the back of my mind, I was trying to decide what to do with this place. The property was worth a fortune. I could tear it down and subdivide the property. Or perhaps the building could be rehabbed  and turned into a hotel or condos. It had plenty of potential. But as I wandered from room to room in the east wing, I suddenly knew what had to be done.

    I left The Trees that day for the last time. Locked the gate. Drove down the dirt road and never looked back. No visits. No recovery projects.  No more profit taking. Call it karma. Balance. Poetic justice. The Trees now is a victim of my own benevolent neglect.

Reviews

[Zeek4]

Very interesting and well written account. California had a different way of handling the problem of the mentally ill. They just opened the doors to the various institutions and let them go free. Many of them didn't do so well and now fill our parks and streets. What a heart wrenching problem. Having a severally schizophrenic child would be a nightmare. To neglect a loved one under such pain and anguish is unimaginable. Maybe you should develop the property and use the profits to help the mentally ill.

[Ladysue]

What a story The Trees..this was very poignant. Though long it held my interest. you wrote it so eloquently. wow...this line stood out to me the most...

My issues with The Trees is with the way it warehoused the unwanted. this line made me tear...so sad...

you tell such a sad story and end it with poetic justice...beautifully written...

[Joel McRennary]

The Trees. The way you write about it makes it sound like the most perfect place to set a mystery, or a ghost story. As I read I thought of characters and situations to fill this most potent of spaces. I find myself wanting to know more about the Grandfather and father, and about the once-privileged tenants of The Trees struggling to come to terms with their abandonment. Very eloquent. It plants a seed in the brain that grows into more stories.

[emmajoy]

My goodness, what a tragic story! This moves thru the history of The Trees superbly smoothly and held my interest all the way through. It holds the saddest yet most intriguing reason for being there; it's true, there were places like that, hiding people from society whilst their relatives could turn away and conveniently forget them - the residents were like the building, decaying, losing any sense of dignity as human beings.

' I walked the hallways. I explored the rooms. I listened for ghosts. ' And the sounds of guilt?

The ending is brilliant .. acceptable, logical ..

[Fabian G. Franklin]

What a great story! I really liked the way you tied it all in together. I'll be forever stuck with that phrase in my mind now and it's one I'd never heard before. So I'd have to say you did your job well here! Bravo!

[Aimee Mahathy]

Oh my wow! O_O This has like all the elements which fascinate me! X3 Weird, crazy medical techniques of the past and the strange and extreme ways in which they took care of their mental patients (which, as you said, were state of the art back then) are just... I don't know. Strange enough to fascinate. You got the image perfectly of the institution and I could just see the contrast of the two wings. How all the neglect would be swept under a carpet and the rich folks would buy it. Another thing that's fascinated me for a long time is how secretive people were back then if they had a "malfunctioning" family member; like keeping handicapped children locked up in an attic, hiding a senile grandmother and saying she died. Stuff like that. And I love the phrase you used, "Benevolent Neglect" That is amazing! Those two words sum it all up and there's so much said in them! And the ending was perfect! Like, I probably would've been disappointed if you'd written a happy story about how he refurbished it and turned it into a hotel and put the disturbed souls to peace. It's such a neutral ending, I love it!
Great job! I'm so glad you chose to write on this image!