My first psychiatric aid job was at Pacific State Hospital on a developmentally disabled childrens ward. Pacific State Hospital was a pretty big place with over a thousand patients. I think they even had their own dairy at Pacific State or horses or farm animals. On the unit where I worked, the children were between the ages of about six to ten years old. The day that I was given an interview, while the supervisor was giving me a tour, children started climbing on me. One boy proceeded to take off my belt. The Supervisor acted as if there was nothing wrong, maybe watching for my reaction.
I was resposible for maybe twelve to fifteen kids and followed a regimented routine. I would supervise them while they played in a playroom, some screaming and drooling and others banging their heads on the walls or on the floor. Then at a certain time I was to bring all of them to a dining area and get them seated in their chairs and then bring them their trays. Some would need to be fed.
After we left the dining room, I brought them to the bathroom where there was a row of low, childrens toilets. I would put them on the toilets and there was a platform that I was taught was a place I could put a child to hose them off if they were filthy. I don't think I would ever use it, though, as I think the water than came out of the hose was usually cold and it just seemed like torture.
After toileting, they were all brought to the sinks to wash their hands. I think they were allowed to play for a little while longer and then I would bring them to where they got their medications and then to where they slept and get them all into bed. Once they were all settled into bed, I was responsible for mopping and polishing the floors with a huge floor polisher. It was hard, exhausting work. I lasted only a month or so before I found a job at Doctors Hospital in Montclair.
Doctors hospital was a brand new faciliity and their psychiatric unit mostly catered to depressed, menopausal women or others that had private insurance. It was an open unit and only rarely were there any actual psychotic patients. I worked the evening shift with another psychiatric aid, who's name was Booker and it turned out he was gay also and we became close friends. We were both in the closet at that time but both had the "gaydar" even then and we had gravitated to one another and became close friends. Booker was black and had not really reconciled being gay as much as I had. He also had a daughter. The charge nurse on the unit that I was working on and the licensed psychiatric technician were both very religious. It was the year that the movie "Jesus Christ Superstar" had come out and they discussed it being blasphemy. They also discussed homosexuality being an "abomination in the eyes of God." There was no way to be out of the closet in those circustances.
You can't go anywhere in Southern California without driving and I really utlized my little red Volkswagon stationwagon. It was really my first car that I actually drove and I loved having the mobility but I knew nothing about cars. I didn't know anything about having to change the oil. Eventually, one day while driving on the freeway, the engine would freeze up and I would learn about why it's necessary to change to oil. By that time, the mechanic told me that the oil was thick and clumpy. I couldn't afford to have a mechanic fix the engine though and so I had the car towed to my apartment complex and somehow got the engine out of the car and into the living room of my apartment where I thought that I could follow directions in a book and could take the engine apart, fix it and then put it back together.
I had never worked on cars or had any interest in cars in my entire life but there were books about the Zen of Volkswagon Repair or something like that and I thought that it wouldn't be so difficult. I was actually able to take the engine apart with the pieces spread out on my floor. I had a friend from school come over to help me try to put it back together but eventually I had to hire someone to actually put it together.
The year at Valley Vocational was intense. I was constantly on the go when my car was running and then when it was broke down for a while, I carpooled with friends from school. On the weekends I would often go to West Hollywood by myself or with Booker to go clubbing or go to the baths.
I had a serious crush on a hispanic guy in my class named David and we spent a lot of time together. Even though he was straight, he seemed to like having me for a friend and he was one of the funniest people I ever knew. He could always make me laugh. He was a big Alice Cooper fan.
David had a big crush on a girl in the class named Cheryl but Cheryl had a crush on me. It was a triangle of unrequieted love. I would never have David and he would never have Cheryl. She was able to get me into bed after plying me with wine and pot but that was another dismal, miserable experience for me. She had a daughter who was about five or so and would call me daddy and that was a little disturbing too.
I was desperate to have a maketable skill and I stuck with the Psych. Tech. program through a lot of unpleasantriess. Some days we were in the classroom and others were spent in facilities, getting real world experience. We went to medical facilities, private psychiatric facilities, a Montessori school, various units at Pacific State Hospital with various types of developmental disabilities and then various Metropolitan State Hospital units with the mentally ill. We spent a week or two at California Rehabilitatio Center in Norco. It was a good program with a wide variety of experiences. Doing bed baths and cleaning up urine and feces and taking care of the basic needs of others can be a humbling growth experience.
After Jim's suicide notes, I went to Spokane and stayed at my aunt Ole's. I remember being at Ole's and telling them of the last few months in San Francisco, with Kenny overdosing and drinking the drano and Jim disappearing. I also told my mom about the flyer I had seen at the employment office about the training program for Psychiatric Technicians and told her that it sounded interesting. She and George were heading back to Southern California.
I think I wound up going over to Toppenish and bar tending for my dad which I really hated. Dad was hard to work for because he expected more from his kids than his employees, yet wanted to pay them less. The bar was a pretty rough place with derelicts, winos and Yakima Indians always wanting to fight with Mexicans for some sociological reasons. It was bitter cold there in the winter which would make it hard to breathe for me in the mornings because it felt like it was freezing your lungs. There was absolutely nothing to do in Toppenish for entertainment and even less to do there if you were gay. Occasionally on the weekends I would drive over to Seattle.
After one of the trips to Seattle, I was giving my father a ride. I'm not sure who's car it was since I don't remember having one of my own so it must have been his car or a car he let me drive while I was visiting there. He was drunk in the back seat. It seems like David might have been with us. He started rambling on about knowing what I had done in Seattle and that he had a private detective follow me there since I was his employee and he had to check out all his employees. In his drunkeness, he told me that he knew all about me and that he loved me. He rambled on about his being the best "actor" in the world. It was all pretty incoherent but apparently he had someone discovered that I was gay and knew where I had been going in Seattle.
There were several times that I worked for my dad at the Brunswick and it is all pretty sketchy in my mind. Before I was twenty-one, I could only work in the restaurant side of the establishment as a waiter and dishwasher. After I was twenty-one, he had me working behind the bar. It was a pretty awful place and at one time, I think it was open twentyfour hours a day. I was fired from the place one time because I left for California without my dad's permission but there was no way I could live happily in this dying small town.
By 1973, mom and George had moved from Washington to Upland, California, which is outside of Los Angeles. Mom had looked into training programs for Psychiatric Technicians and had found on in La Puente, not far from Upland. She must have called me about the program and offered to let me come and stay with her and George in Upland. I was eager to get out of Toppenish. I am not sure if she bought the ticket or if dad did. I doubt that I would have had any money saved but I guess that is a possibility as I was living in dad's house and probably didn't have many expenses. Regardless, I got the money together from somewhere and got out of that hell hole and made my way to Upland, where I would get enrolled in the Psych. Tech. program at Valley Vocational.