By Reason of Insanity

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BY REASOH OF I‖ SAHITY... "This book, so far as I know, is unique. lf is the first accounf that I have ever read about the illness which generaled his crime by a recovered psycholic murderer. . . . lf is a lragic and brufal book telling a terible story. Yei lhe aulhor has managed to fell this story wifh dignify, delachment and eonviction, erienuating nothing, but giving us a full and wonderfully clear accouni of his erperiences of schizophrenic illness." Humphrey Osmond, Director, Bureau

of

Research in

Neurology and Psychiatry, Princelon, New Jersey

"This boolr will create a furor in psychiatric and psychoanalytic ranks. lf reads like fiction, but it sarries the atlesfalion of the author and a physician thaf it is in every word a irue story."

Delroil Free

Press

"8ah lells his tragic story with dignify and detachmenl, sparing himself not al all. . . . You won'f be able to pui ihis boolr down once you read lhe first page." Ed Seitz, Cleveland Press

SIGNET True Crime Booke of Special Intereet Tnr BosroN 9ruxcr,rn by GerolilFrmh

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In

Cor.p Br,oon by Truman Capote

The highly sccleim€d, beetselling study oI the brutal murder of an entire fqmily, the police investigation that followed, and the capture, trial and erecution of the two youag murdererg. "A nasterpiece."-lVear y● 清

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Tnn Trrer. or Dn. Dr K*r.lxr by Carclyt Anspacher A top reporter relates the horrifying true story of the bizarre torture-slayrng oI a beautiful showgirl by her physician husband, and ttre seDsation&l trial that followed. Illustrated with photographs, "Some of the faest writing in tle genre,"-tros Angeles Times (#T30s6-75C) Srm Wonuwooo by Curtis Bok

'A

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(#P2972-401')

BY REAS(Э N

OF INSANITY By John Balt

A SIGNET B∞ K hШ shed by THE NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY

The psychiatric reports of ths saamining doctors and that of the inv-estigative agency were made available to me by my attorney; the hospital record by appropriate public authorities.

Copynght @ 1966 by John Balt

Fnsr

PRn'{rrNo, DEcEMBER, 1967

All rights reserved. No part of this book may

be reproduced

without written permiss:ion from the publishers.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 6G2677L This is a reprint of hardcover edition published by The New American Library' Inc.

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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATEs OF AMERICA

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I I

I will never again hold her hand or in the night. I will never again hear her sweet voice or watch her embrace our children; never again see the sunlit hair, or the gentle blue eyes. Only in dreams and memories vrill I know the bright companionship, the clarity of her pure devotion. I mourn for my lost wife, the bride of my youth, the mother of my sons, who so loved life and yet died for love of me. Somewhere I know and feel and believe the flame still mourn for Claire.

clasp her close to me

glows, but beyond my grasp.

At

dawn on a January morning in her thirty-second in 1fos dining room of our home, with our sons nearby, a force over which she had no control killed

year her.

I

killed her.

I

stabbed her forty-nine times. The scars

are still on my hands where they slipped along the knives' edges. The scars are still on my soul. Her sons lost the mother whose love and intelligence would have guided them to manhood; her parents, the daughter who would have comforted them in their old age.

In court, the arresting officer described me as follows:

"He was naked

as the day he was born and covered with blood from the top of his head to his toes." "Did he have blood on his face?" asked my attorney. ttYgs.tt

"On his body?" ttYes.tt

his private parts?' "On ttYes.tt

He also said that after he handcuffed me him, "Is she alive?' *I don't think so," was the reply. 11

I

had asked

12 "No, mistake.

JoEN

I

BALT

don't want her dea4"

I want [s1 elivs."

I

had cried out.

"It

was a

But the "mistake" was unalterable. I remember a voice saying, "Call thb hospital and tell them to fill out a DOA slip."

In court, one of the

report.

lawyers glanced at the police was asked what

It is recorded there that when I

happened, I had replied: "She had my balls. I had to get my prick back."

The horror I just described occurred not in some slum but in a lovely suburb of Los Angeles in the hills overlooking the San Fernando Valley; not in a tenement but in a costly home on a carefully cultivated half-acre command-

ing a view across the valley floor to the San Gabriel mountains thirty miles away. One of the detectives remarked to me, "That's a nice house. I wish I had a house like that." On that January morning, I had just passed my thirtyfifth birthday. I had a Master of Fine Arts degree from Yale Univer.sity. I was the father of two sons, Bob, six,

and Stan, five. From the time I left the Air Force, in which I had served as a first lieutenant during the Korean conflict, my annual income had averaged between tlirty and forty thousand dollars. I tell you these things so that you what happened to me could happen

will understand that to you. It could be

you, naked except for a thin bathrobe, handcufied, led down your front walk to an ambulance waiting at the curb. It could be your neighbors standing by silently as you passed, fellow dabblers with you in an investment club, fellow golfers in the country club, fellow celebrants at neighborhood parties. Shake your head, if you wish, but one month before the deed occurred, it was inconceivable to'me. One moment before it occurred, it was inconceivable.

This is the story of a murder and what happened to the murderer. The crime had not yet occurred when Bob ran to a neighbor's house for help. But by the time the police arrived shortly afterward, they could do nothing for the victim; and since I had made no attempt to leave the scene, but had sat in stunned silence, not fully aware of what had happened, until the arresting ofrcer arrived, they had the culprit in custody. All they had to do was to

By Reason ol Insanity 13 establish what had happened and why. The "whaf,' shouted at them. The 'lrhy" did not even whisper. The detectives went througb the house carefully. The dining room, where the culminating explosion had occurred, was a shambles of broken glassware, pottery, and furniture. They examined the master bedroom, with its Danish furnishings, where Claire and I shared a king-size bed. Since Bob was at our neighbors, his r(x)m was empty; but across the hall, little Stan, unawaxe that he had been orphaned, was still asleep.

The arresting officer testifed that when he opened the door at the far end of the hall, a little dog ran out. That was Ra, our seven-year-old chestnut-red houn4 who regrllarly transformed my study into his nighttime lair. In the kitchen several of the cabinet drawers from which knives had been snatched were still open. On one of the counters was a small Celluloid container of the kind pharmacists use to dispense drugs. It was empty. In the cabinet above were about a dozen similar containers, and in them, various types of drugs. There were at least three varieties of sleeping pills; there were Thorazine, one of pharmacology's most potent tranquilizers; Librium, another variety of ganquilizer; and a tranquilizer-amphetamine combination, which linked, in a single dosage, a depressant and what is popularly known as a pep pilt. All of these containers had been opened and, it appeared had at one time or another been in use. On all of them were labels

indicating

that the drugs they contained had

been

prescribed by physicians.

In the blue bathroom, which adjoined the dining room, the bathtub was half-full of tepid water which, it seeme{ had never been used. la this room, too, there was evidence of struggle.

These were the physical facts. There were no othen. That whatever happened had started in the bathroom and proceeded from there to the kitchen and dining room wr$ fairly obvious. The detectives knew this almost immediately.

Their questions to me, therefore, were designed to establish a motive for the crime, I do not remember what they asked me in the house, but the ambulancc ride remains a little more clearly in my mind. I was lying down on a cot. Sitting up, looking down at me, were two detectives. One, it appeared to me, was particularly sharp in his dress. The other had a nose rather prominent for his well-muscled face.

14

JoHN BALT

Both men were soft-spoken. The one with the large nose asked, "Why'd you do it? Was she stepping out on

you?' When he asked that question,

I remember feeling a shock. The word "reality" flashed through my mind. "These people are talking about reality." I told the detective with the large nose, "No, no. She

sense

of

was a good girl." "How come your right hand is so swollen?' he asked "My dog bit me last week." The sharply dressed one said, "They have divorce courts for married people who have trouble." A pause. "If only you could have stopped yourself." I think I mumbled some sort of an assent. "Why'd you dp it?" one of them asked again.

I sai4 "I was supposed to go to the University of Southern California rhis 6srning, but I guess that's all over now."

For a long time after that there was silence. I didn't know how to regard these two clean-cut young men who were now my grrardians. I wanted to feel that they were my friends, and yet vaguely I felt also that they were my enemie* Fatigue and confusion kept me from spenking. The fatigue was overpowering. How they evaluated me, what feelings they had toward me, I don't know. If there was hatre4 their voices and gestures never betrayed it. In fact, they seemed genuinely interested in trying to be of some help in a crisis that, during those moments, was much more real to them than it was to me. An old convict recently told me that the police were always especially nice to "guys they figured *ere headed for the gas chamber. 'You want a cigarette? Sure. Coftee?

Anything you want, bud-' But let 'em grab ya on a twe buck heist, an' see how many cigarettes ya get." Maybe that was it. Maybe not. The ambulance pulled in at the West Valley Hospital, and the two detectives took me into what must have been the emergency room. As I was being strapped to a table, I was awaxe for the first time of a phenomenon that was to

torture me long afterward. AII the doctors and nurses looked like rats. Fat rats, skinny rats, white rats, beaknosed rats, rats with rimless glasses. They were all around,

staring down at me, barely restnining the drool.

I

was

gware that my bathrobe wasn't covering my nakedness, but there was nothing I could do about it-Th6 Iong rubber

By

Reason

ol InsanitY

15

tubing of a'stomach-pumP apparatus went down-my gultet, aid su{denly and surprisiigly I felt the fluids in my stomach -rirshing up through it. I lay there for a moment' From somewheie else in the emergency section, I heard a child crying, and I thougfut of Bob. The iet6itive with t[e large nose said gently, "Tell us all about it. You'll feel better." After they undid the straps, a small doctor with large teeth put stiiches in my hands where they had been cut by the knives I had used. I looked at the white thread and turned to the detective. I had to say somethinganything.

"I

was in a mental hospital,"

I

said.

'When?' "About a month ago." "For how long?'

"A little over a week." He stared at me. The child was still crying as the detectives handcuffed me again and led me out of tbe hospital, not to an ambulance rhis time but to a patrol car for the trip to jail. When questioning was resumed at the West Valley zubstation, the nattily dressed detective already seemed to know a great deal about me. I had been a television and screenwriter, with perhaps trrc hundred television shows and several motion pictures to my credit. My occupation was to mean many different things to difrerent people. To the detective it provided a working hypothasis. After duly warning me that I didn't have to answer his questions, he asked, "Ever write anything like this?"

"Like what?" "I was thinking.

If I

wanted

to commit a murder, I

migbt do exactly what you did. Get myself committed to a mental hospital before I did it."

"That would be a stupid way to commit

I

murder,"

I

said-

He paused. "I spoke to your father-in-law. He said that you two had a fight a couple of days ago." "It wasn't a fight." "What was it?'

"It's-if

s too complicated."

"The amesting officer said you were all covered with

blood. Do you know how you got that way?" "I don't remember anything like that."

"It was all over you." "I guess I must have fallen or

something."

16 JorrN EALT "Your wife's pajama pants were all slashed up. Do you .know anything about that?" ttNo.t'

'llhey were slashed around the crotcb." "I didn't rape her," I said.

"Who said anything about rape?" "You can't rape your wife." "No, no, you can't," he said quietly. Either he didn't know the law, which I doubt, or he didn't care to discuss the matter. I later learned that the Califolnia Code, more enlightened in that respect than tlat of some other states, allows that under certain circumstances you can rape your wife. Those were the last questions he ever asked me. But tley were so etched into mY "tnd by the acid of memory that many times later I was to think about them, and the pictures that were implicit in them, and I would puke. The detective stood up. "You've done a horrible thing. I'm going to see that you're prosecuted to the full exteit of the law." He stared at me. "If you're sick, we'll try to help you, fsg"-4 pause--"I thank God I'm not standing in your shoes right now." -

The

-West Valley

jail is

relatively small, containing

about sixteen cells and a drunk tank. !1a4

I

been arrested

on a weekday morning I might have been arraigned, or formally charged, that same afternoon. Since the crime had occurred on a Saturday morning however, I had to wait for lhe courts tg open on Monday. The jail, relatively -em-pty

when

I

was brought there, was to

before the beginning of the new week.

fill to capacity

I was given blue jailhouse pants and shirt, but no underwear, prevent me from doing damage to -aqd, to myself, no belt and no shoes. Althouph ni cell hib an upper gr9 love,r burk, I remained alonl during my entire stay at West Valley.

I remember only three. One who said he was a junkie. Another y"r--a !gl- teen-ager who had been arrested for ..ioyriding," which meant that the police knew he stole a cai but couldn't prove that he didn't intend to return it. (The jails are loaded with "joyriders.") The third prisoner I niver Of all my fellow prisoners

vras a middle-aged man

a drunk, and he kept - shouting that his constitutional rigbts had been violated. As for the others, they remained faceless extras, einging shouting, joking. "Extras" because I was sonvinoA

sgw.-+pparently he.was

By Reason ol Insanity l7 that they were not really prisoners but police officers playm: roles somehow linked with me. Th6y kept asking

me what I had done. Sometimes I wouldn't answer, but at moments when the

ryali4ation

hit me, I would shoul ..I kilted my wife. I I killed her."

loved her, and

..3"1 the-y would throwrne cigarettes. I kept thinking, l'They'll tell this in court. They,ll-tell that I killed Clairej;

But I had to have those cigarettes. Befole my arrest I had been smoking three packs every twenty-four hours. When I was fust tocked up, tle Utoni officer in charge of the cell block had given me eome smokes. Then, before I was able to buy them I had to earn-them, lFoyg,n my antics, from the other prisoners. On the outside I had been substituting nicotine ?or food. Here I saw no reason to change my labits, and so I ate none of the meals that were placed under my cell door. I smoked and smoked, and tried to throw the butts into the toilet, but ustally missed, so that by the time I left the cell the floor was covered with them. Counsel for the defense arrived on the scene quickly. arrest, I was taken to the 9oly u couple of hours after my-which glass-enclosed attorney's booth,

as

seemed to me about private as the operating table in an amphitheater.

Waiting there was a bespectacled ybung man whose I ge1er got; he said he was a-colJague of Eric fug, l friend and an attorney-the man wh6 I expected

name

would bear the burden of the formalities that wouli take m"Jo 99 gas chalnber..I never asked the young man for credentials, .1cTn!ng him as I was accepfrng iverything else. For all I knew, he could have been-the districi

attorney.

"Eric was in Las Vegas when he heard the news,"

said. "He's safghing a plane back here as tast as caD.tt

I

nodded.

he

ni

"Meanwhile," added the young lawyer, .vou are not to spgak_ to anyon€ around here. It can't help you. It can 9ol{ hq* you. If you want to live, it's important that you don't talk to anyone," "f don't want to live. I just want to die." "You're going to wani to live. Believe me, eventually, you're going to want to live." Eric arrived several hours later. When they brought me out to the glass-enclosed booth, he was aiready-seated

18

JOITN BALT

behind the double wire mesh screen, a legal pad with yellow, lined paper on the shelf in front of him. At -wasopen thirty-seven years old and still had ihat time, Eric something of a boyish quality about him. He was a barrelchelsted man, curly-haire4 and never without glasses. He had studied acting as an avocation, and he could control his resonant voice over a wide range of pitch and volume. Whether at a party or in the courtroom, he loved to be the center of attention, but he took stage in such a way that people liked him for it; and women jurorg I've been told, loved him. As I sat down on the other side of the mesh screen, I saw that he was terribly pale and shaken. "John, John. What happened?"

"Eric, you don't know how glad I am to see you." "Beth and I were in Las Vegas. At a convention. Your father-in-law called us. He sai{ 'Do everything you can

for John."'

"Al

said that?'

He nodded. "I got here as fast as "Is she really dead?"

I could."

t'She's dead,"

"I

loved her."

"Beth and I are sick over it. You know how we felt about both of you. Beth said when we left, 'Now we'll see if the State of California is really in the twentieth cen-

tury."t I tried to make some sense out of that. It seemed important to him. But the State of California? The twentieth century? What had all that to do with Claire and me? Eric kept talking.

'You'll stay here until Monday morning and then you'll be arraigned in Van Nuys on the charge sf teking a human life." "Mwder?" "There are three findings possible. Firstdegree murder; thafs willful murder with premeditation. Second-degree murder; thafs willful murder with no forethought, like in an argument, or possibly busting in on your wife when

she's with another man. Then there's manslaughter, which meens that there was no intent to kill, For manslaughter, the penalty is one to ten years, for second-deglee mwder, fve to life, for first-degree . . ." "I know. Eric, where are the kids?' "They're all right. But suppose you tell me what hap pened. Do you remember?"

By Reason ol 'T remember a lot of it."

Insanity

19

He took a pen out of his pocket and wrote down what f told him about the events of the moming, the wild awaken-

ing from a nightmare that I was a eunuch-dwarf, the tepid water in the bathtub, the wild attack on Claire.

I had known Eric for ten years. When Claire and I as newlyweds sublet a furnished apartment in a West Los Angeles development, Eric and Beth became our downstairs neighbors. Our friendship, however, didn't begin immediately. It had to wait for a peculiarity in the building's architecture to manifest itself. Eric, shaving in his bathroom, called out to Bethn "What are we having for dinner, dear?' 'Claire, applying makeup in our bathroom, replied "Roast beef." Eric was anneysd.

tonight."

"I

don't feel like anything that heavy

'All right, dear," said Claire, always ready to oblige. "How about a tuna fish salad?' "Fine," said Eric. When that night, Beth served Eric potted chicken and dumplings with a sour cream dlessing while I, much to my surprise, received a tuna fish sala4 there was much soulsearching recollection in the two apartments. At both locations, the mystery was solved. The next time I saw Eric, we talked about it and found that we had much more in eornmon than a duct in the hot-air heating systerL The frienrtship mafured tbrough years of growing prosperity for both of us, ttrrough the arrival of two children in each of the families, and despite changes of residence to divergent parts of the city. Eric and I always had something to talk about. He was a great admirer of Claire's beauty, her intellectual qualities, and her abilities as a hostess; and Beth, who was attractive in her own right, a talented painter, and an avid reader with strong opinions on the social questions of the day, was always a warm and stimulating companion Although young, Eric had already gained a professional reputation for more than competence. He was not a criminal lawyer by specialty, but he had done well by his clients in a large number of criminal actions. In tbree previous capital cases, he had succeeded in convincing juries that the crimes could not be construed as firstdegree

20

JOHN BALT

murdtt and the defendants had roived iail Sentences instead of the ultimate penalty.

ヽ鳳 剛 甘冨臨メAn 環 吼錯議ι 肛 搬 響:=:1ぉ no ttgument." :な韻 αit l change every‐ :理1:臓 lil電 訛伊 円電露 彎瑶:rs happened tt beyondぬ angingo Yoゴ ve gotわ think about the future."

N.l犠 寧酬

謂欄

present that were lllldesLable.I thought that perhaps thiミ it would work. 血 “

fttFtttttTIWttettT讐 i乱 :T樹

温

By Reason ol Insanity

21

"Hey, Balt, get up. There's someone to see you." kept a good hold on Claire's hand, but the voice grew more insistenL "Balt, get up. Cmon." I opened my eyes. It was the blond cop. "What is it?"

I

"There's someone to see you." He looked

to the left

and called. "Rack it." As the cell door slid open I staggered to my feet; then I accompanied the blond cop donrn the corridor between

the cells to where

it

widened into

a kind s;

hallway.

There, behind a rectangglar wooden table, sat a very fat man in a black suit with a white sbirt and a black tie. His black hair was shining with grease, some of which had rubbed off and smudged on his black horn-rimrned eyeglass frames. His flabby cheeks were gray where talcum powder had been laid on heavily and unsuccessfully to hide the black stubble beneath. Black hair curled out of his nostrils and ears, and blackheads lay like cinders on the broad porous expanse of his nose,

I knew the man, but not his rightful name. To me, he meant only one thing--{eatb" Jewish death. He ran a mortuary in central Los Angeles. I had been in his estab. lishment five months before when Al, my father-in-law, had taken me there to "make the arrangements" for my father, who had died of a brain tumor that afternoon While my father lay somewhere in back of the funeral

parlor, the fat man showed us coffns. An orthodox Jewish cotrn is a very simple thing, but its simplicity makes it special. It must contain no metal of

any kiud, no nails, so

it

has

to be held together with

wooden pegs and joints, and the cheapest one the fat man had seemed to me exorbitant. In his opinion it would

barely do. But

it

looked more than adequate

to

me,

especially since the snlalming costs and the cost of ship ping the body back to New York had to be reckoned, too. The fat man's mao.ner almost made me feel guilty as he accepted my decision, smiled, and said that naturally he wanted to be paid in advance. I wrote out a check, ana ne put the number of my driver's license in the corner. How my fatler would have hated himl But what was he doing here now in the jail? The blond ofrcer seated me in the chair opposite him. The fat man gave me a pen and a long printed paper, which I looked at but couldn't make out.

22

JOHN BALT 馳 at's this7'I asked。 `You have to sign it so we can bury yow v7ife.'' picnicP I thought。 1■ e plcnlc. I threw 鴨 `ヨ

腱

掲

滞

ぶ

L璃

t∫

霊

評 詣 r∬ 温

downれ

∬ 」咄

♂ 置

him have her.Cet him out of hereo Get hirn outF'

The voices were reassumg. `γou have to sign it." “Look,Inan,irs the law." ec田 't do anning unless you sign the paper." `踊 ″ I slgned it。

rs・ 1需 cult to kin yOurser in a iail cen.h the tst 灘

醐

ょrttt鴫

盤

・ 著 胸

路 艦

L鰐

諸

鵬

if you're alone,as l was in the West Valley subs協 饉oL

鶴出∬亀品謂雛 織 比ArttF就 鋤 ξ i―ediate aversion and hostility to the dght of a man trying to commit suiCide.Even宙 thout outside interfer‐ ence,rs an dmO"hOpeless,ob.Iマ e read of people a∝ omplishingれ ,usuauy by hanging,but in each instance

rm certain that there were special crcuIIIstances at

work

But Hanging of course was the ist thing l thouttt Of・ there was nothing to hang myself from and nothing to hang myself with. I had no belt and anyway l leamed later that a leather bdtお useless for that kind of iob. What's required is one of those elastic ttretch mes,and in a inllhOuse9■ obody

is auowed to have them.Fttemorep

there were no sheets,no mattress cover,and incid(狙 劇

y,

■O pn10ws.

smaning my head up against the bars and walls pro‐

duced nothing but painful bumps and an omcer to sec what was gomg on.Electrocution seemed■ ■ore promlsmg. If l could get my inger in a lght bulb socket and my foot

in a fuu sink Of water,the whole fhing mttt be over qulckly.The sink had no stopper,but it was possible to fll ■ by sttthg the drain with paper.The ttouble was I

couldn't igure out a way to getぬ e guard dl the lint bulb.Later,in another ceu,I was to accomplish that much;but as soon as the bulb was out of the socket the ceu becalne dark,which immediately attracted the atten‐

tion of the omcer in charge. An addict l knew in en¨

sug weeks managed to get the bulb(症 ,smash the

By Reason ol Insanity

23

glass, and then eat it; but all he accomplished was a painful sojourn in the county hospital, very far from dead.

I remembered that nicotine was poisonous; so I started to eat cigarettes. They had no effect, not even nausea, The filters, too, were apparently completely digestible. All I could manage with cigarettes was to burn myself and I did so constantly. Much later I found another use for them, one which Madison Avenue has never thought of. I tried to use the smoke to destroy my brain cells. r" ate at night I was finally able to improvise something, and since most of the other prisoners were asleep they didn't give me any trouble. The sheet of metal designed to support the upper bunk mattress was movable and its edges seemed to be quite sharp.

I reasoned that if I raised

the sheet metal high enough, meanwhile getting my hands, palms upward, against the iron pipe that framed the b"nk, I could then let the metal drop in such a manner that the edg.e would cut through the veins and arteries of my wrists. The problem was how to hold the metal aloft while I got my hands into the proper position to receive the blow. Not until I found that I could do that with my head did I get my little guillotine going. For hours I raised the sheet metal and let the edge of it crash into my wrists. I bruised them, scratched them, and scarred them without ever getting through to the veins. lither my skin was too tough or the metal edges weren't sharp enough. When I realized this, I started 1o rub the inside _of my n'rists against them, hoping thereby to caw through to the blood vessels. "Hey, man, what are you doing?" yelled the kid without a shirt.

And the Mexican who'd been massaging the jrrnkis joined in. "Hey, man, cut it out." Then everyone was uD. "What's the mad butiher doing?" "The Dutch act." The cell door opened and two officers rushed in. I tried to get away from them, but within a few moments thev had. my- arms strapped to my sides in a kind of openworir straitjacket. They forced me out of the cell and dbwn the corridor. I tried to resist but I was helpless. From some where ahead I felt a breath of cool clean air. The outside. Strddenly, I knew where they were taking me. They were goigg to e.xecute me. Perhaps after all my own effbrts at -been self-annihilation the prospeci should have a welcome

Vl

JorrN BALT

to die, but I didn't want my life these men. I wanted to do it myself. Everyone has read of the Roman generals who after losing a battle would throw themselves on their swords. Presumably rhis was to avoid torture; yet I feel c€rtain that even if they could have expected a swift and painless death at the hands of their conquerors they would have preferred their own weapons. It was a basic tenet of Stoic philosophy that the ultimate act of freedom

I wanted to be taken from me by

one, but it wasn't.

was suicide.

In that

act, man proved his dignity as a

human being. I wanted to achieve this diSDity. "Let me go," I shouted. "Easy. Keep moving." "You're going to kill me. You're executionersl"

"No one's going to hurt you."

In a few

momente we were in the darkness of the I must have appeared I can only imagine; uncombed, unshaven, arms pinioned in leather restraints, half-pushed, half-dragged by two officers, screaming out about my execution. From out of the night, a young woman appeared walking toward the stationhouse. I saw her only a moment, but I will never forget her. She was, about twenty-five, ligbt-hahe{ and dressed eimply in an inexpensive dress and coat. In her arms walr a-ehall boy, clinging to her, asleep. As she stared at me her face was pale with wonder, terror, and revulsion, all of obvious grigns. But there was something else too, something that I'm sure she couldn't verbalize and of which she protaUty wasn't even aware, something which I felt for only the smallest part of a second. A chord of empathy was struck between us that was so de.ep it seemed to havi its roots in the common h 'maD essence. And having felt this empathy, I gtopped thrashing &1d sctsqming and allowed myself to be led n"ithout further struggle to the waiting car.-The young woman and child disappeared in the darkness. Two uniformed offcers were in the front seat of the car, and an old detective sat in the rear with me. I had no idea where we were going as we drove through streets that were probably familiar to me in another time, but which now seemed totally unknown and unknowable. The old detective's gun-and it appeared huge to me-was directly under my left hand. That monstrous weapon, with its polished wooden handle, fascinated me. Forgetting that my arrn was pinned to my side, I wondered whether I

parking lot. How

could reach

it

and turn

it on myself. Then I felt the

leather straps. My eyes shifted

to the car door. At

the

25

By Reason ol Insanity

理 柵 髪搬用静漁 “

.“ sonlemげ

spゎ 鳳

care of your kids.''

“I'I never see my kids again.1'1l never see them." “Ever hear of temperary肛 鴻anity?"he asked me very sharply,his voice raised,almost shrin. ``1'In ■ot insane," I yened back with an the fOrce I could muster.‐ en l lⅣ as calln.With the evocation of the

inage of the two boys,thoughts of suicide temporarily left

me. When we nnany stopped, it was at ale side doo■

of a

building l couldn't recognize in the darkness.()ne of the Omcers went illside and returned with a predatory ngure in

a white uniform.In his hand was an enormous hypoder‐

mic needle, which, with ule ottters holding me, he prOmptly,abbed deep into my n∝

k.

``One inore and he'd be out cond,''he said. `Ъ at'n hold him,"replied the old det∝ t市 e。

On the drive back there was a dow spread of euphorila momg from the needle hole in my neck upward. “You know what l would五 ke more than asked. ney were interesteこ “What7' `■ beer.Could we all stop and have a beer7'

anwing?"I

Unexpectedly,they au laugh己 “`Sony,buddy,"said the mall driving.“ If we did th鳩

we'd au be out of a,Ob.''

Laul典 ter.It had a strange sound.Suddenly, I was

laughing tOo.It was the ttst ame in moIIths that l had laughed.My whole body shook.It sourlded very odt as if it weren'tcoming from me.

S股 品肝 Ъ 認 雫 ∫ 慌 畿 l肌 「 ・r yOu J“ 聰any mよ 獄ゞ 薦 齢 靴鼻 ξ 箭 翼 妥 1ザ l was incapaЫ ng them any more trouble。 d譜 賊

door。

e of llot gi宙

There were more head ballgings,more adventures u7idl

my upp∝ bunk and with burning cigttett∝ .But they EleVer put me in the pads.Once the Ыond o壼おer even let me out of my cen to walk around until i callned down.

26

JoHN BALT

VAren Eric arrived the next morning, he was ev€'n more been the day before. shakenlhan ' "I was outhe'd to the house," he said. "I Dever saw anything like it. It looked like a cyclone went through it' Are you sure there wasn t any argument?' "There walt no argument." "Try and remember. It might be better for you if there was.tt

"There wasn't, Eric. No argument." I had some pictures taken. We may need them in court." "IVhere are the boys?' "They're all right. They're with Mrs. Hopkins." Mrs. Hopkins had been more than a maid to us in the eight years we had known her. She had come to clean for us in our first apartment and had cared for both of our sons from the time theY were born.

"Okay.

"They took me out

in a car last night, Eric," I

said"

"They gave me a needle in the neck."

'Tbok you out in a car? What happened? Did you go

out of your head or something?"

"I

don't know."

I

looked around' "Eric, maybe we'd

better not talk here. This place must be bugged-" "'It's not bugged," "IIow do you know?" "They don't bug these Places." "This is special, Eric. It's . . . speciaM figured it out. They want to send me to the gas chamber." "You're not going to any gas chamber." "I can take it. Just tell me the truth." "Look, suppos€ somebody else had done what you did. Would you want to see him go to the gas chamber?' ttYes.tt

Eric said, "John, you know what these cops are tbink-

'If he could have done rhis thing, so L'-Th"y can'f figure it out. One of the detectives

ing? They're thinking,

"oirld told me that Le'd been all up and down the street talking to your neighbors and your friends, and n11 one can say anything bul good aboutyou. And it's true' this, anyone could."

If you could

do

I remember. I stabbed her used so many different weaPons' ' ' ' Knives. So many of them." "Jobn, you won't have to put in a plea for a while yet" but when-you do, I think-fm not sure yet-ifll be 'not 'No, Bti". Not what I did-

so many times.

I

Eン

Rem″

27

OJ rra″ ′ ″

guilty by reason of insa■ uty.'I think you were lnsane when

you did this." “I'm notinsane."

``What you are now,I'In not in a position to say.I can't ten:I'm a laymano John,if l didn't think you were insane yesterday morning,I'd tear these wires out and come after

° ・ 」踏お 識器躍慧胸:量究:L∝ 臀壽雷

I had

cOmmitted, but l had no belief in the idea that l was insane. I began to think that somehow Eric was working against me.Yet l desperately wanted and needed to think that he was also my friend.I tried to hold o,to that・

“Eric, suppose irs nOt uke you say. Suppose they ind ・ I had asked the question.I suppose he had no altenla‐ tive butto give me the answer. “Why,then,it'n au be Over."He stood up.“ I spoke to

me guilty?''

Bob. Do you remember the last thing Claire said to you

before Bob ran out of the house?" `Tm not sllre."

She sait“ Jchn,stop it.1 love you.'' ‐ next day was Monday9 arrail晏 コment day.very early in the momilng they cleared most of the prlsoners out of the substation,but no one pald any attention to me until I stOpped the blond omcer passmg outside my cen。 “win they be taking me7'l asked him。

Yeah,in a little while9"he saic mOving away dova “

the corridor.

口降 place was very quじ t.After a v7hile the sharply dressed detective calne down to the cen with some dothes for me。 ■■ere was a blue blazer, a palr of gray nannd slacks,an oxford shl■ ,a striped tie,and some underwα r.

It was a nice outat,sclected by an actor friend of mine

馳

・ 思 鑑 盤 ふ :T:認 IWP “Can l shave?"I asked the detective. `埋

I餌

・

ml

ヾo."

“Why not7' “I don't tthk yOur emotiond can let you shave." `lLook, I'In okay,'' I insistα L ■lm

conddonぶ such that we

But i couldn't conmce

After l dressed, they took me into the corridor and

halldcded me to the iunkie whO was walting there.He looked nt and very much at ease.If he had srered the

28

JoHN BALT

withdrawal symptoms that addicts are supposed to encounter, he didn't show it. This served to confrm my suspicions that he was not a felon but a detective whose objective it was to get information from me. fue drove to the courthouse in a patrol car-the driver, the nattily dressed detective, the junkie, and I. After ihe car stopped, the detective handcuffed himself to the junkie and nie, and the three of us started to stroll across the parking lot toward the courthouse. It was one of those rarely beautiful days that oc'cur in Los Angeles

only in the winter when cool breezes sweep out every vejtige of smog. The unobstructed sunlight warrns the air up t6 about seventy degrees and lends such a, clqilf o-f detail and color to- buildings and landscapes that it's almost as if you're in a brand-new city. Ten years before, on such a day, I had driven into Los Angeles as an Air Force lieutenint on my way to report to our base in Burbank. I had decided rigbt then to make Los Angeles my home. It had taken a week for the smog to destroy the fairy tde aspect of the place. As we neared the courthouse, a little man in a neat but shiny suit caught up with us and exchanged some words aboit the climate with ttre detective. The newcomer had horn-rimmed glasses, a crew cut, prominent teeth, and a large nose. For a moment I was confused. I thougfut he was Henry Aldrich of the TV show; but I saw later

that he was an assistant district attorney. The junkie and I were placed in a small room with two double-decker bunks and a steel door; and then our handcuffs were removed. The two lower bunks were already occupied by young men, both about nineteen y-ears-old. Thejunkie climUeA up on one of the bunks and dozed off. Ttre two young men were talking about going to Alaska after they got out of the mess they were in, which had something to do with steeling a car. Although I wanted to keep silent because I was suie the little room was bugged for anything I had to say, I had to talk.

"I'v-e only got

a few months to live," I said to

huskier of the boys. "Why, what's wrong with you?" "I killed my wife, and they're going to execute me."

"Killed yoiu wife? They don't top you for kitliag

wife."

"What do they top you for?'

"t(illing a cop, or-planning that."

it

the

to*

out, or something like

of Insanity 29 'Tg !"d such a g€od life," I said. "We were so happy, and I killed her. I killed her." The junkie was disturbed. *I-ook, man," he said, By

Reason

been screaming about that for two days." "Anybody got a cigarette?" I asked. The husky kid gave me one. With a great deal of effort I. climbed up to the vacant bunk. I lay on my back and listened to them talk about Alaska. How marvelous to be

]ou've

nineteen and on your way to Alaska. I tried 16 think about it. The Alcan highway in the spring. Ripples of grylti"g snow water, and concrete in the bright iunfight. My trip only lasted a few moments. I thought of Claire and cried out.

'No, no, no!" Then the same words I had used rep-gate$ly during the past few days. "We had such a good life. Such a good life." The steam pipes hanging several inches below the ceiling seemed to offer a possibility of ending that life, good and bad. But again

I

had nothing to hang myself wiih.

I

tried r-olling_off the bunk with the object of falling to the

floor-head first. My synapses, however, refusedlo stop fungtigning, and I kept landing on my feet. Although m} activities terminated the conversation of the two kids about Alaska, they did nothing to stop me. The junkie was asleep, Finally, instead 6f lalding squarely on both feet, I landed on one foot and my knee, and pitched forward, hitting the steel door with a crash. A few seconds later a hard-faced, deeply wrinkled officer took me out of the room. "What's the trouble?' "I don't know." "Sit down there," he said.

I did as instructed. He went to his desk, mumbled

something into the telephone, picked up a file card, looked at it, and then stared at me. My hand went to my face. "They wouldn't let me shave." He didn't comment. Soon another one of those whiteclad rodents arrived with a glass of water and a large red

pill, which he handed to me. ciously.

'

I

looked down at it luspi-

"What is it?" 'Thorazine." 1'I don't lil6g Jhg1nzins." "What do you know about f[s1rziqg]'

'I've taken it before." "Suit yourself, If you want to feel lousn feel lousy.',

30

JoHN BALT

I looked down at the pill and then at the rodent and the officer. They both seemld to want very muclr for me to iuke ii, and I couldn't resist their wishei. I took the cup of water from the rodent and swallowed the pill' No sooner did they return me to the little room than they took out the junicie. Again my suspicior,rs were awakened. Soon, howlver, the d'.ug belan to work, and an hour later, when they tool me out, nothing seemed to mat-ter very- much' . Eric and the i:ro

det-ectives

who had brought me in

were waiting for me in an office. Eric motioned me into the adjoining bathroom and produced an electric razor' "Bill ProJman sent this over' They didn't want to let you use it, but I convinced them you couldn't do much Larm to yourself with an electric tazor." "Wh/d you have to tell Prosman about it?" "John, ii's been in all the Papers and on all the news wires. I've gotten calls from all over the country-"

"Who called you?"

"I've got a iist of them at the office. I bet I g-ot a hundred ialls. Just offhan4 there was Pat Dougherty from New York, Lankins from Texas, Marks, a professor from Ohio, Crowley from Connecticut' Half the people you ever worked witU in town' You've got friends you haven't even thought of. My- phone hasn't stopped ringing." Again, alOn't believe him' kept hearing another

I

f

voici a'voice from the very recent past, strong and masculine. I was lying down and the voice was at my left eat,

"You have no friends," the man said. have lots of friends," I said.

"I

"If

you have friends, where are they?"

I couldn't "Accept

answer.

it," the man said into my ear. "You

have no

friends."

I had a

great deal

of

difficulty sharing because. I

couldn't look- in the mirror without the image projecting pain back into my eyes. Finally, I gave up the struggle iittt -y beard and joined Eric, who had been talking with the two detectives. The detective with the large nose handed me a couple of sheets of paper. On one of them was a brief paragraph which seemed to say that I had

murdered Ctaire wittr malice aforethought' I asked Eric He told me that it was the charge on which

*n"t it meant. I

was to be arraigned.

"Is that fust-degree murder?"

By Reason ol

Insaniqy

31

"Ifs the charge. Give it back to the ofrcer."

I

did as instructed and then looked down at the second paper. It was also tylrewritten, but the words didn't make any sense to me. "V9hat's this?' I asked Eric. Eric looked at it, and then told me to sign it. "I don't want to sign anything."

"Sig! it."

Eric's voice now had the hard sound of command, and I could not resist a direct order, I signed the paper.

since

After Eric left. the two detectives led me out into the hallway. As we passed a Coca{ola machine, I asked if I< could have a drink. "You got a dime?" asked the nattily dressed detective. There was one in my pocket, and I gave it to him. He got the Coke and handed it to me. It was awkward drinking it with the handcuffs on, but the coolness and the taste, a taste that belonged to another worl4 made it worthwhile. When I had finished, they deposited me in the holding room to wait my turn before the judge. I was to be in a number of holding rooms and, though they vary from court to court, they are essentially all large cells. Instead of. bars, however, they usually have a heavy wire mesh screen through which the prisoners talk with their attorneys. Otherwise, the prisoners sit on concrete benches or, when tbese are full, on the floor, which is also concrete. There is always a water fountain next to a toilet. The intricacies of running hundreds of men ttrrough court each day are such that you can be in a holding room for many hours.

By the time the sliding wire mesh door was locked behind me, the holding room was already full. Some of the occupants were men who had been in the West Valley jail with me during the past days. In addition, there were many others who had been brought up from the county

jail downtown for hearings of different kinds. Somehow I sensed strength in these mQn. I wanted to be friends with them at all costs. And the cost, as I reckoned i! was

enormous, because in any group into which I was thrust, I was certain that the majority of its members were undercover police officers. At first, I had no idea why so many police officers should be assiped to my case, but as time went on, I was to come up with some su4rrising conclu-' sions.

"They've got me for murder,"

I said to the short,

pudgy

32 man next

JorrN BALT

to

me, who was,

for

whatever the realon,

wearing house slippers.

"Who'd you kill?"

"I killed my wife."

"Your old lady, eh? Why?"

"I ...Idon'tknow," "Yeatr, well don't worry about it. You'll make out okay."

"You don't understand. I loved her, but I killed her." 'Yeah, sure. You want to tell me about it? Maybe I can

help you."

"How could you help me?"

"I don't know, but you tell me what happened." "I killed her, that'S all. I killed her. Have you got

a

cigarette?"

"Naw. Look, do you want to talk about it or don't you?" already told you everything. They're going to execute

"I

me,tt

A tall Mexican

spoke up. "You want me to pray for you,

man?"

I

This to me, at that point, was a surprising idea. "Sure," said.

I repeated my confession and the prediction of my future at least half a dozen times, always in approximately the same words, to anyone I thought would listen. I soon noticed that after the first few sentences no one was particularly anxious to talk to me, and no one would give me any cigarettes.

Looking around, I noticed an old unshaven man with r&w gums turn to a young Negro who was sitting beside him s6sking. "Save me the short," he said. "Sure, man," was the reply. After a few more puffs on the cigarette the Negro turned it over to the old man. I got the idea, and soon I was asking everyone I saw smoking to "save me shorts." Some of them were very annoyed at the request, but very few refused it outright. When I finally realized that I was arousing resentment, I stopped asking for the butts, and instead waited for someone to throw one on the floor, whereupon I would jump forward and, no matter where it had landed, scoop it up.

After a while the door leading to the corridor

was

opened and a balding, well-dressed energetic man of about

forty, carrying a sheaf of_ papers on a clipboard,

began

talking to tbe prisoners one after anotber through the wire

By Reason ol

lwanity

33

mesh. When someone said he was the public defender, I began to wish he'd talk to me. The words "public defender" had a ring of nobility to them.

"Plead guilty to joyriding, and they'll drop the auto theft," he said to one man. "I think we can bust this mayhem down to assaull" "Suppose I can get your bail knocked down to five hundred? Can you post it?" "This is your frst offense. meanor?"

Will you cop to a misdsF

IIis manner was most authoritative. The few prisoners who tried to argue with him were quickly squelched. He told them that he knew what was best for them-and he probably did. Besides, there was no time for argumenl There were too many men who had to be served. When this "defender," who seemed so capable of *busting" things down, left without talking to me, I felt very neglected.

All morning they kept laking out the prisoners a few at

a time. After their turn in court, they'd be brought back

and another group taken out. I began to feel very secure in this windowless concrete-and-steel room. I wonder now who designs jails and booking rooms and padded cells and lolding rooms and jnilheuss showers and jailhouse toilets. L-t's difrcult,to imagine a brigbt young student deciding to devote his life to this singular branch of architecture. In any event, one feature that never appeared on any blueprint was the unique stench compounded of overheated, stationary aA, unwashed bodies, and unbrushed teeth. yet, that morning I didn't mind it. In fact, I liked it. It made me feel, like some special kind of hothouse organism, qrogmed perhaps for annihilation, but well-protecCed and sheltered for the time being. After a while an officer sent in a large paper bag of sandwiches, each of which was made up of t'w6 dry slces of semi-stale bread and a single slice of-bologna. I tibought to myself that the authorities were very charitable to wint to feed me. .After what I had done I di'dnt deserve food- I looked at the sandwiches, but I couldn,t get myself to eat one. My body just didn't seem to want nourishment. _ luglly, they got around to calling my name. ,,perez, Balt, Rogers, MacPherson." When w-e got to the courtroom, I was startled by the contrast of this world to that of the holding room. The rich pahogany woods, the fine drapes, the ilothing and sleanlinegs of the spectators all seemed to belong to inoth-

34

JoHN BALT

er life. None of my friends or relations was in court. Eric, to spare them and me, had told them not to come. The bailiff conducted me to the empty jury box, and Eric came and sat down beside me. Nearby was the menacing junkie, who, no doubt had instructions, I thought, to eav-esdrop

on the conversation between Eric and me. "How do you feel?" asked Eric. "Like this isn't happening to me. Like it's happening to someone else." "It's happening to you. Your life is at stake. You've got to believe that." , As soon as the judge, jowly, dark-haired, and wearing glasses, entered the courtroom and took his seat behind the bench, things started to happen with bewildering speed. It geemed that his Honor; the assistant district attorney, who looked like Henry Aldrich; and tbe public defendei were speaking in shorthand as they disposed of the other tlree men who had been brought in with me.

"Bail

4f-" set 4f_" Set

"Some indication drinking. Request reduction ..Bail "BOUnd Ovef

toJ'

t6.-"

came, and I gathered something about his being remanded to the custody of the sheriff. Then the judge called out my name and started to read the charges agaiDst me; but before he could do so, Eric was on his feet with a magnificent gesture. This gesture, it appeared to me, was proof of his great competence. "Waive further reading," he said. There followed some haggling over the time for the preliminary hearing, Eric requesting a date some six weeks

_ The junkie's turn

hence.

"Thafs a long time for the defendant to wait in the

county jail," said the judge. "Does the defendant waive time?"

"The defendant waives time, your'Honor." That word "waiv€" again. It was the epitome of professionality. After that was all over, Eric came to tell me that they'd be taking me downtown to the county jail to wait for the preliminary hearing. "You've got quite an ordeal ahead of you," he said. "Months of an ordeal I can't even imagine." "I need some cigarettes," I told him. He gave me a pack of cigarettes and a ten-dollar bill. Then he patted me on the back and walked away toward ttre rear of the courtroom. How much anguish the events

Insanity 35 days had cost him I had no way of

By Reason ol

th.e past- two 9f knowing. Of two of his best friends, one was dead ani the other was facing a charge of frst-degree murder. And

there were still others close to him who were involved. Beth, his wife, was so emotionally ravaged by what had happened that she was on the verge of a bieakdown. As I watched him walk away from me, small but, as alyays,-jaunty, I noted a definite change that had already takeu place in him in my eyes. He had already started t; take on the aspect to me of an implacable and merciless enemy.

As the bailiff led me back toward 11hs ft6tding room, television cameramen carried out their assignments on behalf of the eleven o'clock news, Although I didn't recognize any of them, I had worked with iuch cameramen myself and

I

had a number of friends

gathering industry.

in

the

news-

"Where are you boys from?', I asked the nearest one as pleasantly as I could, wondering whether we had mutual acquaintances.

I asked one after another of the no one_replied. They stared and said nothing. Suddenly I realized that I was no longer part of-the .h3maq race and, bewildered, I quickened riy sieps toward the animal womb in the holding ioom. He didn't answer me.

oth^ers-,-but

2 "It was such a good life. Such a good life." The words came of thernselvbs, involuntarily. They

were manifestations of unfocused memories. They recalled the loveliness that was Claire, and the beauty oi the two boys. Without my thinking about it, they cuf through the grotesque fagade of the recent past to a ':me which, 4.oygh not beatific, was essentialty h"ppy. The story of

Claire and me was, until its Gduirdiimmerung, the itory of. two young people striving earnestln if not always wisely, to make a place in the world for themselves and their children. The growth of the cataclysm that was to

35 overwhelm

JoHN BALT

us was entirely unnarked We loved,

we

worked; and we were blind.

I

met Claire in the early 1950's ih New York City. It of seasons in Manhnllsn when the air-conditioners have been turned off and the hot'air systems have not yet been turned on. My fust recollection of her is dominsled by her ponytail. It hung to her waist and was a rich gold color. It swung in s twcfoot arc as she walked blithely by Hal Bantz and me, where we etood on the corner of Lexington Avenue and Forty-ffth Street,

was that most favored

waiting for the blind date Hal had arranged for me through Laurie, his fianc6e. I-aurie should have been there with us, but she was late. When the young lady with the ponytail furned around, I saw that she was pretty, with beautiful blue eyes and a face that combined intelligence with a capacity for gaiety. I hoped-that she was to be the girl, but it took some moments of mutual staring before time. By the we ."neall came to that conclusion at the same Laurie arrived, we were all friends. Claire was twenty-one years old. I was not quite twenty-four.

We had dinner at the Tappan Hill Restaurant in is a converted estate and has a fine

Westchester, which

view of the Hudson Valley. Prices were not modest. While I played the cosmopolites ordering mussels and tournedos, Claire studied the menu very carefully and then selected a salad and a filet of sole, which were the least expensive items listed- We were a happy

Hal and Laurie and

foursome, and there was much laughter. Claire was as amusing as the others, but there was also a touch of seriousness to her conversation. A senior at Hunter College, she was a member of Phi Betd Kappa, and was majoring in speech therapy for handicapped children. I noticed that she had a lovely speaking voice, full and yet soft, beautifully pitched and modulated. I told her that I was working for a documentary flm company while waiting as a reserve officer to be called to active duty in the

Air Force. "Do flm writers make

a lot of money?' sbe asked. you're talking about me," I said, "the answer is no. I,m probably the lowest paid film writer in the coun-

"If

try." "And also one of the youngest," she said. "Besides, I'm glad you're not too rich. It would make me feel unc,omfortable." "Don't you like rich people?" I asked. t'I don't know. I've never known any."

By Reason

ol Insanity

After coffee, we went out oDto the patio.

37

It

was a clear

night, and the moon glinted off the Hudson River a few miles to the west. Claire sat on the stone railing and I stood beside her. We talked for hours, grateful that Hal and Laurie had wandered off together into one of the gardens.

"IVhat are you writing now?" she asked. hate to tell you." 'Why?" "Ifs not what you'd expect..I mean it's not for entertainment. It's more instructional.", "That sounds more useful than entertainment. Whafs it

"I

about?"

"It's a documentary my company is making for the State Department. They're going to distribute it in Burma. It seems that some of the tribes don't understand the connection between .. ." "Between what?" I looked for the words. "Between making love and having babies." "Oh, you're kidding." "No, I'm very serious. The State Department is concerned."

"Well, then

I

think your picture's very important. I

mean the Burmese should know. Don't you think?" "I'm not sure. It might spoil something for them." She laughed. I thought it was a beautiful laugh. "Tell me about yourself," I said. "There's not much to tell." 'Oh, I don't know. I read somewhere that every man's life was a novel. I'm sure that goes for every girl too. To start with, what's the biggest thing that ever happened to you?" "I won a beauty contest." 'When? Recently?" It was entirely possible.

"No. When I was three. It was at the Brooklyn Paramount Theater. They passed me around the stage and everyone cheered, except my older cousin Lena, who glared from the wings. The prize was a free course in ballet instruction, but after three weeks I got a cold in my nose and that was that." "That's too bad," I said, "Not really. I wasn't cut out to be a ballet dancer. I'd much rather sing." 'Oh, what kind of voice do you have?'

38 "I

JoIrN

refuse okay."

"No,

'My

BALT

to boast Nor will

I

be unduly modesL Ifs

I

mean what range?' teacher thinks Iim a mezzesoprano. But

I

dodt

feel like a mezzo-soPrano." "Do you think you ll ever sing professionall-y?" "No..fm afraid fm much too shy for that." "You don't seem shy to me. I mean unduly shy'" "Well, don't ask me to sing, and you won't be disillusioned."

Nothing about that evening disillusioned me, not even

tte fact tlat she lived in Brooklyn; young men like me, *no n"a been brought up in the-BroDx' were conditioned from infancy to avoid dating girls who- $ved i" -Btggkly9.. When I got home, my mothli was mnking tea for herself

in the kitEhen. She knew that I'd been on a blind date. 'What was the girl like?" she asked"Very nice." "Where does she live?' "In Brookllm. Sheepshead Bay, I think." "sheepsheid Bay?-Where's that? You're not going to see her again, are you?' "Yes, I rhink I nill. Good nigbt, Mom." For Claire's sake I wish I had shared more fully in the local prejudices. Duiid the three months between our

frst

date and my

reportini for active duty in the Air Force, I would not ailbw mlseff to admit that I was failing in love. To me, Chire *as an extremely attractive companion who was my intellectual equal and snared my tastes in books'

spbrts, motion pictures, and plays. Our courtship was like t6ns of thousaids of other courtships; yet, like them, it had its own special beauty that had asrhing- whatever to do with the environment in whish it was conducted. There was, of course, a favorite restaurant; in our case, and with little originality, an Italian place iust off Slre-ndan Square in

the Villige. 'i'here was a favorite Nedick's, on Thirgfourth Street, and a favorite foreign movie house iust off Sixth Avenue. We saw The King and I, and she particularly liked the song "Getting to Know You." There were

lbng strolls along the walk-above the water in Shee-pshead Bay, where we held hands and kissed and had what we considered deep discussions about the purposes of life' When a semidocumentary feature on which I had worked opened on Lexington Avenue, she went to see it with me several times and dragged her parents to it afterward-

By Reason of

Insanity

39

If the picture were named, to indicate that there was more than friendship between us. I fnally persuaded her to sing for me, and her voice was indeed too light and lyrical for a me,En and far too good for anyone proof enough.

to be shy about it. Altlough the details of our family lives differed, there were enough similarities so that we had almost identical ways of looking at the world. Neither one of us had siblings. Her parents, Al and Sarah, though much younger than mine, were, like them, ffrst-generation Americans. Both families had suftered privation during the Depression but had emerged from the war years with adequatg although modesf middleclass incomes. Her father was an accountant; mine, intelligent but without formal education, managed a small metals-stamping factory. In both famili6s, the grandparents were Old World devoutly Jewish, but the parents, while never rejecting the faith, never really practiced it either except on the very special holidays, and then with reservations. My grandmother used to say, "A mother. There is nothing in the world like a mother. You'll know it after

I'm gone."

Claire's grandmother used to say, "You should wash your mother's feet and fl1sa dlink the water." Both Claire's mother and mine were so driven by what they considered their maternal duty that it often overshadowed, in importance to them, their marital obligations. Both mothers suffered as a consequence, nnd we felt that they had an excessive desire to influence and control the lives of their own children. Both women had a tendency to be higbly emotional in difrcult situations. Although the love Sarah had for Claire was deep and sincere, it was not without an 'nfortunate taint; this was equally true of my mother's love for me. Sarah, who was only seventeen years older than Claire and extremely proud of her daughter's beauty and accomplishments, had a tendency to enter into competition with her. My mother was torD, from the day I started to walk, between the desire to see me reach an independent and successful manhood and her secret need to see me ensconced in a warm, comfortable, but escape-proof cage. I think, however, that both women intuitively understood their prob-' lems and evelr tried to struggle against them. There were also other family difficulties which we knew

in

common. Neither set of parents enjoyed an idyllic srariage. Al had become a husband at the age of nineteon

&

JoHN BALT

and had never quite gotten over his need for parental sqrcrvision. Sarah responded to this with a never-ending torrent of "Al-do-this's" and "Al-do-thafs," to which he

replied, much to Claire's dismay, with an equally constant sheam of "Yes, dear's." Since Al had not completed his education before marriage, it took many ilifrcult years of night school fe1 him to qualify for his accounting degree.One of Claire's most persistent and vivid memories was of her mother sitting at the window in darkness waiting for her father to come home. While her father was overly docile, mine responded to what he considered my mother's inadequacies with somand berness, moodiness, table-pounding, silent,

unapproachable

for

days.

I

remember feeling

that some of his unhappiness was caused by my mother's preoccupation with me. I recall hearing him yell at her once, "You're not a wife to me. You were never a wife to me." This kind of behavior, of course, only made things worse for all concerned.

At about the time I met Claire, things were particularly

difficult between my parents, and there was much tatk

about *breaking up the farnily." It was something I hoped wouldn't happen, because despite their problems I felt that each would be unable to function without the other. During this period my mother often complained to me

bittedy about her unhappiness. I hated those discussions and would usually reply, "What do you want me to say? He's my father." Inevitably then in those days neither Claire nor I looked upon marriage as the optimum

in

human relationships.

One night, as we were driving home on the Belt Parkway to Claire's house, she said to me, "I don't have any desire to get married. I want to make some sort of professional career for myself. In all the fairy tales, when people get married, the story is over. That's exactly the way I feel about it." For each of us, education was the key to emancipation from the family. Through education, we believed that we could embark upon careers that would create a barrier between our parents and ourselves, one tbrough which they could communicate with us but over which they could not leap. Since we were both capable intellectually' we almost, but never quite, succeeded-

ol Insanity 4l something same drive Claire and I talkd about By

On that

Reason

else. That conversation, carried on casually, was forgotten

fo; many years; but it had profound sigpificance. "Do you know much about psychology?" she asked. "I know what it is. Thafs about all," I told her. "It's a fascinating subject. A lot of people believe that you can never be free of your background unless you have some sort of psychoanalysis." "What do you mean by being free of your background?" "Not carrying around the emotional burdens you pick up in childhood." "It seems to me that an intelligent person should be

able to cope with his background without getting help from any doctor. All the people I know who ever studied psychology are kind of kooky themselves. I wouldn't want any of them fooling around with me."

"You don't believe in it at all?" "Of course I believe in some of it, but only for people who are really sick. For anyone who's able to function I think it's sort of obscene to have someone else poking around in your private life." Claire clearly didn't like my point of view. She took a long time repairing her lipstick in her compact mirror.

"You're very prejudiced about all this, aren't you?'

she sai4 after a while. "I'm prejudiced against

I think

futility."

you're wrong," she said, and then 6miled-

'John, *But I like you anyway. And John, slow down. You

started racing everyone on the Parkway when we began talking about psychiatry." About a week later, I was inducted into the Air Force. Although the ROTC program at Yale had prepared me for duties as a commissioned officer, I had received no flight training, and Personnel judged that I could be of most service working in my own field. I was assip.ed to the Air Photographic and Charting Service of the Military Air Transport Service, where I was to help write and evaluate fraining films, for which, with the Korean War in progress, there was an urgent need. Since our headquarters was in Philadelphia, I was able to get to New York every weekend and to continue seeing Claire. There was little basic change in our relationship, except that the bonds between us grew stronger. The uniform, as uniforms do when wars are being fought, lent a touch of glamour to the situation, but it was totally superfluous. The glamour was between us. I took her around to meet my

42

JoHN BALT

friends, all of whom were captivated by her. She had a buoyaney, youth, and happiness that was reflected in her blond ponytail and a particular red-flaired skirt that we both liked. For a while she wore her hair in bangs, and

this hairdo, combined with a little blue beret that matched .her eyes, gave her a gamine quality that was delightful. I was very proud of her. In February of that year, television unit was organized within our corrlmand. Its^ purpose was to investigate the uses to which the new medium could be put in training and combal Since I also wanted to learn about television, I spoke to the colonel in charge about a transfer. He wasn't certain that he could use me, but he told me that if I was interested I could draw up job descriptions and charts indicating lines of command and possible advancement within the new unit. I did the research and every-hing else tlat could be accomplished with pencil and paper, but I lacked the skill-and the aptitude--to do the artwork. On two weekends Claire helped me out by drawing the charts, thereby making her own contribution to my mili1il'y career and to the police action in Korea. The colonel was well-pleased with the final product and arranged my transfer to what became known as the "video squadron." This also meant that I would be transferred to the Los Angeles area, which, in a wan helped to set the stage for everything that was to follow. Claire took the news with a brave show of cheerfulness,

but

I

learned afterward that

for a

week following my

departure she ate practically nothing and could not attend classes. Although, because of our mutual misgivings on the subject, not a word had been spoken between us about marriage, I'thought of her constantly on the trip west, and from Albuquerque sent her a pair of earrings that she wa$ to treasure all her life. I missed her, but I also looked forward to whatever adventures my new location would bring. I liked Los Angeles right from the beginning, but as for

adventure, I found none. Much of the work of the squadron was very useful, and many of the ideas we pioneered were later made part of standard Air Force operating procedure; but we kept regular hours, and except for the uniforms, might have been reporting every morning to a studio instead of an air base. Often we would see transport planes le4ving the runways for Korea, and this made no one feel very good. Our military status and relative impecunity kept us insulated from Holly-

皿 押 椰 鶴 辮 ぎ淵

As for her romantic life, it had been solnewhat more se五 ous

than nune.For the last two months she had been

under norlnal circuIIIstances should, after a reasonable length of time,cither dissolve or lead to marriage.

は な 構 F∬鱗 蔚 麟唯ま ,精 器 ぶ 器鷺 灘,71鮒 ∬鮮守ぶ entirely share these feelings,I was undoubtedly inauenced

by them.

Othtte, Clatte and l picked up urhere we had left

ぼ 。When she retumed to New York,I was desperately lonely untu l t。 。k leave over the Christmas holidays h

order to spend them mear her.I introduced her to my

parents, and they― ediatdy fen in love 覇減ぬ

her. ]nⅣ o

months after l remmed tO Los Angeles l proposed by mail,and she telephoned me to accept. She had no reser‐

vations.Her ioy waS COmplete.L wedding was set for June in New York. I had thought it out carefuny.I knew that l wanted to remaul in Los Angeles after separation from the service,

and l wanted her v7ith me.I had bettn to write in the

44

JoItN

BALT

sysnings, had signed a contract with a well-known agent' and sold several television plays. My Air Force income woutd be quite enough for us at the beginning, and I felt that by the time my tour of duty wall over' I would have established enough- of a reputation to earn a steady income writing. Although there was an element of gamble in all this, wl were both young enough not to worry sbout

ir

In the middle of June, I took leave and got to New York a week before the scheduled wedding date. The ceremony and reception were to take place on a Sunday afternoon at a beachside hotel in the Rockaways. I was at first appalled by the "Jewishness" of the whole arrange ment. Tb say that I was an apostate to my religion would be inaccurate.

I

had always respected the theological ten-

it is based. On the other hand, I was repelled by the cultural and familial environment with which, in my mind, the religion was inextricably bound. At this period in my life, Jewishness meant, along with its more elevated aspects, odd Old World superstitions, ignorant bigotry, and sbove all, estrangement from the culture of which I was striving mightily to become a part. My reaction later to the fat man in the mortuary was a manifestation of the same thing. I didn't like being a ets on which

Jew.

During the long ceremony, Claire, who was a breathcatchingly beautiful bride, with that youthful essence that was always a part of her fair, glowing face, became visibly neryous.

I

squeezed

her hand and winked.

I felt the

tension flow out of her. She smiled and was fine for the rest of our stay on the platform. It was one of the most tender moments that ever passed between us. The rabbi, an extremely capable man belonging to one of those rare organizations in Jewry devoted to missionary work, delivered a deeply penetrating speech.

At the time,

we were extremely happy. As we seated in the plane for our trip to Los Angeles, Claire took my hand and said, "I feel as if we're starting on some

ourselves

great, wonderful adventure."

My uncle was fond of saying "Man proposes, God disposes." The economic basis on which our marriage plans had been built was quickly destroyed. While we were honeymooning at Lake Tahoe, not yet a honky-tonk, I received telegraphed orders to return at once to the air base, As a result of the Korean truce, the Burbank instal-

45

助 Raasa“ ar rra“ ″

lation was being dosea The unit was being transferred to

Orlando, Floridap and au_omcers with less than a year of service remnining were to be separated immediady.I was among these.

Soon afterwara CIdre follnd that although she was qualined to teach in New York she lacked certain courses thio meant that reqtllred for a Califomia credential.A」

鮮lり 誕 挽輔鷲聯 :唱鱗 home

Ч鷹iting fun time.

濶

灘

quninted with Eric and his wife.

叩°

蠍 幽 鐵

spy melodramas,distorted and lmreal examinations of

several bright spots,however― two series,m v7hich l stin

電 駐盤撃淵瞥ぷSttrittrkedwe“

a num

l was never completely at ease in the business,but the molley was highly attractive.I recau a Chinese lunch with I CXpresSed

臨芦

満

‐

6

JoHN BALT

'How much money did you make last year?' "Thirty-one thousand dollars."

*non'i you realize that there's practically no

other

your age witlou! any kind squld make that kind of

business in- the country where someone

an investment of

dough?'

IIe was right as far as he went. What few of us seemed to grasp was how thirty-one thousand a year could disap

p€er fui agent's fees, taxes' mortgage payments, cars, pri' vate schools for children, and other "necessities"' The first years of a writer's career in Hollywood, once he begins to sell, are often filled with elation. There are hosennas from grateful agents and producers who tell you

that you are a bright, young, and important talent. The

trajec-tory of your future is already visible in the skies over Beverly Hills. You are a Minute Man rocket come to rbplace the more ponderous, unreliable, anjl antiquated Atlases-and just in time. The problem is, of course, that most Minute Men never really get launched at all, but are consigned to underground silos and forgotten by all but I speciat few; in the case of writers--wives, families, and mortgage collectors. It is a very real problem, because if you are constantly forcing material out of yourself, mate riat in which you have no special emotional interest, there is a very good chance that you'll get worse and worse instead of better and better.

During those years, writers in "the business" usually of two postures to defend themselves against their environment. They were either "artists" or "businessmen," The artists talked, acted, and tried to write as if they actually were. They submitted artily titled, overly long first drafts crammed with pseudo-poetry, always cut, adopted one

buf not before leaving an impression. They claimed never always "character." They carefully

to write "plot" but

avoided all association with writers, producers, and shows that might, within the industry, be considered hack. The "busineismen" on the other hand blatantly proclaimed their total lack of interest in anything but making money. Pay me and I write. Put a quarter in the machine and the music plays. You want a shtikel? I'll give you the best shtikel you ever saw.

Therl was a third path. If you wanted television's

money, you could do television's work, and also do your ovm. Unfortunately, I never actually chose or lived by any of these modi vivendi. I drifted afong, made a good living

47 By Reason of Insaniy identified myself, and was identifie4 with nothing I thought there was time. Th]e social circle in which we moved was almost fanati' cally moral. Among our friends were several Cathollc

famities who devoufly practiced the precepts of their faith. Among the others, marriage was considered a coe tract, and adultery dishonest. So the first yeirs of our marriage passed by. We moved

and then a still better one, and then to a better apartment, to a house -on a quiet, pretty stre€t in Shermsn Oaks.

Claire took sutrtmer courses' got her credential, and began to teach. Atthough she always modestly expressed doubts about the quality of her professional work, she was extremely coirpeteirt. She prefened the younger children' and they developed great-affection for her. Her principal told me-that she waione of the most valued members of his faculty. For a time, money had a way of being a problem. We were perhaps too eager, after the modest zurroundings of our childhood, to acquire good furniture and to redEcorate the house we had purchased. Basicalln however, we managed to be lighthearted about our difrculties. In one instance we paid for the delivery of a chair with our last cash, nine hundred pennies we had accurrllated in a drawer. The next day a check for which I had been waiting arrived. But with the passage of time, mllney stopped being a problem too, and it didn't appear that it would ever become one again. When Claire becane pregnant she was able, without causing us any financial ctrain' to stop working. There were three pregnancies in a little more than three years. The second two resulted in the births of out song, Bob and Stan. The frst, however, produced nothing but deep, prolonged discomfort and pain. Within three months after ehire discovered tiat she was going to have a chil{ she was in danger of losing it. Her gynecologist dosed her with drugs to save the pregnancy and confined her to bed" Her mother, Sarah, had to come out to help take care of her and our home. We had for some time been plqnning a visit to New York to see our parents. Obviously Claire couldn't make it, but I decide4 with her blessing, to take a twoweek trip alone. I didn't enjoy myself. I was worried about her, and our telephone convgrsations were not reassuring. One day tlie doctor would decide that the pregnancy should be terminated, tle next that it should continue. Nor did this indecision cease after I returned. It continued for another tbree months during which she was

48

JoHN BALT

bedridden, and we were both torn by anxiety. Finally, her

doctor consulted another specialisl who recommended that the pregnancy be terminated without delay. Claire bravely accepted both the news and the surgical pro cedures that followed it. Neither of us was aware until afterward that for some months her life had been in grave danger. The foetus in her womb had disinteglated and formed what is known medically as a hydatid molepotentially one of the most virulent cancers known. Within two weeks, Claire was up and about, and within a month, with the exception of a little wisdul sadness, she was pretty much back to her old self. The whoie episode had a gravely unfortunate consequence. Because Claire loved dogs, we decided that this might be a good time to get one. We had other pets-two finches and a hamster named Frisky-but a pup would mean much more to her than any of these. After carefully studying all the canine literature we could get our hands on, we finally decided on a breed; and so the newly born Ra entered our lives. His coat was chestnut red, his tigbtly curled tail had a white tip, his ears stood straight up, his slanted almond eyes were large and shrewd, and his broad chest shone like mountain snow, Six years later, Mrs. Hopkins, the mai{ said, "I never heard of a dog destroying a man, but maybe it's happening now." Oversimplification, but characteristically perceptive. Ra, descended from the dogs that had once hunted with the Pharaohs, was a very serious animal. He had been broken to newspapers in the kennel, and it took almost twenty hours of keeping him outside on a leash, with Claire and me spelling each other, before he would deign to relieve himself on the grass. Even after that, he had

to be bribed for months with Yummies. When a tiny, light collar was placed on him for the first time, his strong legs collapsed under him, and whining pitifully, he crawled snakelike to his bed where he remained for three days. When food was placed a few feet away, he would struggle to his feet with great courage, and then, after checking ow reactions, fall back to his pillow unable to bear the great burden around his neck. This continued until his appetite finally overcame his aversion to restraint. He disliked the birds, and the hamster aroused in his genetic makeup three thousand years of indignation. He continually, although unsuccessfully, schemed to liquidate all of them. Whenever Claire cooked with garlic, he ran around in circles and then streaked to the farthest corner of the

By

Reason

ol Insanity

49

house. Upon being reprimanded for iumping on the fumiture, he developed an uncontrollable case of diarrhea We called the upstate kennel from which we had purchased him, and were told that he needed "love." It was a little difficult to cuddle him under tle circumstances, but the prescription worked. It was in connection with this malaise that he delivered his frst bite. Before we were informed about the efficacy of afiection, Claire tried to give him a dose of kaopectate. When the spoon got near his nose, however, he snapped at and caught her hand in a painful bite. This, unfortunately, was not the last time he bit. In the years ahead he was to bite Claire again, me, three babysitters, my son Bob, my mother-in-law, and a television producer, on whose shows, perhaps only coincidentally, I never subsequenfly worked" He almost died of a leg infection because the veterinarian was afraid to go near him; snapped at my mother-in-lafs parakeet with such violence that the poor btd died of a heart attack; and chewed up my father-in-law's set of false

teeth, which had been

left on a

counter within his

reach.

I

knew that he didn't belong with us and the small

children; yet I avoided the disagreeable task of giving him away. Where unpleasantness was involved, I tended to let' things happen rather thaa to control them, always certain that eventually everything would work out well. I disliked facing problems or making changes in our living patterns.

Claire, with characteristic enthusiasm, took up the of "natural" childbirth, and our tq/o sons were born easily and without untoward incident thirteen months apart. Having two infants in the house caused methods

some problems; but they were ordinary problems, and the children were a joy. Claire found an old and gifted Italian singing teacher and developed into a fine lyric soprano. "Madag," he would tell her with gallantry, sincerity, and just the right amount of accen! "you are very beuuutiful, ag4 you have a beuuutiful voice." To which she responded with modest pleasure, The boys loved her songs right from the first. As far as I could ascertain, everything was going along well. "I could be very happy now, John," Claire said to me shortly after Bob was born. "Except that-." Several months before Bob's arrival, Al, my father-inlaq got an accounting position in Los Angeles, and he and Sarah moved to the West Coast. A half year later at a party that we gave so that my parents, who were on a

50

JoEN BALT

visit, could meet our friends, my mother, in a highly omotional manner, described the privation she was feeling as a result of not living close to all of us. Soon afterward she purchased and was ruaning a small dress shop in Pasadena; my father gave up the job he had held for forty years and joined her. The moves were not entirely unexpected. They had been discussed for some time previously and I had been in favor of them. I hated to think of our parents growing old far from those who were dearest to them. I was particularly anxious to establish a man-tcman friendship with my father. Whatever strain there had been between us should have long since disappeared. The last "licking" had taken place when at the age of sixteen I had put up my hands, but not used them, to defend myself. He took pride in what I had accomplished in school and in the service and was, on the whole, respecfful of my profession. He hoped for better things from me, but then so did I. Al, my father-inJaw, was gentle, aftable, and a great favorite of the children. Sarah, like my mother, would demand attention, but like her, she had much love and warmth to ofter. I had a genuine affection for all of them, and I didn't rvant to see them deprived of the joys of grandparenthood.

Claire shared these positive feelings. She loved and wanted our parents nearby, but, more astutely than I, she had a number of reservations. She had a sharp recollection of what the rivalry between her and her mother had meant at home; and the visits of my parents had failed to reassure her completely about them. My mother had made the usual serious but actually comic references to the girls I almost married, upbraided me about my expenditures, spoken to Claire before Claire got pregnant about the joys of motherhood, as if Claire were oblivious, and intended to remain forever oblivious, to them. She had also, by reference to her own relationship with my grandmother, intimated that Claire and I were getting away with something by our sojourn in Los Angelas, three thousand miles away from where our real duties lay. On one visit there had been a shattering crisis about bread in the refrigerator. And on all visits, romantic activrty between Claire and me had seemed somehow wrong. For Claire, our "great adventure" deffnitely lost much of its exhilarating qualrty with the family migration from the East. I was only dimly aware of this. I had taken my first job as a series story editor and was putting in twelve

By Reason of Insanity 5l to fourteen hours a day at the studio. Aside from writing

I was interviewing other writers, purchasing stories, negotiating salaries, attending script conferences, revising material for production, placating and working with directors and actors, and assisting in the editing of film for release to the network. Judging from the comments of others, I had a talent for all this, and during those busy months I confidently expected that I would be doing it for years to come. But my preoccupation de prived Claire of a needed outlet for her feelings of apprehension. Of one rhing, however, f was entirely aware. Our weekends disappeared. Every Saturday, her parents came to see the children; so every Sunday mine did the same thing. Neither Claire nor I liked the situation, but neither of us thought of putting a stop to it. From the time our parents moved to California, to the end, except for our infrequent skiing trips we never had these two important scripts myself,

to ourselves. Perhaps, after whafs happened this is quote Aldous Huxley's, "She lmotlerJ is Nature and the Intuition, the creator of spiritual Do less than physical life. She is tle Eternal Feminine that leads us up and on, and she is the Eternal Feminine that leads us down and back. She puts the sweet in 'Home Sweet Home,' afler which she drinks days

all very petulant; yet I am driven to

our blood,"

From among our many friends, two significant relationships developed. Eric introduced us to the Beverly Drive internist Phil Myerly, and he became our family doctor and, through us, Sarah's doctor. We were on a first-name basis with Phil almost from the beginning. Perhaps we were n€ver friends, but our association was closer than that usually prevailing between physician and patient. Phil often expressed annoyance with Sarah, resenting what he considered her unreasonable demands on his time and sometimes referring to her as "hysterical." On the other hand he seemed to respect Claire and me, and we, conditioned from childhood to an awe of the medical profession, found his attention and occasional hospitality iatterfng, proof qerhaps that we had penetrateO sui.:esstuUy into upper-middle-class lif e. GaiI and Bill Connery were another matter. They were our contemporaries and we grew very close to them, -Gail Dq-rng Claire's first year of ieaching, had been a colle-ague, and the two young women found a good deal to like about one another. Bill and I became friends as soon as we met" He was well-rea4 a good talker, and, like

52

JoIrN

BALT

mysetf, an enthusiast for sports. We played golf or tennis once or twice a month for a half a dozen years; and the fow of us shared many dinners and outings together. Bill was studying to be a psychiatrist.

It

was through Gail that Claire's dormant interest in

psychology was reawakened. Although Gail, a rangy and very practical Midwesterner, had little use for Bill's theoretical studies, she found that certain aspects of psychology could be put to use in the classroom with beneficial results for both teachers and students. Dorothy Baruch, a well-known child psychologist and the author of the book, New Ways in Discipline, was then conducting a weekly seminar for teachers in her home. Basically, Miss Baruch taught techniques for helping children to act out rather than repress the emotions of hostility and fear. As soon as Claire was introduced to Miss Baruch's group she became wholeheartedly devoted to iL Here was something based on kindnss. to children and designed to foster their indi-

viduality and ability for self-expression; and it worked. Here was something that suited Claire's own need for identification and direction, and convinced her that she could provide the children with whom she came into contact with an inner strength which she believed that she as a child never possessed.

During those years both Claire and I were perhaps too to accept anything presented to us in the guise of science. For Claire, this was especially so in the area of prychology. She needed to make common cause with something bigger and, as she deeply believed, truer than what she had grown up with. In the case of Miss Baruch, the relationship was a good one. Claire was and remained an excellent teacher and a muchloved mother. If there was anything unfortunate about the attachment it was ready

this: the appareDt existence of "psychological" solutions to life's problems prevented her, and then me, from looking elsewhere for those solutions. What I heard about Miss Baruch's group and its work served in time to soften my own cynical attitude toward the theories of psychiatry; and a book we picked up, Robert Lindner's Filty-Minute Hour, captttred my imagination hitherto unexposed to the areas that it covered. I read some of Theodor Reik, Jones's biography of Freud, Freud's Psychopathology

ol

Everyday

Life, and Interpre-

tation of Dreams. And one other book, which, as it turned

out, had special consequences, A. A. Brill's Lectures on Psychoanalytic Psychiatry. I had seen Dr. Brill once in

By Reason ol Insanity 53 person years before when, as a very old man, he bad begun a lecture at New York University with the words "Kiss my arse!" The idea, as it was meaot to be, was thoroughly revolting; the book unfortunately was not. It was very readable.

1960, I got up several in on the childreo, Bob three and Stan two, who were playing on the floor in

On a fine spring morning

minutes before Claire.

I

in

looked

their room. On the way to the kitchen, I passed Ra in the living room lying in his usual spot just below the warm-air vent. I poured a glass of orange juice for myself and sipped it slowly. I was just about to go to the front door to pick up the newspaper when I heard a cry of pain from Stan followed by a stifled scream from Claire. I rushed into the living room. Stan was clinging desperately to Claire, his whole body shaking with sobs. Bob was standing off to one side, pale with fright. Ra was trying to make himself invisible under the drapes.

"What happened?" I knew the answer, but the words spilled out automatically. "Ra bit him," said Claire. "Ra bit Stan." "Let me see." Slowly I turned Stan's face toward me. It" was wet with tears, but on the left side, near his nose, the tears were tinged with red. There was a short gash, which was Ra's work. "There," I said to Stan. "It's not too bad. It hurts now, but it'll be better in a few minutes." "I got bitten once," said Bob to his brother, "Nothing happens to you." Our masculine ministrations were fruitless, but Claire's caresses were not. In a few moments, Stan started to calm down.

"There, you're a brave boy," she said. "Now we're going to waih your face." "No!" Stan screamed "We have to," said Claire. "It'll feel better afterwards." She did the job so gently that he even allowed her to apply peroride to the wound. "That rotten little dog," said Claire. "Whoever heard of a dog biting his own babies?" "Did you see it?" I asked her. She shook her head. "No." "I saw it," said Bob. "Ra was sleeping. Stan wanted to play with him. But when he touched Ra, Ra jrrmFed at his face."

54

JoHN BALT

"Then what happened?" "Stan cried, and Ra ran awaY." Claire reached the pediatrician through his answering service, and he agreed to meet her at his office within a half hour. Since I was writing a script, we decided that Claire and the baby would go alone. Just after Claire left, Mrs. Hopkins arrived for her day's work and I told her what had happened. "You gonna get rid of Ra?" she asked. "I'm not sure," I told her. "Do you like Ra?" Bob asked me. "sometimes I like him, and sometimes I don't." "Well, when Ra wears out," said Bob, "I hope we can get a poodle."

-

Bob decided to play by himself in the backyard. I locked Ra in the bedroom and went into the study. At that time the Writers Guild was on strike over the issue of royalties on television programs played in foreign ,countries. Since I couldn't go to the studios I kept myself busy writing material that might be sold after the strike was over. That morning, however, I was unable to work because I found myself thinking about Ra. I was dismayed by what he had done. Characteristically, however, I had made no decision about him by the time Claire and Stan returned home. The wound had required several stitches, but the doctor believed that the scar would not be visible. Although Stan had received a tetanus shot and several aspirins, he was in fairly good spirits and he joined Bob in the backyard. "Where's Ra?" Claire asked.

"Incarcerated in the bedroom." "What are we going to do with him?"

"We can give him to the pound. But most people who go to the pound for dogs want pups. So they'd keep him there a little while and then put him to sleep." "I hate thinking about that." "So do I. I also called the kennel. They said they'd ruo up against a lot of resistance trying to sell a dog his -age. Also-that with his record for biting people, it wouldn't be fair to anyone who bought bim. In other words, don't call us, we'll call you." "They could use him for breeding." "Yeah, his strain would have been great Alex, the trainer, said " "You called him, too?"

"Yes. He said that

if

for the SS.

the dog was asleep, then he

By Reason ol

Insanity

55

snapped. instinctively without knowing what he was doing." "But this isn't the first time." "Claire, I hate to see him killed." "Well, how do you think I feel?" She looked at me for a moment, thinking afsul ssmsthing else. "You want to get back to work, don't you?" "We can talk about it for a while." We did. Inconclusively, What seemed at stake was keeping Ra or seeing him exterminated. Finally, Claire said, "I've got to go out. I'll see you later."

About four o'clock in the afternoon, I heard the car pull into the driveway and, a minute later, Claire knocked on the study door and came in. There was something special about her. She was excited, slightly flushed, and very pretty. She sat down on the sofa where she had sat many times when we discussed my scripts.

"I want to get rid of Ra. care what happens fs him,

I don't care-I mean I do but the children are more

important."

"I agree with you about the children. asleeP-"

But

if

the dog was

"John, we both love the dog and we could keep fnding for him forever. Meanwhile the children have to go around the house as careful as if we had some beast out of the zoo living here. IIe's a menace and he's got to go." "You weren't that sure this morning." "I hadn't made up my mind, but ndw I have." 'oThere's something you're not telling me," I said. She blushed. "What do you mean?" I smilsd. "I mean there's something you're not telling excuses

me.t'

She hesitated for a momenl She could never dissemble. In all the years I knew her, she never told me a single lie, not even about the smallest thing; and now that the question was put to her, she had to come out with the

truth.

"I've been to a psychologist, and we talked it out.',

I

was surprised.

"A psychologist? What psychologist?"

"I've had her name in my purse for months. One of the

gtrls in school used her and she's very good," "But what do you need a psychologist for?"

"You must have noticed. I haven't been myself long time. In fact, ever since Stan was born." "But who goes to a psychologist about a dog?"

for

a

56

JoHN BALT

'Oh, John, it's not just the dog. That's what I'm trying to tell you. I've been tired or depressed or whatever you want to call it for months. You yourself said that things haven't been the same romantically between us. bed-"

"It happens to married people sometimes. love you very much." "And it's our parents, too.

I

I mean

Ifll

in

pass.

I

just don't know how to

I need help." psychologist want to see you?" this does often "How "Once or twice a week." It took me a few moments to sort everything out in my mind. The whole thing had come unexpectedly. I didn't like the idea of this strange woman insinuating herself into our problems and telling us what to do with our dog for starters, especially since I had been unable to make a decision on that very matter. I was also very well aware that a psychologist, in contrast to a psychiatrist, didn't have a medical degree. "Maybe you ought 1s trlk to a doctor first." "But I like this lady." "Claire, let me call Bill Connery and see what he has to say. Okay?" She thought about it. "Okay, John, if you think so." Bill was by this time a resident at a hospital in Los Angeles. When I explained the situation to him, he said he would set up an appointment with a Wilshire Boulevard psychiatrist, who would see Claire, diagnose her case, and then refer her to an appropriate colleague. "It's getting pretty complicated, don't you ftink?" I asked him. "I mean, you know Claire. As far as I'm cope with them all. And you're so busy.

concerned, she's all right." "Let her see the doctor," he said.

Three days later Claire consulted the man on Wilshire Boulevard, and having been told that she did need treatment, she cagre home quite shaken. A week afterward she saw the psychiatrist to whom she had been referred. She returned late in the afternoon. Since it was .Friday we were due for an exercise class in Hollywood, and she didn't have time to tell me about her interview until we were in the car on the way to town. "These fellows are all Freudians. Strictly. They don't believe in anything but psychoanalysis. All the way. Four or five times a week on vour back on a couch." "For how long?"

"T$o to five years."

By Reason ol

Insqnity

57

"And he thinks you need all that?" "He said so," "But what's wrong with you?" "They don't just give it a name. It's what I've told you. I'm not functioning the way I should. I'm not the kind of wife and mother I want to be. I can't handle my mother or yours.

I

I

need help."

had thought about this since our discussion in the study. I recalled Claire's recent moodiness. Tbere were tensions about the parents and, since Stan's birth, tensions about sex. Did all rhis add up to sickness? I didn't know.

"I

I

need help," she repeated.

realized that I had done nothing to help her over what I saw now had been a diffcult time for her. Like her, I had seen the older generation struggle inefiectually with their problems all their lives. Unlike her, however, I had sought to deny the existence of any problems of our own.

I

was suspicious

of

involvement with outsiders, afraid,

perhaps of the consequences of such involvement.

"You've been busy," she said. "And anyway,

I

"Do you think this fellow knows what he's

talking

can't

take these problems to you. They're not really yours."

aboutT' "He's a member of the institute."

"How old is he?" "About forty. Very serious and horn-rimmed." "How much does all this cost?" "Twenty-five dollars a session."

"That's a hundred dollars a week. Four hundred and

fifty dollars a month, for maybe five years. We

can't afford that." "Are you sure?" "I'm sure. Four hundred and fifty a month on top of everything else." "But I need someone. Jobn, if you think it's better I'll go back to the lady psychologist. She told me that I didn't need Freudian treatment. Her method is more direct. The dog's causing trouble, get rid of the dog, and so forth." "No. If you see anyone, it has to be the best." "But how do you know what's best?' I certainly had no idea how vast the field was or how full of contradictions. But through my reading, and despite what I had heard to the contrary, it seemed to me that the Freudian institute to which Bill Connery aspired wore the proper mantle. It is easy to see now that before naking a

58

JoEN BALT

docision Claire should have consulted elsewhere. probablv

ev-en visited, in older to obtain a diagnosis, i^hospital where methods of treatment were more eciectic. ihis, however, never occurred to me; nor did I realize that foi many individuals there were definite contraindications to "associative" therapy of any kind. I was dogmatic. Once an idea clicked into place, it was not easily dislodged. It had to be one way or not at all; but what I wanted most was

to avoid a decision. I aske4 "Can't we put it oft?" "I-.{o. If just for the children. I'm not really a very good mother to them." "You're a wonderful mother."

ttNo." "How can you say that?' "I've felt it for a long "'ns. Stan isn't a happy child. I don't think lve been able to give him enough tovi. Ouring F" p"rl week I've been thinking, if I donl get help now, Stan

will have to when

he gets older."

"Thafs Donsense."

"It isn't.

I

Believe me."

looked at her. She was staring straight ahead. Her €yes were moist with restrained tears. We were silent as we threaded our way through the heavy trayle soming oft the freeway onto Highland Avenue.

I

had parked the car, Claire said, ..John, I,ll wait If we can't afford it, we can't afford it. I told the doctor I'd call him and let him know.', The exercise class at which we worked out was a very good one. The calisthenics, devised by the energetic and remarkably contoured little lady of sixty who conducted them with a loud voice and rhytlm dnrm, were unique and valuable, and we both usually enjoyed the sessions. That evening, lowever, I was preoccupi-ed tbro'rghout I had wanted us both to have the fu[est pbssible livei, but it didn't seem to be working out that way. By choice, we were -very much alone. Our parents we considered part of our difrculties. We had no religious convictions. Dia tne doctors alone have the answers? When I looked at Claire, I saw that her figure in leotards was very lovely, but hei face reflected a deep unh4ppiness with what had-happened

After

if I

have to.

in the car. Afterward, we went to Versuvio, where Jim Ostend and his wife were to meet us for dinner. Jim, a very good astor, was one of my oldest friends. The Ostends were late, and Claire toyed with the glass of wine in front of

By Reason ol her. She said no.hing.

Insanity

59

I reached over and put my hand on

hers.

"If you want "Are you

"I

the psychoanalysis, you can have

it."

sure?"

want you to be happy." Just then Jim and Anita arrived. The fettucini was very good. We were all very gay thsf sysning.

And we never did get_1id of Ra-

.4,

J

Being chained to other men gave me a safe, pleasurable feeling as we were transported downtown in a bus over a maze of freeways and streets that seemed part of a world that had become totally alien, as if on the other side of

the barred bus windows was another planet. Only my fellow prisoners had any reality for me. The people I glimpsed outside in private cars and on the streets seemed somehow di,fferent and dangerous.

I closed my eyes and immediately had a picture of Claire in front of me. She was wearing the dress I liked best; it was dark blue, and had two sets of buttons down the front and a large white collar. She was so alive and so lovely that when the bus jolted to a stop I had great difficulty for a few moments in knowing where I was or why. From the beginning, my mind never wholly accepted the idea that Claire was dead. As time went on it became increasingly difrcult for me to hold on to this one central truth. When I had it, everything else around me had at

a semblance of reality; at other times, and for increasingly long periods, I would lose it, and with it any possibility of making sense out of my surrouldings. Then a nightmare, unendurably horrible, would come to life, a nightmare that I was to come to believe I could not escape even by death. The booking procedure for prisoners at what has become known now €rs the "old," or Hall of Justice, jail was least

notorious. It usually took twenty to twenty-four hours from the time a busload of Een was brought in until they

60

JorrN BALT

reached their cells. Actually involved were a number of simple operations: a man's property was taken from him, and he was given a pink properfy slip and envelope; he was photographed and fngerprinted; he took a shower, was sprayed with delousing powder and given prison clothes; his chest was X-rayed and a few drops of blood taken f1s6 him for medical tests. The immense number of prisoners involved each day and the limited facilities accounted for the torturous delays. Since 1964, Los Angeles

has had a new county jail. Although the Hall of Justice jail is still in use, all prisoners go through booking at the Dew one. It will be a long time, however, before the memory of 'booking at the Hall of Justice fades from penal lore.

During the hours when I had some idea of why I was there, the idea of complaint never entered my mind. No one molested me physically. The very fact that I was being kept alive filled me with

a

sense

of

awe at the

forbearance of my fellow men. During other times when I forgot that Claire was dead and that I was accused of

murder, my heart filled with rage that men found it nesessary to so dehumanize one another.

Tlyo or three hundred men crowded so close together in windowless roonu that when exhaustion finally took over, it was almost impossible to find a place to sit or lie down on the dirty floor. The smell of human filth, of unwashed feet and socks, underwear and anuses, of puke and excrement. The overpowering desire to be as low and

hol

dirty and uncaring

as

the others. The sickness of alcoholics for tobacco, and the warning of

sobering up. The longing

the man irr flsqra-"If I catch anyone smoking, I'm gonna hang him up on the screen." The several bloody

fghts that broke out among the men who no longer acted like men but like vicious animals. I pitied men. I also pitied myself. This was life, I decided, and I had not seen it before. I made up my mind that since my own life was drawing to an end, I would at least try to conduct myself properly tbrough rhis last episode. I determined that I

would be a good prisoner. It was a resolution I was unable to keep. I remember that they asked me my occupation, and my repln "Unemployed." I remember being fingerprinted, the black ink finding its way under the fresh stitches on my hands. The incredible ugliness of the bodies in the trickling shower, the caved-in chests, the thin flabby hams. The orders of the deputies: "Tlrrn aroun4 bend over, spread

By

Reason

ol Insanity

61

your cheeks, shake out your hair, lift your cocks, not your balls, just your cocks. Now your balls." I learned afterward that deputies usually started their careers with as. signments in one of the county penal institutions. I know why. Seeing that mass of miserable "fish" day after day, how could one ever fear them, and how could one fail to want to protect society, clean and healthy, from their dirty encroachment? The psychology is valid. The guar& did the best they could, and they did nothing that, under the system, wasn't necessary. If they and the "fish" were dehumanized it wasn't their fault. Yet during all those hours I wasn't thinking in those terms. I was feeling; and what I felt, through no fault of anyone around me, will an understanding of how, at Auschvritz and Dachau and Belsen, men could have accepted, and other men could have herded them to, the final degradation of dying in the mass as the logical end of their journeys. The deputies were not storrn troopers nor did they act like storm troopers. Yet perceptions.

I

do not doubt the validity of my naked

The star on my property envelope meant "murderer," I moved in the jail I was accompanied by one or two guards. I remember the long ride and henceforth anywhere

upward in an elevator and then endless rows of bars that

seemed to stretch into infinity. An apparition of a dwarf, his head cocked crazily to one side, with bones jutting into his neck where there shouldn't have been any bones, and

someone saying, "he tried to hang himself." The little doctor, dangerous and carnivorous, asking me when I had been in the mental hospital. "Six weeks ago." Then a male nurse gave me some pills. They were of

two colors, and the moment I looked at them, I recognized them.

"Librium?"

I

said.

"Take them. Here's a cup of water.t' "No, I won't take them. I hate them." His voice and face becage fhg4fsning. "Are you refusing this medicine?" I had no power to resist, and I took the pills. Then the two grrards. With what seemed my last strength, I struggled along carrying a bedroll, a thin dirty mattress, and two blankets, More endless rows of bars. One of the guards rang a bell and a door was opened. Then a barred gate and another barred gate and a cell. I threw the mattress on the frrnk and fell on it. In a

62

JoHN BALT

moment l was shivering wlth cold sweat. As I Passed out l kept hearing a voice sapng over and over again,“

Why?Why?"

Why7

``High power,"or,Omcially,10A2,Hall of Jusdce i岨 smau ceus,cach about s破 by eight feet.

,

consisted of s破

■■にre were two steel bunks in each cell, but sometimes

three men lived in a cell, sometmes only one, depending on the case and the particular man ulvolved. In order to 。ne of several make high power you had to fan int。

Cate30ries: either you were charged with murder,or had an escape record,or were all ex― employee of the sheriFs Ofnce or p。 lice departinent and thus a potential target of

violence from the rest of the prisoners. It was qulte pOssible for an ex‐ prison cook serving thirty days for drunkenness to ocCupy a ceu next t。 。r with a man under

selltence of death awaiting transportation to San Qum血

h high power(as on death row in San Quelltin)men

were conaned to their cells twenty‐ two of the twenty‐four hours in each day。 ‐ o odler two hours might be spent on

the`Treeway,"as扶・ foot― wide bared‐ in walkway that ran the length of the bl∝ k.

While l was in high power,there were at lcast threc men who told me they were awaiting trial for murder,alld

perhaps four whO said they had been sentenced for the crlme,cither to death or to life impHsonment。 ¶bere was also a motley cong10meration of ex― county employees whO

were supposed to be doing time for various nlisdemean‐

ors. I never beueved any of this, however. As in the substation, I was certaln that they were an undercOver policemen working to get evidence against me. Adioining us,宙 th the same deputies in charge,was the iuVenile tank;and ittt behind us,Sib∝ ia or 10Al.SibeHa

was the punishment block for those who had宙

olated ia正

rules.A man nighi be placed in Siberia for anything from

having a nght to smoking at the wrong time.In SibeHrs cells, sometiines containing as many as four men, there were no bunkso Mattresses were thrown on the concrete at night and removed in the moming。 lhe men were not a1lowed to shave, smoke, have vsitors, or leave their

rs n。 。

c01ls.ne only kind of protest they managed to make was to stl近 I

their toilets and量 ood thexIIselves. I suppOse they

felt it was worthwhile making themselves wet and miseト able if they could anger the deputies.We used to hear thenh yeШng wildly every time they nlanaged to pu■ or a coup.

The luVenileわ n,,placed next to a preview edition of

By Reason ol

Insaniry

6)

death row, was always extremely noisy. The kids had good egos. There was continual singrng and jabbering in pig Lltin, and much boasting about physical and sexual exploits. Because of their proximity to high power,_ the youngsters were continually hearing firsthand gossip about ihe worst crimes committed in Los Angeles County and talking with the men either accused of or convicted of

having committed them. "Jokes" about cyanide and the

gas chamber were commonplace. Could this have been good for the kids? On the other hand, the lighthearted horseplay and conversation of the youngsters, most of

whom were facing very limited confnement, was a constant source of irritation to men anticipating long prison sentences or death.

In retrospect, it is diffcult to think of a less happy I was on the tenth floor I thought it was all very brilliant. Starting with the premise that everything was directed against me, I saw that the noise in arrangement; but while

Siberia was designed to set me on edge; the jabber of the youngsters, to tear my heart apart with its emphasis on the joys of youth and the pleasures of the street; and the variety of types in higb power, to play against the facets of my own personality and so draw me into confidences. That I had nothing to confide never entered my mind. Aside from the jokes, there was much talk in bigh power about the gas chamber. Several nights after I ar-

rived, the lit{le man in the cell next to me described the whole process: "They got two chairs, made outa steel with straight backs, an' they strap ya in 'em so ya can't move. Even got your head strapped rigid. Maybe ya die alone, or maybe ya got to die looking at yer crime partner, an' him looking at you. Nice way to get to heaven, huh? An' outside there's maybe forty people lookin' at ya through a window. Maybe some of 'em are well dressed an' you're thinkin' they're gonna go out to lunch after all this. They're gonna go out to lunch! "Then they drop the cyanide pills into the vat of sulphuric acid. Three pills. The gas starts to come up. Youte supposed to watch the man, 'cause if ya breathe in when he tells ya, it's supposed to go fast. Only nobody does. Ya try to hold yer breath so when ya finally inhale, ya start to cough, an'ya cough and cough till ya cough yer lungs up into yer mouth, an' yer coughin' lung tissues and blood until ya choke on the mess, an' all the.time ya know yer dyin' an' there's peopls ryxlshin'ya. Ya want tlose lungs back inside of ya, but ya can't get 'em.".

64

JoIrN

BALT

"Radio that shitt" someone yelled"

But the little man wasn't about to stop. "Finally, an' with a last look at them squares out there, ya pass out. Then a doctor reads some instruments they got strapped to yer chest, an' says yer legally dead, an' they can clear the gas outa the chamber. So they do. But here's the joker. Yer legally dead, but ya ain't medically dead, because maybe yer heart's still flutterin'. So the doc takes a long, thin, steel needle, an' he jabs it through yer chest into yer heart. An' then, an' on-ly then, it's over."

"flow do you know all this?" yelled one of

the

juveniles.

seen it, gunsil. I seen it, an' then I went to lunchl" Everyone laughed. Despite its horror-in fact, because of its horror, I believe that the gas chamber beckons to some men for many years, from the time perhaps that they first hear about it in detail in the juvenile tank of some county jail. The gas chamber is big time. It's the most. Here is the ultimate rejectioa, the final proof of the hatred of society, and without incurring this death of misery how is a man to know that he's really proven how worthy of hatred he actually is, To these men, society is a perpetual enemy, but an enemy to which they know they'll eventually have to bow. How much better to have that final big moment in the gas chamber, that large note on which to make an

"I

exit, than to face the drab anonymity of life in death in perpetual imprisonment. The chamber is horror, but, in its own sick way, it's glory too. They say that the prisoners on death row almost always fight for their lives. Certainly they do, because then the gas chamber isn't a symbol anymore. It has reality. It's just down the corridor. They want no part of it. Unfortunately, their victims are already beyond help. It's before a man commits his crimes that the gas chamber must prove its efficacy. And before a man commits his crimes, it beckons to some of them. I'm certain of it.

The basic custodial force assigned to these special tanks on the tenth floor consisted of six deputies who worked in tlree shifts. Since a man might be held in the county jail for many months before his case was finally completed' these deputies and the prisoners in their charge often got to know each other quite well. I never saw the deputies say or do anything deliberately cruel. To the men in high power, they sometimes tried to hold out hope, and if they

By Reason ol

Insanity

65

could not, they said nothing. They made a special effort

with the juveniles. One of them delivered quite an impressive, if informal, lecture to them once within my hearing. He told them that the basic cause for crime was the desire for unearned money, that they would always be in trouble until they realized that they had to learn trades, get jobs, pack lunch pails, and be satisfied with what they received in return for work. Just as I had had mixed feelings about the detectives who arrested me, I at first regarded these deputies as both enemies and friends. Since they seemed to represent ration-

aliry and law, their very presence gave me a sense of

security. Yet,

I

also believed that they actively wanted to

see me executed by the state-not because of my crime, but because of the stratum of society from which I came;

my execution would give the lie to the idea that only helpless and friendless people died in the gas chamber. Slowly, this dichotomy of feeling evolved into something else. Instead of seeing friendship and hatred in the same person, I began to separate the deputies, and then the prisoners, into two separate camps, those who were for me, and those who were against. At the beginning the camp to which a man was assigned was quite arbitrary. The one with the blond hair was for me, the one with the mustache against. As time went on, however, the order of battle of friends and enemies began to take on definite, although constantly shifting, patterns. Some of these ideas had something to do with reality,

I had other fancies that did not. One night, tbe devil appeared in my cell. I had had some warning of his coming because for days I had seen his features in the faces of the other prisoners. He had an extremely dark face and a small black beard. With him was a blackhaired, white-f aced witch. "Are you going to take me to hell?" I asked the devil. "No, because hell doesn't exist yet. God, in His mercy, has never yet permitted me to have a human soul. But He has given me yours. From you, I will create hell." "I don't understand," I said. "You will soon. I promise you, because it's importad that you anticipate it. From you, I will create hell." Because my mind was incapable of fumly holding on to anything, either reality or fantasy, I was able to roughly relate to the environment around me. One thing only remained constant, the conviction that everyone was out but

to get me.

6

JOIIN BALT

As the days went by, I ate almost nothing, but not wanting the jailers 16 $ink that I disdained their foo4 I would drop it surreptitiously into the toilet. Several times they gave me cellmates, but evidently no one could stand me, because after a few days I would be left alone again. The part of the day that I came to dread most was the evening shakedown. At seven o'clock bells would start ringng. The doors would crash open, and seven or eight deputies would tear through the block, scattering bedding and possessions as they methodically searched each cell. Then we would strip to the skin, spread our cheeks, Iift our dicks, and so on. And several times a day the deputy at the front of the block would call out, "Balt with a cup of water." My cell door would open, and I would shuffie down to the man, who would give me two capsules of Librium,

which I was required to swallow in his presence.

My mother visited me on the second day after I was brought to the county jail. The visitors' screen was on one side of the attorney room, so that as I was escorted across the room I got a clear view of her sitting there waiting to talk to me. In a gray cloth coat, with uncombed hair, she looked very old. I tried to call out to her, but the deputy kept me moving until I was in position opposite her, behind the heavy double wire mesh that made it almost impossible for us to see one another. All through our talk she periodically clutched at the wire as if she would tear it if she could. "IIow could God let you do anything like that?"

away

asked-

"I

she

failed you, Mom. You worked so hard to bring me

up rigbt and give me a good education, and I

failed

you,"

"You're still my son. I love you. I'll stand by you no matter what happens. If you don't have another friend in the world, you'll always have me." "I know that, Mom. But I feel so sorry for you." "Mrs. Hopkins told me tiat they said a prayer for you in their church. Your aunt Eleanor went to your grandmother's grave to pray. And I've been to the synagogue to ask God for help." "God doesn't care about rne." "Don't say that, John. It's wrong. I believe in Him. He'll listen." There was a moment of silence, which my mother

By Reason ol Insanity 67 broke. "Eric is going to hy and get another lawyer for you,"

"Don't say anything here," bugged," "Bugged?"

I

whispered. "Everything'r

"Everything you say is being taken down on tape recorders."

The trusty called out to me. "Okay, you, Balt. Your

t:me's up. Come on." I stood up. "Good-bye, Mom," "I love you," she said. Barely able to control my trembling

I

was escorted back

to high power, searchedn and allowed to return to my cell. As I was passing number four, the colored inmate who had just been sentenced to life imprisonment called out to me, "I left a Bible on your bunk. Read it, man. It'll do you good."

After my cell door slammed shut behind me, I looked down at the Bible. It was open to Deuteronomy 28, that horrendous catalogue of curses with which the Lord tbreatens those who break His commandments. I read: "Cursed shalt thou be when thou comest in, and cursed shalt thou be when thou goest out," on through, "And thy carcase shall be meat unto all fowls of the air, and unto

the beasts of the earth, and no man shall fray them away," and "Thy sons and thy daughters shall be given unto another people, and thine eyes shall look, and fail with longing for them all the day long: and there shall be no might in thine hand. . . . In the porning thou shalt say,

it were even! and at even thou shalt say, Would God it were morning! for the fear of thine heart wherevrith thou shalt fear, and for the sight of thine eyes Would God

which thou shalt see."

When Eric Krug came to visit, I saw him in the attorney room proper, where we could sit face to face without the interference of a wire screen between us. Our conference seemed to me, however, to be far from private. As many €ts twelve prisoners might be seated on one side of the long table, with twelve attorneys on the other. Because I could overhear their conversations, I assumed, and prob. ably correctly, that they could overhear ours. Moreover, directly opposite the prisoners was a huge mirror. Aside from the fact that my reflected image frightened me, for my eyes seemed unusually bright and my face terribly angular, I was certain that my lips were being read in the

.

68

JoHN BALT

glass.

I

was also certain that under the table was a

recording machine. Eric patiently tried to convince me that I was wrong, that no one was eavesdropping on us. When he failed in this, he tried another tack. "Even if they do record what we say to each other, there's no way they can use it. Conversations between a lawyer and his client are privileged. That means that they can't be used as evidence in court." "They'll find a way to use it." "IJse what? What do you think you're telling me that's so important?"

"Whafs the difference? I'm resigned to it, Eric. I know they're going to execute me. You see, the police want to keep up capital punishment. But everybody says only a poor man without friends can go to the gas chamber. Well, since I come from a pretty good background, if they can execute me, it'll prove that the whole system is fair. Thafs why they've got so many undercover policemen assigned to my case." "Yes, I see what you mean," he said. "My mother said something about another lawyer." "That's rigbt. But it's not settled yet. He's very expen-

sive."

"IIow expensive?" "Let us worry about tlat. His name is Ross Burnett.

You've heard of him, haven't you?" "Ifs familiar. I don't know." "He's about the best there is, and he's perfect for you. Ife's a tremendous battler, dominates the courtroom, and has a great reputation," "But will he understand this case?" . "John, let us worry about it will you?" "Did you bring my insurance policies?"

"Al

has them. He's taking care

of all your personal

paPers."

"You've got to get those policies for me. I've got to

change the beneficiaries." "With Claire deceased,

Bob and Stan are the benefici-

aries.t'

'"Ihafs okay. They should get most of it, but I've got If I don't fix

to make some provision for my mother, too. those policies, she won't have anything." "John, those are life insurance policies." "And I'm going to die." "We're all going to die."

I

stared at him, and suddenly

I

thought

I

understood.

By Reason ol Insanity 69 "You're working with Al, aren't you. You're keeping those policies back so that after I'm gone you and he can split the proceeds."

"I just told you that the children are the beneficiaries. Try to understand."

"I understand. I understand too well." "John, calm down and listen to me. I think you've been sick for months. But try to look ahead. Youte going to have a good life, a better life than you ever dreamed possible." "Where? In another world?"

"In this world."

I

raised my voice.

"I

don't trust you.

I

don't trust you

at all. You've always been in love with Claire, and you want to see me die." "In love with Claire? She was my friend, just like you. It was always the two of you. You were the godparents of my children. Don't you remember that?" "You always thought she was real good-looking, didn't you? Well, it won't work, Eric. It won't work!" I got to my feet and rushed toward the front of the

attorney room. Immediately, there were four deputies

around me. "What's the matter?" asked the largest one. I pointed to Eric. "Get him out of here."

"I

rhink we'd better get you out of here." And they

proceeded to do so.

On my way out of the attorney room,

I

noticed a

light-haired, very fair-skinned young woman in her early thirties. I knew immediately that there was sometbjng very specia"l about her, but I was unable for the moment to determine what. She looked at me quizzically and a smile seemed to play at the corner of her lips. It wasn't until I was in my cell again that I realized that this young woman was Claire. I yelled that I wanted to see her, and shook the bars until I could yell no more; then, mercifirlly, the image and the conviction faded.

That afternoon, the telecommunicator swung into

ac-

tion.

For those who are uninitiated, a telecommunicator. is a communications device that works on radio waves actuated not by sound but by electrical impulses produced within the brain by the process of thought. Using this instrument, one person is able to establish direct contact with the mind of another. Concentration is a very important fac-

tor, and the amount of effort involved in ls6eining in

70 contact

JoHN BALT

is directly

proportional

to the distance between

the cosrmunicants.

The voice on the telecommunicator was feeble but very

articulate.

It

identified i6elf as

a doctor whose books I

had read. "I am seated in my study in my apartment near the East River, a very old man, waiting to die. The energy required to reach you over three thousand miles is so very great that it will undoubtedly hasten my death, but what I

am to tell you

is so important that I am willing to

do

whatever is necessary, About one thing, however, I must caution you. I cannot be in contact with you over a long period during any one time because I must recharge my supplies of energy. Therefore, I will talk to you for a while, sign off, and then return again in a few hours, or whenever I feel I am able to. Do you understand?"

"Yes,"

I

thought, moving my lips silently. "And

very grateful."

I

am

'"Ihere's no need to be grateful. When you have full knowledge of what is involved, you will understand that it is my duty as a human being to help you. First of all, you must understand who your enemies are. You entered psychoanalysis about a year before the tragedy occurred. Is that correct?" "Yes, sir," I projected. "And your wife was still in analysis at this time?" 'Yes. sir." "Very well. First, I will give you a generalization that I have found valuable: Depressed people of uncertain income should not undergo psychoanalysis. The possibility of generating violent action either against themselves or their loved ones is so great that the risk is not worthwhile. I have been involved in twelve such cases where I was called on to testify in court. In each case the act of violence was so unspeakably horrible that society simply liquidated the offender."

"Let me write that down," lawyer."

I

thought.

"I'll

give

it to my

"All right," he replied. After finding a pencil stub and a scrap of paper, I asked him to repeat his dictum. He did so, and I copied it. He then continued:

"It doesn't

always happen, and perhaps in

your case it would not have if your psychoanalyst, Dr.

Edward Grossler, had not set out deliberately to destroy you." "Destroy me? But why should he want to do that?" "There are many subsidiary motives and one main one,

By Reason ol Insanity 7l But we are not ready to discuss it yet. And by the way Dr. Grossler was not alone in the plot. He had help. There was your internist, Phil Myerly, and the drug doctor who treated you at the end, Dr. David Blutman, a tbreesome of which Los Angeles should not be proud, a triumvirate cold-bloodedly bringing about your ruin." "Is there anything I can do?" I projected. "Only one thing. You must kill yourself, and you must do it in such a way that your brain dies fust." "Why must my brain die first?" His voice started to fade. "I am getting weaker. I will have to rest soon. Will you take your own life?" "Yes. but I don't know how." "It is very difficult where you are, but you must do it. I will come back later. I must go now." "Please, please don't leave me," I begged. "I must go now." His voice was barely audible. "I will try to come back later." When they served evening chow, I wouldn't take any because I didn't want to do anything that might possibly

interfere with the old doctor's reaching me from New York. I was sorry that he was so old and feeble, but I was

certain that he would keep his promise to help me. I knew that there was a good chance that I would succeed in dying that night. Overhead I heard a plane pass in the

night sky above the jailhouse. Looking up,

I

knew instinc-

tively that it was a BOAC plane heading for Europe,

and

it recalled a BOAC flight I had taken two years before on my way to England to produce a sports show. Then I thought that before I died I wanted to have some more sensations. In my hand was a lighted cigarette. I put the burning tip to the bicep of my left arm and pressed. The sensation was almost pleasurable. Suddenly I felt eyes on the back of my head and wheeled around. The little colored inmate was watching me. Guiltily, I lifted the cigarette and turned away from him. AJter a long moment, I heard him walk away from the cell door. I decided to be more careful. I lay down on the bunk. Furtively, I lifted my shirttails and, covering myself with a blanket, I burned myself about two dozen times in the fleshy area between my rib cage and hip bone.

Just before lights out, the doctor returned on

the

telecommunicator. "I'm sorry to be so late, but life is going out of me very fast. I wasn't certain I'd be able to come at all. Do you notice that my voice is weaker?"

"Yes," I projected.

72

JonN

BALT

"You may be able to reduce the difficulty by changing your position. Turn slowly over onto your left side so that your right ear is pointed directly upward." I did as instructed. "Hold your head perfectly still," he said. "How do I sound now?"

"Much better." "Good. Now, the problem of killing yourself. Strangulation is very good because your brain, starved for oxygen, will die before the rest of vou. At the front of vour bunk is your towel. Reach down and get it. Good. Now place the tip of it in your mouth and swallow it. If you get it far enough down, a convulsive action will start which will ehoke you. All right. Do it." Although I tried to follow the directions, the moment I got the cloth down below the uvula, I gagged and coughed so violently that the towel was expelled. Under the prodding of the telecommunicator, however, I tried again and again. Finally, the old man told me to stop. "All right. I'm afraid that procedure isn't feasible. At

least not tonight. You can attempt it again at another time. Meanwhile, we'll try something else. By the way, there are other people trying now to reach you on the telecommunicator. Enemies. In order to forestall them, you must move in a very precise manner. Listen to me carefully. A1l at once, without touching your bunk, spring up so that you are facing your cell door. Contract all your muscles first. There must be no hesitation. Do it!" I tried to do as instructed, but fell back on the bunk. "No. You must try it again," said the telecommunicator.

Once more I sprang up, and this time I was able to stay on my feet. The telecommunicator continued: "Now. vou will nG. tice that the toilet is just behind you. If you stand on the cross-member of the bars and fatl stffiy backwards, you will strike the edge of the toilet with -the base of 'your skull. This will kill you instantly and in the most desirable manner for our purposes. Are you ready?" ttYes.t'

I climbed onto the horizontal bar on the cell door. "You will have to remain perfectly rigid," said the telecommunicator. *I will." "Now, falll" As I released my hold on the vertical bars, I fell

By Reason ol

Insanity

73

I was unable to maintain complete rigidity missed the edge of the toilet. I repeated the operation several times, with si,milar results, All I susceeded in doing was getting a painful bang on the back of the head, but I didn't even lose consciousness. Finally, exhausted and in pain, I went back to my bunk and lay backward, but because

down. The doctor was terribly disappointed. "I am deeply sorry," he said. "If you do not succeed in killing yourself you are faced with a hideous fate."

"What is it?" "I am too weak to tell you now, but somehow you must be warned. It is important that you understand what is to happen. Something must be done."

He was gone, and although

I

concentrated with every

of energy I could muster, I could not bring him back. For a number of days I continued my efforts at ounce

self-destruction as outlined on the telecommunicator but without any result except pain and discomfort. Then one night the telecommunicator came on agai_n with a rush.

The voice was a new one. Husky and vicious, it projected itself with a great deal of energy. It identified itself as belonging to a deputy sergeant whom I had seen pass the

cell block many times. Its name was Sanders. "I'm right upstairs here, Balt, that's why my voice is so loud. Not like that old fart's. And by the way, I can see right down into your cell. Right through the ceiling. I read some of your stuff, Balt. You stinkl I don't know why Claire ever married you. You're no manl There's only one

thing worthwhile about you, and that's your f1nin, youf great brain. I don't mean 'cause you think good. You

think rotten, like everything else you do. It's because it's so big! Maybe you felt funny in your head the last couple of nights, did you?" "Yes," I projected. I remembered the feeling I had had that someone was watching my head through the window with binoculars. "Well, the doc here in the jail hospital, Doc Pearson, has

been doing some special long-range

brrin fluoroscopes. He

tells me you got one of the biggest brains he ever

saw.

Great vast areas that ain't never been used yet. Not even a crease on 'em. Thafs why he agreed to go along with

the plan."

"What plan?"

It goes like this. One night you're going to be brought up to the prison hospital. Everyone's going to be cleared out except some "Your psychoanalyst, Dr. Grossler's plan.

74

JoHN BALT

special guests plus their girlfriends and wives.

Ifs

goiog to

be a party. There'll be special sandwiches, Jewish delicatessen sandwiches, the kind you like. We may even let you eat one if you're good. There's going to be dancing, and maybe even some loving. We'll let you watch that. And of course you'll see some of your old buddies there. Dr. Grossler, who's in charge of the whole thing, and Dr.

Myerly, and the drug doctor, Dr. Blutman, and then there's a great surgeoD, the best in the country, especially imported for this job by Dr. Grossler. Then after everybody's eaten and happy, we're going to rip off yow clothes and spread-eagle you on the operating table. You're going to notice a bunch of big glass jars all over the room with special solutions in them." "What are they for?' I projected.

He laughed. "Don't rush me. I'm getting to it, Balt. Now, get the picture. You're strapped naked on the table, with all them doctors and guests and their women watching. Then this special surgeon's gonna come along with a great big ax, and he's going to bring it down on yow chest, splitting it wide open *ith one blow. Only, and this is the cream in the coffee, you ain't going to 6i". yqu nin't even going to pass out because we got an electric shock machine under the table. and at the exact moment the ax hits, the shock goes off. That keeps you alive and conscious."

"But don't you want me to die?" "No, Balt, no. That's the whole idea. You ain't never going to die. That's the whole idea. Now with you laid all open like you are, the surgeon's going to reach inside of you and take out all of your organs, one by one. Your heart's first. He just tears it out, and puts it in one of them jars, Only he attaches a copper wire from your heart tb your brain, so you can keep feeling the pain of it. Then they do that to your spleen and your liver and your stomach and your bladder, each one in its own jar, and each one with a copper wire back to your brain. And of course you're watching all this. All them organs of yours in the glass jars. By the way, we're also cutting oft all your

fingers, your toes, your nose, your ears, and your lips, and all us deputies here are gonna get them as souvenirs. And the great thing is you're not dead. You're watching it all,

and feeling

Beautiful."

it,

and everything is done

by the

surgeon.

"You cail'tl" "They haven't even started, Balt. You know who

gets

By Reason of

Insanity

75

your penis? Yow internist, Phil Myerly. He says it's a very good one, and his ain't so hot, so he's gonna take yours instead, and he'll enjoy it, too. Now, here's the best part. They're gonna op€n your skull and take su1 fts hnin, with the eyes still attached to it, and put it in a special acid solution. It's going to hurt and hurt, but you won't pass out. And remember, you're still feeling the pain from all them organs attached to your brain with the copper wires. You can't scream with no mouth. but we'll be able to read the pain in your eyes, and we're gonna laugh at you. That great brain feeling nothing but pain and pain.

Thafs the end of the party as far as we laymen are concerned. We've had it. But here's where Dr. Grossler takes over.

"He lets your brain soak up all the pain it can absorb, then he treats it with electricity and special chemicals so that all the pain of the whole brain is captured in each cell. Then he adds mental pain to the physical. Blinding bright colors and shrieking noises are captured in each cell. And images-people engaged in sexual intercourse, people skiing, people playing golf. Things you'll never do. But the pictures of them will be captured in the cells to add to the torture. Then Dr. Grossler, using a very special electronic razor, is gonna slice the brain up cell by cell. And I'll tell you sogething else. Those brain cells are immefisl. They're never going to die. Even when this world comes to an end billions of years from now, your brain in a million pieces will still go on feeling pein, because Dr. Grossler has that figured out, too. Rockets are going to shoot capsules with yow brain cells in tlem into space, and they're going to float there forever and ever, feeling pein, pain, pain." "You can't do it," I screamed silently. "You can't!" "Oh, we're going to do it all right, because we hate youl We hate you!"

"That's what he meant, wasn't it? The devil when he spoke about hell."

"That's right. You're going to be in hell for the eltire universe. Millions of your brain cells, all knowing they're John Balt and that their torture will go on forever." I believed every word he said. "IVhen's it going to

happen?'I

asked.

"Oh, it could be any night."

"Tell me when!"

"Why? It's more fun letting you guess. See you at the I gotta go home now to my wife and kid."

cut-up party, Balt.

76

JoHN BALT

"Wait. Come back.' "What for?' "I want to talk about it. You gotta help me." 'ol'm through talking." As soon as the telecommunicator shut oft,

I

realized

that I was in a cold sweat. I envisioned a metal capsule on the jagged promontory of an airless planet in the depths of

spaie, and inside, the diabolically tortured cells of my biain. Then I felt that long-range X-rays were again probing my head. I got up and tried to hide in the corner of my cell. A deputy came by with a flashligbt. "Get back to bed, Balt," he ordered.

I stared at the flashlight, trembling, and then I got back into the bunk, my head facing the rear away from tle

rvindow and the X-rays.

"The other way, with your head forward, Balt. You

know better than that." "I can't. They're after my brain."

"They're what?" "They want my brain." "Just turn around the right way and go to sleep."

"Don't you understand?" "Go to sleep." His voice had become insistent now, so I obeyed. As I Iay down I felt the X-rays again. I covered my head with a blanket. This protected rne from the rays, but there was no way

I

could allay my fears of the cut-up party. Night

after night

I

waited

for

them

to

come and take me

upstairs to the hospital.

During this period I was still maintaining some connection with reality, and in lucid moments was able to converse with the other inmates, which I did, although I thought they were policemen. The little colored man was trying to convert me to Christianity. "It's too late," I told him, "ft's never too late." "But my life is over."

"The moment you accept Jesus your sins will be washed away."

"I

have too many sins for them to be washed away." "They will be washed away, and you will be reborn."

"Reborn?"

"As pure

as a babe."

"No. The time for me to have become religious

before. When it would have helped me."

was

By Reason ol

Insanity

77

'Think about the next world." "I can't. Everything I care about is over for me," "Thafs the trouble with you Jews," he said. "You think too much about the presenl About making money and filling your stomachs and putting goods in your houses. You were a rich man once, weren't you?'

"I was never rich. I made a lot of money, but I always spent it. Not on bad things, but on things I thought were good for my family. Mostly on medical help. I spent a lot of money on doctors." "And look where you are." He was right, and I tried to understand why this had happened to me. "I blasphemed against Go{" I said. "When?" "Tb.ree times I remember denying my God. Once in New York, I told someone that I hated being a Jew. It seemed that Jews only suffered. Then, when I was on the psychoanalyst's couch I said that I didn't like being a Jew. And once, just before this happened, I cursed God for giving me such a strong body because I knew that I didn't have control of it." "Accept Jesus and you

will know the kingdom of

heaven."

"I can't. I'm going to hell." "Accept Jesus and avoid it." "I can't," I said softly. "I can't." Just then the deputy called to the colored man and told him to return to his cell. "Read the Bible," he said and disappeared down the freeway.

I sat down on the concrete floor and put my head between my knees. I tried fe rhink about religion, but sustained thought was impossible. It would dissolve into a ln6lange of voices, images, chills, and sweats. But through it all, I managed to reach certain conclusions. I believed then that God was still undecided about abandoning me. I believed then that if I accepted Jesus it would coostitute

the final break. I believed tbat onlv the God of mv of my ancestors could- save me from Di. Grossler's hell. And I saw God very much as a child would see Him-a great Old Man moving somewhere childhood and

through space, sometimes closer, sometirnes further away I had no doubt that God could help me to overcome Dr. Grossler, but only if I proved worthy of that help. I looked at the Bible buried under the newspaper and decided that perhaps it was not my enemy after

from me.

JOHN BALT

78

it and put it under the blaoket at would lay my head down. So, each nigbt for several weeks I would rest my head on the Scriptures. When dawn would come without the cut-up party having taken place, I would believe that the Bible had brought all. I.slowly unwrapped the spot where

I

God closer to me, and so had forestalled Dr. Grossler.

Thus, with my mind operating on the most primitive level possible, religious beliefs, buried so deeply within my unconscious that I had not even been aware of their existence, came to the surface to provide me with my only hope and solace.

In my heart, however, during those weeks, I never really believed that God would see me through to the end. I was certain that rny blasphemy iad been the deciding factor in allowing the tragic act of violence to occur, and

that, because of this blasphemy, God in the final analysis would abandon me to the devils. It was to be many

months before I could understqnd what this religious experience and the others I was to have later in jail actually meant. When I did understand, I came to realize that their meaning was profoundly, and perhaps universally, significant. Because of my belief in the ultimate victory of Dr. Grossler, I spent a part of each day trying to destroy my brain cells so that there would be fewer of them on which he and his colleagues could imprint their indelible pattern of pain. My method was to place lighted cigarettes as far up my nose as possible and inhale deeply in the belief that the tobacco smoke would destrov the brain tissue within my skull.

My last ties with reality in

10,4'2 were broken

on

a

weekend. Saturday morning started oft quite well. I had slept on the Bible and woke up feeling refreshed and at peace. Altbough I slobbered oatmeal mush all over my bunk, I managed to get down some breakfast. Saturday was the weekly bath day of 1042, and fifteen minutes later the deputy called out, "Break it down for showers." This meant that you were supposed to fold all your blankets on your bnnk and place your belongings in

neat rows on the floor. While you were in the shower room, the deputies would inspect the cells for contraband. On previous Saturdays I had noticed that the cells of the other inmates were much more neatly arxanged than my own, and I put this down to the fact that since they were policemen they had a semimilitary orientation. This week I determined that I would demonstrate that I,

By Reason of

Insanity

79

I started to do so, however, the telecommunicator switched on. The voice, a new one, never identified itself, but it seemed to be a friend and spoke to me in a very confidential manner. In the following months this voice, which I trusted imFlicifln was too, could comply with orders. As

to get me into more trouble than any of the others. It said, "You must not go to the shower this morning." "Why not?" I projected back. "You must not go to the shower. They will begin their cut-up party there this morning."

"But I need a shower. I'm dirty." The friendly voice replied, "If you go to the shower, you will be cut up there, and your brain taken up to the

hospital. You must not got"

By the time the cell doors slid open for the trek to the shower room I was ready to fight for my right to remain behind. This didn't turn out to be necessary. After some argument the deputy in charge decided that if I wanted to

be dirty he would allow me the privilege. While

alone in the cell block, down on the bunk.

I started

I

was

to feel very giddy and lay

I have no recollection of where the rest of the day or the early evening went, but sometime after lights out I once more became aware of my surroundings. Everything

was very quiet. I was having trouble breathing, and the giddiness of the morning was much more pronouncedSuddenly I knew why all this was happening. I remembered distinctly that Dr. Grossler, Dr. Myerly, and Dr. Blutman had been outside my cell earlier in the evening. Because they knew that I needed desperately to sleep, they had discussed the merits of various kinds of pills for the purpose. Doctors Myerly and Blutman had wanted a pill that was "reversible," that is, if I reacted badly to it, an antidote could be administered that would counteract its effects. Dr. Grossler, my psychoanalyst, however, had wanted a very special and very powerful pill which once inside the body formed a potent anaesthetic gas. The

difficutty was that

in certain

patients the action

of the

Dr. Grossler had won the argument, and had deposited the pill in my

gas was unpredictable and could cause death.

ddnking cup, whereupon Myerly and Blutman had strolled down the fieeway talking. Dr. Grossler had taken advantage of their absence to drop eleven more of the lethal pills into my cup. He had then ordered me to drink, and powerless to disobey him, I had done so. Now a dozen of the pills were dissolving inside me, which was why I was

80

JoHN aALT

feeling io ill. It was only a matter of time before I would explode like an overfilled balloon, splattering pieces of myself all over the cell and leaving only my brain intact. When I started to yell for help, the night deputy, a tall personable fellow who never got excited, came down to see what the trouble was. "What is it this time, Balt?'

"I've been gassed." "You've been what?"

"I've been gassed. They gave me pills, and they're dissolving inside of me, and it's only a matter of t:me until I blow up."

"I see. Okay, Balt, you're keeping everyone else up, so let's mate a decision. What do you want us to do about it? Do you want to go up to the hospital?' Since I believed that the hospital on the fourteenth floor was one of the possible sites of my dismemberment, the thougbt of going there only increased my panic, and I said no.

"Then iust.shut your mouth and go back to your bunk,"

the deputy said quietly. "These other men want to

get

some rest."

When he turned and went back to his station at the front of the cell block, I grabbed the bars and called after him, "Wait, wait!" "Go to sleep, you punk!" someone yelled.

1 lselized that

I

was annoying the other men

to

no

purpose since there was absolutely nothing anyone could do anyway to halt the action of the pills. I decided to wait quietly for death. As the night wore on I began to smell the gas escaping through the pores of my skin. It smelled like chlorine and sulfur. By the time the sky outside the little barred window across the freeway turned from black to gray, the atmosphere inside my cell was heavy with the lethal vapor. It was Sunday, and despite the almost complete estrangement from the outside world, Sunday comes off as a special day within the old county jail. It's made special by

the thick newspapers with their brightly colored comicstrip coverings, and by the late-afternoon meal usually consisting of a "juke ball" and mashed potatoes. The juke ball-ground meat, huge amounts of meal and pepper, rubberlike in consistency and drowned in "gravy"-would be disdained by many dogs "on the streets," but is looked forward to eagerly in the jailhouse on the sabbath. Above all, Sunday is made special by the church services.

By Reason of

Insanity

81

Except for Catholics, prisoners do not go to church; the church comes to them in the form of a strolling troupe made up of an accordionist, a couple of preachers, and two or three hymn singers. The services are nondenominational, with strong emphasis on the revivalist message, "Come forward and be saved." From quite early in ihe morning almost until the evening meal you can hear the accordion and the hymn-singing as the troupe moves from cell block to cell block. A crisis in my fight for life against Dr. Grossler's gas came as the troupe reached 10A2;bigh power.

After they passed out the hymn books, the singing started with "He walks with me, and He talks with me,

qd

He holds me by the hand," followed by .,Onward Christian Soldiers." These fine old hymns, altiough rendered with warmth and vigor, seemed especially dlsigned to mock me, because I had been abandoned bv God to Dr. Grossler.

The sermon was delivered with great sincerity by a man who had evidently not been a preaiher aU his iife. ..Three Igars ago," he began, "I got the call and accepted Jesus Christ. .. ." Tlg eas was expanding with increasing rapidity inside me. I lay on my back waiting to explode. -

.

': ...-.

oecrded

I

to

I gave up my former life. I in a way that would be pleasing to God.

gave up drinking. l-tve

The telecommunicator started. The friendly voice had a

of great importance for me. God had spoken to my mother, who had been praying for me, and had told her of my plight, At His instructions she had called the message_

Los

An_geles General Hospital. God was going to demonstrate His power and mercy. A true miraile was about to take place. " .. .__And I- say to all of you-all of you have done

wrong. You will pay your debt to man, but you must also maKe your peace with God. . , ." The friendly voice told me that the only way my life and brain could be saved was to get into the ..freeze iank"

atlos

Angeles General Hospital.

bnty in this unique medi-

cal facility could my maladj, be coriected. Extremelv low temperatures over a period of hours would contrait the gases within my body, and my right foot, toward which the gases would be drawn, would freeze. An incision would then be made in my big toe from which the gas

would escape.

82 " ...

JoHN BALT

You never know when it will be too late. You must accept Jesus Christ now. Who will come forward and be saved?" I asked the friendly voice how I could possibly reach L. A. General from where I was. He replied that I was to get up to the hospital on the fourteenth floor and there eiplain my plight and its solution to the doctor in charge.

Hd emphasihd the urgency of the situation. Tbere

was

very little time left. They were singing "That Old Rugged Cross," when I jumped up from my cot and began to yell. Confused

iUorit exaitty what it was I was supposed to say, I yelled, "Get me to the freeze tank. You've got to get me to the freeze tank!" No one paid any attention. I kept yelling about the freeze tank, and they kept singing "That Old Rugged Cross." More and more desperate,- I made a

clanging racket by yanking the bars on the cell door back and foitfr. "The ireeze tank! The freeze tank!" Now the preacher, taking notice, asked the other men what was inong with me- They told him that I was always pulling stunta like that and not to pay any attention' Someone yelled that I should have more respect for religion They itarted another hymn, but I had no intention of giving up; I threw myself against the cell door with increasing violence,

"I'm dying," I

screamed.

"Then die," someone yelled. My cell door slid open, and the deputy called, "Come on out, Balt." Extremely dizzy, I advanced down the freeway toward the front of the block where the man was waiting with three other officers whom I recognized as an escort. Because I had been so afraid of the hospital, this escort had on several occasions been obliged to take me there by force, sometimes pinioning my arms behind me, sometimes strapping me to a stretcher on wheels. This time, however, I was only too happy for an opportunity to go to the fourteenth floor. As we went, the friendly voice kept reminding me that the moment of the explosion was near. I would have to hurry. The physician on duty that afternoon was a small Mexican. When he failed to understand my desperate remonstrances about being gassed, I blamed it on the language problem and kept repeating myself louder and more insis. tently.

"I've

been gassed.

I'm going to blow up."

By Reason ol

Insanity

g3

"Who gassed you?"

I told him

about the three doctors.

"Who told you all this?" "It came on the telecommunicator. I got the transmission in my cell." "I see." He pointed to a bench on which several other inmates were waiting to see bim. "Please sit over there for

a few minutes." I obeyed him, but I kept wondering why he was being either so stupid or cruel. The friendly voice kept warning me that the delay would be fatal, that I should tell the

to telephone Department 4D at L. A. General immediately. But every time I tried to get up, a deputy made me sit down again, Finally the doCtor g-ave me his attention again. After I repeated my story, I lold bjm to call Department 4D. "What is Department 4D?" "I've been telling you. It's at L. A. General. If vou'd just make a phone call, the people there'll explain it all to you. Please call. There's no time to lose." The doctor nodded. For a few moments I believed that he was going to do as I asked, so when he gave me some medicine I swallowed it without question. When the doctor and the deputies moved out of earshot to talk, I thought they were making plans for my immediate transfer to the Los Angeles General Hospital freeze tank. Finally the deputies led me out into the hallway. We had gone only a few yards. however, wheo *e turnld off into what looked like a very large storeroom. The deputy pointed out several wooden boxlike structures, each about eight feet cubed, with doors on the front of them, and told me to go into one of them. I did so and saw that the only jailhouse doctor

light coming into the box was through the open door.

There was no cot or mattress. In the center of the floor was a hole about a foot in diameter, and under it a pot of black iron designed, I suppose, to receive the wastes of excretion. A deputy asked me if I wanted to be confined in one of these boxes. Looking back, I am certain that they had no intention of so confining me (though I must also wonder why those boxes existed at all) but were hoping that the threat would serve to calm me down. At that moment the dark closed-in box had some appeal to me, and if the trip to L. A. General had not seemed so urgent, I might have asked to be allowed to stay there. As it was, I told them that we'd better get going. Out in the

84 hallway,

JoHN BALT

I

asked

the deputies whether the

ambulance

would be downstairs waiting for us. "Tbere's no ambulance. You're going back to your cell." I stopped short. "I have to get to the freeze tank. The doctor said so," "The doctor said you're going back to your cell." I shouted, "No," and turned to rush back to the doctor. Immediately, two of the deputies had viselike grips on my arms. Although I was completely immobilized, uoable even to kick, they were very skillful in not hurting me. I struggled as hard as I could. One of them said, "He's like an eel." But I could still yell, and I did. "Tbe freeze tankl I've got no get to the freeze tank!" At last, despite all their restraint, the deputies had had enough of me. One of them said, "You want to go to the freeze tank? Okay, how's the ding tank instead?" At the time I didn't know what the ding tank (the

psychiatric tank) was, but I knew I didn't want to go there. "No. the freeze tank!" "You're going to the ding tank." Instead of taking the turn that would have brought us to the elevator, they forced me straight ahead. I shouted and screemed and somehow found the strength to try even them.

"Balt, we don't want to break your arm."

I didn't care what they did. I just wanted to get free of

them. But all my struggles were useless. The advance

toward the ding tank was inexorable, Before we reached it, however, I passed out. When I came to, I didn't believe that I was in a cell, although I found out later that I was. Instead, I thought I was in some sort of amphitheater. All around me, on various levels, it seemed to me that sodomy was being committed. I thought I saw niale bodies performing the act and was certain that I heard the odd squishing sound that I believed would accompany it. I also felt that those in the large crowd who weren't engaged in sodomy were watching me expectantly. My body felt as if it were whirling around on a huge, incredibly fast-turning spit. They were waiting for me to fly apart and splatter in a million pieces on the wall. The gas from the pills administered by Dr. Grossler was about to explode. Nothing could save me. Something odd also sticks in my mind. During this apogee of torture, which for all I know might have lasted for days, I had the feeling that a man in a

By Reason of

Insanity

85

black suit was standing behind me, watching me. I would ask this man for help, but he would just stand there for a while and then disappear. Then Eric's voice came over the telecommunicator. It was, I thought, only seconds before the end. "How do you like it, John?" "Eric, help me!" "Help you? I hate your gutsl" "Why?"

"I've always hated you," said Eric's voice.

,.Always

acting superior to other people."

"I

never did." "You always did, you son-of-a-bitch. you never deserved Claire. But now I'm finally going to get even. you,re going bl9* apart. Every.thing except your brain. I'm gettinE 9 that."

"I thought it was Dr. Grossler who wanted it." "I've taken over from Dr, Grossler. He's served his purpose. I'll let him have a few of your brain cells, but

that's about a11." "God help me!"

I cried out. For a moment, silence, then the squishing

sounds of sodomy again. Eric laughed. "Forget it," he said. "God can't help you here."

4 It was often said during Governor Brown's unsuccessful attempts to modify California's laws on capital punishment_that only the poor and friendless went to ihe gas chamber. Does one man live and another die for the same offense? Are men in fact as in theory equal before the law? Those on both sides of the question might do well to consider the action taken on my behalf while I myself was helpless in the county jail. First there was Eric Krug who, despite the agonized inventions of my mind, was no demon. His part in the nightmare started in a Las Vegas hotel where he was

86

JoHN BALT

attending a Bar Association convention. At the first plenary session a bellhop mounted the platform. "Here it comes," Eric said to the man next to him. "Some joker's going to [4vs himself paged to show what a big guy he is." "Eric Krug. Is Eric Krug here?" His companion smiled. "Oh, Eric." "It must be on the level," Eric said as he stood up. 'Yeah, sure," replied his companion.

At the front of the auditorium the

bellhop told Eric

that his wife wanted him back in their room immediately. When he opened the door he saw that Beth was pale and shaken.

"John just killed Claire," were the first words she said to him.

Eric was stunned. "Are you sure?" came over the newswire. Bill Prossman called me from NBC."

"It "I

can't believe it."

"It's true, Eric." They remained staring at each other, neither one of them able to say anotler word until the phone rang and Eric picked it up. It was AI, my father-in-law, and after his greeting there was nothing but silence. Eric knew that Al could not find the way to describe what had happened.

"We heard about it, Al," he said. "I can't begin to tell you how we feel." "I want you to do all you can for John," said Al. Eric wasn't sure he had heard correctlv. He asked Al to repeat himself. "I hate the son-of-a-bitch for what he's done. We've lost Claire; but I don't think he was responsible. Help him. Claire was . . . " and Al's voice cracked. "I'll get there as soon as I can," Eric assured him.

Within an hour he and Beth, leaving their

luggage

behind them, were airborne for Los Angeles. During-the flight he recalled his last meeting with me, and told-Beth

it. "John came up to the office-I guess it was about eight weeks ago. We went out to -Fierro's for

about

lunch."

"The steak place?"

Yes. He wouldu't have anything."

a cocktail and he didn't eat

"You mean he didn't order?" "Oh, yes, he ordered, but he didn't do anything but pick

By Reason ol

Insanity

g7

at his food for a minute or two. He was very upset. He 9ai{ lela been in psychoanalysis for almost a year, and it

hadn't been a good experience." "You never said anything about this to me, Eric.,' fi_gured it was private. Then this is the funny part. In "I ^ there were facl a lbt of funny parts now ttrat i rirint ot it. His voice was kind of high-pitched, and a couple of times I wondered whether there were tears in his eves. He asked me if I thought he should go to law school and become a lawyer." , "A tawyer?" Beth was surprised. ..Where did this come from?" "I don't know. I thought to myself that he was having trouble in the television business and was seriouslv thinkl ing about a change. I played it straight and save him Ue best advice I could. I told him that he'd be-almost forty by the time he got out of law sehool and passed tne bai exam and without very special connections he'd have tloublg making any-sort of a living. He was very persistent about lt at trrst and then suddenly dropped it. He told me that_.he was thinking about becoming i teacher is some small university- I asked him what elaire thought about that, and he said that lhe was willing to go al-ong with whatever he wanted. Then I said s6meth-ing_wJlt, ill_ adyised- is a good way to put it. I said, .Being i Uig snot in a.syall town, helping the kids to put on their plays. It might be great, but I could never seJ it for myself.; Tiren I mentioned how pleased I was to be doing so well in Los Angeles, since it was one of the tlree riost competitive cities in the country for lawyers," "What were you thinking of?" ."I wasn't thinking of anything. John and I have always talked about our work. your profession, my profession, that kind of thing, the merits of Lach." "Sure," said Beth. "But Jobn never talked about being a lawyer. He was pretty satisfied being a writer." "That wasn't the end of it. A few minutes later he said lg rT thinking of going back to yale to get a phD. By this..time, I figured that I,d better say ,od"thiog symp;_ thetic because that's the way I was beginning to Ieei, jo I made some cornment about how tougl the lntertainment business was. He didn't buy it though.-He said the business had_ its ups and downs and what wis happening wasn't the fault of the business. He blamed himie'lf. H-e said he'd made a few mistakes a couple of years back and they,d

88

JorIN BALT him, like quitting as story editor on come back to haunt that Western."

"He told me that he quit because he wanted to write more," Beth said. "And, anyway, that was tlree years ago. Why was he still talking about that?"

-"I

don't know. He said the network would never hire him again, which was nonsense because they'd hired him on several shows since then." "Eric, I wish you weren't a lawyer." "Why?" "Because any man not used to keeping confdences would have told his wife about this." "And what would you have done?" "I would have called Claire." "And said what? 'I'm sorry your husband is a failure'?" "But he wasn'g a failure. Sure, he was having some problems getting back into the swing of things after that job in Euiope. But even so, just recently Claire told me that he had done a whole documentary film on the history and threat of communism and three hour-long television plays. No. I would have told her I was worried about him. Weren't you?"

"I

was surprised, but

I

never really thougbt

to

be

worried. The topper came when we got back to the office. He asked me if I had any political pull to get him a job

writing

in the Air

Force. He had four major plans of

action in about forty minutes." "What did you tell him?" "That there were some people I knew, and if he'd send me a list of all his credits, I'd write a letter for him. He was so grateful it was embarrassing. But he never sent the credits." Within thirty minutes after the plane had landed, Eric was interviewing me at the West Valley substation, and

immediately afterward he was talking to the detectives assigned to my case.- They were pttzzlefl. They had already done much checking on me and found that I was quiet,

well-liked, had a substantial professional reputation, and in the words of several neighbors and friends, "wouldn't hurt a fly."

A little while later, Al arrived at the station and insisted that Eric accompany him during his interrogation. The detectives tried to dissuade Al, pointing out that it was highly unusual for a complaining witness and the defendant's lawyer to be at the same interrogation. Eric himself

By Reason ol Insanity 89 wasn't anxious to be there. Al, however, insisted that Eric

had also been his lawyer over the years and, furthermore, that what he had to say Eric was welcome to hear. Al answered all the questions directed af him honestly and faithfully, and then told the detectives that from his own observation of me during the past month, I was irresponsible. Al, Claire's father-and a deeply loving father-had no desire for revenge. Having received the necessary permission, Eric drove to my house and, despite the rel'ulsion at what he found, tried to reenact the tragedy checking what he saw against what I had told him. He carefully cataloged all the drugs in the kitchen cabinet. He searched my study in the hope that he could find some clue in my writing to my state of mind; this last was a fruitless activity because I hadn't written anything in months. A photographer who worked at NBC arrived and offered his services gratis. They took color photographs of everything that might be of use in a trial. The whole thing was inexpressibly sad for Eric. He had been through those rooms so many times before at dinners, parties, and child-infested barbecues. At my cousin's home in Burbank, Eric met with my relatives and my mother. Cousin Joan, a lovely young

woman, bright and alert, felt that Eric was much "too impeccably dressed and coldly slinig4l." On the other hand, Eric thought that the family was in an emotional state dangerous to themselves and useless to me. My mother begged him to get me released on bail, and he had to explain patiently and repeatedly that there was no bail in capital cases, and that even if there were, in his opinion I was mentally ill and dangerous and could in no circumstances be allowed on the streets. During the next weeks he did what he could to make himself an emotional prop for my mother. He also put his rabbi into contact witl her, and from him she derived a great deal of comfort. Returning to his own home, he found that Beth, identi-

fying herself first with me and then with Claire, was verging on an emotional breakdown herself. It seeEed that the whole world had become unhinged. Then the telephone calls, scores

of them. From

the

morbidly curious, mostly women. "Eric, I've got to know why. You've simply got to tell me why." Some of these feminine seekers-after-truth developed marked though temporary antipathies toward their own husbands. From the contrite. The lunch with Eric had not been an isolated incident. "He was at mv house about six weeks

90

JoHN BALT

ago. He seemed so depressed

but

I didn't know how."

I

wanted

to say somethin&

From the concerned. Everyone who had ever known Claire liked or loved her; yet their thoughts quickly turned to what still could be salvaged. Said Claire's cousin from Pennsylvania, "Tell John if there's anything I can do to help him, I will." Almost everyone asked, "Can you save him?" Eric, caught in an emotional vise between his respect, affection, and sorrow for Claire, and his conviction that I was irresponsible and not culpable, profoundly troubled by Beth's condition, and beset as he was by frantic appeals and demands for information from family and friends, decided that he was far too personally involved to function as chief defense counsel. Just as the most expert of surgeons will decline to operate on a member of his own family, Eric was convinced that he could serve me best by assisting another lawyer. The question then was who. There was never any doubt in his mind about the man he wanted, but because the choice was a crucial one he listened patiently to all the suggestions that were offered to him. They included men who at the beginnings of their care€rs had represented prohibition gangsters, attorneys whose biographies had appeared in print or were being portrayed on television, and lawyers who were journalistic favorites because they were always newsworthy. The more knowledgeable lists, however, were always headed by the name of the man Eric himself had believed best suited to assume the burden of my defense, Ross M. Burnett. Burnett, a man of fifty-five, lithe, handsome, and fit, had thirty years of courtroom experience behind him. He had a distinguished record as a trial deputy district attorney. In private practice he had divided his time between criminal and civil matters, and had no taint of underworld associations. He had written several widely read papers on insanity and the criminal law, and served with distinction on both state and federal commissions. Unsentimental, a disdainer of show for show's sake, a superb speaker in the quiet modern mode, a forceful and logical thinker, he was

by both the bench and the district attorney's office. He chose his clients carefully, and he was very

respected

expensive.

On the night after my arraignment, Eric left Beth to rest and drove down to Laguna Beach where Burnett and his attractive and capable wife Louise were vacationing. Louise was aware of the strain under which behind

By Reason of

Insanity

9l

Eric was operating, so she declined his invitation to go out for dinner and prepared barbecued steaks at home. There on the patio overlooking the bay, seventy miles away from the booking room in which

I

was waiting to be fingerprint-

ed, Burnett was briefed on the case. The older attorney respected Eric and listened sympathetically. On the basis of their talk, Burnett agreed to see me. Our visit together in the attorney room was a brief one. I started to shake hands with him, but the deputy in charge explained that no physical contact was allowed between prisoners and their lawyers. I noticed the respect with which the officers treated Burnett, and this immediately made me suspicious of him. After I told him what had happened on the morning of the crime, he said that the fust thing that would have to be established was my sanity or lack of it at the present time, that the cowts took a dim view of the idea of "sane, insane, sane," I assured him that I was sane. "How do you know?" "I was psychoanalyzed so I know I'm not insane." "I see. Yes, you were psychoanalyzed. Eric told me." When he asked me if I wanted to have him as my lawyer, gsrtain that I did, but wishiog to be polite I I wasn't "11 said yes, ",anyway. When I was returned to my cell I was far from pleased with the interview. Like Eric, Burnett had seemed to feel that I was insane. I could not understand how I could be so evaluated. Burnett knew when he left me that he would take the

case provided satisfactory arrangements could be made with my mother. There were emotional as well as financial diffculties. He handled her fumly but with great sympathy, too. He told her that under no circumstances

was there any possibility of my being bailed out. And then "I have only one piece of advice for you. Put your trust in me." Eric, who was present at their short talk in Burnett's office, said that my mother was completely won over by him. Right then she determined to entrust my

he added,

life to him. There was only one problem-his fee. It was not a question of whether she could "afiord" him or not, as people commonly think q; the word afford. She was yilling to give every cent she had and to sell everything that she possessed. The dfficulty was that even after she had done these things she would still be many thousands of dollars short of the quoted figure-a figure from which, despite his sympathies, he felt he could noi deviate.

Eric, meanwhile had made a detailed studv of mv own

JottN

92

finances. He was astounded

home and its furnishings

I

BALT

to find that aside from my had nothing. Furthermore,

because of Claire's death there. the market value of the house had fallen to just about the level of the mortgages.

What then had happened to my money? A study of canceled checks told the story. A considerable but not unreasonable amount had gone into the house, for we had bought good property and

felt justified in making im-

provements on it. In the normal course of events our judgment would have been vindicated. But, in the light of their tragic consequences, nothing could vindicate our expenditures in another area. In a relatively short period of time we had spent over twenty thousand dollars in medical fees, almost all of it going to that special category of psychiatrists called psychoanalysts. Although my relatives contributed, and my mother sold all the stocks that my father had stinted a lifetime to acquire, it soon became obvious that she could raise the money only with outside help. She decided to organize a fund on my behalf. She herself worked to exhaustion, but she found important support from my Yale frien{ Jim Ostend, and from my agent, Ted Landow. Jim, who for some time had played a leading role in a television crime series, had known me for sixteen years and Claire for eleven. He and I had shared an apartment together in New Haven, worked, dated, and partied together, and gotten drunk together in the White Horse Tavern in Greenwich Village on the night before I left for duty in the Air Force. It was very much at my urging that Jim had come to Hollywood, where he had found not only

but a lovely and devoted wife, Anita. In their in Westwood, Jim had collected, in homemade bookcases, an enormous library that included, because he was an aspiring writer of detective stories, a large collection of ljterature on crirninology. On the basis of his reading, he feared deeply for me and was detersuccess

Spanish-type house

mined that

if

he had anything to say about

it

Ross Burnett

would be my lawyer. He remembered that on the one occasion that Claire and I had appeared ai his home in the weeks prior to my arrest, I had arrived unshaven, talked about wanting to become a dentist, and mumbled

something about going to a kibbutz in Israel.

The people who attended the fund-raising meetings in Jim's home were in the main highly sympathetic. As Anita told Eric, "We idealized John and Claire's marriage. Their children were so wonderful and so were they. It seemed

By Reason ol

Insanity

93

such a good relationship." The biggest problem Jim faced, and one which he finally managed to overcome' was the refusal of these people to believe that I was in arly danger. It seemed that he alone understood the diffculties inherent in a plea of insanitY. He told them, "There have been many insane men and women whose misery was ended by hanging, electrocution, and poison gas in this country-in this century'" Ted Landow was in constant contact with Eric and my mother. One of Hollywood's most competent young agents, he consistently gave the living lie to the clich6 w-hich has so pervaded our literature, of the grubby ten percenter. We had started our careers almost simultanebusly. He had sold my first television script; and in the years that followed he became a friend as well as a business associate. His professional advice was always sound- Eric, remembering his lunch with me and some of the things i nuA r"iO i; iail, asked Ted i! I had been "through-" in the entertainment business. Ted answered emphaiically in the negative. I may have believed I was through, but this had nothing to do with the truth of the matter.

"But wasn't he sick because he couldn't write?" Eric wanted to know. "No," said Ted. "He couldn't write because he was sick' Look at all he's done in the last ten years. My God, Eric' he was only thirty-four years old."

From his boss, his colleagues, and a number of writer clients he raised several thousand dollars for the fundThere were, of course, refusals to help. However, money came to my mother from all over the country' from Yale people, from Air Force people, and from cbildhood friends. A university professor in the Midwest, for exam: ple, who had been a former stickball star from the Bronx, iollected several hundred dollars from his faculty associates. Because of this outside help, and only because of it, my mother was able to sign a contract with Ross Burnett v,'i1hin a month. In preparing the defense, Burnett recalls thai he had two alternativel in mind. On the basis of his meeting with me, and the sixty-page report submitted by Eric Krug, he believed me legally insane, but believing it and proving it were two different things. There was another way. Under the law, guilt in certain crimes, such. as first-degree murder and arson, requires specific intent on the part of the offender, and intent implies a capacity of mind capable of

94

"ot* "*t

forming it. Without that intent, first-degree murder becomes either second-degree or manslaughter. If I could not be proven legally insane, Burnett would fight to prove

that I did not have the capacity ef mind to form a specific intent to commit murder. Of the two alternatives, Burnett was of the opinion that a verdict of "not guilty by reason of insanity" would be the true and just one. With such a verdict there are no criminal penalties. Under state law an insane person is not held responsible for his actions in the same way that individuals generally are-and should be-held responsible. The commonwealth, presuming him seriously ill, takes on the responsibility of caring for and treating him in a hospital for the criminally insane until he either recovers or dies, There are some who would not have it so. There is impressive authority for the belief that criminal law should not attempt to distinguish between the responsible and the irresponsible. Centuries of adjudication, however, and the whole moral and ethical fiber of Western man have weighted the scales very definitely in the other direction. After acknowledging that the crimes of the mentally diseased are often the most horrible and brutal crimes. the Report of Governor Brown's Special Commissions on Insanity and Criminal Offenders points out: "The urge to punish is strong and punishment is justly due if the individual is mentally responsible. Yet, punishing the person who is in truth mentally disorganized is recognized as illadvised and indeed immoral." In California in 1963 I could still be executed for what I had done but not if the

courts found that

I

was insane at the time

of

the

offense.

But what is insanity? California courts, in company with

in almost all of the jurisdictions within the United States, have consistently defined legal insanity in terms of the M'Naghten Rule. Since the matter has become one of increasing public concern, I have included, for those unfamiliar with it, a summary of the M'Naghten case from which the rule was devised. The following is from the Special Commissions Report cited above: the courts

Daniel M'Naghten, a young Scot, developed the paranoid delusion that he was being persecuted by the Tory Party. He decided to end this supposed persecution by assassinating the Tory prime minister, Robert Peel, whom he had never seen. In January 1843, M'Naghten shot and killed Peel's secretary,

By Reason ol

Insanity

95

Edward Drummond, believing him to be the prime minister. A number of months before, M'Nagbten had observed Drummond riding in Peel's carriage during a royal procession in Edinburgh, Scotland, whereas, unknown to M'Naghten, Peel was riding in Queen Victoria's carriage. In the years preceding Drummond's death a series of attempted assassinations had been made on Queen -

Victoria and various high government officials. In

addition, the political atmosphere was highly charged

with emotion. Consequently, the crime and the trial aroused great public and official interesl The trial developed into a battle between modern

medical knowledge and ancient legal authority. In anticipation of the defense, the prosecutor's opening statement contained a detailed discussion of the tradi-

tional English law of criminal insanity. He emphasized Sir Mathew Hale's authoritative "Pleas of the Crown," published in 1736, with its opinion on

the moon's inffuence on insanity. Although the prosecution had caused a mental examination to be made of M'Naghten, no medical experts were produced at the trial. The defense counsel, Alexander Cockburn, in his opening argument relied heavily on the relatively modern opinions of the Anerican psychiatrist, Isaac Ray, set forth in his then recent publication, "Medical Jurisprudence of Insanity." He also produced a number of medical experts, all of whom testifed that M'Naghten was insane. Upon completion of the defense's medical evidence, Lord Chief Justice Tindal, after determining that there would be no contrary medical evidencefdirected the jury to return a verdict of not guilty by reason of insanity. M'Naghten then was confined in a mental institution where he remained until his death in 1865. While the crime and the trial aroused great public interest, the acquittal brought immediate protest and vigorous indignation. The contemporary newspapers bitterly criticized the decision. Even Queen Victoria in a letter to Sir Robert Peel, protested the outcome. Although M'Naghten apparently had no political interests the assassination was generally regarded as a political plot. The public simply refused to believe that M'Naghten was insane.

The furor spilled over into Parliament where the House of Lords called upon the judges to explain their

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conduct. The House of l.ords propounded five questions to the judges of England regarding the criminal responsibility of persons with insane delusions. The answers by 14 of the 15 justices to these five ques-

tions comprise the famous M'Naghten Rules. Although the answers were not a legal opinion and were in response to questions involving the limited specific psychological symptom of delusion, they were soon accepted by the courts in England and in most

of the United

States as stating the general law of criminal responsibility. This then is the rule:

.. to establish defense on the ground of insanity, must be clearly proved, that at the time of the committing of the act, the party accused was laboring under such a defect of reason from disease of the mind, as not to know the nature and quality of the act he was doing, or, if he did know it, that he did

it

.

not know he was doing what was wrong, Controversy over the M'Naghten Rule is deep and involved. There are many who feel that, evolved as it was at a time when belief in witchcraft and demonology was widespread and when popular conceptions of insanity were formed by observation of the chained-up wretches in Bedlam, it has outlived its usefulness. Notes the Speclal Commissions Report:

to recapacity. Psychiatrists, on the other hand, have repeatedly pointed out that the knowledge of the severely mentally disordered patient is quite different from that of the average person. These patients are in most cases able to verbalize the fact that certain conduct is right or wrong. But this is only a surface knowledge which is not coupled with an understa:rding and comprehension of signiflcance of the conduct. The M'Naghten Rule is generally thought

quire complete impairment

of the intellectual

Others just as vehemently hold that the rule is a good one,

that none better has yet been devised, and that anything

less would seriously jeopardize society's ability

to

defend

itsef. f,galizing the rule's limitations, California courts have

Reason

ol Insanity

97 .By sought to give a psychologically sound recognition to the depth and insight required of a defendant's knowledge.

Thus, the standard instruction:

The test of accountability is this: did the party have suffcient mental capacity to appreciate the character and quality of the act? Did he know and understand that it was a violation of the rights of another, and in itself wrong? If he had the capacity thus to appreciate the character and to comprehend the probable or possible consequences of his act, he was sane under the law, and is responsible to the law for the act thus committed.

of what "know and understand" It will be remembered that the original M'Naghten

Again the problem mean.

of the mind," and the question remains whether persons suffering from disease of the mind know and understand anything in the way that other people know and understand; if in certnin cases the answer is negative, just what degree of "disease of the formulation mentions "disease

mind" is required to meet the test? I have neither the desire nor the credentials

to go

further into this dfficult debate. Those interested might refer to the Special Commissions Report itself. The fact remains that the courts, charged with protecting the cotrF munity, rarely absolve a defendant on the basis of legal insanity. Usually no plea is viewed with more suspicion. Those who enter it lightly or out of desperation have it thrust savagely back down their throats by irate prosecutors and outraged jurors. Although the crimes of true madmen are often horrible in the extreme. societv refrains from punistring them. But let a man commii horrible crimes and then try to hide behind the cloak of madness and he will let loose upon himself all of society's wrath. In over a score of years as a defense counsel, Ross Burnett had entered the plea of "not guilty by reason of insanity" just twice, and only after careful deliberation. Although in each case his judgment was vindicated, he was not going to try for three withoul 6aking as certain as possible of his ground. As any other defense attorney would have done, he began by retaining a psychiatrist. Where Burnett diftered was in the person of the psychiatrist he selected, Dr. Charles B. Karlsen. Furthermore, Dr. Karlsen was not retained as a "defense psychiatrisf'

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98

but rather as an adviser to give Burnett a medical opinion on which the attorney would base his plea. Dr. Karlsen's credentials were impeccable. In his middle ffties, with many publications to his credit, a graduate of the University of Michigan, and a holder of the Commonin Psychiatry, he had been, from 1936 wealth Fellowship-Resident

to

1938, Chief

Psychiatrist

of the

Psychiatric

Clinic of one of New York's largest hospitals; from 1939 to 1943, Director of the Mental Health Clinic and Chief

of Queens Hospital. He had served as a state director of mental hygiene and had pioneered in intensive treatment methods for the insane. He had taught psychiatry in three leading universities. In Los Angeles, in addition to building a large private practice, he had been Consulting Psychiatrist on the staff of Methodist Hospital' Senior Attending Psychiatrist for Los Angeles County's Mental Hygrene Service and an Assistant Clinical Professor Psychiatrist

of Psychiiiy in the state's most research-oriented medical school.

For almost twenty years he had been a member of the psychiatric panel of the superior courts. In dozens of cases he had appeared for the prosecution. Judges trusted his evaluations. Contenders in the courtroom might battle him, but they invariably respected him. When Burnett told Eric that he had selected Dr. Karlsen, Eric's snap reaction was, "But he never finds anyone insane!" Although the statement wasn't strictly true, it was indicative of Dr. Karlsen's reputation and Burnett's thinking. Whatever plea he entered, he meant it to conform to the facts as closely as they could be determined. ft was a completely honest approach, so honest that some might call it dangerous. Since Dr. Karlsen would examine me in jail, the prosecution would be aware of his visits. If he then failed to appear on my behalf, the conclusions would be obvious. Dr. Karlsen would have to evaluate my condition at the time of examination, and also decide whether or not I had been sane prior to and during the criminal act. Although Eric's long letter filled in some of the gaps, everything elsq-the police reports, the records of the jail hospital,

and Burnett's interviews with me-had been after the fact. To help him form an opinion and to help others form theirs, Karlsen wanted and needed a great deal of additional information. Some he could get from me, but not nearly enough; and whatever I would tell him required corroboration. Together, he and Burnett decided to hire an excellent private detective agency, and charge it with

I

By Reason ol

Insanity

99

providing a report in depth on me with particular emphasis on the months immediately preceding Claire's death. This agency, headed by a man with an outstanding record in the higher echelons of an East Coast Police Department, spent over two hundred hours on the job and submitted a report at least half as thick as this book. Documentary evidence on my educational, professional, and social status was readily obtained. There was also documentary evidence on my mental condition. After October I had ceased entirely to write. In December I had been admitted to a general hospital where the records

spoke of "severe sleep-deprivation syndrome," and "great fear and panic." I had been transferred to a private psychiatric hospital and a diagnosis made of "acute anxiety reaction." After release from the hospital I had attempted to attend classes at UCLA in clinical psycholog5r, but I had failed to turn in my registration cards. In

January I had tried to register at the University of Southern Cnlifornia to take courses that would qualify me as an elementary schoolteacher, and again failed to complete registration. On the day before the crime I had received a traffic ticket for driving dangerously slowly on the fast lane of the freeway. There were a multitude of longdistance phone calls: to Orlando, Florida, about getting back into the Air Force, to llouston, Texas, about becoming a college professor, to Claire's cousin in Connecticut about going into sheet-metal jobbing or house construction. There were numerous medical prescriptions over a three-and-a-half-month period for at least three kinds of sleeping pills, for Thorazine, and for Librium in various dosages.

All three of the doctors who had treated me were questioned, and a chronological medical history was compiled. I had started therapy with Dr. Edward'Grossler, a psychoanalyst, in November of 1960, and had sssl him ygekly until June of 1961 when an out-of-town producing

job had forced a temporary halt. In January 6t rceZ

I

resumed my visits. This time the treatment entailed four hourly sessions a week. These continued until October, but there were additional visits until December. Dr. Grossler saw me for the last time when I was in the hospital, at which time I told himr "When f fust started to sei you, I never expected it to end this way." In the early fall of 1962 | had also sought the aid of Phil M.yerly, the who treated me-witU sleeping pills, Librium, and-ilternist, Thorrzine.

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In December, during my brief stay in the private psychiatric hospital, Dr. David Blutman had taken over the case. Blutman was a general psychiatrist. His experience had been mainly in the Army. He had an office practice and maintained a connection with a local out-patient clinic. There had been four visits in the hospital and weekly visits thereafter. He had attempted verbal therapy, but had in the main relied heavily on Librium and another tranquilizer combined with what he described as a pep pill. - Shortly before the crime I had been severely bitten by Ra. The wound had become violently infected, and Dr. Myerly had administered over a dozen injections consistin!-Aof very large doses of penicillin and antibiotics. statement made by my father-in-law established the fact that I had never'shunned psychiatric aid but had actually begged for additional visits from the men con' cerned.

The investigator's interviews with the doctors were ex-

tremely delicaie.

A

medical doctor, especially one ca-lling

himsef a psychiatrist, might have been expected to have

if he had iegarded me as either psychotic dangerous. Therefore, none of them could reasonably say or believe that he had so regarded me. -Dr. Blutman overflowed with such observations as: "IIe "I did not regard him as a was like a little boy," -. and He might attack and choke his potential murderer. me commi^tted

or

ivlfe a little bit, but not actually hurt her." He neglected, however, to go into the t1pes, dosages, and mixtures of drugs he had seen fit to administer, nor my reluctance to leaie the private mental hospital where he had visited me.

He passed over the fact that I had reported strange and that he "castiation pains" in my penis -in and prostrate, Epsom salts for their relief; had prescri6ed hot batis and ihat when I had told hi; I believed I was having

hallucinations, he had replied that they weren't hallucinations but "sensations." My internist, Phil Myerly, was, as always, harried and plagued with interruptions.- I believe he tried to give as iaiia picture as he could of what he had seen and heard. About- the prescription drugs, however, he said very litfle.

Dr. Grossler was not anxious to help. He wanted no part of a court aPpearance. The investigators had learned ihat Dr. Grossler-had completed a psychiatric residency in New England just after the wat, but by 1962 he had not

By Reason of

Insanity

101

yet been certified as a competent psychiatrist in the Direc-

tory of Medical Specialists, which means that he'had not

taken and passed the diplomate examinations given by the American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology. He became privileged to call himself a psychoanalyst largely by virtue of having completed a "training analysis" with one of the institutes, an institute considered to be very "orthodox" Freudian. He was, however, legally entitled in California to practice both as a psychiatrist and a psychoanalyst. The state licenses individuals to practice medicine, but does not set standards for the specialties. What, exactly, do these specialties mean? According to Webster's Collegiate Dictionary: Psychiatry is "a branch of medicine tlat deals with mental, emotional, or behavioral disorders"; and a psychiatrist is, therefore, a specialist in dealing with such disorders. Psychoanalysis is "a method of analysis especially for therapeutic purposes based on the theory that abnormal mental reactions are due to

repression of desires consciously rejected but subconsciously persistent"; to psychoanalyze is to "treat by means of psychoanalysis"; and psychoanalysr is the one who does the treating. The psychoanalyst is a specialist who is one step more specialized than the psychiatrist. If this seems straightforward, and if the reader now believes that he understands what psychoanalysis is, he's

probably wrong. There are at present over fifteen socalled medical-analytic "institutes" (or organizations) in this country, each one fostering among its members a different method of analysis. Thus we have more than flfteen specialties within the specialty within the specialty; and furthermore, the members of one institute often regard the members of another with unconcealsd disdein. In no other medical field is there anything approaching such cult and cliquism, such intellectual bigotry, such ritualism,

in short, such unscientiflc anarchy. There is no attempt being made here to criticize the theories of psychoanalysis in general, but rather to call attention to a situation that allows the capable, the dedicated, and the skilled to be befouled by the vainglorious, the dangerous, and the fanatical who flourish under their protection.

Since psychoanall'tic treatment is conducted in the strict-

est secrecy, since more often than not no records

are

kept, and since there is no possibility of one doctor checking on the work of another, the psychoanalyst is and does pretty much whatever he wants, with the patient completely at his mercy. The word mercy k not used lightly'

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That analysis does permit the release of unconscious forces is not to be denied. That, in fact, is the whole reason for its existence. The release of these forces, if not properly controlled by the analyst, is perilous, and this fact is clearly

recognized by responsible medical authorities. T6 underitand Dr. Grossler it is necessary to understand certain tenets of Freudian psychiatry, among them

the concepts of the Oedipus complex, of the retention of infantile *ishes, and of transference. A former president of the American Psychoanalytic Association and Professor of Psychiatry at Yale, writing in the Encyclopedia Britannica, notes that the Oedipus complex (the triangle formed by a child of one sex, the parent of the other sex, and the spouse

of the parent)

constitutqs

"the most important

c-onflict with which a small child is faced in his relation to his parents. . . . It is in attempting to grapple with this

pro6lem that persons destined to suffer from neurosis habitually fail.'; The Oedipus conflict is central. Related to it are fears of castration (the father may take such revenge on the child for wanting the father's mate) and

infantile sexuality. In psychoanalysis, therefore, the Oedipus conflict must finally be resolved.

The method by which the patient is enabled to

go

backward is called "transference." Again I quote from the Encyclopedia: "By transference is meant a striking peculiarity of neurotics. They develop toward their physician emotional relations, both of an affectionate and hostile character, which are not based upon the actual situation but are derived from their relations toward their parents. ... Transference is a proof of the fact that adults have not overcome their former childish dependence; it coincides with the force which has been named suggestion, and it is only by learning to make use of it that the physician is enabled to induce the patient to overcome his internal resistances and do away with his repressions. Thus psychoanalytic treatment acts as a second education of the adult' as a correction to his education as a child." Suggestion therefore becomes an extremely important tool, and obviously the personality of the "suggestor" plays a central role. It is worth noting that regression, or a

return toward infancy, is necessarily a part of the treatment and must be controlled by the analyst' Says Dr.

Ernest Jones, as quoted by Hensie and Campbell, "The of later life are important only as they ally themselves with those of childhood." It is to facilitate the journey backward that a couch is

wishes

By Reason

ol

Insanity

103

It is important that the treatuent be conducted at ieait four times a week or resistances build up. The patient, on his back, with the psychoanalyst behind him and out of sight is free to make the necessary transferemployed.

The character of the "free association" and the blockages or breaks that occur within it are hig&ly significant. The method is designed to and does, as the days and

enc,e.

months Bo by, cut deeply into that turbulent and sometimes perilous cesspool of memories and sensations rejected by a lifetime of growing up. It is quite possible for a patient to remember the smell of his mother's urine when he was locked in a bathroom with her at the age of four or the feel of baby feces inside of a diaper. It is significant that the psychoanalyses conducted by Freud himself were extremely short by modern standards, usually running six months to a year; and he exercised a good deal of control. Psychoanalyses today in many places average four to five years, and may last as long as eight or ten. During much of this time, the patient, in a state of suggestibility akin to that engendered by hypnosis, is extremely vulnerable to the analyst's remarks and bearing. Many patients experience'sharp physical discomfort, including sgysls dizziness and pain, during the process. For the analyst to project his own character, 5it ova likes, dislikes, morality or lack of it, his defects and yearning, his own psychological shortcomings, onto the patient can be and often is tragic in its consequences. The strictly Freudian analysis has been attacked for

many different reasons and from many different sources. For the general psychiatrist, who has a steadily more important mission in the prevention, diagnosis, and treatment of the many varieties of mental illness, which besets

our nation like a plague, the strictly Freudian technique is far too lengthy, costly, and unpredictable. For great analysts of other schools, such as Carl Jung and, more recently, Viktor Frankl, the technique leads downward instead of upward. Jung criticizes Freud for overlooking the spiritual help religion can provide in combating the dark forces of the unconscious. Frankl discusses the frustrating and seemingly endless maze in which the patient in Freudian analysis often finds himself. Others, perhaps more practical than medical and psychological in their orientation, have felt called upon to make known their views on the subject. A prominent

friend of mine and his wife, appearing in court for

a

divorce, were forbidden by judicial order from further

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JCDHN BALT

to the psychoanalysts they had been seeing for months. The judge's exasperation, arising no doubt from long experience with the domestic tortures of well-to-do residents of Los Angeles under the influence and treatment of certain analysts, can be readily inferred. However one may feel about Freud, it is no criticism of the man and his monumental work to say that many of those who claim to follow in his ways, despite the aura of superiority and infallibility with which they surround themselves, are not equipped intellectually, emotionally, or in terms of character to do so. Yet, guarded by public ip.orance, secrecy, neosuperstition, and the respectability conferred by the title of psychoanalyst, they continue to visits

proliferate and to fatten on the spiritual vacuity and intellectual gullibility of desperate but well-to-do people in search, as Jung so aptly put it, "of their souls." While tens of thousands of patients in mental hospitals throughout the country writhe out their lives in unspeakable degradation

and agony for want of treatment, psychoanalysts continue twenty-five, thirty-five, eveo fifty dollars an foeup-fq -for evoke smells of urine and to preside, in some cases at least, over the despondency that leads to death. The suicide of Marilyn Monroe, who was under treatment, and the pointless suicide of a young mother and a close friend of ours also under treatment, made a deep impression on Claire, She had her own experience to draw upon, and was also a witness to my deterioration. For all of us, however, the awakening was too late. Dr. Grossler knew the central role he had occupied in my life during the year preceding the tragedy; yet when he talked to Burnett's investigator he tried to minimize the depth to which the analysis had gone. He did not make any connection between the crying fits, the agitated depression, the terrible anxiety to which I was prey (although he mentioned all of them) and the treatment period during which they occurred. He did not mention the powerful drugs I had been taking. He said the whole key to it was my writing ("He could have lived out his life as a nice guy if only he had sold some of his writings"), ignoring the fact that I had made some four hundred thousand dollars from my "wdtings" before I ever saw him. He said that in an industry depending on delicate interpersonal relationships, I had "told off" people and made enemies. Neither the police nor Burnett's investigators could find anyone I had "told off." Ever. Nor could anyone fi:rd any enemies, for there were none.

By Reason ol Insanity

105

Dr. Grossler spoke about the termination of ouq rela-

tionship as

if it had occurred in coldly

rational circum-

to mention my desperate. phone calls to him, some in the middle of the night, and all on file because they were toll calls. Our last interview occurred in the general hospital, where all day Sunday I had waited for him as if he were some kind of a savior, in a state, to quote the hospital record, of "agitation and fear"; waited fs1 him from the tine Myerly had called him at ten A.M. until he arrived, very Fnnoyed, at five in the afternoon. f 16ld him that I wanted to be a male nurse and invest in apartment buildings, and that I feared I would hurt stances, neglecting

Claire.

"I'm afraid tlat I've become some kind of a madman," the hospital bed. "I'm afraid that I might hurt someone. I'm terribly afraid." "Why don't you get yourself another doctor," he told me. "You're a hospital case now and I've got an office

I said from

practice." He walked out and that night

I

was.transferred to the

private psychiatric sanitarium where I came under the treatment of Dr. Blutman. Although Blutman kept an office only a few doors down the hall from Grossler's, the two men never consulted about the case. Wrote Dr. Karlsen: "[Dr. Grossler's] statements to the investigator indicate that he thought the subject had a weak ego, was very selfish and self-centeredn had obsessive-compulsive trends and was paranoid, although he does not use this word. For a psychoanalyst, he seemed to be amazingly critical and rejecting of the patient."

Claire's parents, heartbroken over the loss of the person

in the world to them, were remarkably cooperative, factual, and controlled. The children were living with them now, and to avoid the possibility of upsetting them, they met the investigator in the apartment of a good friend. They related their observations of my progressive inability to cope with situations around me beginning at about the time of my father's death in August. They told of my unsystematized desires to change my occupation, my ineffectual attempts to enter various schools, my shaking fits and crying spells; and they recalled the horrible scene that had occurred on my thirtydearest

fifrh birrhday.

Present that morning in my bedroom, besides Al and Sarah, were my mother and Mrs. Hopkins, the maid.

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After calling Yale University and finding out that registration for the PhD program for the following September had already closed, I had burst into a seizure of uncontrollable tears. I screamed out that I was headed for a mental hospital for the rest of my life, and that God had given me a good body so that I'd be there for many years and always with that pain in the groin. I told my mother good-bye and she fainted. I became so agitated that my father-in-law had to hold me down on the bed by force. Mrs. Hopkins found the knife on the bureau with which I had intended to kill myself the night before because the bewildering images in my mind had become so intolerable. One moment I had been on the moon at a convention of scientists, the next I was a eunuch-dwarf in a weird and terrifying madhouse, the next I was surrounded by hundreds of cut-up penises. As Al held me down on the bed, I told them that I was afraid I'd hurt somebody. I asked them if they trusted me with their daughter and grandsons. Sarah ran to the phone to call the County Hospital or the potce and, at the last moment, out of love for me, called Dr. Myerly instead. How wonderful if that phone call had gone to the sheriffl Mrs. Hopkins was hesitant at first about talking to the investigator at all. She said, and truthfully, that she was a Christian, and that while she didn't want to see me go to the gas chamber, if I wasn't crazy she didn't want to see me go free, either. She said that she would be afraid for the children if I were to be released at that time. When it was explained to her that there was no possibility of my being released tlen, and that all the investigator wanted was the truth, she supplied much valuable data. She corroborated the incident on my birthday. She told how I had talked of suicide and my imminent death; how my legs were scratched and bleeding where, in my agitation, I had scraped chunks out of my skin; how I had crawled around the floor cryrng, and had thrown myself into corners. She related that at times I would be completely disorganized and disoriented, and at others would pull myself together sufrcienfly to go on errands. And she told, as I was to tell Dr. Karlsen, about how, on the night of December 11, about six weeks before the actual homicide, I had attempted to strangle Claire.

On the Friday night before, we had seen Dr. Grossler at his home. He said that sleep was the big problem. He told Claire that I had to sleep or something dire would happen. He spoke of a heart stoppage. He discussed the

By Reason ol Insanity lO7 possibility of giving me a general anaesthetic. He advised against my having social intercourse with people, said that he would like to have a consultation with a psychologis! and then sent us home.

That night Claire walked me up and down the hill in front of our house until two A.M., hoping that exhaustion would finally put me to sleep. It was to no avail. On Saturday morning I had a severe spell of palsylike shaking, and threw myself on the floor. Claire called Dr. Grossler. He repeated the injunction that I had to sleep. She called Dr. Myerly. Phil knew that I was afraid of going to a mental hospital and prescribed drugs for me at horne, with the object of "knocking you out for twentyfour hours." Poor gentle Claire, as she had been doing for weeks, rushed to the drugstore and picked up the medicine.

I took the drugs as directed and went to bed. Nothing except agitation. I repeated the dosage at the indicated intervals. As the drugs built up within my system, I began to feel my heart beating violently and to gasp for air. Sometime during 1[s gysning, panicked, I got out of bed to call Claire for help. She was in the kitchen, but I never reached her. I collapsed on the floor on my back hardly able to breathe, sharp pains across my cbest. Claire ran to me and, after some minutes, was able to help me get back to bed. After reaching Phil Myerly on the phone, she described the situation 1s him, listened to what he had to say and then hung up. "You have to go to the hospital," she told me. As she started out of the room, crossing in front of the bed, there was a sudden sharp crack inside my skull. I heard myself roar like some demon animal in the jungle. I leaped at her, grabbing at her throat and wrestling her to the floor. Then all at once I realized what I was doing. I stopped and started to cry. I kissed her all over the face. "How could I?" I said. "How could I? I love vou." Later that night, because I hated myreli so much, I grabbed my toe and broke it.

The next morning, in the hospital, I told Phil Myerly what had happened. I was so horri.fied that getting the words out was a struggle but I managed to do it. Myerly immediately told Dr. Grossler, and that afternoon Grossler resigned from the case. It was then that Myerly called Dr. Blutman and briefed him on the situation. Peter Tours, a very gifted writer, a devoutly religious man, and a good friend of mine since our

Air Force

days,

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told the investigator of the death of my father and its

efiect upon me. He said that beginning in the late summer "he and Claire seemed to gradually withdraw from their circle of friends, and their attendance at social gatherings became less and less until they just stopped altogether.

Every once in a while we'd telephone just to ask how things were going, but several times we couldn't get him on the telephone. Claire would say he was sick or had a virus or something." In addition to everything the investigators told him, Dr. Karlsen also had the information he garnered from his interviews with me, and there were many of them. Since these were conducted in a corridor outside the jail hospital, I was certain that they were being tape-reiorded by the police for use against me. Nevertheless, I told him everything I could remember, as honestly as I could remember it. Although my mental condition varied considerably from interview to interview. as it did in the cell blocks, I felt that I had good recall of the incidents prior to, and inslu.ling, that morning when the world ended. I liked Dr. Karlsen. He was a man and not, as other doctors appeared to me, a rodent. But I had no belief whatever that he would find me insane.

during all this, a preliminary hearing was -held -Sgmet{me_ at the Van Nuys courthouse. In the tourtrooi that afternoon, under medication, I was an emotional blank. I did not testily and the others seemed to be talkins

ab,out

someone else. I've been told by people who shoull know

that-Eric, attempting to get on iecord what my state of mind was immediately after the crime, did an excellent job of cross-examining the arresting officers. It was also established by the coroner that there was no indication whatever of sexual molestation. There had been none. -As I,was being led out of the courtroom, I remember He E$"g $-".bailifr that I was going to the gas chamber...this didp'1 thinft so. He said som-ething to thJeftect that

.}in{ gl_tlri"g has happened before," and then rather sadly, "and it'll happen again." At five A.M. on a morning in April, I was taken out of my cell and down to the dressing room on the eleventl flgg1 yhege I changed from prisonto street sl6thing. I was told that I was to appear in Superior Court for my- plea. I remember being very much concerned about my -beard and begging for, and finally receiving, permission to shave. The blade was dull, but a deputy stood behind me to make

By Reason ol Insanity 109 certain that t didn't slit my throat with it. After shaving I descended with about two hundred other prisoners to ihe central ho!{ng room on the ninth floor. 'i}ere, prisoners g_oing to different courts throughout the county i1 q/ithin the Hall of Justice were chained on separate tines. I could hear two tiny radios playing, one embedded in each. of my ears, where I klew they had been placed by surgical operation. Aftlougbt both voices were friendly, e-ach was quite distinct from the other and had something litr.t"ot t9 say. Their inability to get together graduall! _

threw me into a panic. "Ross Burnett is not Ross Burnett,', said the radio in mv right ear. "He's Max C. Burnett, a stooge of Eric's and he's going to screw you up." "Don't go to court at all," said the radio in my left ear. *If-,you tell the judge he's Max C. Burnett, you'lt be all . right," said my right ear. "If -you appear in court at all, they'll make a mordant _ pl-ea for _you and you. won't even have a trial,' said my left. (I don't know where the word pordant came from but I understood it as meaning death-dealing.) Right_: ."The plea you will make must be a very special

it must be done exactly right." Left: "Turn around and go back to your cell. No

one, and

one

will stop you." time, however, I was already chained to a line of-By-this thirty men in an elevator going doivn to the Superior Court holding room. After we arived there and the chains were removed, I smoked my last cigarette and

starting bumming shorts, listening 3ll fts rims to the radios and trying to make some seose out of them. Said my right ear, "The correct plea is .not guilty by reason of psychoanalytic

shock."'

Said my left, "Don't make any plea. Tell the judge that you want to see him privately. Get out of that court-

room!"

"Not guilty by reason of

peated my right.

psychoanalytic shock,', re-

I had to get rid of those radios so I could think. t jumped up and down, first on one foot and then on the 9the1, lopr1g to jar them loose, but the more I jumped the louder they got. Suddenly it was my turn and iwas in the courtroom. There was Max C. Birrnett all righl As soon as he saw me he walked quickly to my side. He said so1ejhing about insanity, but it was hopelesily wrong. "No, you can't. You can't," I said in I loud-voice. -

110

JOHN BALT

The bailiff took a step toward us.

"Trust me," said Max C. Burnett. "Please trust me." In another moment we were in front of the bench. I

noticed a boy about thirteen years old standing behind the judge, and I thought to myself, "How nice. He's training his son to be a judge, too." Then Max C. Burnett was saying something about insanity. I started to interrupt him, but as soon as I, opened my mouth, the bailiff was on the alert. No words came. My mind was full, but my mouth wouldn't work. After BJrnett finished talking, I believe the judge asked me if what he said was right. I was puzzled when I looked at the bench because the judge's son was gone' Then I saw a little man jump up on the other side of the courtroom' I thought he was coming after me, so I turned and ran back into the holding room. No sooner was I inside. than my right ear told me that t had to return to correct Burnetfs mistake. The bailiff grabbed me, and I struggled with him. "I've got to get back. I've got to get back to court." The bailiff tried to be gentle. "You've been in court." "I've got to see the judge." "Now calm down, Balt. You can't go back." I decided that he was working for Eric and Max C. Burnett and had probably been promised some of my brain cells. Words were useless. I'd have to fight my way back. I pushed with all my strength, and for a second I thought I was making progress. One more wrench and I'd

be free and back before the judge. But another deputy grabbed me. They wrestled me to the far end of the holding room and handcuffed me.

I screamed out to the other prisoners, 'uThere's been a mistake. They made the wrong plea."

Nobody answered or paid attention. Later I tried to ffght my way back from the dressing room and the ding tnnk. I kept yelling, "They pade the wrong plea!" Ross Burnett had

of course knoivn exactly what he was

In his briefcase was Dr. Karlsen's long report. On the basis of it, he had pleaded "not guilty," and "not guilty doing.

by reason of insanity." When the issue of insanity is raised by the defense, California procedure requires a "split trial"-in effect, two trials. In the first trial, the defendanfs guilt or innocence of the actual act of which he is accused is established; in the second, his sanity, or lack of it, at the time of the aet.

By Reason of Insanity

lll

Tt*t i.

why the defense enters two pleas, one for each of the trials. What is the justification foi the defense pleading

"not guilty" to commissisn of the offense itsetff In mi case, the charge was frst-degree murder. Burnett wai ready enough to admit that I had killed Claire, but unde,r

no

cireumstances that I had sommifffi first-degree murder, fo-r which premeditation and the capacity fdr it

are demanded. . As- soon as the plea had been entered, the judge, following the law, had designated two psychiatrists to conduct

an examination on behalf of the court. They were Doctors Terence M. Conners and Harold R. Mariyns. Dr. Conners, fifty-four years old, had been on the Superior Court panel for almost fwenty-fve years. He had beei a psychiatric consultant for the Department of Correctionl,-Chief Consulting Psychiatrist foi two Veterans, Administration hospitals. Supervising Resident Psychiatrist at the Long

Beach Psychiatric Clinic, senior consultant in psychiqtry and neurology at All Hallows' Hospital, and Associate Clinical Professor of Psychiatry and N-eurology in one of California's largest medical sch6ols. Dr- Martyns, sixty-three, had received his postgraduate

training in psychiatry at the University of tndiana, and had served as Chief of Service, Geniral Hospital, and Acting Associate Superintendent of the State fiospital at Orange. At the time of his appointment by the co-urt, he was Associate Superintendent of the Southern Celifornia State Hospital for the Insane. These psychiatrists, who would slemils me and all pertinent data related to the case, including police reports, court proceedings, records of the jailhouse hospitaf and

the materials made available to them by Burnett, were for the prosecution nor-for the defense, but on behalf of tle couri Either prosecution or defense, appointed neither

depending upon the psychiatrists' findings, migbt call theni at the trial. . What was to happen to me depended almost solely upon

as witnesses

these two men-

F

)

The report from Dr. Karlsen on which Ross Burnett had based his plea and his case had concluded as follows:

... in January, 1962, he began his own analysis' This did not go well-whether one accepts his an-

or his own. He showed increasing of personality breakdown. He made poor decisions. He lost more con-fidence in himself. His thoughts became pathological. His father's sudden death in August disturbed him very deeply. He somehow blamed himself for this. He became more preoccupied with his overwhelming personality problems. alyst's account signs

His thoughts became more bizarre. He showed impulsive trends. He had acutely disturbed "spells." His paranoid delusions regarding his wife became more organized. He believed he was through as a writer and in the movie and television industry, although this was not a fact. He was given substantial quantities of tranquilizers and sedatives. He had repeated thoughts of killing himself and fears of killing his wife. He believed that he was ineffectual, castrated, rejected by his wife and by the industry. His paranoid projections became more clearly established as delusions. He made desperate attempts to get into school at UCLA and USC, also Yale. However he was too

sick mentally to actually carry out any practical plans. Fantasy, delusions, and reality became intermingled and confused. On the night of the killing, he believed that his wife had actually stolen his penis. He rolled about the floor crying in pain and holding the intensely painful area where his penis and genitals had been.

When this man killed his wife he was, in my opinion, suffering from a psychosis or major mental

ttz

By Reason ol Insanity

113

illness, specifically, a schizophrenic reaction, paranoid type. I believe his act was based on paranoid delu-

sions. Therefore, in my opinion, he was not fully aware of the nature, meaning, and consequences of his acts nor able adequately to distinguish between right and wrong in relationship thereto. In my opinion, he was legally insane at the time of the alleged act. The symptoms of his psychosis are evident at this time. In my opinion, he is presently legally insane.

The symptoms of his psychosis are evident 41 rhis

time.

...

The urine was far too salty and sour, but I drank it anyway. My brain cells were slowly dissolving and being flushed out through my kidneys. This was good as far as Eric and Grossler were concerned, the less brain cells for them the better. But it was not good as far as God was concerned. My brain was very important to God. I had to preserve it so that I could fit in with the new divine order that was already taking shape on the outside. I had seen its fint manifestations through the window at the far end of the ding tank. At precisely eleven o'clock in

the morning the sky had blazed and then the earth had tilted. By prearranged plan, two huge hydrogen bombs, one American and the other Russian, had been set off simultaneously at the North Pole and the vertical axis of the earth had shifted by two degrees. As a result, climate

all over the world had changed. After the blaze the sunlight was infiritely brighter and more beautiful than any that had ever bathed the earth before. Soft rain was falling on the Gobi, the Sahara, and the Mojave. Within months they would be fertile gardens. The earth's capacities for supporting population would be tripled. There would be no more hunger, no more war. God's kingdom was on the way.

God spoke to me and told me about it. The second world war had been Armageddon. Hitler's Germany and militaristic Japan had been the forces of evil. Although they had almost won, the forces of good had finally

prevailed and now the tree of life could flourish. History was this tree of life. Its roots reached into the fiery lava of creation. The history of mankind thus far was the trunk. Now with Armageddon past the trunk would produce billions of branches and leaves. From the earth, mankind would populate tens of thousands of universes. Already death was stopping around the world. Very soon it would

tL4

JOHN BALT

in the brain, and the brain lived forever. Men would live forever. Life was eternal. President Kennedy spoke to me on the telecommunicator. God had contacted him, for the United States was to be the seat of government for the new divinely ordered world, which would be proclaimed on a great holiday called Universals Day. On that day at eight o'clock in the morning, Washington time, President Kennedy would go on radio and television to announce the start of the earthly heaven and to make known God's will that death should end. At eleven o'clock, God would descend from Heaven; and I was vouchsafed a vision of this scene Eo inconceivably beautiful that it brought tears to my eyes. Magnificent colors resplendent in the new sunlight, gold everywhere. On one side of the stupendous Figure was Moses; on the other, Jesus. A dazding city would spread out from the point where they would touch earth, wide-

cease altogether. The soul was

streeted and gold-domed.

I was to be the human symbol of the great holiday. God would receive me and I would become his great minister-writer-historian forever. President Kennedy wanted me to help him compose his speech for that great morning, and I telecommunicated the words that had come from above: "The historv of mankind is a tree of .life whose roots go back to the fiery lava of creation and whose Crown reaches upward into the stars." Claire contacted me on the telecommunicator. She was at our hillside home in the Vallev. It had alreadv become a shrine because it had becoms- known to thousands of people by divine inspiration that from it the best view could be had of the Descenl "I'm growing taller," she said. "And so are the children. Stand up, John, and see if you aren't growing taller too,"

I

stood

by the bars and saw that she was right. I

measured at least seven feet. "God has arranged it that way," said Claire. "An angel came last night and told me. You and I and the children ere to be over ten feet tall. We're the first, but tlrough us,

mankind will know that it is to become a race of giants. Our hearts are changing too, John. If they were to examine you now they'd find that your heart had six chambers instead of four. It is a heart that is meant for all eternity.

I'm

so happy

for everyone, John."

"Why has God chosen us?" "Because we've loved each other so much.'

"When will

I

see

vou?"

115 By Reason ol Insaniry "On lJniversals Day. The angel said that it's been arranged that way because you're to go to God directly from jail. I'll be coming from the house with the boys. Oh, John, you should see them. They're so beautiful, so

beautiful."

"I want to see you, too."

"Soon," she said. "Soon."

As the great day approached, President Kennedy and I went over more of the speech: "All mankind will have one religion, and English will be the universal tongue. There shall be no more war, no more want, and no more hatred. New and maryelous spaceships are already being constructed. We are no longer thinking in terms of years or generations or centuries, but in billions of years, even to that time when this earth, which is our mother, will be nothing more than an airless cinder in space and the homes of men will be all the stars in heaven." On the Friday night before Universals Day I measured my height in the cell and I was almost nine feet tall. The other inmates of the ding tank stood in the freeway and stared at me in awe. "He's a god," they said. "He's a god."

The United States fleet sailed into San Pedro harbor and trained its guns on the topmost stories of the Hall of Justice. After I was released in the morning, the. other prisoners would be escorted out and then the jailhouse would be demolished. That was to be the signal for jails and penitentiaries all over the country to be opened and the prisoners released. Since there was to be no more

want, the economic motivations for crime had disappeared, and since there was to be no more death, violence

would be pointless. When they learned that God had given them eternal life, the most evil would be transformed and made gentle. It was after midnight in the hours just before the dawn

of what was to be the greatest day in the history of mankind, and certainly the $eatest day of my life, that I started to masturbate. I don't know whv. There was nothing sexual about it.

I

didn't have an erection.

I

just

reached down and started to rub and I kept rubbing until I felt the warm liquid on my leg. When it was over I knew

I

had done something horrible, and I trembled for what God would think of this. I was to be the human svmbol of the new world and look what I had done. I felt my height begin to decrease. I reached down again and repeated the

act. Over and over again until my pants were covered

JOHN BALT

116

with wet slime.

I

hated myself and cried and shivered and

couldn't stop. At three o'clock in the morning I knew that the monks who were to escort me out were already in the jailhouse. Panicked, I stood up. I had shrunk to my normal height. I went back to the cot and lay down and tried desperately to wrpe my pants, but they were too wet. I grabbed the bars with both hands and held tightly so that I wouldn't repeat the crime. I heard them coming down the freeway. There were two of them, one robed all in white, the other in black, both with caps and beards. They reached my cell, and rvithout slowing tleir pace, glanced in and then passed on. They had rejected me.

Then I had a vision. Our beautiful house that had become a shrine was hit by a thunderbolt. On the hilltop there was nothing but devastation. From glory I had made

ruin. Universals Day never happened. I had spoiled it. But I still believed that eternal ffe had been proclaimed on the outside. I still believed that the jailhouses would be opened and everyone released but me. I wasn't worthy. Yet there was hope; Claire was on the outside working for me. She spoke to me often on the telecommunicator. "Listen, John. Something wonderful has happened. I didn't know whether to tell vou or not because I thoueht it might make you feel more miserable than you alread-y do. But I will. Maybe it'll give you the strength you need so that you can act the way they want." "What is it?" I projected. "We're very rich, richer than you ever dreamed possible. We've got millions of dollars." "I don't understand." "Well, you know English is the universal language now, and with no more death, the population of the world is expanding fantastically. Your shows can and will reach more people through the years than you ever dreamed of, so residuals have become tremendously valuable. A big distributing company has been formed, and they're paying the writers fortunes on what thev call 'futures.' All of our

friends are very wealthy now too, but because you've

written so many shows you've got just about the largest number of 'futures' in torryn." "When did all this happen?" "Just within the last two weeks. And vou and I have been selected the'futures' couple by the industry. There's to be a huge celebration on the day you're released."

By Reason of Insanity rt7 "It'll be soon, sweetheart. I promise you." "I love you, John." "I love you with all my heart," I projected back. "I'll kiss the children for you," she said. I lay back on the bunk, enjoying the recollection of

Claire and the children. Then suddenly I realized that all that money coming in for "futures" provided yet another motive for Eric and Grossler to want to get rid of me. "You're rightl" said Eric loud and viciously on the telecommunicator. "Not only have we got your brain to collect on now, but your futures, too. Claire is going to get disgusted waiting for you one of these days, and then

I'll

marry her."

"It's not going to work, Eric.

I

won't touch myself, and

they'll let me out."

"Never. You've got syphilis now, in its most virulent form. In a couple of hours you'll be dead." "I don't believe you." "It doesn't matter whether you believe me or not. You're crawling with spirochetes. Lie stjll for a minute and you'll know I'm telling the truth." I closed my eyes. I felt millions of tiny worms beneath my skin. "How did it happen?' I wanted to know. *I bribed the trusties. Do you know where you are?" "In the ding tank." "Sure in the ding tank. But in the syph part of the ding tank. They die of syph in here all the time. The man next to you is dying right now. Even your clothes are full of syph," said Eric. The clothes suddenly felt wet and clammy. off and began to yell for help. "Radio, punk," someone screamed.

"I want the

officerl"

officer. You hear me?

I

tore them

I want

the

Finally the deputy came down and ordered me to put

on my clothes, but

I

refused,

"What do you want me to do with Balt?"

trusty ask. "Let him scream. hospital."

"I

I

heard the

If it gets too bad I'll send him to

don't want the hospital.

I

the

just want out of here.

There's no charges against me. I should be free and you're keeping me here so you can give me syph. I want Claire. Claire, help me! Claire, help met" "Radiol Radio!" The others were joining in the chorus to silence me. The thin colored man who was two cells

118

JoHN BALT

to sing in words and tune of his own creation, beating time by clapping and stamping his feet on the floor. I yelled above the din; but finally the inside of my throat became so painful I had to stop. I slumped to the floor and whispered good-bye to the children. The spirochetes remained with me for weeks, and then, gradually, they disappeared. away started

All

through the day on which Dr. Martyns came to for the court, I had been taking a tonguelashing from President Kennedy for my failure on Universals Day. Over and over again he kept saying, "All humanity says yes, and this man says no." This so umerved me that when the order came for me to reDort to the prison hospital, I refused to go and had to be carried by examine me

the trusties.

By the time I was seated across the desk from Dr. Martyns, I had calmed down. Since he had a deep scar on his face and wore rimless glasses, my first appraisal of him was tlat he used to be an SS doctor, probably at Auschwitz. But because he was very patient, gave me cigarettes, and began to ask me questions about my past life, I was reassured. At least, I thought so. His report, however, noted extreme tension, agitation, and fear. It also noted that I spoke relevantly, coherently, and spontaneously. His statements and questions reduced my doubts about Claire's death to a minimum, and I told him as factually as I could remember all that preceded my attack upon her. Although the interview lasted a long time, he seemed to be interested only in the period before and during the offense. The details of that dawn. Naturally, everything I told him could be checked against police reports and other sources, but I never thought of this. I strove to tell the truth. Since he didn't ask about the present, I told him nothing about President Kennedy, Universals Day, the spirochetes, or Eric Krug on the telecommunicator. I limited myself to maintaining that I believed the lawyers had entered the wrong plea on my behalf, and asked him to do something about this if he could. Although the examination was undoubtedly one of the most crucial events of my life, I was totally unaware of its real significance. Afterward, when the trusty was conducting me back to the ding tank, he asked, "Well, Balt" do you think you're insane?"

By Reason ol Insanity

119

"No," I told him. When Dr. Conners, a large man with I gray crew cut, examined me about six days later he noted: "During the examination he was tense, agitated, and obsessed with certain ideas which he constantly interjected into the examination. For example, he repeatedly asked if he could see a judge, Judge Polk, and he repeatedly asked if the charge against him was correct and whether or not his attorney had made the right plea and whether or not he

could change his plea. ..." Although Dr. Conners was a very skillful questioner, and I had considerable doubt from time to time during the examination that he was a doctor at all, I answered his questions in as straightforward a manner as I could. I told him about some of the voices I had been hearing in the cell on the telecommunicator, particularly that of Claire, who told me that I hadn't killed her, that she was still alive, and that I was very rich, Further on Dr. Conners wrote, "He then says, 'I have the feeling I am the victim of a plot.' When asked who would bring about such a plot he doesn't know who would do this. He then says 'the police or the lawyers.' When asked why they would do such things, he says, 'To get my money.' He complains constantly that he has been 'unjustly deprived of communications.' He states that they have not yet sent out his letters, that he has been unable to talk to people, and that his lawyer has not seen him enough." The report noted: "He was cooperative, however, and the examination was done completely in detail. He gave a

somewhat inadequate account

of

himself and

of

his

present situation. He spoke freely and clearly. At several points in the examination he said, 'I realize I can't be talking to you about this.' He said repeatedly that he shouldn't tell the examiner ttrese things. He did, however, tell them to the examiner without an! urging on the part of the examiner. . . ." Like Dr. Martyns, Dr. Conners was most interested in the period prior to and during the crime, and we went over it again and again. As in the previous examinations, I told all I could, as truthfully as I could. The report stal:d, "Memory was good for recent and remote events.

He asked me whether I thought that killing Claire would be wrong and I told him yes. As I was being conducted back to my cell, I reflected on how perfectly the lawyer's plot had worked. First they

JOHN BALT

120

had entered the wrong plea, and then they had arranged to have me examined by an SS man and a detective.

It was my conviction that as s,oon as the men who had examined me submitted their reports to the judge, he would order my summary execution without trial. Therefore, each night for six weeks by calendar time, or an eternity by my own reckoning, I waited for the special execution escorts from San Quentin to arrive, to lock me in chains from head to foot, and then to drive me over dark roads beside the ocean I had once loved to the ultimate fisrrsl-n gas chamber designed not to kill but only to stun me so that my living body could be removed from the sight of the public by ravenous guards, who would then vivisect it limb by limb and organ by organ; then the "sensate brain" would be sliced by the surgeons into a thousand pieces and distributed to the brainwatchers for tortures that were to last beyond the end of the universe.

And once the pressures of reason, which the doctors

had forced on me, were removed, the beautiful delusion that Claire was alive and waiting for me so took over my mind that I knew that if I could but escape the clutches of the plotters and the jailhouse I would soon be beside her and the children in a world where life was eternal. Like all men, but more aware of it than most, I was between hell and heaven. Among the other inmates, thsre were some who had enough reason to understand what was going on and found in me a means for relieving their own frustration, anger, and hatred. Among the most skillful of these was Timmy, a thin-faced young man of about twenty-two, a compulsive thief.

"I

saw Claire again today

"I

want to see her.

in the visiting room,"

he

would say from the freeway outside my cell. "She's sure a beautiful woman. She was there with her mother and your mother." "If she was there, why didn't they let me see her?" "You know why. Because you smell like a goat."

I

want to see Claire," I'd start to

shout.

"She doesn't want to see you. She hates you. And the children hate you. Bob hates you, and Stan hates you."

"No!" His voice rising, "Bob hates you! Stan hates you!" I would scream, grabbing the

"Let me out of heret"

By Reason ol Insanity l2l bars and shaking the cell door. "I-et me out of heret Claire is down there! I've got to see hert I've got to see Claire! Claire! Claire!"

Satisfied, he would amble away. On one of these occasions,- I screamed myself into unconsciousness. When I became aware of mv surround-and

ings again, two men were holding me down a grotesquely smiling figure in white was jabbing a needle into my neck. . "The visiting room," I said. Then I passed into oblivton. Sometimes

I lost faith that Claire was waiting for me. I had proved unworthy and she would find other men. But only once during that time did I doubt that she was alive and well. A voice identffied itself as an angel and told me that I had hurt Claire, but she wasn'i deadHowever, in order to survive she needed mv soul, "Will you trade a soul for a soul?"

"My soul?"

"Your soul for Claire's soul." "Yes,"

I

said to the angel.

angel told me that Claire would survive. Then, -Thea moment, after "Perhaps God will preserve you both." The Bible, which in high power had been both a destructive enemy and a protecting friend, now, in the ding tank, became an ally once more. When I found tG strength to read it, the evil voices on the telecommunicator were drowned out. Portions of the psalms seemed 9_sp99i_ally written for me and I would pray out loud: "Withhold not thou thy tender mercies from me, O I_onp: let thy loving kindness and thy truth continually preserve me. For innumerable evils have compassed me about:

mine iniquities have taken hold upon me, so that I am not able to look up. . . . Save me, O God; for the waters are come in unto my soul. I sink in deep mire, where there ie

no standing:

I

am come into deep waters, where the I am weary of my crying: my throat is dried: mine eyes fail white I wait for my 6od. ... Lono, why casteth thou off my soul? Why hidest thou thy face from me? I am aflicted and ready to die from my-youth up: while I sufter thy terrors I am distracted. Thv iterce wrath goeth over me; thy terrors have cut -" oli. Thev came round about me daily like water; they compassei me about together. Lover and friend hast itrou put far floods overllow me.

from me, and mine acquaintance into darkness."

122

JoHN BALT

When the terrors continued, I began to think that I was worshiping the wrong God, that my God was dead, and that I should become a Cbristian. One dawn I had a vivid vision of Jesus Christ on a Cross 6s5sslding from the ceiling of my cell, dripping blood on my chest so that my shirt became covered with red. I yelled out, "I saw Jesus. I saw Jesus." Shortly afterward, I asked for an audience with the Protestant chaplain. The trusty who took me down waved everyone we encountered aside. "Don't go near this man," he kept saying. I stumbled ahead of him, feeling gentle and humble inside, and wondering why the inmates scattered as if I were some sort of a beast. The colored chaplain sat me down beside his desk and told the trusty to wait outside. "What's the matter?" he asked gently. can't find any peace. I'm noisy, and everyone hates me for it. I can't sleep." "Are you praying?" "I try to, but it always comes out wrong.' "Are you Jewish?"

"I

"Yes." "Well, you can't help what you are, can you?"

"I

don't know."

"Do you want

me to pray for you?" "Yes, please." We bowed our heads. "God, let this man have the rest he so desperately needs, let his fellow inmates understand fim, let him find peace, and let Thy mercy shine upon him, I pray Thee in the name of our Lord Jesus Chiist.

Amen." He looked up at me and said, "Don't hope."

lose

_ For days afterward I would alternate prayers, first the Hebrew, then what I thought was Christian.'I would say, "Hear O Israel, the Lord is God, the Lord is One," and then, "No, no, the Lord is Three," confusing the Trinitv. "the Lord is Three, Father, Mother, and Son." Then'i brought in Zen. I didn't know what Zen was. but I thousht

it-was some sort of religion based on humanity rather thlan divinity. Out of my blankets I made signs on my bunk, the star of David, the Cross, and for Znn, for some reason, a triangle. When I made the Cross I thought that Stanley Mosk, the state's attorney general, who is lewish, saw mi qnd-was angry. "'How could you make a prayer conver-

sion?" he demanded accusingly.

used to stand outside my cell and say, ..you -_ Ti--y Hebe bastard, I hear you're going to unite the Je*ish and

By Reason ol

Insanity

123

Catholic religions," to which I would agree. The "Ilebe bastard" part was incidental. Timmy knew the words bothered me. that's all.

How much further into the abyss I would have slipped without the prayers I don't know. For weeks they were my only defense against what I knew of hell, and I used

I felt the closeness of God. would help, too. But I failed to overcome the loathsome degradation of my body. As time passed I began to think that perhaps I still had a chance of defeating the plofters, and I tried to understand why I had been given the chance. Had the prayers been answered? In a manner, I thought they had. One morning I had noticed two men in business suits standing outside my cell watching me. I was busy at the time washing a piece of bread in the sink to remove the "aldehyde" with which it was poisoned, so I didn't pay too much attention. Now I recalled that one of the men was Governor Brown. Despite the "mordant" plea, he was now giving me an opportunity to save myself. A small hole had been drilled in the tile wall opposite my cell, and behind it, I believed, was one of the Governor's lieutenants assigned to observe me and decide whether or not I was worthy to be released. Since Claire was alive and well. in order to be worthy I merely had to pass three tests. I couldu't smoke, eat, or rub myself to the point of ejaculathem continually. Many times

He wanted to help,

if

only

I

tion. Smoking had already become a tremendous problem. In order to obtain money from our accounts downstairs, we had to make out weekly draw slips. I had decided long before that these were in reality "pink-slip death warrants," giving anyone who possessed them the right to commit legal murder; so I had refused to sign them, and so was pretty much without funds. Since tobacco was one of the environment's most precious commodities, I soon found it impossible to bum cigarettes. f was, therefore, limited to the daily bags of tobacco ..dust" which were distributed free to the ding tank. Although they gave me a lacking cough, I oould not resist them. For piisoners with the habit, the desire to smoke is overwhelming-so much so that I've seen men make cigarettes from tightly rolled bits of newspaper stuffed with garbage. However, as soon as Timmy and the other dings reelized that not smoking was one of the tests I had set myself, they began to place Iighted cigarettes on the cross mbmbers oi my-celt d6or. I

124

JoHN BALT

would cringe in the corner near the toilet, trying desperately to resist, and always fail. As for food, when I stopped coming out of my cell to get it, the guards ordered the trusties to shove it under the door. If was like a game of hockey with me as the goaltender. If I was successful in intercepting the paper plate, I would make a mess of cold macaroni and watery lettuce on the freeway; if not, the mess was in my cell. The trusties, who were assigned to clean it up, were enraged either way. Although I sometimes picked bits and

pieces of the garbage off the floor, with the passage of days I became very weak. Still the orange peels and dry

for doing it, were And each time I smoked or ate, I would be so over-

bread

I

swallowed, hating rnyself

enough to constitute failure in test number two,

whelmed with disgust at my weakness, that my hand would go down between my legs and rub, and rub, and rub.

The environment became even more mocking and hos-

tile. The dings and trusties were devils, storm troopers,

and predacious cops. Ordinary prison sounds were signals of failure. Men urinating, toilets flushing, signal buzzers sounding, sirens and church bells from the outside, all betokened death.

I

now believed that Claire, because of my failures to

pass the tests, had already given me up

for dead and

had

to Mexico by Eric and Burnett. Still, I to hope and pray that I could set things right.

been spirited

continued Then the friendly voice on the telecommunicator told me that despite my shortcomings, Governor Brown had ordered hearings at which I would be given an opportunity to demonstrate my worthiness. When these hearings failed to materialize I became convinced that the guards, in Eric's pay, were simply not informing me about them. To make certain that the men from Governor Brown's office would find me, I would stand at the door of my cell, and shout as loud as I could, "I'm Balt. I'm here. Cell nine. Help me. Help me!" Once or twice I tried to write to Sacramento, but I could never find the right words. Then one noon, Eric came to see me, By chance, a trusty I believed was working for him was also in the

attorney room. The room was strangely quiet and the whole thing smacked of the "plot." I was immediately wary. Eric stared at my face, which was blue and swollen on one side.

125 By Reason ol Insanity "What happened to your eye?" he asked. "You're wearing a black suit," I whispered. "Did you get slugged? It looks like your nose is bro-

ken."

"They say I'm a homosexual. They see me jacking off--only it's not really jacking off-and they say I'm a homosexual. Maybe I got into a fight. I know why you

I know why you're wearing that black suit." "I've got a lot of suits. I just happened to put this one on today."

came at one minute before twelve, and

"It's to tell me it's all over and you've won. You're lucky you won, Eric, because after what you've done to

me, if I ever got out, I'd kill you. If only you and Burnett had pleaded just'not guilty' I'd at least have had a trial, and they'd find out about Claire. But you wouldn't even give me that chance."

"John, we've done the best we could for you. Ross is a

great lawyer,"

"Sure, Ross is, but what about Max C.? And how come

you never let me see my mother? Are you afraid

some-

thing might leak out?" "Dr. Karlsen advised your mother not to visit here. upsets

you too much. Last time she was here,

It

three

deputies had to carry you out of the visiting room." "I don't remember anything like that." "And it's hard on her, too. She's under a doctor's care, on tranquilizers." "You've done it to her, Eric. You've done it to her." I kept talking, and a small unhappy smile began to play

at the corners of his mouth. How do you react to a man who's been your friend for ten years and then tells you that he wants to kill you because you've destroyed him and his mother, and plotted successfully to take his wealth, his wife, and his brain? He continued with his attempts to reassure me, telling me about our mutual friends. He was wonderful. But alt I saw was the black suit.

That night I begged a scrap of paper and the stub of a pencil from one of the trusties and wrote with great effort to my mother. The exact details of the fate I expected I

couldn't tell her because they would be too horrible for her to bear, but I did want to communicate with her this last time.

」OHN

126

BALT

Dear Mom, I am sorry the attorneys wanted you to stay away, because I am anxious to see you. Actually I am

writing this just prior to my execution. They will say in the papers that I wanted to die, but it isn't so. Actually, I have been a horrible fool this past week, but you know the details. I needed a schedule of the hearings and help in leaving the cell block. I love you very much. Please try in future years to forget these perifidious weeks. I am trying not to be frightened and I am not. I thought there was more time ahead

eternity

of

love

for me. An

to you, and may God

bless you.

it will be forever before we see one another, but you should understand that there is a lot of Perhaps

money in the family now and you should be comforted by that. It seems

from what I've been able to gather that I am oddly enough being destroyed by my inability to write letters. Several of them at the right time would have helped a great deal.

I am not frightened, but I don't want to die. Now it isn't possible to live here or anywhere. Again, Iove, John

By the way,

I

Once again

did want to plead "not guilty."

I

for

the

woke up to

see

spent the long night waiting

executioners. Before dawn, having doze4

t

an electric chair set up in the freewav, I was relieved, Several times I had asked the trusties to if pos".ru.rg",that the sible, for my electrocution because I believed electric current, in contrast to gas, would cook and kill my

brain. When I looked again, however, the sun was out and the electric chair was gone. It was to be the gas. Somehow the execution had been delaved. Perhaps it would be the coming night, or the night uJt"., o. thi night after that. Meanwhile, I would have to pray, and not sin, and wait. On a June morning they led me down to the ninth floor, and told me that I was going to court for my trial. I recalled that the week before, I had had a visit from

"Max C.," who had said something about a trial and the psychiatrists. I had failed to make any sense out of it. What I had tried to do was to get him to call oft the eating tests.

By Reason ol Insanity 127 When they chained us to the various court lines, I noticed that there were only six men on my line, and one of them was wearing a black suit like Eric's. I tried to stay as far away from him as possible. We used the staircase instead of the elevator, and though I had trouble controlling my limbs, I managed to reach the holding room without falling. I was the last man taken from the holding room into the courtroom, and by the time my turn came, a veil had descended between me and my surroundings. Through il among the spectators, I saw my mother and Max C., and several other persons

I

knew but couldn't place.

From the bench, words filtered down to me. The rec-

ord: THE couRT: . . . I will express a doubt as to the defendants present sanity under Section 1367 et seq. in Chapter 6, Part 2, Title 10 of the Penal Code. The matter is submitted sengslning the issue? MR. BURNETT: Yes, your Honor. THE couRT: The Court will find the defendant presently insane within the meaning of these sections.

The trial of the defendant on the other issues raised in

this case will be suspended until the defendant

becomes

will order that he be in the meantime committed by the Sheiff of this County to a State Hospital for the care and treatment of the insane, and that upon his becoming sane, he be redelivered to the Sherift to be sane. and the Court

returned to this Court for further proceedings.

MR, BURNET"T: Now, if your Honor please, your Honor may recall in the discussions that we had-when he will be returned I do not know-it had been my hope that we could dispose of both issues today, but understandably, because he is not in a position to waive a trial by jury, and because of his present illness, f would appreciate if yow Ifonor would express whatever views your fl6n61-. THE couRT: Yes, I will express my views concerning the issue as to the defendant's sanity. At the time of the commission of the oftense, I think he was insane within the meaning of the M'Naghten Rule. MR. BURNBTT: If your Honor please, I would like to state to my client in the presence of the Court-since he has been in the County Jail, he has been a very difrcult inmate. I have suggested to him that I know that if he can now try to behave himself when he gets to the hospital, the quicker-if he cooperates with everyone there includ-

128

JOHN BALT

ing the psychiatrists--the sooner you will get well. . .. Do

you undersrand?

THB DEFBNDANT: Yes, sir.

I

understand.

I

understood nothing. As I had stood in the courtroom, had occurred to me that here was an opportunity, perhaps my last, to yell out to the judge that the wrong plea had been entered for me. But to me the judge had looked vicious and the bailiff threatening, and I had kept my peac€. Now, when Max C. turned to me with his

it

question, my mind flooded with words, wouldn't form them. Resignedly, I gave up.

but my mouth

In the world of reality, the findings of Doctors Terence M. Conners and Harold R. Martyns had been submitted to the court, to the district attorney's office, and to Ross

Burnett. Dr. Karlsen's opinion was also in the hands of the court. From the report of Terence M. Conners, M.D., to the Superior Court re: 5B7224Ol. ". . . it is the opinion of the examiner at the rme of the commission of the offense rhe defendant was legally insane. It is the further opinion of the examiner that the defendant at the time of mv examination of him on April 28, 1963 was legally sane (able to understand the nature and purpose oi the proceedings _taken against him), although still mentally ill with schizophrenia, paranoid type. . -. , Since he sufters trom-schizophrenia, which is a fluctuating disease in its severity, I cannot state what his condition mav be in a week from now or any other time, but it is my bpinion at

tle present date

. . ." From the report of Harold R. Martyns, M.D., to Superior Court re: 5872240: ". .. at the time of the comneission of the offen-se, it appears that he was overtly psychotic and was unable to understand, and was legiil! insane under M'Naghten's Rule. Presently, durine this ixamination,,because of his agitation and jxtreme Srittleness, he is unable to understand the nature of the proceedings being taken against him, and to conduct his bwn defeise in i rational manner. The defendant is mentally ill, and in desperate need of hospitalization." Thus Doctors Karlsen, Conners, and Martyns had all agreed that I was legally insane at the time oi the crime. On the issue of whether or not I could presently stand trial, however, there had been a difference'of opinion. In the advent, the judge had relied upon the opinion of Dr.

Karlsen, about whom he said for the record, ..

...

though

By Reason ol Insanity 129 it is true that Dr. Karlsen was employed by the defense, I will say for the record that I have a high regard for the gentleman's ability. He is one of the best in the business in my opinion, and I have employed him many times before I was on the bench (in the district attorney's office), and I have appointgd him as the Court's expert times without number.

..."

Since a man unable to fully understand the proceedings being taken against him cannot stand trial, the question of whether I was guilty or not guilty by reason of insanity on the charge of murder was left undecided. plqs66dings were merely suspended. I would have to stand trial at a later date. As the transcript shows, however, Ross Burnett

astutely took the opportunity

to place on the record

judge's opinion on this vital matter.

the

Almost completely unaware of what had occurred or what it meant, I was led from the courtroom by the bailiff. The strange journey that had begun in an office building in Los Angeles, the journey on which I had seen the edge of heaven and the shape of hell, and on which I had lost the one person in the world dearest to me, was now to take me to the state sanctuary for the criminallv insane.

Jim Ostend, one of the spectators that morning, stood up and gnpped the railing in front of him tightly. He

thought, "Why did it have to happen to John? Why?' Although in Jim's mind the question might have been rhetorical, in reality it was not. There were answers.

6 The world wasn't spinning on a newly tipped axis. The morning was close and smoggy. I noticed a group of tired-looking women standing in one corner of the yard guarded by a husky a16 3hining female deputy. An officer with a drawn revolver kept watch as we entered one of the barred buses. Ttvo deputies followe4 checked our handcuffs, and then closed the steel mesh screen that separated the passengers from the driver's compartment. One of them settled down behind the wheel, and the other took a seat from which he could watch us. After the huge electrically controlled gate slid open we tbreaded our way tlrough the parking lot and onto the freeway. I felt the sudden sight of the ivy-colored banks as a physical blow. "Green is mordant," screamed my friendly voice. There was nothing I could do but close my eyes. I didn't open them again until I scented the ocean. The water was gray and deathlike. There were some surfers on the breakers and I wondered whether they knew they had the gift of eternal life; and if they did know, what use they were making of it. Much sooner than I expected, the man to whom I was handcuffed said, "There it is." We were grinding along beside a low-slung structure that seemed to stretch for miles. When we finally stopped, it was within a maze of high meshed steel fences and barbed wire. We were conducted from the bus, through a set of green barred gates, and into a little manydoored receiving room fitted with heavy wooden benches. At one end of tle room there was a glass enclosed office. The guards here wore olive green in contrast to the khakis of the men who had brought us, but to me they seemed to have the same hawklike hardness. After the Los Angeles deputies had removed our handcuffs and disappeared, a 133

」OHN

134

'

BALT

guard in olive began asking questions of the men and repeating the answers to someone behind a typewriter in the office. He asked me, "Ate you married?" "Yes." "What's your religion? "Jewish." "Jew," he repeated. The word was an accusation. I believed that my being a Jew had something to do with all that had happened and was going to happen. We were given white coveralls and conducted to a man behind a desk who introduced himself as a doctor. Making my fust attempt to answer questions since I had seen Dr. Conners almost two months before. I found a short circuit between my brain and my lips. I tried, however, to convey my belief that I was being held on a murder charge even though Claire was alive.

After the interviews those who had come with

deputies,

me,

I thought, were led off in ones and twos by white

uniformed escorts to what I believed were specially reserved recreational facilities. I was the last to. receive aa escort. He had a long face, dark hair and was very soft-spoken.

"Mr. Balt?" "Yes?"

"I'm Mr. Kent,

technician on Ward

C. It's a

good

ward. You'll like it. Come with me please." The main hallway seemed to stretch into dark infinity and as soon as we entered it, the blood left my head. I

had to stop for a moment to allow my eyes to refocus before continuing. We turned up a flight of stairs and entered a very long room in which the evening lights had not yet been turned on. Men in tans, men of all sizes, ages, and races were lounging about. The green and red leather furniture was frightening and so was the sympy orange liquid that I was given to drink. I objected to its color, but Mr. Kent was adamant. and so I downed it. After Mr. Kent had taken me to my room and left me there, I noted that it contained a bed, not a cot. The mattress was clean, and on top of it there were sheets and a blanket. Just behind the bed was a narrow window. crisscrossed with steel, which looked out on a courtyard. Glancing through it I saw the grass and quickly raised my eyes. Beyond the dark of the two-story building were hills, blue now in the late afternoon sun, and somewhere beyond those hills was Claire.

By Reason

ol

Insanity

135

I

lay down in the bed, I heard EriCs voice on the telecommunicator. "Resl you bastard, so that when we get you we can redly enjoy you." I jumped to my feet. While Eric continued with his vituperation I searched frantically for the device, groping under the mattress, running my ear along the wallJto-see if the sound increased et any poing climbing on fle toilet bowl to look into the warm air vent and to probe what appeared to be an intercom loudspeaker. The admissions record had noted: .,psychosis, unclassffied, schizo-affective type. Treatment: Suicidal precau-

As soon as

tions."

I

didn't like Dr. Harley, the ward physician, any more

I had liked Doctors Conners and Martyns. I 6ad the same misgivings about his real identity. At irur first meeting_he asked me to deduct sevens from one hundred and with my eyes closed to touch the end of one finger to thi than

tip of my nose, neither of which I could do.-When I stripped for examination I was ashamed of mv boniness and of the burn marks all over my body. My privates

seemed distended and grotesque. He checked my ears and ordered me to-the clinic area. There an old man poked into them with a long tvteezer and fiIled a tray with 6its of rolled toilet paper, cigarette butts, and matcires. Later on there were several talks with Dr. Harley. Like Conners agd Martyns, he refused to accept the- hypothesis that Claire was alive. "If she's alive, where is she?' "I don't know." "Was^^there any conflict between your wife and your mother?" "I want to stop smoking, doctor.', "Was --there riny conflIlt between your wife and your mother?" "Yes, no, I don't know." ll9o Vol know why you're in the hospital?',

"Can

I have a cigarette, doctor?',

"I don't smoke. Do you know why you're in the hospi-

tal?'

"They say I killed my wife."

"Did vou?"

"I don't know." "If you didn't kill her, where

I

is she?"

had spoken to her on the telecommunicator. but the doctor probably didn't know that I had this link to the outside, and so

I

said nsthing.

JOHN BALT

136

"That'll be all.'Then, as I stood: "Don't worry, Even if you did kill her, Governor Brown doesn't believe in executions" To the techaician, "Give him a cigarette." Despite my misgivings I took to loitering near his office in the hope of having further conversations with him, but he seemed to avoid me. He told my mother, "His need to

form dependent relationships is part of his patlology. For the time being, he has to go it alone." Existence in the hospital, with life going on all around me, was much more complex than it had been in jail. At frst I didn't get along well with the other patients, whom

I

believed were undercover men.

I

was attracted

clean pleasantJooking ones, but they seemed as repulsive and they kept away from me.

to

the

to regard me

One evening I heard a familiar sound and wandered down the corridor to the one room from which a light was coming. There I came upon a young man who was busy typing. I strayed over the doorsill, and he jumped up. "Get out of my room, you dirty old man."

"I'm not dirty." "You're a dirty old man."

"Is that your typewriter?" "Yes, it's my typewriter and if

I ever catch you touching

it, I1l crack your skull." "I won't touch it. I just want to listen." "You like typewriters, eh?" ttYgs.tt

He glanced around the room. On a shelf above his bed were some potted plants. Grabbing one of them he thrust

it under my nose. "You like plants too?" ttNo.tt

He was red-faced. "Dirty old men should like plants. You hear me? Dirty old men should like plants!" He pushed the plant higher until the wet dirt filled my mouth. From behind the snake leaves he watched me spit the muck out and laughed. Saddened rather than anI turned and shuffied away. A number of things directly recalled the

gered,

I

psychoanalytic

had been told then that I wanted to return to the womb; and in bed I automatically assumed the fetal position. In jail, believing that I was being watched through a closed circuit television camera behind the warm-air vent. period.

I

would hold that position rigidly, for

it

kept my hands

safe so that I could not commit the depravily that would have brought the security guards crashing in to get me.

By Reason ol Insanity 137 Another link with the past was my total inability to make decisions. If someone oftered me a cigarette, I would accept and refuse, accept and refuse, on and on. When there were opportunities to leave the ward for walks in the yard, my outspoken battles with myself would enrage the other men waiting and exasperate the technicians. Only direct commands could move me anyplace. There was also the necessity to fail, and I provided myself with ample opportunitiee to do so. I divided the days into sequences, each sequence containing a number of tests, passing any one of which I imagined would bring my release from custody. The eating test in the mess hall was much more complicated than it had been in jail. It involved the correct selection of trays, foods, and utensils. In addition, bread took on a special significance. Bread meant money, and if I left it on the tray it would indicate my willingness to divide my fortune with the technicians. Yet I could not do it, and my friendly voice would attack me as a cheap Jew bastard. I devised a number of completely new tests-abstention

from urinating and defecating, showering on the correct

performing well during morning cleanup, placing my daily medication, large pills, in my mouth with the correct hand, treading a line between seeming to be a homosexual and seeming to be unsociable. I would have gladly settled for death and oblivion, but the stakes continued to be {ay_s,

or vivisection. During this period

release

I attended a therapy session. Since the ward team had not considered me ready for therapy, I had to make a special request to Fred, the loud- but somehow friendly technician. As soon as I arrived in the therapy room and saw the transparent green shades on the windows

I

regretted having come.

I

could not

leave,

however, without an escort. There were about a dozen men there and by the time I became acclimated to the surroundings a very fat fellow was talking about a romance, between himself and a ten-year-old-boy, that had started in front of the San Francisco City liall. There were references to the speaker's being a euaker and never using dirty words. Pres-ently I noticld a- little black box suspended from the ceiling over his head and deduced that this was a microphone designed to transmit conversation to a central control room, where it could be tape recorded for later use. --I yu: take-n by.surprise when the technician in charge,

Mr. Lyle,

asked, "Anything you want

to $ay, tUr. nati?;

138

;

-. -E

JoHN BALT

Aware now of the tape recorder, I shook my head. But immediately the slender man next to me was talking' and

I was affronted by what I colsidered the of the situation. Although I had been clever enough to divine their purposes, they had no1 been thwarted. fhe technician's question that ended with "Mr. Balt?" about rape.

unfairness

had cued the "rapist"-whose voice would now be recorded as mine. By the time he had finished, I was certain that five rapes had been added to my list of crimes. In bne important respect my behavior now diftered radically frorn- what it had been before the crime. Then I had bein given to wild displays of despair. Had such outbursts oicurred in the hospital I would have undoubtedly been transferred to Waid 14' the locked ward for uniontrollables, where there were answers to nothing' One or both of two things helped me to avoid this: the druS I was receiving, differ-ent fiom those on the outside, served to stupefy m-e; and the primitive little.prayer-s I recited at

ttre eid

of

each sequence provided hope that Someone

knew the way out of-tbe labfonth and would guide me if only there was time. time did pass, what was reality-oriented in my Ana "t slowly to grapple with what was pathological' mind began

Although I later saw- it- bccur in others, such a turn up*a.d'was by no means inevitable' Dr. Harley's rec.ords nbted my charicteristic passivity and went on- to say, "His

aggressive tendencies se€m to have developed during psycfr6analysis. . . . He is apparently experiencing a healthy reaction to the ward envitonment." As I struggled to cope with the plotters, to understand them, and t5-identify their agents, I turned up inconsistencies. I had been completely under their control in the

county jail. Why, then, had they gone to the trouble of shipping me herl. and of populaiing this- enormous buildingt Ttiere were men herJ who could talk so convincingly of"child molesting, of arson, of attempted murder, of incest, exhibitionism and assault. There were little touches that only the most gifted could have created. "I'm a flag-waver because I h-ave a small dick. When I get out oJ herl I'm going to have an operation to make it larger"' Where had they found the gaping Negro who tried to himself with a bedsheet? The blond kid who, when hang -wasn't talking about surfing, screamed that he was he Charley the tuni fish? The little old Italian who kept mumbling about green chickens and repeating,

the beer.-It was

tle

"It

wasn"t

wine"? The ordinarily quiet Frenchy

139 βッR`aso“ or■おaが り be to who one day leaped at a man's throat and had wrestled, stili struggling, into seclusion? There were hun' dreds of them. Who could have invented all that mindless misery? And if it was all designed to jolt me into a bribe, they must have already known that I would never bribe them. If Governor Brown had insisted that I be given more time to pass the tests, he must have already despaired of the possibility.

^ But if else.

If

Claire were dead,

she were dead, then

it

would explain everything

Dr. Harley could be a real

doctor, the other men on the ward could be patients. If she were dead, it would explain all my memories of the courtroom. It would explain how my mother could visit me and talk about the children as if they were orphans. It would explain how one night, with my locked room dark except for the square night-light over tlre, door, Claire could speak to me in a way that she never had before.

"I'm dead and you killed me."

"No," I projected back. "I'm dead and you killed me." And more. John.

I

hate you.

I hate You."

Despite my denials,

i

knew then.

I

"I

hate you,

cried and

I told the

doctor.

"Why did you kill her?"

"I

don't know." He pressed me and

I said, "I had psychoanalysis. Maybe something went wrong." He said, "Many people in Hollywood have psychoanalysis."

I recognized the truth of this and I accepted it. Yet there had to be some explanation. I had loved Claire. I still loved her. All around me I heard talk of insanity. Many men said that they had been insane when they committed their crimes. I must have been insane too.

Then Dr. Brown, the dapper little ward psychologist, to his office. Although I didn't realize it, he, like Dr. Harley, was treating me with measured doses of reality. I was aware that he was Jewish and somehow trusted him more because of it. The lifelong pathology of evaluating people en masse I had not yet discarded. He played wittr trii pipe and spoke earnestly. "Lefs begin at ihe- beginning. You're a P.C. 1370. That's your commitcalled me

ment numbei.

It

means that you were found legally insane

at the time of your trial, not at the time of your crime. We will return you to court to stand trial when we feel

t40

JOHN BALT

that you are ready and that you can cooperate with your attorney." What came out of these sessions was a perception of Atascadero as a hospital populated mostly by patients but containing a number of undercover policemen dedicated to gaining evidence that would lead to my conviction in court. The lawyers' plot involved not my brain but my life insurance and my futures. A good part of the staff was in their pay. About two months after being brought to the hospital I attended a diagnostic staffing. A nurse seated me at the foot of a long conference table and then took a seat behind me to tend a tape recorder. At the table, along with Dr. Harley, Dr. Brown, and Mr. Perth, the chief technician on the ward, there was Dr. Earl, a gray-haired psychiatrist, who was one of the hospital's assistant superintendents.

I remember very clearly the doughnut on the table in front of Dr. Brown, which I immediately equated with bread and bribery. The assistant superintendent did most of the questioning. "Did you know that you were going to be staffed?' "Yes.

I

heard

it

on the ward."

"Did you know that it was going to be today?" "No."

"Have you had any dreams since you've been in the hospital?" "Some."

"Can you remember any of them?" "The one last night."

"Tell us about it." was a boy on the street. It was in front of our apartment house, a big brick apartment house. My father was there. Three airplanes flew over, but every one of

"I

them exploded and fell on the street.

It

scared me."

"Why did it scare you?" "I don't know. It was like my whole life crashed."

"What's the first thing you remember as a child?" I didn't understand him. "The first thing you remember in your life." "I stood up in a crib and fell against it with my lips. There was a lot of blood. My grandmother was taking care of me." "AIl right, your first memory is of getting hurt. Can you tell us about your fust dream? The earliest dream you can recall."

By Reason ol

Insanity

l4l

The childhood memories were indelible. "I dreamt of wild animals. Lions and tigers chasing me. I dreamt it very often. I would wake up crying." The psychologist was studying some papers.

He

put

them down and looked at me. "How long were you in psychoanalysis?"

"About nine or ten months." "And there was therapy before that?" ttYes."

"How often did you go to see the analyst?" "Four times a week." Suddenly he pushed the doughnut, and I recoiled from it as i-f it were a hand grenade. There was a moment of silence, and then he asked, "Can you tell us ssmgthing

about your illness?" Recollections flooded my mind but found no expression _o-! my lips. "I . .. I remember walking around Beverly Hills. I could hardly walk. I cried on the street." "How did this Dr. Blutman get irvolved?" "When I was at the private hospital." "What happened to Dr. Grossler?" "He said that he didn't care to treat me anymore.', The assistant superintendent asked, "Do ybu know that

you killed your wife?" ttYgs."

"Was there any trouble between you and your wife?"

"No."

"Then why did you kill her?" I knew that I didn't have the reasoll but tr did have the

memory.

"I thought I was castrated." "What?" "I thought that my penis was gone." I became aware of the nurse behind me. "Pardon me." "That's all right," she said. The psychologist asked, "What sort of treatment did you receive from Dr. Blutman?" I could remember only one facet of it. ,,There were drugs." There were more questions about Dr. Blutman and

to my eyes. They asked me *f . . . I don't understand it. We had everything. I don't

during them tears carne why.

understand what happened." "Are you getting any medicine here?' t'Yes.tt

1簑

JOHN BALT

142 `ヽ

Vhat7'

"Oraoge pills." "What do they do?' "They make me drowsy."

Dr. Earl observed that my illness seemed to be afiecting my speech, and he wondered if I knew why. I had my own theory about that, but I hesitated. Could there be some connection between these men and the undercover men in the ding tank? "I'll tell you this no matter what it costs me. In the ding tank . . . in the ding tank, I lost my front teeth. Thafs why I can't talk." The assistant superintendent said, "Of all the things you told us here, there's one that's really important. Do you know what that is?" t'No,tt

"Your nightmares about wild

beasts. There's a wild beast it can

inside you. It killed your wife. Do you know who destroy next?"

"No."

"It can destroy you. Do you understand that?" The idea of a wild beast was a completely new one, and I did not know what to make of it. But I did understand what he meant about self-destruction, and so I said, "Yes." "Now we've asked you a lot anything that you want to ask us?" *Yes."

of

questions.

Is there

"Go ahead."

"Can I stay here for a while?" The whole table smiled.

The hospital record noted simply, "Staff diagnosis: Schizophrenic reaction, schizo-affective type." A combination of antidepressants, which one of the technicians told me had to be brought specially to the ward, was substituted for the drug I had been receiving.

With it, I took more interest in ward activities and was able, at least temporarily, to handle the memory of the crime. The idea of the wild beast stayed with me. I recalled that I had attacked Claire twice. and that both times I had growled. Superficial as this was, it helped to prepare me for what was to come later. I played some chess, flicked pages in magezins5, m66t

I had to close scenes of violence occurred, was given a job in the laundry

some speaking acquaintances and, although

my eyes or leave when

watched some television.

I

By Reason ol Insanity

143

and a hall privilege card that enabled me to visit the yard and the canteen by myself. It was fortunate that my immediate supervisor in the laundry was a woman. She was middle-aged and very neat and prim in appearance, Before my association with her I had recoiled every time I saw a woman employee in the hall, for I had suffered an intense fear of women ever since my fust attack on Claire. Now, working close by the woman supervisor for two hours a day, I developed a certain amount of ease. Although I was uncomfortable

with the sharp scissors, I took pride in being able to perform to her satisfaction the task to which I was assigned---cutting rags; and I looked forward to being taught to operate a sewing machine.

I still regarded eating as a form of depravity, but I could not resist the canteen with its sweets and ice cream. It was the one happy manifestation of inJantilism that I ever

knew.

Despite my conviction that they would live forever, f began, dimly at first, to perceive the sufferings of other patients: the blank-eyed men who shuffied back fron shock treatments each morning, the wild ones who were transferred to Ward 14, the mentally retarded who never

seemed to change, Because of this I overcame my suspicions and consented to participate in a psychological study that Dr. Brown said might be of some scientific value. This decision to help others proved to be one of the most important ones I ever made.

At about this time, however, I began to slip. How far back I could have gone I don't know-possibly all the way to the spirochetes and ths hein-slicers. Perhaps the medicine was losing its potency for me. Perhaps the burden of just too enormous to bear. I spent increasingly ,guilt was long hours in imaginary conversations with Claire. Knowing she was dead, I was increasingly willing to suspend

reality so that we could go on forever discussing a house she was buying for us in Iowa, the boys, and other familiat matters. I grew less interested in- my new acquaintances and spent much time alone on the floor in the corridor. But if this new attempt to escape brought mo-

of comfort, it also brought, as such escapes must, of terror. The telecommunicator, neter quite moribund, returned with all its old fury and malevolence. What I could not understand then was that tle voice was my own. Nor did I understand the insidiousness of de. ments

moments

pression, and so

I made

no effort to fight it,

JOHN BALT

14・ 4

One day, after I thought that the testing had long since ended, I received a sununons to meet Dr. Brown in the hallway. IIe was nowhere to be seen, and as I waited, a need of which I had not even been aware found expression in the form of a prayer, "God, let him be my friend." I had climbed alone as high as I could. Below was the abyss of man-sized iafancy, and I was slipping back into

it.

When I finally caught sight of the little psychologist, he was walking quickly away from me toward the elevator. Threading my way through the lunchtime marchers, I caught up and told him that I had been ordered to meet him.

"There must have been a mistake," he said. "You weren't supposed to see me. You have an appointment with Dr. Keszi." "Who is he?" "Not he, but she. I'll go with you." He conducted me back down the hallway, into the staft corridor, and then to one of the offices. The door was

open. Seated behind a desk busily engaged in paper work was a round-faced lady, perhaps in her fifties, with very smooth skin, and graying hair combed straight back from her wide forehead. When she saw us, she smiled. 'Well, is this the gentleman?"

noticed a slight accent, which I colldn't place. ."Yes," .I said Dr. Brown. "This is John Balt." She smiled and indicated a chair by her desk. "Please, Mr. Balt." As I sat down, the ward psychologist bid Dr. Keszi good-bye.

"He left the door open," she said to me. "It is better if it is closed. Then the noise will not disturb us. Would you mind?" I hesitated, and then got up and closed the door. The moment we were alone the memory of what I had done to another woman rushed at and overwhelmed me. I could feel the pores all over my body opening. Then she smiled

once again.

"How long have you been in the hospital, Mr. Balt?" "'Two, no three months." "Had you ever been arrested before?"

"No."

"What is your profession?"

"I

was a writer."

"Oh? How wonderful.

It is a very fortunate talent.

By

Reason

of

145

Insanity

Perhaps you have written some books that

I

have read?'

"No, mostly television." "Ah, I'm afraid that I don't watch very often although I am told that sometimes there are good things to be seen. Now I am going to give you a little test. It is called the Szondi test. It is widely used in Ewope and it can be very valuable." She showed me some card-sized pictures of individual men and women. "I shall place eight cards on the desk, photos of men and women. You will indicate the two photos you like best and the two you like least. There is no question here of right or wrong. Do you understand?"

ttYes.tt

"Now we begin,"

I was aware that the faces

on the cards all looked odd. Some of the men seemed to be homosexuals. Among both the men and the women there were those who looked

evil and those who seemed vaguely kind. I did have preferences. My selections were noted in a specially prepared table. She studied tle results and then asked, "Are you a jealous man, Mr. Balt?" "Jealous? No. I am not jealous,' "Perhaps that is the wrong wofd. It has certain connotations. Tenacious, then? When you catch on to something

you don't like to let it go?" "Yes, I suppose that's right." "Very well. Can you come the s"me time tomorrow?"

I

nodded.

"Good. We will continue the test then." "There's more?" "Oh, yes. We repeat it a number of times

in different

ways."

I didn't want to leave her. I sensed something that I can compare now only to what I felt that moment in the parking lot outside the West Valley jail. Until the next day all my thoughts were directed toward her, wondering what she thought of me, wondering how many times I would be able to see her.

The following noon after we had completed the testing, I spent my time in the hospital, and I told her that I worked in the laundry. "Good. It is an important job, you know Every job here is important. The patients would not look very good without the laundry. Do you like it?' "Yes. I was anxiow to get a job." she asked me how

146

JoHN BALT

"And do you have any recreation?"

"I watch television and I play

chess."

"Do you read?" "No. I think about my wife a lot. I still feel very to her. Sometimes I think that I'm talking to her."

close

"Where is your wife now?"

With the realization that she didn't know, everything collapsed. My voice cracked. "She's dead. I killed her." From her very noncommittal, "Oh," and then silence, I sensed that she was waiting for me to go on. A question formed in my mind, one over which I had puzded, because I could not believe what I had heard around me. "Are there other men in the hospital for murder?" "Oh, yes, I'm afraid that there are many. Mr. Balt, how did you kill her?"

"I

stabbed her. Many times,"

"You had knives?"

'"Things I grabbed from the kitchen." "How old was she?"

"Thirty-two."

"Poor thing. Poor woman." There was a pause. "Do

you have any children?" "Two boys." "How old are they?' "Six and five." "Where are they now?" "With my in-laws." "It's fortunate that they have such close relations, blood relations, to take care of them." "My mother told me that my in-laws-that they don't hate me. They see my mother very often. They're very good people."

"Yes, I'm certain they are." The next day before going to her office, I forced myself to stare into the mirror long enough to shave properly. "You must look neat. You must not look depraved." She asked me about the treatment I was receiving.

"Medicine."

"And therapy?"

I told her about my visit to the technician's group. "Then you are having no therapy at all now?" "I've gone to a patient's group a couple of times. But I don't seem to be able to say anything there. Maybe I'm no good for therapy anymore. I had psychoanalysis on the outside." She smiled. "That is quite an experience, isn't it?"

By "Yes,

Reason

ol Insanity

147

I wish I hadn't had iL"

"How long did you go?" "About ten months I guess." "And you stopped?" ttYes.tt

"I see. She paused as if making an evaluation. "f know can be very difficull As part of my professional preparation I underwent analysis too. A training analysis, as a matter of fact with the same psychiatrist who devised the test you are taking. A very brilliant man." That she had been in analysis drew me closer to her. We were somehow kindred because of iL "Are you German, doctor?" it

"No, Ifungarinn."

,

"I'm Jewish." "I am not Jewish myself, but

the faith.

It is very beautiful."

I know a great deal about

During the several sessions that followed she did not etgo}ragg me to talk after the testing. I did manage to tell her about a vision I had had of Jesus Cbrist desiendjail cell, but she didn't comment. I began to 1S. i".to my feel that she was waiting 1or sorne'qing, and th;t if I didn't provide it, our meetings would soon end. I was not aware that she knew all about me from mv records. and at first I avoided the story as much as I could in the fear it_ would destroy our relationship. Now I realized that $at I would have to gamble. Either shjwould utterly despise me after the story or she would continue to be my friend in spite of it. I did not then have the means to compress or em-

p!*-i^. I

rambled in places.

I

was desperate

in

others.

I

tried to read her face. I did not spare-myself, because I knew that once I had started, it att naa io coro"; thing. She either had to accept or reject me in totality. "veryis I- went on, the words tumbled out increasingly fasg'; if the connections that had been broken w"re 6"iog reestab

Iished.

" .... That last_night I awoke and the pain in my groin it had ever been. It was -uncontrottib-te. I ran into the living room and rolled around. I hadn't been

was the worst

able to have an erection all this time. Claire came in and asked, 'Is it the s"me thing?' She started to draw water in the tub like Dr. Blutman had told her to. I rubbed my pgnir. -I -had an ejaculation even witlout an erection. I qscarded{y drawers in a lamper. I started to get into the tub. The water was cold. Wiren my tuttocts touched

148

JoHN BALT

the water,

I

I pummeled her and ran and got knives. I don't know all

leaped at her throat.

her.

I

.. . I just don't know." Dr. Keszi 6x6 qrainfnined an expression of

I I

uscd-

composure

throughout. When I stopped, miserable and empty, she waited a moment and then asked, "When it started, you were alone together in that little room?" t'Yes."

"Did she try to defend herself?" "I'm not sure. I know that she said she loved me. The dining room was a shambles." *What were you thinking while you were stabbing herT'

"I don't

know.

I

was like a machine."

"You were naked while all this was going on?" ttYgs.tt

"And

she, what was she wearing?"

"Pajamas."

"Mr. Balt, before we continue I would like to tell you ss66thing. I hate what you have done, but I do not hate you. Do you understand that?" It was the flrst attempt of which I was aware to distinguish me from the crime. I told her, "Yes." "Now do you understand that this could happen again?' "Again? No, no, it couldn't. I was insane." "Insane is a legal word. It measures responsibility. Now it is of no help. You must find out why all this happened

in the frst place and build controls so that it cannot happen again." "But how can I ever know that?" And then my motive for telling her the story: "Doctor, can I keep seeing you?'

She paused. Although there were patients in individual therapy, most treatment was conducted in groups. An evaluation would have to be made as to whether or not individual meetings were desirable in my case. "That would not be easy to arrange," she said. "We would have to get permission from your ward team." "Please,

if you can do it."

Even though I was ignorant of the implications of my request" she was not. "Are you certain that you want this?' "Yss," I told her. "You must think about it first. The choice is harder than it seems at first. Remember, we would deal only in

1●

Bッ Rcasa“ ar LSa"′ ″

truth.

If I were to find that you were lying or distorting

or

holding back, the treatment would end. You have the

weekend. Come Monday at the same time." After I left the office I understood what she meant. The

treatment meant a baring of the soul. I had been tortured by my last encounter with psychiatric therapy. And now I faced a charge of murder. Wotrld she take what I told her and distort it? Was she perhaps the ultimate undercover agent, hidden and then subtly revealed when I was most vulnerable? Dr. Grossler had always said I neede&-a mother. Of coursel They knew it, and there she was to charm from me, with warmth snd smilss, the very material of extinction. In the dayroom, I heard someone say, "They want you to cop out. The whole joint is a cop-out gimmiek. Keep your mouth shut, or they'll hang you with it." I could hear Eric's voice lauehing at me. "So you need more psychiatry, John. That's really something. We didn't have you until now. You hear that? You were safel But now we've got youl" "What have you got, Eric? What have you got?" Loathsome filth. I had to gamble again. Somehow the warmth of this woman had to overlay, engulf, and destroy the purveyor of irreversible pills. I had to be cleansed so that one day I could see my children again. And if she wanted one more Jew for the gas chamber, if she wanted a bribe, if she wanted my death? Then the hell with itt And she knew what I was thinking. Our first encounters were desiped to set me at ease. When I arrived for our twice weekly meetings, her desk was always clear. Although she didn't smoke, there was always an ashtray on the corner of the desk nearest to where I sat. When I told

her that Dr. Grossler had not permitted me to smoke during our sessions, she smiled and said,

"I

do not want a

chjld here crying in the darkness, but another human

being who is my equal." She joked about her accent. "When I was in England I received an offer to work at the University of Michisan. I was elated, but I went to see a British professor who was

my friend and told him that

speech. He said, 'Don't be silly,

I was worried about my Dr. Keszi. You don't have

any more accent than most Americans."' If a phone call intemrpted us, she was always brief with the person at the other end and did not hesitate to express her annoyance with the distraction.

150

JoHN EALT

"I don't feel worthy of all this," worthy to live."

I

told her.

'I

don't feel

'Is this just since the crime?"

"No," I recalled. "Long before-maybe eight months befor+-I used to talk to my dog, to Ra, and tell him that I didn't feel worthy, that I expected to die." "Were you wrong then?'

"I don't know. I-ook what I did." "Did you know what you were going to do

eight

months later?' "No, of course not""

"You were a father, a wagcearner, a husband, a son. And if you were wrong then, perhaps you are wrong

now," She told me a little of her past. She had been forced to flee from Hungary after tie failure of the anti{ommunist revolution in 1956. She had sufiered through two tyrannies and lost dear ones. She told me that as a girl she had read all of Ibsen by flashlight. Ibsen, the lover of justice.

At first, I asked her to help me forget. "There's a man on the ward, also here for murder, but he can't remember it at all. I envy him."

"I

would not be doing you any favor by making you

forget. Remembering is one of the crosses you will have to bear always. Your mind is fke a sponge. It soaks up irnpressions and retains them. I beteve it was one of the things that helped to make you sick; but it can also help to make you well. The other man is not to be envied. The ones who can't remember are the hardest to help. The mechanism remains unknown to him. How is one ever to pronounce him safe? No, you will not forget. I will not let you forget." Long afterward, following an appearance in court, she said this about our early meetings: "When I first saw him, he seemed to me a man living in a glass ball at the bottom of the sea. Rays of light were reaching him from all directions, but they were grossly distorted by his deeply modified awareness. I wished to break through all this, to reach him as a living, suffering human being. He had to see himself in what we around him thought; but most gf all he had to know himself again from within." In the record she noted, 'Mr. BaIt was first seen for testing in September, 1963. He expressed spontaneously his to continue to see me in individual-theraov sessions.

wish

By Reason of

Insanity

151

Mr. Balt was confused and deeply depressed and ha4 from time to time, auditory hallucinations. His reality te.sting was inadequate. . .

."

7 Did I take pleasure in inflicting pain? Did I ever have an orgasmic reaction to violence or suffering? Did I ever try to hurt my sexual partner? Did I ever have sexual

fantasies involving cutting or stabbing? Ugly probings, hardly, it seemed, compatible with the ladylike fgure across the desk. There had been childhood sword games

on the street, a rubber play knife inspired by

Tarzan

movies. Outside of that, nothing. As an adult, my only desire for my partner in love had been joy. And then I remembered that for a week before the crime, objects had shimmered in my sight, and among those objects were the kitchen knives. I told Dr. Keszi that I wanted to be a phy'sician somo. day to help make up for what I had done. I told her about a book on elementary algebra that I had taken out of the hospital library because my math was weak and I knew that I'd need it to study medicine. She listened patiently and said nothing. And then weeks later she wanted to know if I didn't like history. I told her that I did, that once I had wanted to do a book on the Roman siege of Jerusalem. Would I like to read some biographies and historical novels? I put aside the algebra and substituted Strachey and Asch.

In the intricate music of therapy, themes occur, blend, build, are forgotten and return once again. Just as music is part science and part artistry, so is therapy. Just as the orchestra reacts to the conductor, so the patient reacts to the therapist. No method of therapy yet devised can prevent this from occurring. What the therapist wishes to accent is stressed, and what he or she wishes to soften is muted. It was essential to Dr. Keszi that I move forward at the same time that we went backward. The world was a small

t52

JOHN BALT

one fitted with sally points and barbed wire and containing a population of only sixteen hundred; but I had to learn to live in it, in fact to make it serve me. I understood from

her almost at once that I could not lose mvself in the turmoil of the past. She understood from me, and would have had it no other way, that I could not exist in the present without comprehending what had happened'to miscreate

it

so. But had

I

not gained strength as we went to approach the final

there would have been no way answers.

my body seemed to behave as if it thought for - 9{tq It continued to recoil from other patients

itself.

even after man turning his back, a towel stuck in a belt, a cigarette offered at the wrong time, and all the old terror returned. Timmy had now been transferred from the ding tank to Atasiadero, and though he was in a different ward, he sat directly across 1e mess hall from me, and brought with him recollections

I had resolved

that it would not.

A

oj horror. But I kept telling myself, "Only

she matters.

The tests don't count anymore. What happens to you depends only on her."

I told her, "I cried yesterday watching television. They were showing a movie calTed, Wilson There were soldiers, men from all over the country, salshing to war. I don't understand why I cried." "You've--sEuggled all your life to belong, to be part of something." "Was it being Jewish that made m€ feel different?' By way of answer, she recalled a dream in which I had undressed Bob and seen that he wasn't circumcised. There had been yellow papers on the walls. "Do you know the color of the armbands the Jews had to 'wear in EuropeT' "I remember a yellow paper my father received from Germany. It was in bad English. Before the war. It was from a family named Balt. They begged us to help them come here. But my father didn't know tbem and he didnt do anything. I suppose they're dead now. When I started to get sick, Dr. Grossler told me, 'No more social gatherings.' I wasn't part of the world any longer. Ra, thi dog, was Egyptian." When Mr. Perth asked me if I wanted mv door unlocked at night, I said yes, on condition ttrai it remain closed. I was told that it had to be either locked or wide open, and I chose the latter. A few weeks later mv medication was reduced and then withdrawn-

By Reason ol Insanity 153 One afternoon in the dayroom I again burst into tears.

"Can

I

"No. I

help you?" asked Mr. Perth. was thinking of my wife."

"Do you want to talk about it?" "No." He was very kind. "I lost my wife and daughter within

a year. I didn't want to live any longer, but then I learned that I had to." Dr. Keszi said, "The mourning had to come. You no longer fear for yourself. You're in a di.fficult legal position, but I'm glad that you're no longer afraid. Cry if you must. I cannot stop it, nor do I want to. Walk in the yard u.nder the open sky. There is no beter therapy." "Last night I dreamed that I was traveling through the desert in a tiny car. It was cold. I came to a little house. You were inside. You gave me a cloak to wear. You seem to tell me so much more than Dr. Grossler ever did."

"I want to be a partner to you. I

cannot

treatment turn in upon itself and become endless."

let

the

The ward recold noted: "Mr. Balt is well-liked but

remains quite a loner."

Death. President Kennedy was gone, my partner in Universals Day, God's spokesman on earth, the em-

bodiment of eternal life. There was Do eternal life, not on earth.

"It

was so senseless, so utterly senseless. Claire's death

was so senseless."

"Do you know how a religious man would see these things?"

"No." "God takes them when thev are most readv." want to see her again. t feel that sLe's out there somewhere beyond those hills,"

"I

"She is not."

"But I want to feel that I'll see her again. Maybe afterward." "I cannot comment on that. Have you spoken to the rabbi?" "I don't like the rabbi. He's too fat. He doesn't seem godly to me at all. He's Hungarian too, you know. There used to be a joke, 'If you have a Hungarian for a friend you don't need an enemy."' She smiled. "That is the first time I've heard you joke. But, please, be careful of generelizations." "Like my feelings about doctors?"

JOHN BALT

t54 tYgs.tt

yesterday was the first time in months that I've of a joke. Hodgkins, the boy from Georgia, was complaining. 'All ah ever did was walk away from a

"I think

seen the point

road camp and look where ah ended up. God must be agin me or somethin'.' Fat Mike said, 'God's funny that way. Walk away from a road camp, and He'll get you every

time."'

She laughed.

"I used to have a good sense of humor, People used to tell me that. But I lost it somewhere. On the couch maybe. I never joked, and Dr. Grossler never laughed."

"Did you try to make him laugh?" "At first, maybe, but not later. Every time he opened ttrat door in the waiting room for me to come into his office, he frowned. Claire was different with her analysl Once she told me that when she was lying on the couch she said, 'You are a son-of-a-bitch.' He wasn't, though. He was probably pretty good." "[f she said that, then so was she,"

The days turned gray and the weekends were bleak. Dr. Grossler had once said, "For depressed people, the week-

ends are worst," That wasn't so. The mornings were worst. A bird got trapped in the hospital corridor and flew up against the ceiling until it could fly no more. Then someone came with a net and set it free. Sometimes I pitied myself, but now I could recognize the emotion and fight it with self-hatred; still indulgent but better. I remember sitting

in the yard with the thin rapist.

He

spoke well. He was always neat. He had educated himself at San Quentin, but had then gone out to commit five crimes in the space of a year. "They want to send me back. They say I'm not a sexual psychopath. I never hurt any of those women. I just

wanted contact. Contact. They say that rape is normal, that lots of men want to rape women, but don't. What do you think?" "I don't know."

"Want a smoke?" "Thanks." "I like these. Srnoked them for eight years at San Quentin. Funny thing, all that time I was out afterward, while I was doing those things, I was engaged to a beautiful girl, sleeping with her too. Here's her picture. She works in a department store. She comes down now once a month, Ever wonder how women can be so accepting? If

By Reason ol Insanity 155 I get sent back to court now I'll probably never see her g.gain. They got a part of the San Quentin yard they call 'rapists' corner."

He never made it. One evening he doubled up in the dayroom, and they had to carry bim to the infrmary on a stretcher. First we heard that it was his heart, then lung cancer, then just cancer. He was transferred to another hospital as hopeless. It was strange how you could grow used to anything. The rapes had been committed on the _outside. He was dying, and you could only feel sorry for him. "It is not a good place," said Dr. Keszi. "It is a bad place. You need it now. You could not exist anywhere else, but it is not a good place." "Those women he raped. fle didn't kill thern They're still alive. The child molesters, none of them that I kiiow hurt the kids. Only I did what can't be remedied." "Yes." "It_doesn't do any good, does it, my talking that way?" "I bought a book. You can borrow it. perhaps it will -help you on the weekends. Huxley's essays. I am very fond of _Huxley. He always has something to say." I was overwhelmed with the implications of the gift. It E ap-parent to me now, much more than it was thei, that Dr. Keszi was ready to use whatever material there was at hand to help the treatment forward; and in the barrenness of the hospital situation, she did not hesitate to provide some selected material herself. Well-versed in the various schools of, therapeutic thought, she drew upon them all without a_llowing herself to be enslaved by the dogmatism of any. Her continual eftort to pull me up to equal-ity with her was g_lways dominant. Hence her willingness to talk o_ccasionally about other patients, about books, and

ideas.

"When I worked in the hospital in Michigan, there was a little girl, perhaps fourteen, who refusJd to talk to

anyone, who stole and was a troublemaker. Then one dav she b_rought me a copy of peyton place to read. After i had finished it, she asked me if it were true. I said that it could be, but that it was a very one-sided representation of life. For example, the heroine did not have to kill her stepfather. There were a large number of choices. She could have contrded in her teaiher, her minister. She could have left home. Then my little patient broke down. ,The girl in the b_o_ok was just like *". t"ty stepfather tried to rape me, and I wanted to kill him. I thought that if I went

JOHN BALT

1s6

home and he tried again I would have to kill him.' After this she recovered quickly. She was put in a Quaker school and later she went to college."

to emthe idea of choice many times later on. The optimistic ending, the invitation to a give-and-take relationship in which she would not be afraid to expose her The little story was important. Dr. Keszi was

phasize

own ideas, all combined to provide me with hope.

At

the windows were painted with of snow and Santa Claus. On the intercom, "Jingle Bells" became a disease, Red and green bunting was hung from the ceilings. Some of the technicians brought their wives to a cake and punch party on the ward at which a band played ("I Left My Heart in San Francisco") and some men entertained with jokes and orginal songs. One of the retarded, shaped like a triangle from waist to shoulders and from chin to crown, sang, "Corn liquor, corn liquor prime, that corn liquor makes me shine." In tle laundry a tenor, looking like an angel (he had kidnapped a woman and tossed her into a lake), sang "Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem" while we ate ice cream. I was promoted to the sewing machine. We made a trip to the auditorium for little bags of candy donated by a ladies' club in Ataseadero. Dr. Keszi took a brief vacation, and my arms and ankles erupted in eczema. "You Christmastime,

scenes

I was coming back. The eczema was not necessary." Not only for me, but for everyone else it was the saddest time of the year. A middle-aged Negro began prowling in the dayroom looking for religious converts. When I caught him studying me I would give him cigarettes, listen to his blessing, and go to my room. Was all religion madness? I couldn't look at the Bible anymore, yet I was preoccupied with the express things physically.

question.

"Are you religious, Dr. Keszi?"

ttYes.t'

I

"What church do you belong to?"

"Does one have gious?"

Ab proof that

I

to

belong

asked one day.

to a

was continuing

church

to be reli-

to gain, I was trans-

ferred to Ward B and assigned to a fourteen-man dormitory, of which there were six on the ward. Reflecting the makeup of the hospital's population, half of the men were

mentally

ill,

and the others were "mentally disordered

sexual offenders," hospitalized because, according to the California Supreme Court, ". . . experience has shown

By Reason ol

Insanity

that persons who come under the classification of psychopaths were unable

con-finement and were

to benefit from ordinary

in

need

of

157 sexual

penal

medical treatmenl" There were some bizarre deviates (one personable young man liked to hang naked from a tree until he achieved orgasm), but most were exhibitionists or child molesters, or had committed incest. Society's urge for revenge, palticularly against the child molesters, was strong, but tle state had managed to restrain it for over twenty-five years, and

had been rewarded with drastically lowered recidivism

rates.

In "8," Dr. Mowrer liked to give lectures to the entire ward, in which he exhorted the patients to shift areas of behavior out of the realm of emotion into that of reason. The approach went over the heads of most of the patients, and the sessions usually degenerated into pleas from the men for personal attention. There were two heavy support pillars in the center of the dayroom. Often while Dr. Mowrer was talking I would imagine myself between the two columns, pushing outward like Samson in an effort to bring the whole buildinB crashing down on us. There was something else that I reported to Dr. Keszi at that time. Sometimes I went into the storage room with a technician to get a typewriter for letter-writing, and then I would experience a deep fear that something would go wrong, that I would suddenly make an unprovoked attack.

"Mr. Balt, it is time that you understood a vital aspect of your penonality. It was indicated in your testing and

it has been all through your talks with me. It is not an explanation of what you did to Claire, but it is very important. It is what we call 'passive-aggressive.'" Dr. Keszi went on to say that the characteristic was often associated with otherwise quiet persons who unexpectedly committed violence. "They accede to things they know are contrary to their interests. They accept the incursions of others without knowing that a cauldron of resentment is building up within. A volcano. They are nice to everyone but themselves. Then comes a time when for one reason or another the controls are gone and the explosion occurs."

"In other words, I don't like listening to Dr. Mowrer."

"You don't like anything about your situation. You feel trapped, and so you see yourself committing destruction. Did you not see yourself trapped before the crime? And what trapped you? Partly your own passivity, within your

JOI{N BALT

158

marriage, within your profession, toward your parents, and above all in your psychoanalysis. From what I already know, it was you, not Claire, who should have called the analyst a sonof-a-bitch-whether he deserved it or not." 'oBut what about the technicians? Thev've been verv

good to me."

"You think that you are superior to them. Yet they are

in positions of authority, and you are worse than nothing." "Superior?" "You had a substantial position in the community. You had a splendid education. Please do not be afraid of these concepts."

It took time for me to understand that I had earned the of "nice guy"-once valuable to me-at an incalcu-

label

lable price.

"But if I have all this aggression within me, how do I rid of it?" "When you are angry, recognize it. Use your aggression

get

to help others, which I understand you are already doing. Sports; you say you like sports." I smiled. "You mean when I charge through the keyhole in a basketball game it's therapeutic?' She understood me. "Quite." After a moment, "There is one other way for you too." "What?"

"Mr. Balt,

have you had no urge to wdte?'

"No. None."

With increasing frequency Dr. Keszi pressed me to

I may have had toward Claire. I told her that there had been some disagreements: about whether or not to send the children to private school, recall any hostilities

whether or not to keep the maid, whether we could afford for Claire to continue with her analvsis. "flow were these disagreements worked out?" "We would talk about them, or try to. Neither one of us could communicate very well when we disagreed with each other. Almost always I went along with her. She had great faith in my earning power. There was one other thing. Near the end I begged her to stop working." "Why?" "It's a little confused now. It had something to do with my thinking that her working was castrating me and that I needed her around as a good mother." "Did you tell her l6sss rhings?" ttYqs.tt

By Reason ol Insanity 'What did she do?' "l 1fiink she was finally going

to

159

stop. But then

ohe

called Dr. Blutman-I was already seeing him by thenand he told her not to, that I was acting like a baby, that I had been a big man once but that now I couldn't face the truth." "Did you argue with her then?" "A little. Mostly I pleaded with her. And then I just cried like what he said I was. I told myself that he was right, tbat I was no good, that I was a bad bet, that someone had to support the boys." In the dormitory, learning to live with thirteen other men, I said little and concentrated on keeping myseH, my bed, and the area around it clean. Cleanliness, our only defense against the sordidness that we ourselves brougbt to the environment, was a fetish. Men were evaluated on how clean they were, and the dirty ones were despised The others no longer regarded me as a ding, but many thought me a fool. Aware that I was a 1370, they wondered why I was apparently pushing so hard to get well, when all it meant was going back to court for a murdet trial. After one 1370 from the ward, a homosexual who had shot his partner on a beach, returned to court for trial, we all watched the papers to see what would happen to him. He was found guilty of first-degree murder and sentenced to life imprisonment. A recommendation was

in the trial record that he never be paroled" Someone remembered that he had often expressed a desire for the gas chamber. As men went home personnel in the and gradually I became one of the old-timers. edly one night, the telecommunicator switched on and Claire's father told me, "You're a murderer. Remember that. Whatever else happens, you're a murderer." I got out of bed and went to the john, the only part of our sleeping quarters in which smoking was permitted. By then I knew what the voice was. I repeated the infsl6alion to myself, and I never heard the device again. Almost every evening before lights out, you could hear Patras in one of his red-faced vituperations: "What have we got here? Three killers, one firebug who gets his rocks off if you light a match, the creep v.ith the green cbickens included

who laid his daughter, a flag-waver, six child molesters, including an idiot, a hophead bank robber, and a crummy sneak thief. What em

Patras was

I

doing here with you rat finks?"

fifty, but he looked

seventy.

He had spent

JOHN BALT

160

over thirt], years in jails and "joints" (penitentiaries), and he viewed whatever world he happened to find himself in as composed of cons, screws, and not comically to hiqt

If attention meant animosity he willingly paid the price. He'd been paying it all his life--ever since his uncle had locked him in closets to "teach me to do time." Whenever he started blasting off, someone, usually "Sweetsy," the curly-haired boy of ninglssq whose mother had committed him as a child molester, would begin arguing with him: "Patras, this is a hospital. We're sup rat finks.

posed to get well here."

-

"Hospital? It's a goddamned joint. Only it's worse. In this son-of-a-bitch you never know when you're getting out."

"You get out when the doctors think you've

learned

how to stay out of trouble." "Learned? What the hell have you learned?"

I never took part in these arguments. Whether the institution was a hospital or a joint was then a meaningless question to me. If in fact it was much of both, to me it was sanctuary. Within it I would learn the truth. Meanwhile

I

could not lose myself

in

useless contention and

destructive speculation. I would continue to work to get well and not worry about the future. And I was learning an invaluable lesson. I was becoming aware that I could

control my own mind.

It was a power that had disap

peared months before the crime, together with the barriers lhat had once restrained tbe pathology of the unconscious.

With

darkness,

two

technicians carrying flashlights

would enter from the hall for the last of the day's regular counts. The light would pass over Sweetsy to Patras, always quickly asleep and always muttering imFrecations against authoriry. Then to Hodgkins, a fifty-seven-year1!{ man from Alabama, who was seeking enswers to child molestation in evangetstic religion, and through that religion was able, for the first time in his life, to call a Negro nBrother." Often the light would pause over Fernando, a boy of twenty, who had been out of institutions only four weeks since he was seven, and had used the time to get drunk and steal a bulldozer. He said that he hated "womans" but was in love with the civilian schoolteacher with whom, in wild bids for attention, he created terrible scenes.

The light would go to Tavel, "the idiot," fat, loud, and dirty, transferred for years from ward to ward and never

16l By Reason ol Insanity I part of any of them. Then to the flag-waver-nicelooking, in his early twenties, married and a father. To the salesman who was at Atascadero for molesting a stepdaughter just passed puberty. Little Woody-who later was to call me his "daddy image"-a sometime auto mechanic and drag racer who had found trouble with small

boys on parking lots. Next

to him the firebug whose

conflagrations had brought death and terror. After six years in the hospital, he amused himself by drawing clever cartoons but had recently set fire to the Catholic chapel. Then, "The creep with the green chickens," who recited rosaries and was left now with neither hallucinations nor any memory of the incest of which he was accused. The light would go by me to Hewer, abysmally fat Hewer. Once he had seen a white dragon on his front

lawn and called the police, who had found that dragons were only part of his problem. After four years in the hospital he still tore children'e underwear ads from Sears catalogs. In the last bed, twenty-year-old Berkely, who loved sweets and comic books, and who, when he was fifteen, had shot *6 killed his cousin. He had been re manded to the hopital as insane and was now considered well; but because of his age, he could not be released unless someone would assume responsibility fs1 him; and his family refused to acknowledge his eristence. After the door was closed and locked I would hear the

tecbnicians moving on to the next dorm. Throughout the huge structure of interconnected blocks of concrete, each dorm differed from ours only in specifics. Most of the patients would one day make a successful return to society. But for some, return would bring only tragedy to themselves or to others. For a meek exhibitionist on our ward who at forty had never known sexually either woman or man, three weeks of freedom, an abysmal moment of release in exposure, then arrest, bail, and finally suicide. Otherr-the hopelessly retarded, like Tavel, and those for whom psychosis never abated, like this strutting cannibal who haunted the halls-would never see the outside. One . day years hence they would be transferred to Ward 1, the infirmary ward. Finally their stories would be ended with a telegram to the Curator of Unclaimed Bodies on Par-

nassus (somebody's joke) Street in San Francisco. yourself in the maze, to confuse 11 was so easy - to lose

witfi

to identify with its

it

inhabitants, so that illness and perversion became the norm. I never {orgot Creation,

Claire; but

for

months

I

forgot the victims of the men

162

JOHN BALT

it now, f can understand how Patras and hundreds of thousands of others have ceased to identify with whatever, within themselves, was salvageable and so have become eternal aliens. Homosexuality pervaded the environment. If half of the hospital patients were sex criminals, then it seemed that half of these had been confined for homosexual contacts with minors. I was accosted only once myself, by Tavel, in the bathroom late at night; and I witnessed only one overt sround me. Recalling

in the yard. But I heard of many others. The overt, when discovered, were always punished, usually with seclusion. Yet no one could undertake to punish the "boy-girl" friendships that sprang up or the transparent horseplay that characterized the chow lines. During the never-ending pseudo-psychological talk in the dayroom it was said that repressed homosexuality was characteristic of certain of the psychoses. act, under a jacket

in the night, just before surrendering I was witness to images, as if on a flm strip, of male behinds. Usually they were of those men I had seen in the shower, and there were several of them who had the delicacy of girls. When I became aware of the images, I would shake myself awake, usually in a Several times entirely to sleep,

sweat, fearful that within them was the answer problems.

to

mv

Dr, Keszi offered, "In unguarded moments you are flirting with the idea of homosexuality because here you no other means of sexual expression." "But I don't have any sexual desires." "Really? Since you have been here, have you stopped

see

digesting your food?"

t'No.tt

"Then what makes you think that your other glands you hink of

have stopped functioning? How often did

homosexuality on the outside?" "Never." The conversation recalled ssmsfhing, ,.When I was in analysis I became frightened of the Negro janitor in Dr. Grossler's building. At that time I was aware of the idea of repressed homosexuality, and I thought that maybe tbafs what I was."

"Tell me about the janitor."

"I never talked to him- He was very dark and large and strong." "How long had you been in analysis then?" "Possibly four or five montls."

By Rearcn ol Insanity 163 "Were you afraid of homosexuality or were you afraid

of something else?" "Of what?"

She talked of the unconscious connection between darkness and violence, and suggested, "Perhaps you were afraid of the violence within yourself, which during the analysis was beginning to push against your controls."

I recalled that I had been wildly afraid of Negroes in the jailhouse. Perhaps there, too, I had equated darkness with violence. I made a wager that she was right, and so

closed a blind byway. In general, the presence of sexual offenders within the Atascadero population was a boon to the mentally africted, Because they were aberrant in only one particular area they helped to create an atmosphere more approaching normalcy than would ordinarily be possible in a mental hospital. Because of them ttrere was a patient government

that sought to provide a constructive outlet for frustrations and complaints; a diversified industrial therapy pro. gram that not only served the patients' needs but also reduced the institution's overhead; and a school adminis. tered by two outside educators and staffed by patient

teachers. Within it, some men learned to read and others received high school diplomas. In the early spring, Dr. Keszi urged me to take a Dewly vacant teaching position. I was hesitant and preoccupied with what was going on in therapy; but she remirided me

of my own education and pointed out that I could be of help to the others. I was given two classes on the higb school level, one in literature and the other in world history, each with about eight students ranging in age from seventeen to sixty. The students, who regarded me as an oddity,, often asked me to talk about Hollywood, which I refused to do. And they occasionally probed me, unsuccessfully, about my feelings toward the charge I

faced. I was deterrnined to make the small, sttrffy windowless classroom a place of refuge in which illness, if not forgotten, could at least be placed in a larger context. In literature the men first wanted to read and discuss plays. When we left the plays aod went ot to Billy Budd, and Cfime and Punishment, there were fresh confrmations of the hells and heavens that I had already glimpsed. Although there were certain peculiarities (the class thought that Nora, in The Dolts House, should have gone out and "hustled" to pay her debt; one young man told me that he

wits so fond

of Poe that he had knifed a high school

164

JoIrN

BALT

English teacher who had criticized him), my class, by virtue of its experience, was probably far better in tune with the great writers than any group at a similar level could have been on the outside.

In dreams I was pursued by a hideous dwarf whose left arm was sometimes in the shape of a penis. I recognized him as another manifestation of the dwarf I had seen repeatedly just before the crime. He was myself then. Now he was separate, but he tracked me relentlessly. Often, with my mother watching from a distance, he

leaped on me in crowded auditoriums and where I slept He tried to strangle me, and he knifed me with incredible violence. Deformed and dark, cruel and explosive, he was at last identified as my personal "wild beast." Someone smuggled in a Playboy, and its centerpiece pinup was tacked on the wall of one of the heads. After some consideration the ward charge decided to leave it up. It reminded me that about seven weeks before the

crime, when

I

was already frightened and despairing,

something infinitely unexpected had happened in a barber shop. While turning pages in a "girlie" magazine, suddenly and without an erection I ejaculated. I was certain that everyone had seen and I ran from the chair. It was the first of the auto-sexual experiences that were to cause me so much shame; and as Dr. Keszi indicated it was a symptom of regression. The rubbings in the rling tank were those of a thwarted infant. And what of the other jailhouse material? The hallucinations? The attempted suicides? The ravings? It almost goes without saying that on one level these were motivated by guilt. I had committed a horrible crime, and I had to be punished. The self-devised tortures were far worse than any that could possibly have been perpetuated by others. And to emphasize my wretchedness I had envisioned the near but unattainable promise of eternal life and of paradise on earth,

On another level the material showed the disintegration

of the mind. Everyone is familiar with the concept of the healthy individual as an integrated personality. Here was its antinomy. The mind was no longer one unit. For many weeks this disintegration was so complete that I no longer existed as a person but only as individually tortured brain cells. That Dr. Grossler was first hallucinated as the prime mover of the torture is not surprising. Why Eric and, to a minor degree, Burnett assumed the roles is only a little more puzding. The schizsphrsnis mild can hold on to

By Rι

0“

“

″ rお αガ″

165

nothing. Grossler was no longer present; but Eric and Burneit were, and in positions of authority. Dr. Keszi and I never went.into my feelings about Eric. They disapoeared when I understood about the psychiatrist. ^ But of greater significance was the universality implicit in the experience. At the most primitive and undefended level, my-mind had projected the basic visions that exist in varying-proportions in every individual, most simply 4nd mortngtv stited in the two words, heaven and hell. Tbe

of God. The other, lair of the wild beast, If I had been allowed to continue viewing the beast as my one

ov-as

beautiful with the Spirit

savage, violent, cruel, was the

I would have sought my own destruction that he might die with me. But I was helped to recall that crowds do yell "jump" to a man on a ledge; that writers write and readers read avidly of violence; that we still glory in the trappings of war. The immortal beast. Fifty centuries of civilization bave served to contain but not to destroy him. To be ignorant of him is to invite his

exclusive property,

depredations. He crouches within every psyche, and when controls are destroyed, he rages forward in triumph. How gentle the children looked. I often kissed their pictures and wrote the first of several letters to Ross Burnett inquiring about them. On my mother's monthly visits we spent much of our time discussing them. Bob was old enough to visit the hospital. I was desperate to see him. It seemed to me that if I did not cornmunicate with him while I was at Atascadero, I would never have the chance again. But I was told and I finally understood that it would not be to his best interest. The visiting room was pleasant, but inescapably

it

reeked of illness. The em-

bracing and caressing of the inmates with their wives and sweethearts was pathetic and discomforting. But above all, no one could say what Bob would think of me; or how I would react to him. Sometimes men came back from visits in wild turmoil, and one of these from the ward wrecked the dayroom before he could be subdued. I was now attending group therapy twice a week with a psychologist named Dr. Garfield. Sometimes, when Dr. Garfield was not present, a technician would take over. In general the technicians were solicitous of the men and did what they could to be of service. Some of them, however, were less capable than others. Once when a thin young technician named Tom was lnadling the group, Patras decided to have some fun with him.

JOHN BALT

166

"I

hear that you pray for the patidrts

in the men's

room, is that right?" Tom was embarrassed, but he admitted that he did' "And that the ward charge told you Dot to pray on the state's time."

. "We're not here to discuss me, Mr. Patras, but you." "Oh, yeah, yeah, that's right. Well I got a problem that I ain't told no one about." ',

"What's that?"

"Well, I'm worried that when I get out of here, it'Il be on my record, and I won't be able to get a job with no mortician." "Why do you want a job with a mortician?"

Patras looked sheepish. "Well, how should I put it? I like to have intercourse with dead people." "You what?" "Please don't make me say it again." "With what kind of people? Men or women?" Patras was choked up. "It don't matter." Immediately after the hour, Tom rushed for the ward notes. The patients reacted with such hilarity that Tom had to be transferred to another part of the hospital. Though Patras was unwilling to open himself for scrutiny, many of us were not, especially in the presence of the psychologist. The homosexual child molesters created a problem all their own. The State of California has a law aglinst adult homosexuality. Yet to change the behavior patterns of homosexuals is almost impossible, and everyone knows it. All that can be reasonably hoped for is that they leave children alone. The hospital was therefore faced with the dilemma of having to release, unless it wanted to confine them for life, men who were very likely to violate the law. If there is one generalization that might be made about sexual offenders, it is that they are immature, not only in their sexual adjustments but in all areas of life. Much effort was therefore expended to make them "grow up." In the course of months I saw several, including Sweetsy, do just that. At the group sessions I learned little about the origins of psychoses; but attuned now as I was to the symptoms of repressed agression I saw them everywhere, and tried to point them out where I could. When I outlined my story to the goup, the men wondered whether the intense concentration required in wdting had not contributed to my collapse. I was to hear later

" py Reason ol InsanitY

167

of Dr. Karlsen's'opinion that the many years in which I had pushed myself so hard had led to complete exhaus' tion, but mainly becaqse the circumstances had been very special.

At one point the group was visited by two young medical school graduates who were interning in psychiatry. They reminded me of Bill Connery. I watched thom with hostility for a while, and then I realized how much good they could do

if

they nerer lost the mercy and

compassion which was then so evident on their faces.

In March, Dr. Garfield entered tle following in my record: "Mr. Balt regularly attends the group and does take an active part and is quite interested and involved

in the group. He appears to be in considerably

better contact than several months back, is quite coherelt, relevant, and logical. He has been discussing some of the relationships with his mother which have made difrculties for him. Also he has gone into some of the concerns and fears that he might have the same eventual fate that his

is making good progress in I, too, was aware that I was getting better, but each step forward brought with it increasingly painful understanding of the tragedy that had befallen Claire. But as I progressed I saw less and less inevitability in what had happened, and also less and less chance for expiation.- In logibal terms I could never pay now to my own satisfaction, not even with death in the gas chamber, for what I

father had. The patient therapy,"

had done. go6"1s1anding this, Dr. Keszi gave me a statement of Jung's to study:

.. . the greatest and most important problems of life are all fundamentally insoluble; they must be so because they express the necessary polarity inherent in every self-regulating system. They can never be solved but only outgrown, . . . This outgrowing . . . revealed itself on further experience to be the raising of the level of consciousness. Some higher or wider interest arose on the person's horizon, and through this widening of his view, the insoluble problem lost its urgency. It was not solved logically, in its own terms, but it faded out before a new and stronger life tendency.

It was not repressed

and made unconscious,

but merely appeared in a different light and so be came different itself. What on a lower level had led

168

JOHN BALT

to the wildest conflict and to emotions full of panic, viewed from the higher level of the personality now seemed like a storm in a valley seen from a mountaintop. This does not mean that the thunderstorm is robbed of its reality; it means that instead of being in it, one is now above it. From this I discerned where the possibility of beauty lay in psychological treatment; and what was expected of me.

Yet I also saw cruelty to Claire. I was being enjoined to leave the storm, to rise above it, to leave her behind in the black whirlwinds in which she had perished. Repeatedly and in many ways Dr. Keszi told me that my life with her was over. "Live for two if you want, love for two, but you must live in the present, with the living." I had told Dr. Keszi many times that the rabbi's discourses on the faith only emphasized my feelings of being cut off, and finally she snapped, "That is not the fault of either the rabbi or the religion. It is your fault. You have a cbild's conception of God." Pondering on that, I saw that what she said was true. Then in the ward library I found a gnmy paperback copy

of

Jung's Answer to lob. Since Jung's statement on mental illness had meant so much to me I read it. The

first time through, it left me vaguely uneasy. When

I

uncomprehending and

told Dr. Keszi about this,

she

refused to comment beyond the affirmation that she knew the book well. Certain that my reaction had not pleased her I went back to it a second time. Now I began to see God not only as "fathomless as the abysses of the earth

and as vast as the sky," but also as "One who dwells vrithin. . . ." The primordial beast might be a part of the psyche, but so was the Spirit of the Divine. And the dual presence was no longer madness but the one perception of reality that seemed consistent with what I had encountered. I realize that to those who know more about religion this perception is not new; yet to me it was. With it I could return to the faith and the prayers that I had once abandoned as meaningless. I also had to help myself. One evening when memories so overwhelmed me that it seemed I would have to cry out to release the tension, I went to the dormitory and

made my first attempt, since months before the crime, to write down what I was feeling.

By Reason ol

Insanity

169

Strangled anguish shrieking for release

From its writhing fleshy shell A garbled suffering cry from the depths Of inner hell. Pain, everlasting pain, The why, why, why, Oh God, why That screams for reply and yet finds only wood

with which to crucify. Oh lost love where are you? Oh towering beast from whence did you spring,

From what hidden place, From what miasma of brain did you race To devour the innocent in your raging bloody pace? Oh beast, leave me.

Die, die, die. I hate you with all the hate I can cry, And those who loosed you out, Unlikely demons though they be, To devour my love and me . . .

I

went on to damn the beast to the "blackest seas of I would track him down; but once I did so, I could only return him to his lair and keep him there forever. Synonymous with criminal insanity, he was also synonymous with life. everlasting hell." But this could not be.

8 Among the first things that Dr. Keszi wanted me to to Dr. Grossler was why

understand about my relationship

it

began.

"I

wanted to be a better writer."

"You were successful."

"No, I mean someone important. I was about

it."

"Weren't your aspiratiols ivirhin reason?"

adolescent

JOHN BALT

170

"I'm afraid not. I wanted to be, well, like Ernest Hemingway."

She smiled. "I never liked him." "Well, Thomas Mann, then." "I understand you, Mr. Balt." "That's why I quit my job as story editor. devote more time to writing." "Did Claire approve of your quitting?"

I

wanted to

ttYqs.tt

t'But wasn't your income a-ffected?" "No. I made just as much, Maybe more. In fact, just then we bought a new house. An architect once told me tfinf rrnhappy people change houses. I wasn't unhappy, but I wasn't working well. That's why I thought about psychotherapy. I thought it would open up sources of materi-

al from my own past, things I couldn't face. I had Dr. Grossler's name in my desk. Claire had gotten it from her doctor, and one afternoon after a bad day at the typewriter, I called him." "So later, when things went badly, you blamed her for it?"

"ft

wasn't her fault.

I knew that, but . . . yes."

"Had you overcome your misgivings, about her analy-

sis?'

"I'd asked her to stop several times, but she told me that she would give up anything, even the new house, but not that. I accepted it. It became part of our lives. She seemed happier and

I

was glad for

it."

"Glad that the analysis was making her happier?"

ttYgs.tt

"Glad that the analyst was doing something for her that you could not?" ttYgs,"

"Mr. Balt, it is rare that the spouses of analytic patients are glad for it. Nor was it coincidence that at this same time you determined to prove yourself as a writer, nor that you were unable to write even as well as you had before."

"You mean that I needed a Dr. Grossler because my wife was in analysis?" "Whether you needed him or not is another question. But you went to him looking for reassurance for yourself not only as a writer but also as a husband and a man."

Dr. Grossler divined all this at our first meeting or shortly thereafter. If I had lost self-confidence as a result of Claire's psychiatric involvement, why? What sort of

l7l By Reason ol Insaniry weakness lay at the bottom of my repressed reaction? After a number of sessions I was able to repeat to Dr. Keszi the four hypotheses I had so painfully tried to grasp with Dr, Grossler. First was: "Depression implies guilt." Since I was depressed I must be guilty about something' - Second was that my whole life had been a pendulum swing toward and away from my mother. Third was that I didn't feel like a man among the other men, but like a boy standing in the distance watching the men. Fourth was that I was not working well because I didn't feel loved. Dr. Grossler spoke effectively. His accent was standard American. He had a deep voice and projected it strongly. He was, as I described him to Dr. Keszi, of imposing

stature. His thick gray hair was brushed carefully to one side over a wide forehead. His clean-shaven face was

a dozen years my senior. realized that he had not been unaware of the dangers inherent within my personality structure. Discussing the memories I presented of my father's violent behavior, he had noted, "You can be pushed so far, and then you will recoil." But we never muscular. And he was about

Looking backward

I

built upon this.

fnstead, we built on the four hypotheses. The first had

to do with my father, the second with my view of the world, the thhd with my manhood, and the last with

Claire. "You're not working well because you don't feel loved." Who didn't love me? Once I was aware of my own need for "love," I came to believe that Claire had a love-need too; and that by turning that love-need away from me and into analysis she had helped to render me incapable of working efiectively.

Skeptical then of my own worth, suspicious of my relationship to my parents, worried about the interaction between Claire and myself, I completed six months of therapy.

There was an interlude between therapy and analysis during which I worked on the sports show in New York and Europe. Claire was with me part of the time. When

Dr. Keszi time,

pressed me about my feelings toward her at that

I replied

that we'd enjoyed each other when togther

and missed one another when apart. Nevertheless, calld that

I

I

re-

had blamed much of the enforced separation

JOIIN BALT

172

on the fact that Claire had to be in Los Angeles for her analysis. There had, however, been so much joy in our meetings that I could never bring myself to make an issue of it. I also recalled that while working on the sports ohow I had been unable to face superiors without an inordinate degree of inner agitation; and that once I had stood on an eleventh-floor balcony fighting the urge to throw myself off because of some difficulty I was having with the film editing. Armed with "insights"

into myself, I had

be-

come convinced that others now shared my own view of myself as a phony with a specious aura. We began analysis exactly one year before the crime. I

started optimistically, certain that

Dr. Grossler and I

could surmount the obstacles that lay between me and my potential. In the fulfllment I expected, I saw greater happiness not only for myself but for Claire and the children as well. There has been much contention about whether psychoanalysis might harm a creative talent. The position of many psychoanalysts has been that analysis could endanger only the talent based on neurosis. I had known of the argument" but I had thought my talent to be a real one. I told Dr. Keszi that evidently I had been wrong. She disagreed.

"'If I help you, your talent is real. If I

hurt you, it is neurotic.' Do you not see the selfdefensiveness in such a position? The analyst refuses all responsibility and throws it on to the patient. And what is 'real' talent and what is 'neurotic' talent? No. I cannsl believe in such classifications of talent." I had believed in them, but I wasn't afraid of them. "Maybe I had false pride." "You continue to attack yourself," "I have to. Look what I've done."

will deal with you, Mr. Balt, when the time Or would you prefer to leave it to the brain-

"Society somes. slicers?"

Dr. Keszi often held up herself and otlers as proof that analysis was not inherently destructive, but often very helpful; and so by the time the analytic period became the dgmin4af theme

of our sessions, I

already understood

some of the special factors that had fashioned my own experience: passivity, lack of ego-if ego is defined in the analytic sense as the self-preserving tendency; a far too shallow conviction of my own manhood; a need for parents who would want me not weak but strong; a bent toward paranoia; a tenacity capable of conversion into

By Reason ol Insanity

t73

what Dr. Conners had described as "compulsiveness." And there was at least one other factor of which I must have been aware from the beginning, for-the telecommunicator

it out to me in the county jail: "Depressed of uncertain income should not take psychoanaly-

had pointed people sis."

had accumulated what I believed was a of cash to rilarrant beginning the treatment even while Claire was continuing with hers, our ability to see the processes through depended upoo my income from writing. Thus as the analysis became increasingly vital ("What's happening here has become the most important thing in my life," I once said) each assignment represented not only income but the sine qua non of the relationship between Dr. Grossler and me. I allowed my Although

I

sufficient reserve

treatment to become an addiction.

And for the frst four months, despite the fury with I threw myself into work, or because of it, I sold nothing. My stories, often violent in the past, became morbid instead. My characters battled with turgid emo-

which

tional problems and contemplated suicide. Submission af-

ter submission was rejected as "too psychological." Although at the time it seemed that I had simply been away from fuamatic writing too long and so had lost my con-

I had many opportunities to sell. I had lost touch, but not merely by distance. Dr. Grossler continued to explain my difficulties in terms of guilts and a need for love. It seemed to me, therefore, that I would have to resolve these problems before I could again earn a living. So I plowed ahead fiercely in the analysis as if it were e race against time, tearing at my own defenses and becoming a remorseless enemy to myself. There were subtle changes in my relationship with Claire. Four hours of supine free association a week left me no privacy. When Claire and I made love it had to be discussed afterward on the couch; and so I began to weigh tacts, in reality

much

of my relationship with her, even in bed, against

!ow- tle analyst would evaluate it. I thought that she must be doing the.same thing with her analyst,-and once, during tree association, even considered the possibility that she might be having an affair with him. Alihough I-rejected it consciously, the fear had been there. It had-been my practice over the years to talk over my story problems with Claire. She was intelligent, sympathetic, and often very helpful. Now I began to see theje talks as the reflection of a desire on my part to be mothered. I

174

JOHN BALT

did not discontinue them, but what had been a pleasure of betrayal against the analyst and

became instead an act myself.

In the car one svening, on our way to the

Connery

apartment, Claire told me that an acquaintance-an elder-

ly man-had made a serious but unsuccessful

pass at her.

The old man's action didn't bother me as much as the fact that she had kept the information from me until she had discussed it with her analyst. As we entered the Connery's front door I dropped the bottle of champagne that I had purchased for Bill's birthday, then fell on the jagged glass and required three stitches on my wrist. And then after a session with Dr. Grossler in which I had dredged up a painful childhood memory of being closeted with my mother in a bathroom and sf s6slling her urine, I sideswiped my car against a lamppost. Steeped in psychopathology, I had become convinced that I wanted to destroy myself. Reconstructing these months, I saw that as the analysis came to be dominated by material concerning my mother, I had indeed proceeded to destroy myself in a very methodical way. The old torment of being a "mamma's boy," buried for years, was reawakened. On the couch I came to believe that I had quit my job at the network because after another man had been added to the story department I had refused to battle for the approval of what was no longer a producer, but a producer-mother. And that thereafter instead of going out and selling myself, I was waiting for the industry to come and buy my material. Throughout my career I had evaluated other writers and myself only by what we had written. Yet now I made useless phone calls, empty luncheon dates, and feelers for collaborations that had no chance of success. As a result I

was met with rebuffs and rejections that before encountered.

I

had never

Dr. Keszi discussed these experiences in terms of the "persona," the cloak with which each person faces the world. I had tried to strip away the one I had worn for years-reticence, a certain ainount of aloofness, a refusal to ask for favors-to make room for a new and ill-fitting one.

"Rebuffs were inevitable," she said. Grossler's office, for the fust time, I needed the tissues he had on a shelf beside the couch. More and more desperately now I sought my mysterious guilts and for longer and longer hours I struggled at the typewriter.

In Dr.

ol Insanity that I was a hack

By Reason

I

"I

kept telling myself

began to feel old. Than

I

175

and a has-been. learned to see this as a desire

to return to infancy. Both old people and infants

need

someone to help them." I looked at Dr. Keszi and said, as if in confirmation, "I need you to help me."

"There is nothing wrong with needing help. For years you were receiving help from Claire, and not in a babyish way either. She was your wife. What is that from the Bible, 'She will do him good and not evil all the days of her

life.'"

As we continued to talk about the relationship between Claire and me, I recalled a dream that had been important in the analysis. "A lady was serving me a fancy salad in which there were chicken giblets which reminded me that as a child I thought giblets were the chicken's genitals. At flrst, I identified the lady as my mother, but as I went on talking to Dr. Grossler, because I had described the salad as being of such fine quality, it began to seem that the lady was Claire. By the time we had gone over the dream for ,an hour, I thought I had seen Claire serving up my own testicles in a salad." Dr. Keszi was extremely interested. "This was the first time the idea of castration had come up in the analysis?"

"No. There had been some references before to the idea I might have a castration complex, but Dr. Grossler

that

said that he didn't want to deal in clich6s." see. Let us consider the giblets then. We

"I

will

accept

that the lady is Claire and not your mother. Now, in the $ream, when you were receiving the salad, was it appetiz-

ing?"

"Ygs."

"You enjoyed it?" "Yes."

"Were you in any physical pain as been done to vou?"

if

some harm had

"No, none

utt." "t expression angry or vengeful?" "Was Claire's "No, she was happy. She was smiling."

"Then why is

it

your genitals or 'balls' that she

is

serving to you? Why is it not a gift that she is giving to you, perhaps one of the most precious gifts a woman cnn give to her husband, a feeling of manliness?" "I don't know. I don't know why. That would be much more like Claire."

JOHN BALT

176

'3oth interpretations are

perhaps valid.

Yet one

de-

stroys and the other constructs." "But only one interpretation is true." "Really? Perhaps you have within you the capacity to

regard Claire and all women as castrating. But you also

have the capacity-and

I have seen it-of

believing exact-

ly the opposite. If we go in one direction it makes you more healthy. If we go in the other, it makes you more ill." When they painted the hospital's main hallway, breaking up the somber walls with wide strips of blue, orange, and beige, I realized that I was not the only one who had been frightened in that long, long corridor. Discussing this act of administrative kindness with Dr. Keszi, I recalled my frst premonition of death. In the closed passageway between Union Station and the train platform where Claire, the children, and I were about to see my parents off on a trip, I was struck with the feeling that we were all marching toward a huge gas chamber. Afterward, on my walks with Ra, I would tell him that both he and I were doomed.

Perhaps

it

I not refor a rewrite on

would all have ended there had

ceived an assignment from a major studio

an episode of a new series scheduled for fall airing. Without that assignment it would have been financially impossible for the analysis to continue. Even with it, after four months of drought, it was apparent that either Claire or I would have to terminate treatment. After two years,

she decided that she had had enough. She was well and happy. It was clear to her that I was neither. "She thought that the analysis was helping you?" "She thought the same way I did, that there would come a point when everything would come together and I'd be okay." "Were there any strains between you then?" "No. We were both beginning to worry about money,

but as always, she was optimistic. She was anxious for me

to spend more time with the boys, and I began to teach Bob to be a first baseman. He was tall and left-handed. She attributed all of my diffculties to my having been away on the sports show and losing contacts. She was anxious to help me reestablish them, and we had several small parties for people in the industry. I remember at one of them we entertained an executive, a friend of mine, on the Beverly Hillbillies. It hadn't appeared on the air yet, of the guests told him, 'It'll never go. It's a

and one

r77 By Reason ol Insanity one-joke show.' Claire w:rs a wonderful hostess and I always enjoyed her parties. I loved her and I was proud of her. But now when she urged me not to spend so many hours at the desk, I began to feel that maybe she really didn't want to see me succeed. There was real trouble

between my parents and me, trouble that we never talked out. I was trying to avoid my mother, because if I had the idea that the world was motherly, she was responsible. Dr. Grossler had once said, 'Many strong men go tlrough life thinking they're weaklings because their mothers told them so.'I was bearing grudges for things that happened when I was a kid. I remembered that she had often told me stories of the way trees and grass died in the fall, and when I

cried, she would say that I was 'chicken-hearted.' And I began to feel uncomfortable with my father. I began to think that maybe all these guilts were connected with my being closer to my mother than he was, and that he didn't really want me to succeed either. I also thought that my in-laws were secretly glad that I wasn't making any money, that they and everyone else were glad to see the phony crumble." "Yet you continued to see them." "Yes. I had certain duties to perform and

I was going I felt about it. But everything associated with parents was oppressive." I remembered that working on my assignment I had found it extremely dfficult to order my thoughts effectively. I fell back on experience; there was no spontaneous flow, no pleasure. It was as il I were fitting pieces into a watch hoping that it would begin to tick. My working to perform

them no matter how

to sixteen hours a day became began to read books on playwrithad put aside years before.

hours increased. Fourteen

the ordinary schedule.

I

ing that I In a dream, Claire and

I and Ra mounted a flight of stairs. We were all frightened, but rile had to continue. There was a bedroom door to the rear of the landing, and

we knew that it concealed something terrible. Suddenly the door opened, and a man, who looked like Ernest Hemingway but with scabs and scales on his face and a horrible vacant stare in his eyes, staggered across the landing and dropped down toward us, a corpse. Dr. Keszi disagreed with Dr. Grossler's interpretation _ (that the figure in the bedroom represented what I was

afraid

of in the

analysis).

In tle

combination

of

stairs,

bedroom, and dead author, she said that the dream envisaged my own demise as a man and a writer.

178

JoHN BALT

"Why do you tell me these things now? What good is it doing?"

"I want you to understand that there was no mystery. What was happening should have been clear. It was essential that contlbls be reestablished. The mystery about the analysis appealed to your sense of theatricality and drove you on."

I

recalled day after day going

by as I twisted

and

turned within the script and seemed to produce nothing of value. As I described these problems to Dr' Grossler and

iecounted the strain and desire for approval connected with my work, a parallel grew gradually within my min{ between my writing and the Process of producing a bowel

movement during infancY. "How did you react to this?" asked Dr. Keszi. "I didn't like it. But then I remembered reading about

anal and oral and genital processes. So I accepted it. I decided that all the diftculty I was having was because of it. I began to think about changing my occupation, and I drove

to the UCLA Law School to get a catalog. Claire

was upset by that. She told me that she'd married a writer and not a law student."

"Claire was seeing things objectively. Your writing had supported you both, put a roof over your head, enabled you to have children and to rear them well, given you status. But already what was happening on the couch was beginning to have more meaning to you than the world in which you were living." I realized that in all the months I had known Dr. Keszi she had not allowed me to forego reality in favor of what was happening in therapy. Everything she did or said had been designed to build. If the early probings about sadism had found their mark, then there would have been no place to go. But they hadn't, and so even they had helped me to view myself objectively. Dr. Grossler had made an attempt to arrest the tumble. He told me long and earnestly that these plans to give up writing were making my problems worse instead of better.

"You're on the wrong freeway, heading in the wrong

direction." When my revision was finally completed, it was rewritten by the producer. Under ordinary circumstances I would have refused a subsequent assignment from the same man, but by then I needed money to go on with the search. Neither Claire nor I realized that some of our problems were now being caused by the form the analysis

By Reason of Insanity

179

had taken. Ignorant of this I worked harder and harder when there sTss nelhing left to work with, until the exhaustion was not only creative but extended into every area of mind and body. But I never doubted that Dr. Grossler was trying to help me. I saw him as a physician, a healer, the one person in the world who understood. He was a knowing con-fidant, an abiding friend, and more.

"Supposing they offer you a chance to plead guilty to Dr. Keszi. "Would you

second-degree murder?" asked accept it?"

"No," I said. "But it's a lesser charge than the one of which you

accused." "I was insane. I'm sure of it now." "But you are getting well. Perhaps they

you,"

are

will not believe

"I don't care what they believe. I would rather die than plead to something that isn't the truth." "You'd rather die?" "All through history men have died for their conception -

of the truth." "But you would be dying when it isn,t necessary."

"To me it would be necessary." There was no friendliness in her voice. "And you expect to be found 'not guilty by reason

itv?"'

"f

I

suppose

of

inian-

hope so."

f.P9 Vo" know what will happen to you then?" "I'll be sent back here." "Do you know for how long?" "No. IJntil I'm completely well." "It could be for miny ylars. For the rest of your life. _ The hospital is reluctant- to release anyone with youi charg.e..At least,if you plead to second-degree murder'you would .know w_hen you're getting out. Here you woutd never know You see what sometimes happens to men who have been here for a long time. They dai deteriorate, decay. Then they are fit for no=thing." The theme was dominant for several sessions, and finally I said, "Dr. Keszi, I won't plead guilty to second_degree murder. It's difficult for me to say this, but I,m very angry at you right now." There was a pause. ..Well, Mr. Balt. I'm glad that you are angry. I'm also glad that you can e*presi your anger.

.

180

JoEN

BALT

going to the canteen now for a cup of coffee. Would jojn me?' you - llieie had been one other trip to the canteen. I had trembled so violently that I had had to leave. This time, however, I was able to remain quite calm"

fm

.

As we continued to probe the past, I told her that in early August, five months before the crime, my- father

i brain tumor; his illness had been brief but excruciating. On a Monday I had accepted .a neiglborhood physician's diagnosis of inner ear infection and approved of nis advice to my father t9 sts)' home. By ihursday, however, he had deteriorated so badly that I drove him to the hospital. Helpless and in pain, he kept ureine me to go home and write. The tumor was diagnoiseA] and a Jpecialist advised a spinal tap. My mother was hesitant, but I persuaded her to sign the necessary papers. When they returned him from the tap, he seemed lo-be arteep. I went home, expecting to see him that evening, As^I parked the car, Clairg qet rye ynth tears in her ev6s to tell me that he was dead,'that he had regained consciousness only long enough to gasp my mother's hand. Claire afterward was to trace the beginnings of serious illness to what followed. I lost control. I smashed my hands into the floor. "Those goddamned doctors," I yelled. *IIe was afraid of docton all his life, and they killed himThev killed him." Within minutes, however, I saw that it was'not the fault of the doctors. It was my own. If I had gotten him to the hospital three-4ays s-o_oner: they would frave saved him. We took the gsffin to New York, and at the funeral I stared into it f&r longer than I should have' died of

trying to reach him, trying to communicate to him that I was sorry. Nbw for the first time I knew what depression could be. A feeling of heaviness in the limbs, a closeness about the air, a c6nviction that doom was very close. A curtain deicended between me and the world; it seemed to make work impossible. Yet I had to work. The results of my second aisignment had been termed "shitty" by one pro gram execu-tive, but someone on the staft evidently liked my work because I received another' assignment. I spent diy after day and nigbt after night at my desk. No labor had ever seemed 6e1s difrcull Dr. Grossler tried to help. He explained that operations for brain tumor were always dangerous uo4 unggrtqin. That if three days were to make the difference then

181 By Reason ol Insanity probably he would have died anyway and in prolonged igony. That the spinal tap could not have kitled him- He adde4 "If you want to feel guilty, don't feel guilty about his illness. There are o16s1 things for you to feel guilty

about."

He was referring to the distance that I had maintained between myself and my father during the last few months

of his life. Here was the first of what I was to think of later as reversals or betrayals, in which I believed myself under attack for having done what I had thought Dr. Grossler considered necessary. It was as if he were saying, *But what "No, I didn't mean this," and I were replying,

did you mean?" Undoubtedly he was concerned. Once he complained, "Things are happening too fast." But now he no longer seemed able to stop me. On one of my mother's monthly visits to the hospital, Dr. Keszi met with her and reported to me that she found her pathetic but brave. In response I recalled that I had not been able to love her after my father died. I had seen her not as a poor widow but as a representative of motherhood triumphant, a victor in a lifelong struggle with the dead man, with-me as the prize. I had done what I could for her, but out of duty, not love. "I think I hate her now."

"And what good

does hate do?"

"I can be free of her."

"No. Hatred never sets you free, not in such a relation. ship. It ties you to the person you hate. Only love can set you free." On the couch when I had discussed my mother's fainting and protracted spells of crying, Dr. Grossler had told me, "Your mother has her own problems. We're concerned about you."

At odd moments I began to call Claire, "Mom," and my mother, "Claire." "All your life you had sought to avoid your mother,"

said Dr. Keszi. "And at that point you saw her everywhere-even in your wife."

I remembered that last script. For six weeks I had struggled with a task that in the past had taken eigbt or nine days. And then when it was finally submitted, it was turned back to me with the comment, 'The producer doesn't think you were yourself. Have another go at it." Another.month, hundreds of sheets of paper into the wastebasket. I was sleeping now only an hour or two a nigbL Uttle Bob observed, "Daddy loves his typewriter better

JOHN BALT

182

than anything." I cried at my desk. I noticed. a tremor in one hand. I-began to hear a disconcerting buzz' I was ;rt"d that I wis repeating the illness of my father and I consulted --bi- an ear specialist, who found nothing'

Crostt"t t"id, "You have to complete the ocript' You-have to go home and do the job.". -And on tle four O"nr tottowitts-I OiA so. It was almost as if I were operating i"'u ti"t" of frypnotic suggestion; and yet it was som.ething else too. I was now d'iiecting the needs of childhood for guidance, i"*.m Dr. Grossler. I was looking to himthat had passed ioi l"tp, and for love' The three decades since I^had begun to tear myself away from mothering to now as nothing' I had fr* into an a"dult on my own were iiune"A anew into tbe maternal maelstrom and the hand I reached was Dr. Grossler's. He commented i;;;hi"h ;fo" r"", you can do it. If I tellyou !o,-you can do it' nut youve'got to do it alone'" Briefly I 4o"gtt! that.thg scripi naC bien successful' But two weeks later I received it in the mail completely rewritten and delivered to me as ;;."*pl" of how it ihould have been done in the first place.

'-Ti*u.

over.

I

was a failure.

I was through as a writer'

finisnea. But if I couldn't write, what would I do? How would I support my femily? The first thing was to cut expenses.

--"d-th;

couch, without having consulted Claire, I told tne aoctot that I had to stoP the-analysis, and he agreed' I asked, "After this session then?" -;Wait until the end of the month. We'll work until the last possible moment' Guilt. Thafs our business here"' - id;;;;ih was devastating. There was a time limit, and t*gnt his approval by-atrying to disembowel my-s9lf' "otl iraud, i phooy, has-been; a mother-ridden f-*"t " of shit. criople smelling il^'ve sat here in amazement and watched yotl teal no.ego, no control' And Vo*."lf ao*rr. fft as if you-had inside of you, driving were Oy-tUuf if some as Vo"-go o", you.'l ' He recalled that once I had related a childhood incident in wnicn I had seen my father surface with a bleeding face "That's how you see i-* u dive into a swimming pool. a bloody head'" with man a yourself, as "But if that's true then tha analysis was supposed to did I do wrong?" correct --;*o" it. What ."", you think you've ialea in the analysis too"' F; the frist time, aid ooty for a moment, I turned on

By Reason ol Insanity

183

him. "Maybe you've failed. Maybe you've done something wrong."

"I've done nothing wrong."

alternatives became frantic. I became I should never have quit my job as a story editor. I was never a writer. I had always been a rewriter. At UCLA I picked up catalogs on politi' cal science and history. I would wake Claire in the middle of the night with detailed schemes for law school or dental school. At this point I looked to her as an ally, a friend. I knew that she would help me no matter what. Yet I began to me€t resistance from her' "I can study, Claire. I could always study." "Yes, you can study. But I don't see why you have to. You've always done so well. You ll do well again. You've got to believe that." Dr. Keszi observed, "It was again reality clashing with fantasy. She couldn't understand why the life she had known for so long was collapsing. It was a terrible position for her. Yet she remained loyal to you?" "Oh, yes. That's when we decided that she would go

My

search

obsessed

for

with the idea that

to teaching, so that I could fight it out in

back

my

profession. That's how I was thinking of it then, 'fighting it out"' and I would keep telling myself that." I recalled that we were almost without funds. We couldn't seem to cut expenses fast enough. My hands shook as I wrote checks and Claire had to take over the duty. The unemployment office was a place of torment in

which all the faces on line were turned toward me in smirking satisfaction. During the final days of the month, I took Bob to a football game at the Coliseum. All that

of the world and I was not. I was walking inside a transparent shell. I was more frightened now of stopping my psychiatric visits than of anything else. There was some money in New York that my uncle was holding for me, and Claire suggested that I write for it in order to be huge colorful crowd was part

I

had the insistent feeling that

able to continue treatment.

On the last day of the month, I told Dr. Grossler, if I continued, maybe it would work out." Dr. Grossler said, "I'm sorry, but it would be un-

"Maybe wise,"

"But is

years old,"

A

it right for me to stop now? I

moment

feel a hundred

of evaluation. "I don't know. I

don't. I just have to trust my judgment."

honestly

JOHN BALT

184

door, Dr. Grossler stood' honesfly like to know how things

as I reached the ;U""t" me. I'd

Iust

After all, we don't want you are going. ""U

to get so upset yout do something to yourself." -ihe- next week, alth-ougn t ttieO to resume working,- I

that

could set nothing done. I-couldn't sleep' and so during-the I would drag a;;;?i;4" coiple of hours at the desk, get some rest' niieU to the bed in the hope that I could. that Brit; I lay there I would bi overcome with a feeling ro-"tni"g n"d been done to me' some injustice' I would rc"p ftod ttte bed, my face burning, and clench my han$1 of the dresser until I calmed down' I could otJ. tni ;t""d the sight of myself in the mirror' Finally I ildg". "Ag"

Dr. Grossler. called --;ii't-ooty

a week. You're tryrng to use- this depress.ion to git Uact into the analysis' A.week isn't-lorrg enough"' Several days later I alain tried to reach him by phone' but he nevei returned the call. Claire, concerned now about my physical well-being, suggested that I visit our internist,'piit tvtyerly. He eiamined me and prescribed Librium and sleePing -the Pills' medication, I again sought contact Suspicious of this time was able to arrange for a and Grossler br. with session. Then as I lay on the couch he spoke loudly' "You *ite i" the big leigues once and you can be again"' Afterward, as lltarted to leave the office, he smiled and said, "Weli, I hope the pep talk did you a little good.'',By that, I thought hi meant he had believed his "pep talk" unprofessioJal and almost comical. I felt certain that he despised me.

Wittt ttt" medication there were brief periods of relief

during which my voice would steady and my mind seem to focusJ but when I tried to apply myself to work, there was no reiult and I would grow tearful and shaky' I began to male toog trips of faniy, in which there were many fs and I built systems on each one. "Maybe if I hadn't married, this wouldn't have happened. Maybe if we had lived poorly, and I had invested all my earnings' Maybe tj

Clair; had been rich. Maybe

girl."

il I

had married

a

rich

Claire started to attend meetings to prepare her for her teaching duties, and as the time for her to begin *,o-Il1i"g drew iearer, she had qualms about leaving the children every day. I understood her discomfort and felt responsible ior ii. yet she never wavered. For me, however, the

By Reason ol

Insanity

job had taken on another signfficance. worthlessness.

It

was proof

lg5

of my

to the Los Angeles Public Library ended lripmyafter-trip leafing through college catalogs and pouring over -wit! books such as Careers after Forty. f never s-eemed-to fit anywhere, and I cried on downtown streets. When I drove home, the freeways shimmered, and the once hospitable mountains closed in ominouslv.

I

called Dr. Grossler again and asked for a visit. This I lay on the couch I felt a persistent tingling in my groin that I associated with the pain of castration. What i was feeling was what a castrate would feel. During the next week I thought that I had at last found the nature of the injustice done to me. It was the analysis. lory-e{lng had_gone wrong. A refrain began to repeat itself like a broken record. "Keep job, no inalysis. Keep jo!:lo analysis. No Claire analysii, no your analysis.', When I related this in group therapy, I suddedy realized that it was only after months af the hospital that I had stopped using,the second person exclusively io my thought proeesses. I knew that everyone did it oicasionaily. But many weeks before the crlme it had become a tim.e a1

pattern with me-without my even noticing it-to the of any other. I saw it as the precurser of the friendly voice, and the psychologist mentioned dissocia91clu9ion

tion.

As the broken record played, I would bemoan my

mistakes, and then hurling myself to the floor, crawl aboui it senselessly beating my fists into it. Each of these episodes seemed to weaken my ability to forestall the next.

Dr. Keszi said that she disliked labels, such as ochizophrenia. Still, given the definition of schizophrsni4-..4 type of psychosis characterized by loss of iontact with environment_ qnd_ b;r a disintegration of personality"-it seemed that

.I

I had all the symptoms.

obtained prescriptions for further, more powerful drugs. The episodes became more destructive. bne dav when I was alone in the house, I put my fist through a kitchen cabinet. I began to hide frorir the ihildrerr. Ceitain that my- agen-ts were planning to drop me, I began to make plans for contacting Claire's cousin to entlr tle contracting business with him in Connecticut. "I'd like to build houses," I told Clahe. ..If you build a

house, you've got something,"

I also contacted a dental school and debated wheth_ should join a writing dissu55iea group being formed

But

er

I

」OHN

186

BALT

棚 理 鸞壼琵 幕毛襴 :彗

鐵 鰐 鮮 :齢 鮮 献 卜i質螺 鷺貯蹴 鯖脚 ∬t ぽ t讐 譜銭柵 Ⅷ:∴ ξ ゞ :聰 Ir∝ aued the detans of thtt night mecthg in Dr.

島組∴m、雲 冊Tぎ種∴ he,too,would be out of a lob. “What shan l dO?"claire asked.

``You've got to be vAth him, support him [psych010gi…

Cly」

littTllき l電

ば :』 tC鷲

:11ilξ

care of me. She would

nurse lne。

Ttt」

準ξ 瑠lil減誡 嚇1:胤 itwoud be b“

¥悧

ter."

朧 h淋 榊 警 [脚 「 [∬ TCi a mattousa No onげ u empl呼 鴨 評:驚指 Ele after that。

'

By Reason of Insanity

187

"I'm not talking about a madhouse. I'm talking about a *But I'll be all right. All I baye to do is find another

rest home."

profession."

The next morning on the phone as Claire reported to episode of shaking and throwing myself around, he told her, and she repeated to me, that I was "fighting" my medicine. A call to Phil Myerly brought the information that Dr. Grossler had phoned him with a warning that I was a suicide risk. Myerly, however, because I was calm at the moment, did not agree. He prescribed a combination of drugs to make me sleep, and twelve hours later, when Claire told me that I had to go to the hospital, I leaped from my bed to make my first attack on her. The next day, a month before the final crime, Dr. Grossler walked out of my hospital room and off the case. Dr. Keszi and I talked about the month before the

him a new

crime.

"Wasn't Claire frightened of you?" "No. No. She loved me." "She loved you too much." It was the month during which, as soon as I was re. leased from the private sanitarium, I tried to enter universities, first as a major in political science and then in clinical psychology, then as a dramatics student, and finally as a student in elementary education. It was the month that Claire started to work, and the month during which Dr. Blutman treated me. "Did you tell Dr. Blut'rran about your attack on

Claire?" asked Dr. Keszi. "Itwas the first thing I told him." "What did he say?" "'It wasn't you. It was the drugs and all those days that you had no sleep.' Like Dr. Grossler, he was very conc€rned about the sleep."

"Exhaustion contributes to a lessening of controls." '(He also said that he thought that the mixture of drugs I was taking was abominable. But-he prescribed drugs himself." "Did you believe him, that it was the drugs and not

you?'

"At first I did, but then I started to be frightened. On the morning that I was supposed to be released from the

hospital, I called him and told him that I didn't think I was ready to go home, that I hadn't slept the whole nigbt

188

JOHN BALT

before, and that I had feelings of hostility against Dr. Grossler for walking out on me. But he insisted. It seerned to me that he thought I was using the hospital as an escape from reality. That was ironic in a way, too, because I had feared a mental hospital so much that when Myerb had me transferred there he didn't tell me it was that kind of place. I didn't find out until three days later. And then after

I left I became terror-stricken

that

I

would

be sent back."

I recalled Dr. Blutman, in contrast to Dr. Grossler, as something of a dandy. IIe was in his mid-forties, fair, handsome; and he had a pencil-thin reddish mustache. His

suits were expensive, and so was his car. Whereas Grosslsr's office had an atmosphere about it of studious sobriety, his, in brightly colored modern, was garish. Trying to understand why he had contin-ued with the drugs, I iealized that he probably saw himself in a difficult position from the start. Grossler's office was only a halfdozen doors down the hall. Althougb it was clear that Blutman did not fike him, he was a fellow psychiatrist, a member of the same professional organizations, and a nodding acquaintance. He knew that the analytic experience for me had been devastating. "You feel that you had no life before it. AII of your tlirty-four years have ceased to exist." Claire begged him to undo the damage. "Just help John to be

what he was before. That's all we want." He told her' "What has been done cannot be undone." When she asked

him to take me into analysis himself, he said that such a prosedure was contraindicated and that what I needed was a therapeutic rather than an analytic situation. When I had pleaded with him once too often to discuss the analysis, he shouted, "Let's forget the goddamned analysis." It was therefore inevitable that he would depend, to a substantial degree, upon medication. It was clear to him that my professional life had ceased and that as long as I was "hysterical" I was in no position to resume it. But he wanted me to work and told me to get any kind of a job, even a janitor's. I begged my iather-in-law to see, tlrough his contacts, if he could secure me just such a position. Like everyone else he was bewildered. He talked about a public relations situation; but privy to my shaking fits and tears, and after listening to my irrational, and to him, inexplicable babbling about being "altered," particularly during the critical two weeks before the tragedy, he could do nothing except spend a

189 By Reason ol InsanitY great deal of time with me. He kept _hoping that I would -go back to writing. I was to turn his kindness against hiru as I became convinced that he and Sarah, who for good reason were always spiriting the children away from me, were planning to have me committed. Jusi after coming out of the mental hospital, I didtave several urges to try to wdte. I attended a large luncheon with a producer friend of mine. But there I kept hearing a refrain: "We are the dead, we axe the dead, we are the dead."

On the street I was aware that people, especially children, were avoiding me; and I thought I heard one lady say, "Don't go near him. IIe's disturbed." I heard whispers from the back seat of the car when it was empty, and finally, very clearly, Claire's aunt: "He's a mental case." At night I began to hear music and several times found myself dancing wildly to it in the living room. All pretense at trying to write ended when I received a savage bite on the right hand from Ra. I had chased him down the street because I knew that Claire didn't want him running wild. I now began to see the animsl as sp incarnation of evil. I felt he had caused all our difficulties by biting Stan on the face three years before-and sending Claire in search of psychological help. I kicked at him and wouldn't let him come near me. The wound became violently infected, and four times a day I received, by injection, huge doses of penicillin and other antibiotics. Meanwhile, Dr. Blutman added a little red pill to the

Librium.

,

The lack of will so characteristic of my behavior after the crime was already evident. I often stood in the middle of a room unable to select a chair until ordered to one by Claire or Mrs. Hopkins. I remained immobile all one morning in the middle of the UCLA campus, because if I entered qas luilding I would be a psychologist and the other, a schoolteacher. I had trembled in the vestibule of my in-laws' apartment building for half an hour holding the basin I carried around to bathe the bite wound, unable to decide, until she came to get me, whether to visit Sarah or go back to the car. I couldn't decide whether or not to see my mother. If I did so it would be surrendering to my "Oedipal" urges, and if I did not I was rejecting her need

for

me.

Then we began to need her. We were broke. My mother lent me four thousand dollars, which was supposed to see me through a college course. But I took the money

JOHN BALT

190

I was returning to the womb; and After the dog bite and the loan, I found myself saying

with the conviction that

I

began to wish that she were dead.

out loud, "Give me back my balls. Please give me back my balls." And then the tantrums took on a pattern. I would roll on the floor, holding my groin and shouting

"castrated, castrated." Five days before the crime I stood with my penis in my left hand and a knife in my right, trying to work up the courage to cut the member off in order to get rid of the pain in the tip. Dr. Keszi asked, "Did Claire know about this?" (She knew that I thought I was castrated." "Why didn't she take steps to see tiat you got back to a hospital?"

"I

suppose because she loved me."

"Again we speak of love, Yes, she loved you, but

weren't there other rensons too? That she could not admit ill, that she was afraid it would destroy your professional and social reputation?" I was angry at the attack. "It was because I was afraid of those things, and she knew it." "Was she perhaps masochistic?' "No, no. If it was anything, it was because she was brainwashed. We had heard so much psychological tatk for so long that anything seemed accceptable." "You will forgive me, Mr. Balt, but I have seen too much horror as a result of misguided love and the refusal it brings to confront the fact of mental illness." "She loved me," I said. "And she died for it. I wish she had hated me." "It would have been better," For several sessions afterward, Dr. Keszi pressed me to review with her the drugs I had received and the physical

that her husband was mentally

symptoms that had been manifest concurrently: palsy, inability to walk, the "dancing," a loss of depth perception so that I found it impossible to place things on counters or

in shelves, incontinence in bed, and a constant leakage of urine into my trousers, which I had attributed to castration.

I did not know, but she did, of a folder then distributed by Roche Laboratories, manufacturers of Librium: "Para-

doxical reactions, i.e. excitement, stimulation, elevation of affect and acute rage have been reported in psychiatric patients; these reactions may be secondary to relief of anxiety and should be watched for in the early stages of

By Reason of Insanity lgl therapy." Although the drug is often valuable, Dr. Carl Essig of the National Institute of Mental Health in Lexington, Kentucky, was to write: "There is a warning against the use of chlordiazepoxide [Librium] with other

psychotropic drugs . . . cl,lordiazepoxide can induce drowsi-

com4 ataxia, and slurred speech. Both dissociative and acute rage reactions have been attributed to this

ness,

drug." We reconstructed the final week, many of the details of which the reader already knows. I begged Claire to stay home because, and it was no longer disguised, I needed a kind mother. She was revolted by the role, and when I would begin to shake or cry, she would rush to the phone

to call Dr. Blutman or Phil Myerly. My panic at

these

calls was uncontrollable. I was certain that arrangements were being made to put me away forever. I saw myself as a gray old man in gray institutional garb behind high walls, eighty years old and always with that pain in my groin. I recalled the wild scene with my in-laws and the knife, and then I remembered the last waking thing I did on the night before the crime. I lay on the couch alone, pretending to be in Dr. Grossler's office and freeassociating, "I need a mother. No, I don't need a mother. I'll get along without a mother." Then I took my pill (the dosage had been increased again that afternoon) and went

to bed, to a repetitive nightmare that I was a eunuchdwarf prodded and exhibited by Dr. Myerly in a weird madhouse; and to a dawn more horrible than any fantasy.

On a late spring day a year and a half later tle

mountains shone through the window behind Dr. Keszi. I was talking to her about my mother's monthly visits to the hospital, and how, although eagerly awaited, they always upset me; about how I couldn't stand her touch; how I felt that she was glad that I was incarcerated, safe, something for her to come and see. Dr. Keszi told me that she was to be pitied. I did not have to be an infant in her presence, nor did I have to be so frigbtened of being overwhelmed by her. We were two adults. Intellectually I could agree, but there was tle unmistakable feeling that she was glad that I had been put away. "It seems that she always wanted me this way."

"Always?' I talked on about

it a whole sequence of memories I repeated them. A dim hallway in a small apa.rtment. I was a child and I As

presented themselves and

-

JOHN BALT

192

had disobeyed hec. As she had done many times in such situations, she went to the telephone. I was always frightened when she did that and I asked her, "Who axe you calling?" "I'm calling the shelter." The county children's shelter, two blocks from our home. A gray building with bars on the windows. There were terrors behind those bars and children who suffered them. "Please, Mom, please." you away." . "They'll take

In tears. "No, Mom, please. Don't call them, please, please."

I'll be good. I

promise.

An attenuation of the torture and then forgiveness. Dr. Keszi and I saw at the same instant the analogy with Claire's phone calls to the doctors. The call to Phil Myerly at two in the morning. The matter-of-fact "You have to go to the hospital" that had brought my first raging attack. Then on that last mindless drug-filled dawn, was there a reconstruction of the infant bath scene? Castrated. No longer a man. The mother lowering the child-

The cold water. The bad mother. Growl, attack, flail, I ran and got knives. ... "God help us," I told Dr. Keszi. Then when I felt closest to her, Dr. Keszi began to withdraw. She seemed bored with what I was saying and appeared to be forcing herself to listen. She spoke of other duties that might intemrpt the therapy. I was hurt briefly' but then I knew what I had to do. I could certainly cooperate with Ross Burnett in my own defense. I didn't know whether Dr. Keszi would press the issue or wait for the clerical machinery on the ward. I believed that the

punish.

decision was up to me.

In the library, where a group of us congregated every sysning to escape the television set, Patras commanded the attention of an avid entourage of buffs who loved to

hear of his experiencbs in San Quentin. "I was there when they had their last hangng. They told him, 'We can make it real easy for ya, only we ain't. This is going to be a strangulation job.'" By reputation he had made himself a seer and many

looked

to him for advice. Although I was not one of

of friendship between us. He had been writing long letters to a nurse on the outside who had been a friend and a mistress for many years, and I had suggested a typing course that turned out well. And so these, there was a kind

By Reason ol

Insanity

193

he advised me anyway. "Don't be a jackass. You don't want to go back now. You been here only a year. They'll find you guilty. Don't you know it's all a numbers gams! Exhibitionists stay here a year, child molesters a year and

a half to two, anybody with violence at least tlree, and murder raps anylvhere up fuom four." As usual, there was some truth in what he had to say; and yet it wasn't the numbers game that made me hesitate to change what had become a way of life. I had found a kind of comfort. I was accepted on the ward and in group therapy. I had just been elected captain of my dorm. I had learned to exercise so that I was in good shape physically. Teaching satisfied an impulse to help others. One of my students recommended me to the head of research as a writer and I was in the process of preparing and producing, with patient actors, some tape .scoldings designed to help orient new admittants. A patient on the ward who was a medical doctor and had been a concert pianist was giving me piano lessons at a dollar a session, and I was enjoying them. "You've got to count. Count. But you're doing very well. Another year and you'U be very good." If I went back now where would I be in another year? Going to court meant another stay in the county jail; and afterward, as far as I knew, it could be the penitentiary or worse.

But in early June I told Dr. Keszi, "I want to go back for trial. If you can speed things up, please do." She smiled and the distance between us vanished.

T.wo weeks before, she had written in my record:

At the

Mr. Balt is showing no signs of He is well-oriented, has gained considerable insight, and developed a marked sense of responsibility. His depression vanished. He is showing sadness and remorse in appropriate ways and in proportion to his crime. It is to be noted that on May 19th the therapist had a conference regarding Mr. Balt with Dr. Artlur Rutland, Associate Chief of Staff at the Veterans' Adpinistration Hospital, Central California Division. Dr. Rutland visited our hospital as a consultant on psychotherapeutic drugs. Dr. Rutland discussed in detail the probable effects of the enormous amount of various medicines that Mr. Balt was receiving for four weeks before committing his crime (daily 4 times 25 mg. Librium, some stimulant, sleeping pills that were probably barbituates, and in addition daily 4 'imes large amounts of penicillin and some psychosis.

present time

t94

JOHN BALT

antibiotic). Dr. Rutland authorized the thera-pist to quote br. Rutland, felt very strongly that Mr' Balt was ti-" of his crime in a toxic state and showed the *

hirn; -tir"he,

destroyed rir*i""t svmptoms of it. The drugs he received il.i i"-"i"O"i of his inner controls that the psychoanalytic t *t-"ot had already almost entirely removed' This fact that Mr' ;;dt bt. Rutland ai well as this therapist feelsituational of episode a single was wife his on nufir "4."t rather than criminal acting out. reaction She had written further: " ... the therapist feels that attorney and Ui nuit is now able to collaborate with his U" returned to court to clear his legal status' "

"o"fA

"'

9 Before any patient could return to court he had to be to siaff by his ward physician' In early June,

nresented

5.. Uo*t"t resigned to take a position in San Diego, and for a month we were left without a full-time doctor' Morale on the ward declined as staffings were limited to those of a diagnostic nature and to others which were

more or less routine. Since my name had not been recommended for immediate consideration by Dr. Mowrer, no tottlit action on my behalf was taken' Meanwhile I had

*titd io Ross Burnett telling him that I

expected

to

be

returned for trial shortlY. One afternoon I was told to report to the visiting r9oln' As-sotn as I entered I recognized the lawyer, the "Max C' Burnett of other days. His presence wastocommanding, him as the on duty was as deferential aa m" guard -had been in the county jail. rnstead of the suspideputies cion of the past, however, I now felt only gratitude' It was quickly apParent to me that he had made the trip to see i'oi nii"t,iti whether or not I was capable of acceptab-le conduct in the courtroom. I thanked him for the way he had handted my case and apologized for my past behav-

iq.

'"fhere was no mind l[s19," he said- "No mind at

allt

By Reason ol Insanity l9S in-laws, he told me, had finally found the pressure of-My memories in Los Angeles too muCh to bear. Tirev and the children, who were well, were now living in pennsylvania. As I described my activities in the-hospital, the conversation, stiff and formal at first, became relaxed, and I knew that he was well pleased with what he found. When he asked if I wanted to see the psychiatric reports on the case,

ed in court.

I declined. I wanted to know what he expect-

ever predict what will happen in court. every expectation that you'll -6e found not guilty by reason of insanity.,' "What happens then?" "What do you want to happen?" "f don't know. I haven't allowed myself to think beyond 14e trial._My friend Jim was up a few weeks ago. I'told him that I expected to be here along time." We ended with a discussion of fishing in Baja, California. I cited some Steinbeck, but, as in everything else, he was the man with the practical experience. There were a number of dreams during this period in which I saw Claire and my father togethir, wifh myself separate from them. In one dream, I watched Ciaire dissolving in water. Dr. Keszi told me that I wanted to be rid of the dead. When I protested that this was unfair. she replied that it was inevitable. Ald tlen I shed tears for the last time in her presence, or in the presence of anyone "ryo _one can _ Bu.t_ I have

but mvself.

A little

later I, reported guiltily that watching motion I had felt a reawakening -of sexual desire. Dr. Keszi considered this healthy. Abou--t the guilt, she said, "I don't want to allow mysef to talk too much about the future. But never, never compare another woman to Claire. You would be doing her memory no service." Another theme of importanCe concerned my qualms atout the county jail and the ding tank. She assured me that what I had felt before was the result of mv illness. "Should you be eqnfingd in the psychiatric tank, Lowever, .

pictures or television,

you.must be espe-cially strong. There is a contagious quality about mental illness." We also talked about writing. Stre reminded me that my inability to write had been concurrelt with my illness, and that at other rimes it had been a safety valve, one I should not think of closing. everything to be as it was be- "Then--ev-entually-is tore, except for . .." "Except for Claire? No, not quite as before. Nor do we

t96

JOHN BALT

want it to be quite as before. But, Mr. Balt, I will repeat you must live." For the time being and possibly for many years to come tbat meant living in the hospital, and I did my best to remain a functioning part of the environment. On the ward, I averted a crisis about Fernando's cigarette thiev-

ery by having him transferred out of the dorm. My

orientation tapes turned out well and the research department was planning other tasks for me. I talked the school zupervisor into ordering new history and English books. I befriended a sex offender, a youDg man who had molested his stepdaughter, and who was on the verge of a mental collapse. I believe I helped him to adjust to the hospital. One afternoon in the canteen I saw Timmy sipping a milk shake and I took a seat beside him. We talked for a while and I found him a chastened young man, very di-fferenf from the sadistic monster I had remembered from the ding tank. He was glad to be rid of his feud with me.

On my mother's visit during late June our conversation

turned

for the first time to Ra. The little dog-"the

incarnation of evil"-had died three months after the crime. Any possibility that I might identify completely with the hospital environment was eliminated with what she told me next. In discussing my father's illness with friends, she had learned that just prior to his joining her in California he had surprised some burglars in his place of

business and had been knocked unconscious with a blow to the head. She had known of his dizzy spells afterward but not their cause. I had known of neither. That night, however, when Patras was holding forth on his adventures as a heist man, I internrpted with a brief r6sum6 of the story. Although he identffied with the burglars, he identified with me too. "You look enough like a con, so maybe you're all right." I believe that for a moment I reached

him, and afterward the byplay between us was restrained. In the days that followed, no matter how I fought it, the hospital grew increasingly oppressive. There was a suicide, the only successful one of which I'd heard. It was a man my own age whom I knew sligbtly from the baseball games in the yard. He had risen calrrly from a game of dominoes and destroyed himself with a sheet suspended from his bed frame. All around, there was the terrible hopelessness of idiocy. The sounds of selflove in the night. The eternal patients and the eternal patient"therapists" in the dayroom. The never-ending trickle of

By Reason ol

Insanity

197

newcomers replacing those who had gone out. The knowledge that the hospital had plans for expansion. As soon as we got a new doctor, slender and ascetic in appeaxance, in his sixties, the rumors flew. He was Austrian. He was Catholic and a friend of the priest. He was a full-fledged psychiatrist and had been an assistant superintendent at one of the state hospitals. All true. He and the Catholic priest were teaming up against the ward social worker who was an atheist. fle was in line for the superintendency. Not so true. In a speech to the ward, he sai4 "I

will do my

best to bring 1fos s1effing schedules up to date," and he proved the truth of that by working twelve hours a

day.

About two weeks after the doctor's arrival, a technician poked his head in the therapy room and told me, "Mr. Balt, Dr. Heffner wants to see you." For perhaps an hour Dr. Heftner and I went over my tecord. He offered no opinion about the origins of my illness except that it was not organic. "We can never

exactly evaluate

all the factors that went into it-the

analysis, the drugs. It was fortunate for you that you had a woman therapist. What do you say?' "I'd rather think it was because she's a good therapist,

not because she's a woman." fls smilsd, and we scheduled another meeting. That afternoon he asked me, "If you were on the outsidg where would you like to live?"

"In Los Angeles. I have friends there." "You would live with vour mother?" t'No." 'What occupation would you follow?"

"I would like to go back to my profession." ffl

a

"I

s9e.

Do you care to write of your experiences?"

don't know. I'm anxious to get bacl to work. But it's large profession, and I haven't decided which area

would be best."

"The public is very interested in mental illness. There is

so much that can be told that isn't."

At our third meeting, Dr. Heftner said, ..Because of the of comn_ritn-rent you are under I can recornmend only that you g! ba9.k to court for trial. But after examinin-g your records, dissussilg your activities with the technicians and o-thers, and talking to you, I don t see any t_ytrte

reason why further hospitnlization is warranted',

For several days

fust time

I

weighed what he told me. For the of release. The prospect was

I saw the possibility

」OHN

198

dauling, but

I knew it

BALT

was not likely to happen. Briefly

I

of it. But then I remembered that long ago I had elected for survival, and survival, to have any mean-

was afraid

ing, had to be more than existence at Atascadero. I talked to Dr. Keszi about the possibility of a life outside the hospital, and while she insisted that I focus on the "here and now" she was not discouragns. I did not forget the trial ahead, but now I looked beyond it. I wrote to Ross Burnett describing my conversations with Dr. Heffner. My second staffing was held just across the corridor from where I had sat a year before. Present now were Doctors Heffner and Garfield fro.m the ward, Dr. Keszi, Mr. Corman, a social worker, and Mr. Porter, a techni-

I

had worked closely as dorm captain. of the hospital was another assistant superintendent, Dr. Burns, a rotund man, soft spoken, but given to quick neryous movements. Just before appearing I had shaved, showered, combed my harr, and shined my shoes. I was respectful but at ease. The procedure, important later, was brief. Dr. Heftner asked me questions about the future. Dr. Keszi about my activities in the hospital, and Dr. Burns about incidents before the crime. As it became apparent to all that I was handling myself well, Dr. Heffner wanted to know what I was going to do with all the money I was making from writing orientation tapes, and there was laughter all around the table. Just as it was subsiding, however, Dr. Burns thrust himself forward in his chair, "Well, Mr. Balt, what do you intend to do about this murder, write it off?" The laughter gave way to silence. The question hit me exactly on target. I hesitated a moment and then told him, "I can't write it off. I can't ever forget it. But I can't do myself or anyone else in this world any good by being

cian with whom

Representing the top echelon

sick."

Late on an afternoon three weeks later, Mr. Porter met

me in the corridor and told me I'd be leaving for Los Angeles the following day. I went immediately to Dr.

Keszi's office, but she had already gone home. The next morning I'd have to surrender my hall card before ehe arrived at work. Just after brenkfast I changed into a suit

and, although I knew there was more than a good chance that I'd be seeing them agqin, said good-bye to the men in the dorm. Patras, seeing me for the fust time in a suit, said, "You

By Reason ol Insanity

199

look like a goddamned doctor. When you get to death row say hello to all the boys." I shook hands with hin. "Go back to truck driving, you old son-of-a-bitch." Mr. Porter took me to tle receiving room and a half hour later, with four other men from the hospital, I was on the sherifs bus to Los Angeles. There were five passengers already aboard when we entered, and it didn't take me long to learn that two of them had been apprehended upstate for armed robbery, and another for failure to pay child support. The two others were from .prison facilities. One said that he was to be a witness at a trial and the other mentioned somerhing about an appeal. I said nothing. I had determined that it would be my policy to keep my mouth shut.

As we pulled away from the hospital I saw it truly for the first time from the outside, and I was struck by its vastness. In the morning fog it seemed a forbidding and unhappy place. a fairy palace," a passenger joked. recalled the battle that had been fought there; but like battlefields it was better left to the ghosts. Soon the

"Like

I

all hills at which concealed

it.

I

One

had looked so often from the inside of the deputies told me that my trial

would be in four days.

We followed the coast highway, stopped for milk shakes and hamburgers, were ogled by some kids on bicycles, and then pulled on to the Ventura Freeway. I would allow myself 16 think about neither the legal proceedings nor the jail. I would take everything as it came. Recognizing the names on the road signs, I realized that we would be passing within a half mile of where I had lived with Claire and the boys. Our house and the trees that Claire had so carefully nurtured would be easily visible f1q6 1fo6 highway. I refused to look anyrvhere but straight ahead. I was pleased when we bypassed the Hall of Justice and

to the county's new detention facility. It was much larger than the old jail and the fssking procedures were cut down to about six hours. The crow4 the smells, and the heat were the same as before, but now I was not reacting to them. My property envelope said nothing about my charge, merely that I'd been transferred from Atascadero. While I was being fingerprinted, however, the deputy asked me what the crime was and I told him, "One went on

eighty-seven."

"IIow

does

it look for vou?"

200

JoIrN

BALT

"I

don't know." He took no stePs to isolate me. While we were waiting

on line for our blood tests a young Negro had

an

eoileotic fit and had to be carried out on a stretcher. Then a'Eale nurse appe'ared and asked if anyone had recently been in a mentil-hospital. Although I wanted to avoid the pwchiatric tank above all, I stepped forward. The nurse io6f my envelope, asked where I'd been, for how lo--ng' and how I was ieeling. He went into the doctor's office and retumed a few minutes later. "'We'll put you in a regular tank. If there are any complaints we'Il transfer you in the morning." There were no complaints. I managed to get an uPper bunk near an air ven-t, and to buy some cigarettes and

paperback books. The child-support man' sullen and ipiitiog for a fight, presented a pioblem. He'd arrived in th" c"tl a few minutes after me and didn't like the bunk that had been left for him. For some reason he was extremely interested in me and once snatched my property envelope in an attempt to determine why I'd been in the hospitil. I tried to reassure the man in the adjoining cell, who was waiting for trensportation to Atascadero, about

what he would find there. A few cells down, there was a sex offender who, after ninety days in the institution, had been returned as unamenable. In other words, he had not seen fit to open himself to treatment. Now' however, after having been told by his probation officer that it was either the h5spital or priion, h-e was anxious to go back. Having been initructed^to write a letter explaining why he should be given that consideration, he asked me to do it for himHe-was educated eno tgh to write his own letter, and so I refused. He begged me, and I refused again. The letter' which would become a legal document, was supposed to reflect him and not me. But more than that, I wanted to, and I knew that I had to, identify with society now instead of with the men with whom I'd lived for a year aod a half. I received no visitors. At Ross Burnett'g request, my mother had told no one that I was in Los Angeles. She' recalling some of the incidents in the jail that I could not, had deiermined to stay away from there. I would have liked to see her. Befori leaving the hospital, I had realized that there was no longer any reuuon to fight the battles of childhood. If a certain distance could be maintained be' tween us. and I was sure now that it could' I hoped to make up for some of the anguish I had caused her.

By Reason ol Insanity

201

On the night before the trial, I dreamed vividly of Claire. She was above me, very much alive, smiling to encourage me. She reached out her hand and I held iL When I woke up it was without fear of the procedures ahead.

Those of us going to court were driven to the Hall of Justice in buses, conducted past the coroner's hearses to the basement and then into barred elevators which took us up to the various holding rooms. My case was first on the docket. When I entered the courtroom, I saw my mother siftingalone and I nodded to her. Before tne pag6 arrived, Ross Burnett told me at length what was expictea of me. When his Honor took his place on the be-nch, I could not connect the businesslike lace and manner with

the vulture of the year before.

The record: THB couRT: People versus Balt. MR. BURNETT: The defendant is present in court with counsel, your Honor. It's the defendant's desire at this 'ms-as your Honor knows from the file, the last time we were here, roughly a year and a half ago, that your Honor found he was not mentally able to stand trial nor to communicate with his counsel. Your Honor found him at that time, presently insane. Ife's been in Atascadero, and there's a report in the file that he is now able to confer with counsel, and I have myself conferred with him and I am able to confer with him. And at this time it is the defendant's desire first, to withdraw his plea of not guilty, and to stand on his plea heretofore entered of not guilty by reason of insanity. That is your desire, is it not? THB DEFENDANT: yes, sir. MR. BURNETT: You want to stand on it? THE DEFENDANT: Yes,

THE couRT: You have talked this over

nett, have you, Mr. Balt?

with Mr. Bur-

TIIE DEFENDANT: yes, I have. MR. BURNETT: You talked it over with me when visited you in Atascadero about a month ago? THB DBFENDANT:

I

That's right.

THE corJRT: How did you get along up there at Atasca-

dero?

THE DEFENDINT: Very well, your Honor. I received I have lerhing but good to cay

very fine treatment, and about iL

2O2

JoHN BALT

TrrB couRT: You understand what's going on [s1e rhis morning all right, do you? THE DEFENDANT: Yes, sir. There was further discussion of my competence and Ross Burnett cited the letters that I had written to him. THE couRT: Very well, the Court will find that he is now able to coopeiate with counsel and that he under-

stands what is going on. Now, with regard

of the plea of not guilty, Mr. plained that to you, I assume?

drawal

to this with-

Burnett has ex-

your Honor. THB couRT: And theie stands at the present time-if that is withdrawn----only the plea of not guilty by reason of insanity, which admits the crime of which- you are charged, wnicn is murder. You understand all that? THB DEFENDANT: Yes, sir. THE couRT: WeU, it appears to me that you understand. Now, with regard io the charge of not guilty by reason of insanity, Mr. Burnett. MR. BURNETT! ff your Honor please, at this time the defendant will join me in stipulating that the matter may THB DEFENDANT: Yes,

be submitted to the Court on the reports of

tle

two

court-appointed psychiatrists, and also the report of Dr. Karlsen, who was employed by the defense, and the defendant will waive his constitutional rights to the confrontation of witnesses. We will stipulate that it may be deemed that if each of the psychiatrists were called and sworn they would testify in accordance with their reports. That is agreeable with you, is it not? THE DEFENDANT: Yes. sir. The judge further explained my constitutional rights-to cross-examination and to trial by jury. I waived both. He then asked for the district attorney's position. MR. ARc€n: Your Honor, tle People join the defendant and his counsel in the waiver of trial by jury, and we accept the stipulation offered by counsel and by the defendant personally.

riry couni: Very well. The record will now show that I have this morning read-for the second time-the reports of Dr. Karlsen, who was employed by the defendant, and Drs. Martyns and Conners, appointed by the Court; and the Court will find the defendant not guilty by reason of insanity. I was surprised at how quickly it had come. ''me I Lrn. suRNETT: Now if your Honor, please, at this would move the Court to appoint two psychiatrists for the

By Reason ol

Insanity

zOj

purpose of examining the defendant as to his presbnt mental condition. There is every indication that he is fully recovered. For the sake of the safety of everyone, the Court should appoint two psychiatrists to examine him. MR. ARcor: The People wilt join in the motion. THE couRT: The Court will do so, and I have in mind appointing Dr. Karlsen, who was employed by the defendant, and Dr. Conners who was appointed by the Court. MR. ARcor: That's perfectly agreeable with the People,

your Honor. MR. BURNETT: That's agreeable with the defendanl

I

think the record should show that with Karlsen, since he was employed by the defendant in rhis case, that it is the opinion of this Court that Dr. Karlsen is the kind of man who will give an honest report regardless of who employs him. ... He is a very highly capable man. The Court will appoint Dr. Karlsen and Dr. Conners to examine this defendant. The matter is continued for two weeks. . . . I ihink probably TrrE couRT:

regard

to Dr.

the psychiatrists will do a better iob and a faster job having previously examined into this matter when tle

-matter was here on the last occasion.

I certainly felt no elation, not even for the moment, at the possibility of freedom. Yet the possibility was real. The Court had found me not guilty, and I myself didn't

think that further hospitalization was necessary. Before I was returned to the holding room, Ross Burnett asked for and received permission to talk to me privately. He wanted to show my letters to him to the

psychiatrists, to the court, and to the district attorney's office. I told him to do whatever he thought would help. My mother remained in her chair, and I left the courtroom. When I returned to my cell in the new jail, I found the child-support man stretched out in my bunk. I knew that any altercation now would be disastrous, and I had no intention of allowing the matter to come to a fight; but I could not allow myself to be pushed around. "If you're cooled off now, you can get off my bunk." "Take mine." "I want this one." "I ain't moving." "You knew I was coming back. Now get off my bunk." He glowered at me a moment. "Take tbe goddamned thing," and he climbed down. That evening I was called from the cell to join about forty other meu downstairs. We were told that the new

204

JoHN BALT

jail was for transients, and those who had to wait a week or longer for the disposition of their cases would be ssnfined in the old one. We shutfled over by bus and as soon as we were assembled in that ninth-floor ehower room I recognized the guards to whom I had given so much trouble a year and a half before. They called me out of line. "What are you here for this time, Balt?" "I came down for trial. I'm waiting 161 s sqnity hear-

ing."

A few minutes later they started to assign men to the various cell blocks. Finally there was no one left in the shower room but a tall fellow, who kept mumbling about a lost rifle, and me. "Whafs happening to us?" I asked a deputy. "You're going to a ding tank." "I don't need the ding tank. I'm well." "We think you need it.' I realized the implications my confinement in the ding lank would have for the court-appointed psychiatrists and for the judge. "Okay. But I'd like to talk to the nurse

upstairs." "Sure, you've got to talk to him anyway." When we reached the fourteenth floor and walked past the ding tank into the hospital proper, I was surprised at

it seemed. I had remembered it as vast and seething. "It'g been a long time, Balt,' said the nurse. "How are

how small and quiet you?"

"I'm fine. I've been in Ios Angeles for four days. In the central jail. I was in a regular tank there." I had found the right words. He rubbed his chin. "Ill call, if you don't mind." When he left us, the deputy bantered with the tall man, who it seemed was a sniper, but preferred to call himself a hunter. With pride, he showed the deputy some newspaper clippings about himself. The nurse returned. "They say you're not on medication. Is tlat right?" "Not even aspirin." To the deputy, "Put him in a regular tank." "Thanks," I said. "Okay. You look a lot better, Balt. You were a 6care-

crow. You're even broader around the shoulders." The deprty escorted me out. From the psychiatric tank, already dark, we heard moaning. "If you're okay, Ball I

205 By Reason ol Insanity wouldゴ t want you h there.You know what 80es on there.''

The block to which l was asslgned was,■ ke an of themp man crowdedo With four men assigned to each of the two‐

ceus, 1, as a llewcomer, would have to sleep on the

鸞

鶏

C岬

櫨

斜

囃

鮮

覆

轟

譜思」 Fi wtt interviewd by DL Karlsm m 1ぷ 霊

the hospital.

``1)o you know the date?" I Inentioned it.

ぶ 磯難 蟄描織蒔i蝋犠轟

撫 織電:璧隠 乳鵠,驚 評糧計T量概犠 宙 thout her. “Would you live with your mother?"

^

He asked about my occupational plans. I told him that I had no way of knowing how I stood in the industry, but that my agent had called my mother several times express' ing interest in my progress. I was certain that he would do att he could once he was sure I would be able to work again.

"Have you been in contact with your in-laws?'

ttNo.tt

"And the children?"

understand that they're fine. I certainly wouldn't want to disturb them now, although I'd Uke to establish

"I

contact with them later."

We talked for perhaps an hour, with the conversation dominated by my explanation of the crime and recollec' tions of hospital life. Finally, he said, "I have some letters of yours. I'll read

them this afternoon. You were very fortunate

in

the

treatment you received." Five days passed before I saw Dr. Conners, and mean' while I adjusled myself to the routine of the cell block

JOHN BALT

206

Although I offered no reason for my incarceration, I got along itisfactorily with the other men, m€ny of whom were- not at all reticent about their own offenses. Liquor' or narcotics, had played a role in the lives of almos! ev-ery one of them, and

i

r6calted how many of the sex offenders

at Atascadero, perhaps half of them, had committed their crimes while inioxicated. lt was impressed upon them that

liouor had not caused their antisocial behavior, but had

towered controls sufficiently to allow it to occur. If they continued to drink after release they would be that much more likely to repeat their offenses. What was most obvious to me was the overpowering dullness of the criminal's world. Although so often glamorized, it was not only a brutal world, but an arid and banal one. Without drink and dope it probably would have been unbearable to most of its inhabitants. Many of the older men were repeaters and knew what lay ahead of

them. They recognized their own stuPidity and hated themselvesior it. but there was something else, too. Many of them were relieved. They were going home to the joint. There would be no more battles with themselves or society

for years to come. They wouldn't have to be productive. fney'a have to scheme for coffee aDd cigarettes, and run wittr the right cliques. That's all. Many of them claimed to hate the officers who guarded them. Yet they had deliberately placed -dirt themselves in positions where they were less

before "the men." ff there was one quality repeaters that overpowered all others it was the among than

masoJhism. a hasochism that, for some, would eventually make the gas chamber appealing. I spoke to too few of the first offenders to learn very much from them, except that they were all disappointed. After so many years- of fantasy ibout crime, mucn of it fed to them on television, they were shocked at the impossible barrenness of their situations. Yet through the workings of a penal systen! that allows for a recidivism rate of sixty percent, many of

these fust offenders would mature into replacements for the empty derelicts with whom they now vied for butts oft the freeway floor. Dr. Conners, no longer a "cop," looked quite di-fferent from the way I'd remembered him. Our interview was laborious buf thorough-his mode of questioning being somewhat di.fferent from that of Dr. Karlsen's. He went over all my previous aberrations, and each one seemed to serve as a iopic sentence on which I elaborated. iinally he asked about my treatment at the hospital and about my

By Reason ol

Insanity

2O7

plans for the future. He was friendly but grave, and I was relieved when the hour was over. There was now nothing to do but wait for the hearing.

TrrB couRT: People versus John Balt. This matter is here this morning in order to determine the issue of a restoration of the defendant's sanity. Mr. Burnett. MR. BURNETT: If your Honor please, I offer to stipulate that the reports of Dr. Conners and Dr. Karlsen may be deemed to be their testimony, and will waive the right of confrontation and the right to cross-examine. The judge questioned me carefully on my willingness to

waive cross-examination, and I agreed to do so. THE couRT: Well, I have read tie reports of Dr. Conners and Dr. Karlsen. The Court, having appointed them, is of course thoroughly satisfied with their ability and gualiffgstist*. They have come to the same conclusion, that apparently this defendant's sanity has been restore4 and he is no longer a danger to the community. That's the essence of their reports. They are deemed to have testified to thaf if the District Attorney is willing to stipulate to this procedure. Mr. Arcot was not present. Patricia Daws, a personable woma^n in her early forties, was appearing foi the Peo-

ple.

MRs. DAws: I have the highest respect for both Dr. Karlsen and Dr. Conners. There's onlv one thine that does

bother me, and that is that in the r6ferrat baJk, Atasca-

dero did state that they thougbt he needs further treatment there.

I was surprised, but Ross Burnett seemed to be expecting just such a reservation from the hospital. MR. BURNETT: I can very quickly clear that up. Both of the doctors who treated him, one a psychologist and the other a psychiatrist, are piesent. The man who wrote the staffng report [Dr. Burns] had never seen my client except for the five minutes he was before the Board that afternoon. I em prepared to put on testimony to that eftect.

After a further interchange between the iudge and Mrs. Daws, Dr. Keszi was called for testimony. She nodded to me as she walked to the witness stand. Ross Burnett established her qualifications. She was a clinical psychologist with a PhD from the University of Budapest. Sbe had

twenty years

of

experience

in

mental hospitals, had to 1960,

worked at the University of Michigan from 1957

208

JoHN EALT

at Atascadero from 1960, and had been certified by the State of California. MR. Bt RNErr: Wben you first saw Mr. Balt what was his mental condition? pg rpsz: He was psychotic. He was confused. He was depressed and occasionally hallucinatory. r"rn. suRNerT: As you progressed in your treatment with him, how did he progress mentally? DR- r.F.sz: He worked very, very strenuously. He strove to gain insight into his problems and into his personality structure. We went through his whole life. In the end he

gained

caused

a

good insight into what happened and what

it to happen.

MR. BuRNETT: Doctor, did he ProgJss where in your opinion he recovered? DR. KEszr: Yes,

to tle

point

he did- In many ways he is healthier

than he ever was before. MR. BuRNBTT: And in your opinion as a psychologist is he safe to be returned to society? speaking for the DR, KFsz: As a as a therapist, I am convinced hospital-as a ps that he is. MR. BURNETT: Did you attend the Board meeting when he was released, to come down here, as being well enough to stand trial? She testifed that she was present and then, in response to Ross Burnett's questions, named everyone else who was there, including Dr. Heffner, who was in court. MR- BuRNETT: Now, Doctor, at that time, was Mr. Balt present at any time during the Board meeting? DR. KEszr: Yes, he was present. MR. BTJRNETT: And for how long a period of tilne was he present? DR. KEszr: Five or six minutes, I suppose. MR. BURNETT: Did anyone at that meeting express any opinion that he had not recovered his mental health? on. xnszr: No. MR. BTTRNBTT: Not a single one? DR. r.Fszl: Not a single one. MR. BURNETT: Is there any question in your mind at all-? Do you have any reservations as to the fact that he has completely recovered his mental health? DR. KEszI: No. I have no reservations. MR. BIIRNBTT: You may cross-examine, THE couRT: Let me ask you a question, Doctor, before the District Attorney does. In your professional opinion do

By yorr believe that

will be

if

Reason

ol Insanity

2O9

he is released into society, that society

safe with him?

I believe that he is safe in societv. cross-examination, Mrs. Daws contrasted Atascadero's controlled environment with what I might expect on the outside. She wondered whether I would be able to bear up under the inevitable stress of life in the community. Dr. Keszi said that she beteved that I would. MRs. DAws: The recommendation made by the superintendent was that he be retumed for further treatment DR. rrnszl: That is the usual recommendation with 1370 DR.

In

Kpszr:

commitments. MRs. DAws: At Mr. Balt's staffing was it brought up in discussion whether or not he should be released tb society or returned to Atascadero? DR. KFszr: I don't remember the discussion coming up.

After further

questions and answers along

the

same

line, the judge asked for and received the document that contained the Atascadero recodlmendation. It had been

byDr. Burns and approved by his immediate supe. rior, Dr. Thomas Wilson. The sentence in contention was read out loud as follows: "If he is found to be not guilty, it is recommended that further hospital care should be signed

given under Section 1026 of. the PenalCode.,,

After further questioning, during which neither Dr. nor the staft record could be altered, Dr. Heffner was called to the stand by Ross Burnett. Dr.

Keszi's opinion

Heffner was quqlified as a physician licensed to practice in five states, a specialst in psychiatry, certified by the American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology, with ex-

perience in tlree state hospitals, in private practice, and as professor of psychiatry at two prominent medical schools. He agreed with Dr. Keszi that I had recovered and that it was safe to release me. About the notation to the eftect that I should be returned to Atascadero, he knew nothing. It was his opinion, both in direct- and cross-examination, that it had been added after the staffing by higher echelon personnel at the hospital. DR. HEFFNER: . . . It could only be out of precaution. If

a

you are cautious enough, then you never have any difficulties. But I feel that this man----of any man I have seen

over the many years-has made a recovery. The judge questioned Dr. Heffner as to his opinion of

the competence

of

Doctors Burns and Wilson, both of

whom, Dr. Heffner thought, were well qualified. The psy-

JOHN BALT

210

chiatrist was excused and Ross Burnett put me on the stand. witness ' -t*.-"-"*"rr:

Mr. Balt, directing your attention to the

staff meeting in question here' were you present at it? rHe oersNDANT: Yes. Did Dr. Burns preside at that meeting? r"r*

"**"-:

TrrB DEFENDANT: Yes. MR. BuRNETT: Did Dr.

Burns-. How long were you at altogether? Atascadero --rrn o"""*oiNr: Between thirteen and fourteen months'

During the entire period of time that u* "unN"tr: y* *"." there, did Di' Burns ever interview or treat vou? '-rio usu"*oeNr: No, sir, except at the staffing r*. runNetr: How long weie you personally present at the staff meeting?

Five or six minutes' rr,rn suRNstt: Now, during the entire period of tine tnuivo" were there, aid Or. Wilson ever treat you? fire pBreNPeNt: No, sir. Did you ever see him at another time t* "at**"t": meeting? staff at this than -rtt" oersNpert: HJ wasn't present at the staff meeting' -"r"r*. su*N"rr: All rigbt. He wasn't even present? THE DEFBNDANT:

THE DEFENDANT: NO'

MR. BURNETT: Now, during the entire period of .time' see the superintendent other than passrng rn the corridor possiblY?

did you ever

Tr{E DEFENDANT: No, sir.

ne

iuag" then asked me for the names of the medical

doctorr w-ho had treated me, and I named the ward ohvsicians with whom I had been involved' Mrs' Daws ira& no questions, and

I left the witness stand'

-- lrR. r'unNerrt If your Honor please, only one thing I'q like to add: I have read througi the entire record and I fnd nothing, not a scratch or scintilla in the file, indicating anything to'' support that last recommendation' I hand it back to the Court.

THB couRT: Well, frankty

ought to hear from Dr. Burns.

I

have the feeling that we

nunNrrr: Very happy to have Dr. Burns' bl very careful in releasing inao who committed ihe act of violence which ,o"i"ty "oioo"obviously committed. this defendant rurn.

THB GouRT: We must

By Reason of Insanity MR. BURNETT: please.

I

211

don't quarrel with that,

if

your Honor

MRs. DAws: Because with the combination of the rec_ ommendation from Atascadero and the statement of Dr. Conners that it is a recurring type of illngss, in his final medical opinion, I think perhaps we should-.' THB couRT: I want to be very careful about this. It worrld be a tragic thing if somerhing went wrong afterward. Proceedings were continued for a week. Ross Burnett asked me how I felt. I told him that I was disappointed, ^reserva_

but not impatient, that I understood Mrs. Dawsi tions and the hesitancy of the judge. ..If I have to go -back,_t'll_go back, and. work to get out of there. Win yiu have Dr. Karlsen and Dr. Conneri here next time?,' ttYes.t' _

During the seven days that followed,

I tried not ts ihink

,about tbe hearings. I read and played chess. Whatever else happened I was grateful to be-healthy and to have iomJ this far. Yet I couldn't help recalling Mrs. Daws' reference to Dr. Conners' statement that the illness was of a recurtyp9. When I had asked Dr. Keszi about that, sfi naa ryg observed that often people who had recovered t,b-""_ tal illness, if the recovery had been a good one, were more

proof against it than those who hid never made tle journey. *oglg recognize its early warning signs, J}9V they would forestall its coming, they would seek tie piopg_helq in time. Was that romanticijm, or was it the tiut6? Was the terrible knowledge of the dichotomy within the hqg?o spirit healthy, or would it be imposiible to live with? AI I knew for certain was that I would never again be without an awareness of the Divine as the source of ail strength and all mercy. I bought a copy of Herman

Wouk's

.Tlis Is My God, and-each euioiog read

the

prayers in it. There was a letter from my mother in which she wrote of Ross Burnett's continuing bptimism and advised that if I was again called to the witnels stand I should not opeak

so loudly. She never really understood, except in a few terrible nighttime momenb, what had happened and what it all meant; and I suppose that was t*. ^ -"r"v Dr. Burns was already in court when I'was brought in from the holding room, but he failed to acknowledle my nod. As a sritness for the people, he was canea to O6 stand first. Although he was qualified by Mrs. Daws as a

2r2

JOHN BALT

psychiatrist with long experience, outside of California, in the treatment of mental diseases, Ross Burnett elicited from him the information that he had been licensed to practice in the state only the month before. Mrs. Daws quickly reached the core of her direct eanminsfieq. MRs. DAws: You recommended that Mr. Balt be returned to Atascadero for further treatment, is that correct? on. suRNs:

I

MRs. DAws:

did-

And on what do you

base your opinion aad

your regommendation?

Well, I base it on the hospital's policy as by Direction from the Department of Mental

DR. BURNS:

outlined

Hygiene. The point I am paking is that he has not been long enough free from overt symptoms of mental illness eo that we are capable of saying that he could take the Btresses of society without again reverting to another ep isode of psychosis.

The same ground was covered in difierent ways and then Ross Burnett rose for cross-examination. MR- BURNETT: Dr. Burns, on how many occasions have you personally seen Mr. Balt? DR. BURNS: Only on the occasion when he was presented

to me by his ward psychiatrist for an exrmination as to a decision on the 1370. MR. BURNETT: At the staff meeting? DR. BrrRNs: At the staff meeting.

MR. BTTRNETT: Now, Doctor, is

it not the policy of the

hospital in all cases of murder that the remission should be for a period of five to seven years?

DR. BURNs: No, I don't think we have a very definite policy on that. There may be some statements that may have been made, but I don't know if it's a definite policy. Ross Burnett produced a mimeographed sheet of paper. MR- BTJRNETT: Doctor, have you seen tlis? Pardon me. I will show it to Counsel first. He allowed Mrs. Daws to examine the paper. MR. BIRNE'TT: Doctor, I show you what purports to be a sta^ffing checklist, mimeographed, for the Atascadero

State Hospital, and ask if you, as an executive hospital, do not recognize that? DR. BuRNs: This looks

instructions we receive.

like

of

that

it is one of the lists of

By Reason of Insanity

213

MR. BURNETT: These are the instructions that you folIo% isn't that true? DR. BITRNS: To some extent, MR. BURNETT: Now are tlese not your poliry recommendations? "Shows stable remission for a l6ng iime with no indication from past history that there would be a recurrence of mental illness in the foreseeable future." Is that right? on. suRNs: Yes. MR. BURNETT: [Reading] .,.On all with a history of

selious crimes, you'll be willing to stake your reputation and to realize that the hospital must stak-e its relutation on your decision to release a patient." Is that right?DR, BURNs: That's true. MR. BURNETT: And for that purpose, you keep tbem for five !o seven yeErs before you'ri witUn! io make a recom-

mendation? DR. BURNs: Generally so, yes. Not all tho time, but generally so. MR. BURNBTT: And you have, Doctor, an individual ppinion with respect to this patient, based upon any exarr ination that vou have made?-

on. suRNs:

I

feel personally that a man should

be

gbseJvgd in_ a completi remissibn for at least a year or two before I would be willing to stake my reputation. MR. BURNETT: He's been at Atascadero i year and two months, is that correct? on. suRNs: Yes. MR. BURNETT: But you yourself have not exagrined rhis

patrent as an individual for the purpose of determining whether or not he has- recovered-hij sanity to the poini where he can be safely released to socieiy? Have^ you

personally made such an examination? DR..BURNS: No, I haven't. That is why we were recom_ mending that he be brought back for fiirther examination and treatment. MR. BURNETT: I have no further questions, your Honot Dr. Burns was excused. Then Dr.^Karlsen'was called to t-":try, and h5 qualifcations were stated. In response to by Ross Burnett and Mrs. Daws, he repiated his -qu-9s!iops belief that I was ready for the communitv. . But suppose I was again subjected fo unusual professional stress, Mrs. Da*s wantid to know, lssuld . tis precipitate psychosis? DR. KARLSEN: I don't believe that factor by itself could bring on psychosis. I think that many of his"fundamental

JOHN BALT

214

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dm:.But whe山

電

酬稔 abttlit'T胤

11:き

a

e stand,Ross Bumett agam 農血 乳

raised the problem of recurrence.

your opllllon.

nd he WOdd goわ

By Reason ol Insanity DR.

215

coNNERs: That is correct.

MR. BURNETT: Now, Doctor, I take it that it is your present best medical judgment that considering society and the safety of society, that his sanity has been restored to the point where he would be safe to be released to society; is that correct? DR. coNNERs: Yes, that is correct, with the reservation that I stated in my report. But there is no written guarantee in medicine. Tr{E couRT: There isn't in law, either, Doctor.

In response to cross-examination, Dr. Conners said: "Of those affiicted with this kind of illness, fifty percent remain

ill. Of the remainder, half become ill again. With the remaining twenty-five percent, recovery is permanent. All I can say is that in my opinion, concerning his condition now, he is at this time safe to return to society. I migbt add that because of the nature of the case I am deeply concerned myself in making a recommendation, permanently

but that's the best I can do."

After Dr. Conners had been excused, Ross Burnett reviewed the testimony and suggested that a solution migbt be found outside of the narrow limitations of P.C. 1026, which required either release or return to Atascadero. He cited provisions of the Welfare and Institutions Code and ended with a plea that " . . . the defendant is ready to become a productive member of society now.

Don't turn him into a vegetable by five more years of incarceration, I am just as concerned as your Honor. I feel that I, too, as an officer of this Court, have a

responsibility to society." I got the impression that Mrs. Daws, after listening to the testimony of Dr. Burns, was not particularly interested in my return to Atascadero. MRs. DAws: The People are concerned, your Honor, lest this man be released into society without supervision. THE couRT: Yes,

I am not ready to render an opinion today. The matter is continued until two p.M. tomorrow. As I followed the bailiff out of the courtroom I remembered Patras and his numbers game. Yet I couldn't help believing that everyone was doing what he considered right. As I looked out at Los Angeles that night through three sets of bars, I knew that it would be either tomorrow or five years from tomorrow. However, I had no fear ef lessming a vegetable. Whatever happened, I knew now

JOHN BALT

216

that

I

would never allow myself

to slip back into the

horrors of the past.

TIr couRT: I have given this matter some thougbt, Mr. Bumett. I have done-some reading in the books and I have some general ideas about it; but fust, unless the filing of the usual written proceedings is waived concerning the trrent of the defendant to be examined, and so forth, concerning his mental condition, I will have to

costmi.

transfer the matter over to Department 95. There was what seemed to me an interminable amount of legal discussion; and then Ross Burnett and I made the necessary waivers. THB couRT: I have come to this conclusion, Mr. BurDett: As I indicated the other day, I feel that he presently has regained his sanity. I am not persuaded that he is beyond all danger and that society is beyond all danger.

Aicording to the testimony of Dr. Conners, with mental tf the kind the defendant had, fifty percent of them never have a remission and always remain in that

disorders

condition. The other fifty percent are equally divided as to whether or not they will ieturn to the unbalanced state. It depends on the individual. Quite obviously, it must' After listening to the testimony of Dr. Karlsen, I am-of the belief that one of the heavy contributing factors to his original mental collapse was an unfortunate experience with an----either psychiatrist or psychologist, which served to push him ovei the brink rather than to bring him back

from it.

I

also have a feeling that

if

the usual procedures occur

in this case, as is indicated by the testimony of the psychiatrist from Atascadero, that your client may spend five to seven years in that institution before they will refer him

back as being safe, assuming he has no mental recurrence during that period of time. In the event that occurs i! may very well be that that experience over that length of time will completely ruin him and that he will not become a good member of society, even though ultimately he may be released.

f can only do what it appears to me to be the sensible thing to do in this case. I may make a mistake. I certainly hope I don't, for the sake of the community, as well as for

of the defendant; because I'm satisfied that if is any other involvement, he will probably go to

the sake there

of his life. That would be a would think. So I am going to

Atascadero for the remainder

reasonable assumption,

I

By Reason ol Insanity

露艦ぶsttiOm

ofSedbn 5∝

u∝t・ W鶴

D集 猟認

6ご

217

ぬe Welfare md

飩 」 ated that tte psychatri"be ぃ

:翻鷺 躙神 鮮 製■ 準l欝鷲 詩 y『 d・・ ・ 罵盟服郷懲 慨ユ管メ

惑欄

恥[E帯 鮒 欄鮮選

218

JOHN BALT

to join a line of men waiting to be shuttled to the central jail, where, I assumed, we were to be released. It was a muggy night and everyone was quickly covered with perspiration. No one was talking.

"What's wrong with everybody?" I asked the stocky man next to me. "We're all getting ou! aren't we?" "Hell, no. This line goes to San Quentin in the morning'" That explained the somberness but not my situation. We were shuttled over to the new jail, and there I told the deputy that I was supposed to be released. He checked the long teletype he was holding.

"You must be confused. You're not going to be reof insanity. Youre going to be sent to a hospital. Just change your leased. You were found not guilty by reason

clothes like the others." I knew that it was useless to argue. A few minutes later I was separated from the other men and put in a large cage by myself. I asked the deputy why. "You're going up to the psychiatric tank." "Officer, there's some mistake. What can I do to get it straightened out?"

"Nothing except send a telegram to your lawyer to-

morrow."

The advice was good and I resigned myself to spending another night in jail. I knew that my mother must also be aware by now that I wasn't getting out and that she would contact Ross Burnett. The nurse on duty in the hospital talked to me for s fgw minutes and decided that I'd be all right in a regular tank. For an hour after breakfast the next morning, I was unsuccessful in gaining permission to send the telegram. Then a cslored deputy, one I had hated during my first stay in the old jail because I had blamed him for unjustly assigning me to the ding tank, came by and stopped to talk. I explained everything 1s him, and minutes later I was in the attorney room sending the wire. TVo hours after that, a deputy drove me to court. He seemed to know something of my case and said, oversimplifying but with & germ of truth, "It could have happened to anyone." The judge released me forthwith, and I walked out of the courtroom with my mother. Three months later, my competency was to be legally restored. I was to get along well with Dr. Karlsen and with the mental health counselor assigned to my case. I

By Reason of Insanity 219 was to be welcomed by many who knew me and ehunned

by others.

The nigbt^after my release

f

went

to a synagogue.

^ $mgng_our first prayers was: Eternal is Thy bow:er] O Lord, Thou, art mighty to save. In loving niAde.ss fLou sustainest the living;

in

multitude of tny mercies, 'Ihou preservest all. Thou the upholdest the falling ind healest the sick; freest the captive and keepest faiih with Thy children in death as in life. ...

10 The snow was smooth and pure white. We skied down_ ward through the deep powd-er into a bowl. The moun-

tains dipped- into a half-moon that opened on a hundred_ mile vista of jagged snow-topped Rockies' peaks. fni air was cold and clear. Our skis, lesponding mignificently io the pressures we applied to them, ran tliougf tne soow us rt we were on soft cushions of compressed air.

It was Christmas Day. In the crowded lodge while before, I had been looking for my friendi,

a little

-i eyes stopped moving when I saw a man staring at"nA me. It was Dr. Grossler. I had dreaded ttre encounter] and yet I had known that inevitably.it-would take place in'Los Ange_ n,.ut I never expected it here. Dr. Giossler belonged"to fgs. g_e stime. Here, there w-as nothing but beauty and etJraity. TVhere_was he terror, the power,*the holineis? He seemft old and small and uelv. "Ifs odd meeting"you here," I said"Yes." He seemed tongue-tied. *You didn't know I was out?" "No. You're living in town?', ttYes.tt

l]}fr."t ar9 you doing?" Amazement in each question. "Writing."

"And you live in Los Angeles?,' Did he want to see me, I_ wondered. Did this man still w4a1 ss6sthing from mei It seemed unbelievablg but he did.

22O

JoHN BALT

"What did they treat you with? Chemicals?", A ielf-conscious word. No one had yet used it in relation to what had happened to me. I smiled. 'Chemicals? Yei, at first, but then psychoChemicals.

therapY."

ttl seg.tt I looked at his wife, and then back at him. "I hope you I said, and then started away. eniov 'Aodvourself here," th"o, astoundingly, a gesture I never expected. He gnpped my right arm iust abbve the elbow and-sqleezcd it. ii ** desfued, I iuppose, to convey a yish for the future and an apology, perhaps, one for which there were no words. I walked ii'av and he stared after me, and then independentlv I think w6 both knew something we had not known befor-e. In his relationship with me, there had been a touch of madness on his side, too. I walked into the winter air. The stench was forever behind me.

As I glided in long graceful arcs through- the cold white powder,-I thought of-my children. Someday they would irave to enjoy this with me' Up ahead, above ttre peaks -of the Wasatli Range, the gray clouds parted- The sky bevond was a vivid blue.

Afterword

Since the beginning, man has tried to understand himself and his fellow human beings. Philosophers, prophets, holy men, poets, wise men, ?nd religions have all connibuted their bits of understanding. In the last one hundred years we have shared the observations, thinking, and discoveries of psychology, psychiatry, and psychoanalysis. Part of the benefit from these branches of study has been

a mone adequate understanding of ourselves and of others. An additional resultant has been a whole body of knowledge regarding the treatment of mental iltness and personality difficulties. Some of these principles are well established and can be carried out quite eftectively.

A great deal of real, positive effective help is given today to patients with emotional and personality prob' lems. In other cases, the course is not so clearly charted or we are dependent on human beings for their understanding knowledge, personality, and skill in approaching and treating the case. One therapist may be excellent

with one patient and less successful with another. This book is a true story. The names are changed and identities are distorted. However, the basic details are factual and are carefully set forth. An intelligent, educated, very successful man, through a series of circumstances reacting on some factors in his personality, developed a seriow psychosis, or major mental illness. He had delusions and hallucinations which were more real !o him than nlmost anything he had experienced previously. He struggled to keep his sanity, but the help he received was inadequate. Under the influence of his distorted thinking he murdered his wif*a tragedy he will always have to carry.

Througb the benefit of enlightened legal and psychiatric procedure he was sent to a psychiatric hospital, where he

2Zl

222

BY Reason

ol

InsanitY

a comPetent in having -Other

therapist b3coge therapeutic efforts in the hospital also contributed to the recovery of his sanity' Now he is again living in the commrrnity, his sanityrecovere4 and 6e is agaii a useful, productive member of

was fortunate

inierested

in

his

case.

society.

This book is his contribution to help you understand

a

little more about man and especially what happened to oDe man.

EpwrN E. McNrrr,, M.D.

Iune 14, 1966

Author's Note

I have altered the identities of the people involved, this is a ffue story. I am writing it because these experiences must be shared if they are to have any meaning or value. The human spirit is vast and the Spirit of God infinitely more vast. The depths to which a man can fall have been glimpsed by only a few, and the glowing summits of tle human character Although

are known only intuitively by the majority of

man-kind. In these events, both have found con-

sete manifsstatisa.

223

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