Eulogy for a Place of Healing, Understanding

“Though this be madness, yet there is method in it.”

--Shakespeare

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In August 1991, as a young and inexperienced neuropsychologist from University of Arizona, I was given the challenge to choose between performing my postdoctoral fellowship at New York University, using a Fulbright scholarship in Switzerland or going to Camarillo State Hospital.

I chose CSH. The program had achieved both national and international recognition for its training excellence, attracting trainees from all parts of North America, South America, Europe and Asia. I went to CSH to understand what “madness” was all about.

Indeed, my years at CSH became the most interesting and enriching time of my academic life. Every day, the patients--Joanna, Joe, Maria and a host of others--added depth to my understanding of mental illness. They helped me appreciate what was “normal” and/or “abnormal” by sharing their miseries and gaieties with me.

I offered them my understanding and unconditional positive regard. For two years I was their doctor and they, in a sense, were my teachers.

The last day of my fellowship was the hardest. Everybody in the group was quiet, as if we did not have much to say, yet had the entire world to share.

Joanna, a 36-year-old housewife and mother of three who was diagnosed with manic depression, broke the silence by asking, “Hey, doc, will you come back to see us again?”

Joe, a computer engineer diagnosed with schizophrenia, replied, “Are you nuts? He can’t come back!”

I smiled and said, “Of course I will.”

Joanna smiled and whispered, “The sun will come out tomorrow . . . tomorrow.”

Last month I did go back. To my surprise, the door to the hospital was closed, for good. To save money, Gov. Pete Wilson had shut down Camarillo State Hospital despite the relentless efforts of many, including scientists and scholars involved in novel research projects. The patients were all transferred or gone.

The governor’s concerns for money did not match the concerns scientists and clinicians have for the well-being of mankind. We tried to save lives and help the challenged by putting up a fight to keep CSH open. In this match, however, we lost. That is often the difference between politicians and scientists.

CSH kept Ventura County on the international scientific map for more than 60 years, but this unique local treasure has now vanished. Sadly, I was told that, since my days there, Joanna has committed suicide; Joe was gunned down in a gang fight.

Yet the hospital’s legacy continues here and around the globe through clinicians, scholars and scientists trained at CSH, who are working to improve the quality of life of thousands of mental patients.

Although Joanna is no longer here to say it, “the sun will come out tomorrow . . . tomorrow.”