Work

When "The Beatles" Wore Their Whites

A lot of my friends, both male and female, worked at the Pennhurst State Hospital back in the late 60s and through the 70s.

They were all dedicated health care workers who seemed to love the daily challenges they faced while working with patients with the most extreme special needs.

Most, if not all, worked as "aides" on the weekend and night shifts for spending money during their high school summers.

Many stayed on well beyond high school, while several eventually left and become nurses, one even a doctor. They all went on to enjoy long and challenging careers in the medical field.

Looking back, I am still amazed at their strength and tenacity.

This is just one story from many working experiences that began with delivering The Philadelphia Bulletin, in 1963 at the age of ten.

There will be many more to follow, so I do hope you do enjoy.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was June of 1968, when I, along with my friends Mark and Tim Stewart, were broke enough to follow up on the classified ad listing in The Pottstown Mercury.

We went to Pennhurst State School and Hospital to apply to work as interior painters. I still clearly remember that long walkway toward the side entrance where we were told we would be met.

Upon our arrival, we were led into the large common dining area by a chubby, smiling, chunk of a woman named Shirley. She asked us to take a seat at a corner table where there was a cup full of pencils and about a three-inch stack of applications.

In those days, the process was really simple.

We were left alone for about twenty-five minutes and we could hear our voices resonate in the hollow room as we laughed and joked about that job that might lie ahead.

When Shirley returned, her smile was gone, this time it was all business.

I still laugh as I remember Mark Stewart, the eldest of the two brothers jokingly answering Shirley's question regarding his past experiences with, "I went from finger-paints, to water paints, to oil paints, so I can surely slap a coat of that fresh gray paint on these walls and tables."

She barely cracked a smile before explaining that, if we were chosen, we could be a three man crew, and noted that Mark could take the lead.

All the time, of course, I was thinking to myself how surprised I was that she even gave us the amount of time that she did.

After all, we were really cartoons, like the "hippie version" of the Three Stooges.

All in a day's work, I suppose.

We were hired on the spot with a next day assignment, and that night, of course, we partied.

That's what hippies did.

Hungover, dressed-up, and somewhat ready to go; we showed up Tuesday morning.

We wore our white pants and T-shirts and we even hung that rag in our pocket for the right effect.

Once again we walked down that long driveway towards the side entry door to ring that same door buzzer.

Within a few minutes we were met and directed inside by some guy to a very small office with a really big desk.

And then we were told to, "just wait here."

Shirley came in and plopped into her chair where she almost disappeared behind the banker's boxes, overflowing inbox, stacks of saved memos and dog-eared folders. I noticed a big pink bottle of Pepto Bismol trying to peek at us from behind one of the messy mounds.

After a quick and cordial hello while stating, "good to see you, boys,"she immediately dialed a loudspeaker to request, "Building and Grounds call 2-2-9, Building and Grounds, 2-2-9."

And so our day began.

After a quick introduction, our time was spent following this know-it-all guy named Fred around to familiarize ourselves with the storage rooms and the location of all the necessary supplies.

Fred was another round person, otherwise nondescript. He had a huge ring of keys attached to his belt that he used to unlock and lock each closet or cranny that we would enter.

He would mumble to himself, then look up at us reminding, "It is important that no door will EVER remain unlocked."

Aside from the importance of padlocks, this building and grounds guy seemed like he could care less about anything else.

Sure, we found the paint, the mineral spirits, the brushes, rollers, and pans, the trash room and the dumpsters.

Everything was locked behind a padlock, and the dumpster was chained closed.

"Now this is important," Fred said, "The dumpster must remain closed and chained shut at all times, remember?"

Well, I ain't jumping in.

Perhaps he was reprimanded enough in the past for that to sink in. If nothing else, we learned quickly that Fred was the padlock cop, and a damned good one at that.

The rest of that morning was pretty much spent bullshitting, smoking cigarettes, avoiding any of the other bosses, and telling stories.

Fred said he got along Shirley and he said that Shirley seemed to like him, too. I was bored to death.

My mind wandered off, and somehow I imagined Fred and Shirley holding hands and skipping right out of the place, leaving the keyring and all their other troubles behind.

Padlocks vs Freedom. That was all that mattered.

It was a beautiful afternoon and we were able to sit outdoors to take our lunch break. Mark, Tim and I snuck off for a minute, long enough to get a few tokes on a joint.

When we got back, that keyring seemed twice as shiny and twice as big as it glistened in the sun.

And Fred was twice as fat.

As if his words were carefully rehearsed, Fred then shared with us that he had worked at Pennhurst for nearly two years. He told us that he started as a janitor's helper and quickly rose through the ranks since people would come and go, or simply quit because they just couldn't handle it.

As if he'd been warned in advance, he shared very few details about any interactions with the patients or the children.

He did stress that we should avoid making eye contact, especially with the older or bigger ones, because they can get pretty mean.

"My advice," Fred went on to say, "is if you mind your own business and look busy, you guys will do all right."

We then went back into the building following that big shiny ring of keys hanging on the right side of Fred's ass cheek.

In no time, as if we were being watched, Fred immediately got paged by Shirley.

"Go for Fred," he replied on his two-way, then he went on to listen carefully, "10-4."

"Shirley said she has some more paperwork for you guys that you gotta' finish up, and remember," he mused, raising his right index finger, "no job is finished till that paperwork is done."

The three of us just looked at each other, stoned and grinning.

"Damn, that walkie-talkie sure makes him feel important!" was a just a thought cloud to myself.

A few minutes later, we were back at that same table in that same empty room.

We reviewed and signed off on the rules of non-engagement while Fred watched from another table making sure that we took the necessary time to read complete and sign the forms.

Once we finished the paperwork, we found and assembled the scaffolding that we'd use in the long corridor by the cafeteria.

We scrubbed the food stains on the lower portion of the walls, pushed the all platforms together, taped everything off with caution tape and called it a day.

On day two, our "crew leader" Mark cut in the corners as he rolled the wobbling scaffold. He stayed far enough ahead of us so that Tim and I could roll the light gray paint down to the parallel line that we had taped off at chest level.

The lower portion was to later be covered with high gloss, although much darker and more gloomy, industrial gray.

We seemed to be buzzing along. Fred walked by a few times to share his comments by saying things like, "looks good, fellas," or "that really makes a difference."

Pretty simple.

We broke for lunch, smoked a joint and as we would realize later, it was probably not the best idea of the day.

Because this happened.

A group of eight or nine female patients clad only in their state-issued hospital gowns were following a group leader toward the cafeteria.

They were arranged into a single file before they were to pass alongside us. Several had to be ordered to be quiet, and they were threatened to be taken back to their rooms.

At that point, some were moaning, some were yelling, while another girl was just screaming and covering her ears.

Within a few moments they were all wiggling, shaking, stomping, and pushing at each other.

A male orderly was called to help get them under control.

We stopped what we were doing and pushed every thing as close to the wall as we could. Mark, who didn't seem to be fazed at all, finally got off his ladder and pulled it out of the way.

He twirled his mustache, stood and watched.

For about a minute, and probably far less than that, there was silence.

Once again, they all started jumping and clapping as the girl in the front began singing, "She Loves You, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah!

She Loves You, Yeah, Yeah!"

The roars, the jumping, the moaning, and the clapping didn't stop.

In the blur of that exitement, my brain was bouncing between holy shit and what the fuck was that!

A few of the girls had enormous heads and the type of deformities that I can't even describe in today's terms.

One-by-one, they began pulling off their gowns, getting naked as they clapped and screamed.

The singer of the bunch had that really huge head and eyes that bulged like googly buttons the size of golf balls.

She kept yelling, ultimately screaming, as she pulled up her gown exposing her huge breasts and belly.

"She Loves You, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah!"

Two more orderlies arrived and helped to get them pushed back in line and out of that hallway as the moaning and the screaming continued.

Eventually the roar faded in the distance. Fred was nowhere to be found.

So much for day two.

Yeah, we were longhairs all right; just three stoned hippies trying to paint a few walls.

But on that day, in that moment, I believe we could have been Ringo, George, and John.

Mark and Tim stayed on and finished out the week.

That was it for me.

Later as we were leaving, I turned back and saw the image of another girl with her face pressed against a window.

It was something that I will never forget.