Unnamed Voices

Warning: This story contains descriptions of abuse

Unnamed Voices by Amanda Stogsdill

The gates swung open with a heavy creak. I stared up at the gray buildings with their barred windows, like sad eyes gazing out at the world. What's inside? Why so much evil and despair?

It began with a photograph. In the closet among the other items of my past, it had lain forgotten for many years. Its edges curled, the black-and-white image faded, it was almost overlooked—except for the faces.

********

"No, I won't." Susan screamed, kicking her legs. Her mother explained impatiently why she couldn't remain at home any longer. "This school will take very good care of you, remember? There are other children like you."

The small girl pouted, but remained quiet until they pulled up outside a building with a sign reading Administration. Susan gawked at the fields and trees. She could see other buildings, many with signs. Taking Susan's hand, the mother dragged her unwilling daughter up the concrete steps, the heavy doors closing with a loud thud.

Standing beside her mother, Susan looked at this room with its desk and no pictures. The Superintendent introduced himself, then spoke to her mother. Susan listened as paperwork was filled out. Words like retarded were used often. She knew the adults were discussing her; she wished they wouldn't. She wondered where her mother would stay.

Susan was inconsolable for days following her mother's abrupt departure. The attendant gave her sweets, which didn't help. Finally, the nurse injected her with medication "To help you rest now." She did rest; when she awoke, she was in another room, tied to a bed. Her yells and cries fell on deaf ears. The room was utterly silent. Susan felt ashamed, noticing her bed was soaked. She became anxious, recalling her mother's punishments for bed-wetting. Eventually, the terrified child drifted off again.

The next morning, another woman gave Susan more devastating news. "Bed-wetters wear these." Wrestling a diaper on her, the woman informed Susan she was free to go. "Where?" Susan asked, "Is Mama coming?"

"No. An attendant will escort you to your new Ward." The nurse chuckled softly, before closing the door. New what? Susan didn't have long to ponder what the nurse said. A woman entered, bundled the protesting Susan into a wheelchair, and pushed her to yet another unfamiliar building.

 Susan and the other young girls were housed in a Ward containing narrow beds, no affection, and bare walls; most depressing of all, it lacked windows. Every day was the same—breakfast, medicine, then playtime. Everyone hated the tasteless food, but ate without complaint. Playtime was something of a joke, since there weren't toys of any kind. The girls simply talked or ran around their cramped space. Lunch and more playtime, followed by dinner and bed. "Is all the food like this?" Susan whispered to Beth.

She slept in the neighboring bed to Susan's right. She was blind, chatty, and knew everyone on the Ward.

"Yes." Beth answered.

Susan always looked forward to Sunday, which was bath day. They were herded into a large room with open showers and scrubbed by two attendants. One attendant was always friendly, and knew something about each child. She encouraged the less disabled ones to wash independently. The other wasn't as pleasant, shouting, "Hurry up, cripples. We mustn't waste water." Next came brushing of teeth. Lined up in a row, one brush was passed among twenty girls! Susan always made a face, she could taste the saliva of whomever had brushed last. Afterward, they were escorted to their bleak Ward once again.

Susan still yearned for her mother. Whenever visitors arrived, Susan's face would light up, only to darken when her mother failed to appear. Other children shared her misery. They were told (with bright smiles), "No visitors today."

A month passed, then two. In time, her mother's face would be erased from Susan's memory.

Another of Susan's friends was Karen. With short hair and green eyes, she'd taken to Susan immediately. Confined to her wheelchair, Karen had never been outside. With their beds next to each other, she, Beth, and Susan could whisper to each other.

Karen also taught Susan who the nice girls were, and which attendants to avoid. There was Tina, a girl who pulled hair, bit herself, and scratched everyone. She was often placed in a straightjacket to prevent these outbursts.

Susan was also learning the Ward vocabulary. "Forevers" were the girls like Beth and Karen, who'd been here since birth. "Gloop" was the foul medicine every child was forced to swallow. It made Susan feel woozy, like a zombie.

In return, Susan recalled stories of her family. Karen and many of the others were fascinated. Never having had many visitors, Susan's family seemed amazing to them.

Yet another monotonous day on the Ward. In the outside world, rain poured down; inside the Institution, the girls had their own chaos. "She pushed me!" Susan shrieked, scowling at Tina.

The attendant barely glanced up from her book. "Just shut up." She muttered. Next, Tina began pulling Susan's hair, wailing in a high-pitched voice. Unable to speak, this was her way of communicating.

"Shut up, idiot!" The attendant commanded sharply, unable to stand her cries. "You, move out of her way!" Pointing at Susan, the attendant checked her watch. How much longer until my shift ends?

Susan huddled in a corner, tears in her eyes. This wasn't the first time she'd been attacked. In this space, avoiding attackers was difficult. Beth made her way over. "She grabs me too." Beth knelt, comforting Susan. "Maybe, she'll quiet now." The attendant put Tina in a straightjacket, which caused her cries to increase in volume. Covering their ears, the others knew they had to wait it out.

After another round of gloop, all the girls quietened down, lying in their narrow beds. Is it dark, and is the moon watching us? Susan gazed blearily up at the black ceiling.

One miserable January morning, the girls awoke to awful news. "Water's frozen. No baths or toilets for a while." The head attendant spoke calmly, as if reciting a list. Everyone groaned; it was bad enough being stuck on the Ward, now they wouldn't have that comfort. "Sponge baths from now on." Sponge baths were just that—washed in bed with an itchy sponge. How humiliating!

In the newsroom, I slumped down, weary of trying to find another story for my timeslot. I wanted something else besides the War overseas, and the ongoing protests here in the US. I needed a local story!

After about three long dreary years, a new attendant came on the Ward. This wasn't unusual; the constant flurry of attendants made it difficult for the residents to form relationships. This one was different. Ms. Hawkins talked to each child, asking about their days. Horrified at the state of the Ward, she set about changing it.

"What's that?" Beth turned her head at the unfamiliar noise.

"Singing!" Susan said, proud she still remembered that knowledge from home.

"Yes, a radio." From then on, there was some joy. The radio provided entertainment, with many of the girls singing along to popular tunes. The Beatles and other pop bands quickly became favorites.

Another aspect that needed serious addressing was the food. Ms. Hawkins winced, seeing the trolleys with their bowls of unappetizing contents. "Mushy" and "Disgusting" were the descriptions. "What can we do?" One of the night attendants complained when the subject was discussed. No matter how much Ms. Hawkins voiced her complaints to the cooks, nothing was done.

****

I received the call on a warm evening in May. The woman told of a place for retarded children, where they were forgotten. "I don't know anyone whose disabled! I thought. Why should I care about those children? Hoping my emotions weren't confusing things, a reporter named Kate and I decided to investigate.

After that first visit, I was determined to do more. That first night, I was sick and showered until the hot water steamed up the bathroom. What an awful place? How anyone could work, never mind live there was beyond me. It could only be described as hell!

This isn't so bad." Kate remarked beside me. We gazed out at the well-kept lawn and fields.

"Yeah." I agreed, "Let's see what's inside."

"Hello. I'm Ms. Hawkins." A woman with braids, jeans, and a shirt with kittens greeted us. After Introductions, Kate asked, "You're sure you weren't found out?

"Positive." Ms. Hawkins answered. “I could lose my job over this.” Eyeing my camera, she said, "Be warned, it's not pretty in here."

Following Ms. Hawkins through a side entrance, Kate and I had been too dumbfounded to speak much. Disused classrooms, leaky toilets, showers which lacked privacy were captured by my camera. And the stench! It permeated the air, following us down silent halls. A mixture of urine and whatever cleaning stuff was used to mask it.

Most shocking of all were the Wards. I barely noticed where my camera was aiming. One Ward was filled with cribs containing babies, all disabled in some way. Clearly malnourished, they lay there, silently. Not even gurgling, like most infants. Overwhelmed, Kate had to leave at the sight of those poor children. The overworked attendant stated "We change them in shifts. The ward is clean, you know."

"How long do they remain here?" Kate returned, gazing at a small girl with a too-large head.

"Until they move up or die." The attendant answered, without emotion. "Out of our hands."

Next, we were led to the Girls' Ward. Not much better than the babies, they huddled on the floor, while an attendant read a book. As we observed this silent playroom, my stomach turned at the smell of unwashed bodies.

"Who are you?" One asked, peering at me.

We explained why we were there. Curiously, a few asked questions. We learned a lot from them about life in this place. If you can call this a life! I fumed. Shy about being on camera, I took less pictures, but Kate made their voices heard. Questioning gently, Kate was able to get some of them to open up. They weren't all retarded, as I'd been led to believe. A couple had physical handicaps, but were mentally competent. Others had a combination of physical and mental handicaps. How a parent could abandon their children to this, I couldn't imagine.

Exiting in the late evening, Kate and I breathed in the fresh spring air. I felt as if I'd never seen the sun before. That was a colorless world in there! In a daze, we walked across the lawn.

In Kate's car, we stared out the window! My camera rested in my lap, the bearer of so much suffering. "Did you see how many attendants there were per Ward?" Kate whispered, wiping her eyes. I nodded mutely. Looking back, I imagined faces peering out from barred windows.

Several more visits revealed seemingly endless horrors. Severely handicapped children lying in their filth, or in straightjackets. "What should we do? Let them smear filth all over themselves? Hit themselves or others?" An attendant demanded, defending their actions. "It's how we keep them clean. A few tear their diapers and clothes off."

The Ward we kept coming back to was the one for Girls. We got to know Susan, Bet and Karen. Susan recalled her home life, wondering if she’d ever see her mother. Karen and Beth told more stories about the institution. There was the time they’d tied their blankets together, to make a tent. Inside, they’d talked for hours until dinnertime. Curious about the world outside, they asked us questions like, “Does everybody attend school?

On another Ward, we witnessed diapers being changed on adults. The more able ones roamed about, half-clad. Their dull eyes spoke more than words—their lives weren't worth living. Unable to communicate in any way, we could only pity them and their situation. The attendants gave similar responses as the children's had done, "They're imbecile. Feeding and changing is all we do." With shaking hands, I took picture after picture, unwilling to believe my eyes. Kate and I left, disgusted at everyone involved for allowing people to languish in that place.

Our final visit was the most disturbing of all. "Over here." Another attendant opened a gate into an overgrown cemetery. The sun shone on rows upon rows of unmarked graves; some recent, others clearly decades old, the stones leaning and weathered. Sickened, I allowed my camera to take the lead, capturing the bleak setting.

As we put our piece together, I hoped something good would come out of it. When the story broke, there were mixed reactions from the public. Many were horrified as the disturbing images flashed across their TV's, some wrote to newspapers demanding accountability. Sympathetic people donated money for the residents.

Then, there were the families whose children had suffered in silence. Some parents still believed it was the best place for them. Susan and Karen's mothers consoled themselves, "They're better off where they are." Others felt they hadn't been given another option by well-meaning doctors. "We were told he'd be cared for. We wanted more children, and should forget about him." One father bitterly confided to me.

I watched this from afar, behind my camera. I became an ambassador for "those poor people!" I was hailed a hero; I'd only been doing my job, following a story. Nothing heroic, really.

If only the government felt the same way. Groups tried and failed to pass laws closing down those places.

All these years later, I wish I could have rewritten that entire decade. How many more institutions remain open because of unpassed laws? How many families are left wondering if they'd made the right choice? Yes, they've improved, but it is still an unfair system. With more trained staff, I hope the residents are less likely to be abused.

I can only pray these new changes will bring happiness to the residents like Susan, Beth, and Karen, still living in that institution.

Note

State institutions for people with disabilities remained open as recently as 2019. Media exposure forced many to close. Their residents were sent out into the community, to live with caregivers or in smaller residential homes. Despite advocacy groups pushing for closure, many states allowed institutions to remain in operation. My institution and the names of people are invented. The terms in this story are no longer used to define people with disabilities.

The End