A Certificate of Lunacy
Note: For the complete list of posts, go HERE.
I return to the 1940 census, and try to figure out where to turn next.
Frank and Elizabeth are listed separately in the 1940 census.
Yeah, that’s not good.
Well, that would seem to raise a few questions.
First of all, how was he committed, and by whom? And why are they listed separately in the Census?
The state of New York is notoriously obstinate about the release of health records -- even to direct relatives and even for people long dead and even for those for whom the word “HIPAA” would have meant nothing. I won’t go through all of the New York State health system dead-ends I encountered.
During this journey, I came across a terrific book by Steve Luxenberg, a former Washington Post writer. Annie’s Ghost describes his somewhat similar journey across the psychiatric commitment landscape. When his mother died, Luxenberg discovered he'd had an aunt, warehoused for many years in a Detroit mental hospital. Why? Why hadn't he and his siblings been told? He launched an investigation into his aunt's history, which led to an investigation into the asylum system itself. Each discovery raised more questions.
So I contacted Steve and asked him if he had any ideas on how to proceed. He suggested that I go down the path of finding the original commitment papers -- that legal documents have a different set of privacy restrictions associated with them than do healthcare documents.
So that’s what I did.
I called up the Court Archives in Manhattan and told the helpful guy who answered what I was looking for, specifically commitment records from back in the 1930s. I didn’t really expect much after all the dead ends, to be honest.
“Wait just a second,’ he said. “Let me see if I have a card for that.” A card? Hmmmm... my digital prejudice kicked in.
“Yes, I have one right here for Frank Mancini. 1932.”
I couldn’t believe it. “Say what? That easy? Well where are these records?”
“Here’s the number for the Court Records Room. The file you should ask for is 34118/1932.
Well, I’ll be damned.
When I call the Records Room, another very helpful person kicked in and said they would request the records and they should be at the Records Room (103B) at the New York Supreme Court building (60 Centre Street in Manhattan; who knows why the fancy “centre” spelling) on Friday.
Now per Wikipedia,
The New York State Supreme Court Building, originally known as the New York County Courthouse, at 60 Centre Street on Foley Square in the Civic Center district of Manhattan, New York City houses the Civil and Appellate Terms of the New York State Supreme Court for the state's First Judicial District, which is coextensive with Manhattan, as well as the offices of the New York County Clerk.
The granite-faced hexagonal building was designed by Guy Lowell of Boston in classical Roman style and was built between 1913 and 1927, completion having been delayed by World War I. It replaced the former New York County Courthouse on Chambers Street, popularly known as the Tweed Courthouse. Both the interior and exterior are New York City Landmarks.
New York City landmarks indeed. Big columns, and a huge and wide staircase up to the main doors (per New York, with fencing limiting access to only a two person spread so that no one could actually sit on the steps). Wikipedia goes on to note,
The building's mass and scale give it the appearance of a temple. A broad set of steps sweeps up from Foley Square to a massive Corinthian colonnade covering most of the front of the courthouse, topped by an elaborate 140-foot-long (43 m) triangular pediment of thirteen figures carved in bas relief from granite. The pediment and acroteria by Frederick Warren Allen include three statues: Law, Truth, and Equity. A frieze bears the inscription The true administration of justice is the firmest pillar of good government, a quotation taken from a letter written by George Washington to Attorney General Edmund Randolph on September 28, 1789.
My first reaction was that I was walking up to a movie set. And reading a bit further, many films and television series were in fact shot at the New York County Courthouse, including Miracle on 34th Street (1947), 12 Angry Men (1957), The Godfather, Wall Street (1987), Goodfellas (1990) and a host of others.
New York must not have gotten paid very much for these location shots, though, because the interior of the building is...well...let’s just say austere.
Or maybe just untouched since the opening of the building in 1927. Not to be overly dramatic, but I could almost feel the ghosts of Frank and Elizabeth hovering in the huge hexagonal open space in the middle of the building. Like a pair of Harry Potter dementors.
So after two circles of the hexagonal space, and encountering no room numbers even approximating 103-B, I ask a security guard for directions. Fulfilling all of the records management stereotypes out there, he tells me, “They’re in the basement.”
Once I arrive at 103-B, I fill out some additional paperwork, and show my email demonstrating that the records are in fact there to fellow in a New York Yankees tee-shirt. I resist the impulse to make disparaging comments, reflecting upon the fact that a) my father (and truth be told, me for the first 20 years) was a New York Yankees fan; and b) I need this guy to get me my records.
And then just like that, an accordion file folder is in my hand containing the records for this August, 1932 court proceeding.
As I contemplate opening this file to find out how and why my grandfather began his journey to Rockland, I pause and wonder whether I really want to do this. Do I really want to bring these ghosts to life? Are they better left asleep?
As a delaying tactic, I fire up my laptop and Newspapers.com to see what was going on in the world while my grandfather’s life was turned upside down. According to the New York Daily News, here are some of the headlines of the day:
COLORED MAN IS INVITED TO HOOVER FETE — The last time a colored person was a White House guest was on June 13, 1929, when Mrs. Hoover entertained Mrs. Oscar De Priest, wife of the Illinois Representative, at a tea for women of the congressional set.
SNIFF NOT ENUF IN BEER RAID COURT’S RULING — Prohibition agents met have something besides an acute sense of smell upon which to base brewery raid, Federal Judge William Bondy decided yesterday.
HITLER’S DREAM OF CABINET POST COMING TRUE — The spokesman emphasized, however, that the Cabinet would retain its so-called super-party character, relying on President von Hindenburg for support.
EMPHATICALLY NOT JUST ANOTHER “LOW PRICE CAR” — Women everywhere will be interested to know that Miss Amelia Earhart, who christened the Essex Terraplane, is the first woman in the world to own one of these new type cars.
DECREE CHANGES COMMUNION RULE — The Congregation of Sacraments has issued a decree declaring that confirmation must come before first communion at an age of not less than 7.
Of course, each of these headlines requires a bit of meandering through the accompanying articles. Ten minutes extends to about an hour, until I finally conclude that enough is enough. It’s time to open the damn file.
Even with some clues that pleasantness does not reside within this folder, the front of the document is still a bit jarring.
“Certificate of Lunacy.” No mincing about there.
And his legal status. “Indigent.”
The rest of the story documented in a series of faded green pages tells a sad story. “Excitable. Disoriented. Bewildered. No insight.”
“Certified Insane” by two doctors named Carter N. Colbert and Lauretta Bender. As a sidebar, it is at least encouraging that the cast of characters isn’t exclusively white males. The diagnosis is “dementia praecox.” This was the diagnosis for about 50% of the “inmates” at asylums of the time, history’s catch-all precursor to a diagnosis of schizophrenia.
It’s so sad -- although not completely unexpected -- to note that the petitioner is Elizabeth:
For the last four years he has acted somewhat peculiar. He often comes home from work and beats me. Recently he has beat me more often. One day I saw him talk to himself. He spits a lot. About two years ago he had a convulsion.
And I see what I guess are the last words we’ll hear from Frank before he disappears into the void of the Rockland Asylum:
I just argue with the landlord Saturday. For three to four years he always get his rent. We had argument just for nothing. I hollered at him. I don’t know why. I started to holler myself. I never was much nervous. Nothing -- I can’t tell nothing. They take off all my blood; that’s the life I got. Too much dirty in the street, the house. The woman want to be stronger than me. What kind of work I have to do myself. I don’t know if it’s the woman upstairs. My wife needs to be watched, have I got to be watched all the time? I can’t tell what I know; for three years I get no strength, I am so weak.
And so it goes.
