Getting Away With Murder: A True Story

By George C. Mallinckrodt

America is experiencing a mental health crisis of unprecedented magnitude. Fifty years ago, shocking conditions and abuses in psychiatric facilities resulted in nationwide closures with no viable plan to provide care for former and future patients. For the severely mentally ill, ever diminishing funding for mental health has resulted in a de facto return to the Middle Ages. In a justice system that criminalizes mental illness, people who desperately need mental health services are instead routinely rounded up and thrown into prisons for no more than a manifestation of their psychiatric conditions.

Having worked as a psychotherapist for nearly three years in a Florida state prison psychiatric unit, George Mallinckrodt experienced firsthand the ultimate consequences of failed national and state mental health policies. With high hopes, 20 years of counseling experience, and a determination to make a difference, he dove headlong into the miasma of prison counseling.

Join Mallinckrodt on the front lines in an eye-opening odyssey peppered with patients suffering a range of mental illness from paranoid schizophrenia to garden variety depression. George provided counseling to men who committed every crime imaginable—even grave robbery.

Getting Away With Murder is an insider's account of a prison psychiatric ward in which the aberrant and bizarre are daily occurrences. Honest, unflinching, and darkly humorous, Mallinckrodt’s memoir is populated with a host of colorful characters—patients and mental health staff alike.

• Language: English
• Publisher: George C. Mallinckrodt
• Release date: Aug 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311600417

George C. Mallinckrodt

For nearly three years, I worked as a psychotherapist in a Florida state prison psychiatric ward where severely mentally ill patients on my caseload were abused, starved, taunted, tormented, and beaten by correctional officers. After a patient on my caseload was beaten by guards, my attempts to raise the issue of patient abuse were met with silence. My vociferous advocacy for the humane treatment of our patients ended in my dismissal. Ten months after my departure, guards put a man named Darren Rainey in a boiling hot shower and scalded him to death. Deeply impacted by Rainey's horrific death, I became an advocate for his justice on a local level. Early efforts included a meeting with FBI agents and filing a complaint with the Civil Rights Division of the Department of Justice, Special Litigation Section. The complaint provided secondhand details of Darren Rainey's murder and a host of other abuses I witnessed in my former unit. Two and a half years after I spoke with FBI agents, the Miami Herald reported that the DOJ had initiated a criminal investigation into Rainey's death. My advocacy has included two meetings with Miami-Dade Homicide detectives. Core members of a prison reform advocacy group I helped start met with State Attorney Katherine Fernandez Rundle and four Assistant State Attorneys. To date, no charges have been filed in Rainey's death. My other efforts included dozens of calls and a personal visit to the Dade County Medical Examiner's office only to find Rainey's autopsy report was "still pending." I emailed a Miami Herald crime reporter concerning Rainey's death. He never responded. Frustrated by futile attempts to interest authorities in Rainey's murder, I started writing a whistleblower account about my experiences. Two years later, I published the first edition of GETTING AWAY WITH MURDER, a book that provides readers with an unprecedented perspective into the treatment of the mentally ill. My objective in writing a book detailing the horrific conditions mentally ill patients face was to generate outrage among the public. In May of 2014, the Miami Herald published the first of over 90 articles about the brutality and cover-up scandal that has rocked the Florida Department of Corrections. My former unit was featured in the first article. I immediately contacted Herald reporter Julie Brown and described a unit plagued by patient abuse that included beatings. Subsequently, I have been quoted in more than a dozen Miami Herald stories. In the year and a half since stepping forward, I have been interviewed in over a dozen television news and radio shows about my experiences. I have appeared twice on National Public Radio station WLRN in Miami. Miami affiliates of CBS and ABC invited me to appear on CBS4 Investigates and This Week in South Florida respectively. Reporters from around the state called me for responses to developing stories that emerged on a monthly basis. Nationally, I appeared on HuffPost Live and a journalist from ThinkProgress profiled me. The publicity provided a platform to significantly advance prison reform in Florida. Recently, a journalist from the New Yorker Magazine interviewed me for a story slated to appear in late November 2015. I plan to capitalize on this opportunity by taking the Florida prison brutality story to the national level as a means to advocate for prison reform, the humane treatment of the mentally ill, and a reduction of their numbers in prisons nationwide. In January 2015, the Senate Criminal Justice Committee invited me to Tallahassee to speak to lawmakers. My PowerPoint presentation detailed brutal suspicious deaths and included suggestions to eliminate the deeply embedded culture of brutality within the Florida Department of Corrections. Weeks later, the Florida Senate passed a strong prison reform bill. A month later, the House presented their version that gutted the Senate's version. Despite intense negotiations, agreement could not be reached and the prison reform bill died on the House floor. During negotiations, I helped organize a grassroots campaign to influence key House members. Legislative aids told us they were inundated by thousands of calls and emails. Author: Getting Away With Murder was a two year project I started in September of 2012 in frustration over the many dead ends I encountered while trying to get Darren Rainey justice. Psychotherapist: I've been in practice for 20 years in the Miami area. Aside from my experience in the state prison psychiatric ward, I worked for the Bertha Abess Children's Center counseling Emotionally Handicapped and Severely Emotionally Disturbed middle school children for the Dade County Public School System. I had many years in private practice as well. http://www.sobepsychotherapy.com/ Artist: I paint abstract and modern art on unusually large canvases measuring 6 by 9 feet. Before I became deeply involved in writing the book, I expressed ideas using an original technique on smaller canvases. http://www.abstractimpression.com/ Miami Beach Resident: My family moved from St. Louis when I was very young making me a fifty-year resident. Barry University: Graduated in 1995 with a Masters in Mental Health Counseling University of Miami: Graduated with a Bachelors in Psychology in 1985. Lettered for the tennis team that was ranked 6th in the nation in 1983. Played at the number three position in singles and two in doubles. World Ranked Professional Tennis Player: I achieved world rankings in both singles and doubles. I teach select clients at homes on Miami Beach. http://tennishousecall.net/index.htm

Book preview

GETTING AWAY

WITH MURDER

A True Story

George C. Mallinckrodt

All that is necessary for the triumph

of evil is that good men do nothing.

Edmund Burke

Copyright © 2015 by George C. Mallinckrodt

First Edition: August 2014

Second Edition: December 2015

Published by George C. Mallinckrodt at Smashwords

ISBN: 9781311600417

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

——A word about the cover——

Darren Rainey was murdered. Rainey's likeness on the cover is a grim reminder there is much to do in the area of prison reform and the treatment of the mentally ill. He died horrifically at the hands of sadistic guards in the psychiatric ward at the Dade Correctional Institution located in Florida City, Florida.

The cover reminds me of the many times I looked into a patient's cell through his window. On these windows, many had written thoughts born of anguished desperation.

Cover art was a collaboration between

Lewis Bryden and George C. Mallinckrodt

Table of Contents

INTRODUCTION

PROLOGUE

Chapter 1 —— The Murder

Chapter 2 —— The Kiss

Chapter 3 —— Close Call

PRISON

Chapter 4 —— Paint the Cell

Chapter 5 —— Waste of Humanity

Chapter 6 —— A Bridge Too Far

Chapter 7 —— Eyes Wide Open

Chapter 8 —— Stealing from a Blind Man

Chapter 9 —— Ear to Ear

Chapter 10 — Time, Time, Time

Chapter 11 — Failure is Inevitable

Chapter 12 — Dr. Do-Nothing

Chapter 13 — Life in Prison

Chapter 14 — Even This Place Can Teach You Things

Chapter 15 — Still Breathing

Chapter 16 — Pawn to King Four

Chapter 17 — Sex, Surprised?

Chapter 18 — Today's the Day

Chapter 19 — Meltdown

Chapter 20 — Easy Money

Chapter 21 — Kill the Uprising

Chapter 22 — From on High

Chapter 23 — Absolute Power

Chapter 24 — Problems in Their Heads

Chapter 25 — Beer, Bourbon, and Barf

Chapter 26 — Hannibal Lecter

Chapter 27 — Fighting Dragons

Chapter 28 — A Race with No Winners

Chapter 29 — Competency is a Curse

BEGINNING OF THE END

Chapter 30 — The Beating

Chapter 31 — Time to Get Out

Chapter 32 — Sounds of Silence

Chapter 33 — Hope Springs

Chapter 34 — No Justice in Prison

Chapter 35 — Warden Cummings

Chapter 36 — $700,000

Chapter 37 — Kibbles and Bits

Chapter 38 — My EOS

EPILOGUE

Chapter 39 — Out on a Limb

Chapter 40 — FBI

Chapter 41 — Miami-Dade Police: Homicide

Chapter 42 — Miami Medical Examiner's Office

Chapter 43 — U.S. Department of Justice

Chapter 44 — Breaking Story

Chapter 45 — From Here To…

Chapter 46 — The Revolving Door

Chapter 47 — Wrongful Murder, I Mean Death

Chapter 48 — U.S. Department of Labor

Chapter 49 — Regrets

Chapter 50 — Afterthoughts

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

INTRODUCTION

There is more security in flinging lies than fighting hand to hand.

-- Ovid --

If I had flung a few lies, lived the lie, and gone along with the lie, I might still be working in prison. One problem. That was not in my DNA. Unable to stomach complacency, cover-ups, and mediocrity, eventually I took the fight to those in power. Hand to hand. What follows is my account working as a psychotherapist in the Florida Department of Corrections.

The central focus of my book spotlights the treatment of the mentally ill in the Dade Correctional Institution psychiatric ward known as TCU. On the front lines, I discovered how poorly patients were treated, most incapable of fending for themselves. Be forewarned. Getting Away With Murder is a raw, unvarnished account of prison life in a psych ward. Nothing is held back. No subject is exempt from realistic examination.

The book is divided into four sections: Prologue, Prison, Beginning of the End, and Epilogue. The Prologue provides background into my career as a psychotherapist. The Prison segment addresses what happened in the prison psych ward during the nearly three years of toiling there. The Beginning of the End covers the last two months before my dismissal. The Epilogue details my efforts to get Darren Rainey justice after getting The Call. Open issues are addressed from the first three sections in addition to offering suggestions to reduce patient and inmate abuse. Meaningful mental health treatment alternatives in prisons and local communities receives mention. A chapter called Breaking Story covers recent developments and selected news articles.

This work is a true story. I've tried to reconstruct it from memory as faithfully as possible by sharing events that impacted me and the unit. The actual timeline was maintained, for the most part. In some instances, the timeline was condensed to preserve the flow of the narrative. Some of the dialogue in the book I remembered word for word. Other dialogue was shaped to capture the feel and heart of the matter. Details regarding staff, patients, and DOC personnel have been altered to protect the innocent…and the guilty.

To date, the Miami Herald has published over 90 articles detailing the prison brutality scandal that has rocked Florida. My unit was where the first Herald story emerged—ground zero. Individuals who have appeared in Herald stories also appear in my book with their names intact: Warden Cummings. Guards who put Rainey in the shower to die: Cornelius Thompson and Roland Clarke. Patients in the TCU: Joseph Swilling, Mark Joiner and Harold Hempstead. The names of the Miami Metro Homicide Detectives assigned to Rainey's case and the Miami Medical Examiner who performed Rainey's autopsy also appear. In the public domain are MHM Services, Corizon Health/Correctional Medical Services, and Wexford Health. These companies provided medical and mental health staff for Dade CI and prisons in all three regions of the Florida Department of Corrections.

Throughout my story, interactions between me and my friend Carmen were featured as realistically as possible. Privileged to sit across from her every day, I depended heavily on her guidance and sense of humor to get me through many difficult situations. She is one of the most significant women in my life.

We could not have come from more divergent backgrounds. I was mostly sheltered and grew up playing tennis in Miami Beach. The one exception, getting tear gassed as an innocent 14-year-old bystander during the 1972 Republican Convention. Carmen grew up in Harlem and was in her twenties during the tumultuous sixties and seventies. She was deeply concerned with social issues and even marched with Angela Davis—only when she agreed with the cause.

At gatherings with friends, conversation invariably turned to my latest experiences in the prison psych ward. There was something about prison that fascinated people—recollections held my audience spellbound. The most requested recounting was the latest about Carmen, whom I glowingly referred to as a tall Whoopi Goldberg. She deserves full credit for helping me last as long as I did.

Prison is not as bad as you might think. It is so much worse.

PROLOGUE

Chapter 1

The Murder

They killed him!

What? Killed who? What happened, Carmen?

A patient named Darren Rainey. Guards locked him in the shower in J3, the one with the broken faucets.

Yeah, the one where they adjust the temperature.

Guards on the weekend shift set it. Had only the hot on, over 180 degrees.

Shit. You mean Rainey got scalded to death? He must've screamed. Didn't anybody hear him?

"Just the patients in the unit. Told me he kept begging over and over, Please let me out. I won't do it no more."

"What did he mean by, I won't do it no more? What the hell did he do?"

Smeared shit around his cell. Poor guy was a total bug. Had a history of mental illness.

What the hell, Carmen. If I'm feeling nauseous now, you must've freaked when you heard what happened.

Stunned. Couldn't believe it. The cruelty. A patient said one guard tormented Rainey by asking if the shower was hot enough.

Cruel doesn't begin to cover it. That's what a psychopath would do for kicks. To get off on another's suffering…

Exactly. That's one of the things we talked about. After all the counselors cleared out, Dr. Alcine broke down and wept. Rainey was on her caseload.

Oh Jesus, Carmen. So sorry to hear that. I met her that time she filled in for Ms. Parker. She's gotta be devastated.

Nicole took it really hard. Sobbed like forever. Thing is, our patients can be killed by guards and there's nothin' we can do about it. This shit's seriously messed up.

I feel for you Carmen, Swilling's beating was bad enough. But now they've killed a helpless mentally ill guy? Really? Here's a suggestion—get your license and get the fuck out of there.

I hear you, George. Last few months, I've been studying a little more for the state exam. Time to step it up.

Good idea. But what the fuck. Where the hell was security?

Came back but it was too late. Guys said Rainey stopped making sounds after about an hour. I talked to nurses who were there. One said his skin was peeling off when the guards took him out. Another said his temperature exceeded the limits of the thermometer.

He must've been in agony. Was there an investigation?

Homicide, CSI, and FBI were here. Asked a lot of questions. But guys said guards ordered a patient named Joiner to clean up the shower stall, so I bet CSI didn't find a thing.

Were there any arrests?

Not any I know of. Same nurses said they overheard a guard saying he didn't think they could get away with this one.

I can hardly believe it. On the other hand, it's not surprising something like this happened. The situation was getting worse and worse when I was fired.

Totally. That's what you were sayin' all along. Heard guards were using the shower treatment for discipline. A guy before Rainey got his back burned. Casey was his name. Told me he wrote a letter to his family about what happened.

That's not discipline Carmen. It's flat out torture. Jesus, a year since I worked there and the place is going to shit. Least nobody died on my watch.

That's not all. Two patients died a couple of months ago in medical.

What happened to them?

Remember some of those guys who looked like they were from a concentration camp?

Yeah, they were crazy. Got starved or they refused to eat.

Sure enough. The word out was that medical didn't get to them soon enough. Died from pneumonia.

That's their typical response. Medical never did shit. Sounds like they died from a treatable condition.

You know how they were George, they weren't the healthiest to begin with.

Still, come on… Remember what I said TCU stood for?

Holy shit—Torture Chamber Unlimited.

Carmen, be careful in there. TCU is out of control.

Thanks, I will be.

After hanging up with Carmen, a flood of memories washed over me from my nearly three years at the Transitional Care Unit. We worked together as counselors in the Dade Correctional Institution, a Florida state prison. Ten months earlier I was fired for essentially speaking out against the abuse of the mentally ill at the hands of security as we called them. Otherwise known as correctional officers, COs, or guards, some of these thugs abused patients with impunity and even beat one up with mental health staff looking on. In fact, Carmen was an eyewitness to the beating. Fearing retaliation from guards, she elected to stay silent. At her insistence, I never mentioned her name in my Incident Reports.

Halfheartedly wrestling with patient abuse issues after my firing, a bunch of dead ends grounded me. Now this! The knot in my gut was reminiscent of the stress during my last months at TCU. My attempt to raise awareness of patient abuse in a morning meeting after the beating was met with silence. Filing two Incident Reports, one in Tallahassee at DOC headquarters and one at the prison itself, only created more grief for me.

Sitting at my desk, self-doubts emerged: Had my efforts been more aggressive and a hard line was taken, would the abusive behavior have escalated to this point, the killing of a patient? It felt as if to some degree, this tragedy was my fault. No. In actuality, a lot of this was my fault. I should have done more. But what?

A quote from Edmund Burke strengthened my resolve when I filed my first reports, All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing. My response to brutality was laudable, but apparently not enough. A man, a human being died a horrible death and two others died from what seemed like medical neglect by the Corizon medical staff.

Getting up from the desk, I went to the kitchen, feeling deeply unsettled. What about coming forward now? Who would be in a position to take action on my information? How could it be kept confidential? How much detail would I disclose and when?

If Carmen's part in the cover-up was made known, how would she react? Our friendship was at risk, but more importantly, she might be disqualified from getting her license. Dr. Robles, the do-nothing supervisor, could lose hers. Heck, she should lose her license. A registered intern came to her about a beating and she looked the other way. At the very least it's against DOC rules, not to mention a lack of ethics.

What about security? Guards who killed Rainey have guns. Tracking me down would be easy—my home, my art studio. Hell, my art studio was three miles from Dade CI. All these questions flooded me with visceral memories of crippling emotions from my last couple of months at Dade CI. Feeling nauseous, I grabbed the phone and flopped on the couch.

Hey, Michelle. Can I run something by you?

Sure, you sound upset. What's wrong?

Michelle was a trusted friend who would tell me the truth even if I didn't want to hear it. She was a psychotherapist too. Michelle counseled me countless times regarding disturbing prison situations.

Remember Carmen, my former coworker from TCU?

Sure, she's the one who kept you sane while all that shit was going down.

She told me some really disturbing news. One guy was killed by guards and two others died from medical neglect.

That sounds awful. What happened?

Michelle gasped as I relayed the horrific details of the scalding.

As you described what Rainey went through, it felt like I was being suffocated. Like I was right there in the shower. And Nicole. If somebody on my caseload was murdered—oh my god. My heart goes out to her. What gets me is that guards killed a vulnerable mentally ill patient. That's barbaric on a level I can't wrap my mind around.

Right Michelle. To enjoy human suffering like that is equal to the depravity we read about in the Holocaust.

We processed my struggle in figuring out my next step. My angst about what should or shouldn't be done about Rainey had become a dilemma.

George, you're the kind of guy who takes action. You don't really have a choice.

Had a feeling you were gonna say that. But this has got me pretty spooked. Even so, I think I gotta come forward.

Don't know who you could talk to, but you should probably stay anonymous.

Good idea, Michelle. Thanks for listening. I'll let you know what happens.

Speaking with Michelle helped clear my mind somewhat; there were many unknowns yet to face. My friend Wyatt, an Assistant United States Attorney, would know who to contact about the investigation. He was the first person I told about the beating Carmen had witnessed. At the time, he asked me to encourage her come forward. Carmen adamantly refused citing how security would make her life unbearable. She reminded me about Samantha, our former coworker and counselor. Samantha had reported to Dr. Do-Nothing that while in session with a patient, she looked out only to see the guard assigned to protect her asleep in his chair. Other times guards left after a few minutes. She was incensed. Here she was, with no security, in session with a lifer who had stabbed his girlfriend to death. Needless to say, she felt unprotected and vulnerable.

Security said she was lying and Do-Nothing sided with them. Guards even made up stories that Samantha was having affairs with some of her patients, not knowing she was gay. When she returned to work, to her shock and dismay, guards escorted her and unstable patients into the counseling room and then disappeared. They didn't even make a pretense of protecting her. A few days later, fearing for her life, she resigned. Samantha couldn't find work. Consequently, the bank began foreclosure proceedings against her.

Carmen said there was no way she could lose her job and she was not about to go into sessions with dangerous patients without backup. End result—no witness, no case. Perhaps Wyatt might know someone in the Department of Justice who would investigate the pervasive and callous indifference that ultimately led to three deaths. The Justice Department was known to have initiated probes into just this variety of malfeasance.

Needing to get some perspective, I opted for a walk and a cup of coffee. People without a care in the world were sitting in the Starbucks chit chatting away. Taking a sip of coffee, I glanced down the table. There they were, the happy couple talking about having a pizza, or having a baby for that matter. Smile, smile, blah, blah. Shit. My hands were full with a potential life and death situation. My own to begin with. Not to mention the men in the psych ward. Peering into my steaming coffee, my brain was in overdrive conjuring up all manner of possible outcomes and contingencies.

There were four major concerns. First, saying nothing and doing nothing would mean business as usual in the unit. Guards would be on their best behavior for a time and then return to abusing patients. Witnessing this pattern on numerous occasions, I was 100% confident that the same psychos who put Rainey in the shower would be at it again, sooner or later. Second, attempting to get Rainey justice might bring retaliation or worse from morally and ethically challenged guards. Third, Carmen could suffer career-ending circumstances for not coming clean, and at 67 years of age, it would be devastating. Finally, once events were set into motion, outcomes could become wildly unpredictable. Little did I know this would be the case and then some.

On the walk home, clarity emerged. Stepping forward was the only choice. Consequences would unfold as they may. Feeling exposed and alone left me to ponder: How had it come to this? In taking the lead again as the standard bearer for patient abuse, I was confronted with my failures to effect any change in my former unit. Since getting out of grad school, my life purpose was to make a difference in the lives of others. How did I get so far off course?

Only a short time ago it seemed, I was counseling individuals and couples in my private office. I felt deeply fulfilled in doing important work. My clients navigated their lives more functionally as an outcome of our counseling encounters. After a brief hiccup in a questionable PHP agency, there was my challenging work as a cancer support group facilitator. And then nearly two years counseling at-risk youth in a children's program that deeply valued my contributions. The warmly remembered faces of my kids brought a smile to my face. Those were the good old days.

Chapter 2

The Kiss

Over lunch one weekend, a school counselor friend told me about a job opening at the Bertha Abess Children's Center. BACC was an agency tasked by Miami-Dade County Public Schools to run a program for Severely Emotionally Disturbed (SED) and Emotionally Handicapped (EH) middle school children. Considering the origin of my counseling journey, accepting the BACC opportunity would have me migrating even further away from mainstream counseling.

My counseling career began in graduate school. My third year practicum and internship placements were to an agency called Catholic Family Services. Working with individuals, couples, and families, counseling became a mission to empower clients to challenge dysfunctional thinking, develop coping skills, and build life strategies. Over the months as they improved and achieved positive outcomes, a realization hit me—someday they'll actually pay you for this stuff! Making a difference in people's lives felt profoundly rewarding. To have been a positive part of another human being's journey was an honor and a privilege.

After wrapping up cases at CFS and graduating, my career shifted into high gear in a private Miami Beach office minutes from home. I was in counseling heaven. Setting my own schedule and earning a healthy percentage of the fees, my clients were intriguing and challenging. I viewed counseling as a collaboration among equals. Whenever progressing clients tried to give me more acclaim than deserved, I pointed out all their hard work and that the lion's share of the credit belonged to them. Miracles happened on a weekly basis. In many sessions, clients experienced life-changing epiphanies. The room often became charged with an energy that had the hair on the back on my neck standing straight up. One appreciative client gave me a book during our last session. I opened the book later that night to find a hand written inscription:

You opened the door and allowed the light to show me the possibilities that I was unaware of. In doing so, you empowered me to change my life. Thank you — William – August '99

For a counselor, at least for me, it doesn't get any better than that. William had been court-appointed for 26 weeks of domestic violence counseling and was as far from spiritual as one could get. It turned out his ex-wife had broken into his apartment and was there when he got home. He immediately called the police and while they where en route he made the bad decision of trying to get her out himself. She forcibly resisted; during the fracas, her leg was scraped and bleeding slightly. When the police arrived, all they needed to see was the blood on her leg and they arrested him for domestic violence. The universe does work in strange and wonderful ways; for William, getting arrested worked in his favor. It eventually led him to a place of peace and a connection to spirit.

Starting around the year 2000, the economy took a nosedive; the internet dot-com bubble had burst. Almost overnight therapists citywide were dramatically impacted. Our caseloads were cut in half. Dr. G., the owner of my office, saw his hours plummet from over 60 a week to under 30. A large segment of my practice came from referrals and call-ins from the Yellow Pages. Calls rapidly diminished to a trickle, as people had to make hard choices. Psychotherapy had become a luxury. Within a short time, Dr. G., desperate to provide for seven children, secured all the referrals for himself. Forced to find work elsewhere, my next job was conducting psycho-educational groups for a Partial Hospitalization Program or PHP. Many of my clients fell into the category of the Reality Challenged. To everyone's misfortune, it was the general practice of my agency to amass individuals from Assisted Living Facilities with little or no regard as to their ability to participate in a group setting.

An example of this contemptible practice was a young man who was always smiling and in a good mood. He had an exuberant one word answer to everything I asked: TUPAC!

How're you doing today, Tommie? TUPAC!

What did you have for lunch? TUPAC!

Who's the president? TUPAC!

What rapper was murdered in '96? TUPAC!

Great. A broken clock will be right twice a day. All I had to do was to ask the right question. Out of the blue, one day he answered, Superman! to my usual daily questions. I smiled. Hmm, counseling must be working!

Over time, a toothless woman in excess of 80 years old developed a crush on me that manifested in an unbidden kiss on my neck while bent over the copier. She was rather spry for an elderly woman. One moment she was in another room and the next she had me cornered. When coworkers heard about The Kiss (apologies to Klimt) and that it felt like a remora sucking on my neck, they laughed to the point of tears. My colleagues needled me regularly about the kiss until that agency went belly up.

A friend and director of the newly opened Wellness Community of Miami, offered me a position leading support groups for cancer patients and their caregivers. As their first psychotherapist, the counseling was challenging; not as rewarding as private practice but much better than PHP work. Attendance was sketchy; to bolster it I called everybody on my group lists the night before.

A call to Elaine, whose brother had been in my men's group, unexpectedly turned painful. Ivan committed suicide two days ago. He jumped from a six-story building. I felt as though a cement truck had run me over. Ivan hadn't been to group in a while, but he had improved dramatically since the first day we saw him. When he arrived, he was bald, gaunt, and weak from the effects of chemo. The men's group rallied around to support him and he came regularly for several months. As his cancer went into remission, he gradually regained his strength along with his hair. Elaine said, Ivan was feeling really low. His wife, who'd never supported him during his bout with cancer, decided she wouldn't be coming from Belize with the children to visit. He just snapped.

People can be so cruel. Ivan had spoken about marital problems before his cancer so this seemed plausible. He left behind two children, a boy and girl ages nine and fourteen. Expressing my condolences, I invited her to join the bereavement group. Elaine politely declined.

After hearing about the BACC opening with middle school children, my spirits improved. Once again, meaningful counseling was on the horizon. From the description of the program, these kids needed a lot of help. The SED and EH labels gave me pause for thought, but the agency director mollified my concerns when he said, Many of our kids not only graduate, but go on to college or trade schools. He added, Statistically, we have a better attendance average and less suspensions than regular students in all of Florida.

We did a survey of parents, he continued, and found that 98 percent saw their kids improving in school behavior, 85 percent saw better home behavior, and 83 percent noticed greater academic skills.

Sold! There was no hesitation when he offered me the job. This would be no cakewalk, however. The Bertha Abess program was known as a last resort placement for children with behavioral and emotional issues which kept them excluded from typical classrooms. The central mandate was to provide healthy boundaries in the classroom, a new experience for most of the students. Ideally, these students would be reintroduced to regular classrooms after they acquired the skills to manage emotions, thoughts, and behaviors. To achieve this, the Bertha Abess model offered a highly structured environment where class sizes rarely exceeded fifteen students. The program required each classroom to have two teachers trained in the BA model, a department chair dedicated exclusively to the program, and a licensed psychotherapist to provide counseling.

Bertha Abess required me to see each student every week for a counseling session that ranged from fifteen minutes to an hour. If a child was in crisis, I was given latitude to see him or her several times in one week. Many of the children received medication once they arrived at school; it was found that a regimen given at home was either too inconsistent or entirely absent. The children were diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, Asperger's Syndrome, Paranoid Schizophrenia, bulimia, anorexia, depression, and anxiety. BA students were segregated from the general student body even with regard to Physical Education. When they went to PE, no other students could be out. School policy—no exceptions.

My training in the Bertha Abess model started the next day. A week later, my work began at Central Middle School, a little more than a week into the new school year.

You must be George. I'm Anthony Parker, department chair. Kids call me Mr. P.

We shook hands. Glad to meet you. He motioned to a chair and we took our seats. In his office were three large filing cabinets, some plaques and photos on the walls, a long table littered with odds and ends, and the desk Anthony settled behind. On his desk were family photos, a haphazard collection of small toys, assorted paperwork, and a half dozen files.

It doesn't look like much, but all four portable classrooms are for us, including four more classrooms upstairs in the new building. Your office is at the end of the hall. You've got a computer, a couple of chairs, and some filing cabinets.

Sounds good. From what I heard, there're about 40 kids on my caseload.

Forty-two to be accurate, and some real charmers. Got some of their files here. Anthony picked up the topmost file on the stack. It might seem like I'm throwing you to the lions, but I need you to see a couple of these kids right away.

That's what I'm here for.

This one is a seventh grader named Mark. Polite kid, but you wouldn't wanna turn your back on him. He's got some serious issues and he hurts others.

Ok… I took his file.

Susan's also in seventh and has some profound issues too. Anthony handed me the file. "But when you're in session with her make sure you leave your door open. Let me know when you schedule her because I must be in my office the whole time. My door will be open too. The reason for that is she's highly sexualized and can't be trusted."

Is there a history of sexual abuse? I asked thinking how, more often than not, an age inappropriate level of sexual behavior was indicative of abuse.

Her biological mother had sex with her boyfriends while Susan was in the room.

Oh, I replied, trying not to look too perturbed. That sounds like a contributing factor.

Yeah, he said disdainfully. Anthony was as staunch an advocate for his kids as one could hope for. His attitude was infectious.

He picked up the next folder and paused. Daniel is an incredibly gifted eighth grader. A really smart kid, but he's barely getting B's and C's. He's got an extended family. Word on the street is they're all smart and a little cuckoo at the same time.

How smart is he?

Just got the results of a school-wide math test and he had a near perfect score. Nobody else came close. All without studying.

That's some serious grey matter. Anthony pulled another file from the stack.

This is Billy, a sixth grader who's been uncharacteristically quiet lately. Heard his family was struggling since his dad lost his job.

That's always tough.

Yeah, they're on public support, food stamps and unemployment. They had to move out of their house to a small apartment.

Visions of a family shoehorned into a one-bedroom apartment came to mind—more casualties of a pitiless economy.

These four oughta get you started. Let's go up and meet the teachers then you can pull these kids out for some counseling.

Anthony briefly showed me the other portables where the Bertha Abess children had once spent their entire days. They looked a bit dilapidated but were now exclusively available for lunch. Next, we went upstairs in the new building to meet the sixth, seventh, and eighth grade teachers. All gave me a warm welcome and as I could see from observing the students, seventh grade was going to be the most challenging.

Kim, one of the seventh grade teachers said, I knew this was gonna be a tough class this year since we'd seen most of these kids last year in sixth.

John, the other teacher added, We've got a volatile mix here, already had to restrain a kid last week.

Let the games begin, I said smiling. Except there was no restraint training during my indoctrination. Restraint of students was a condition parents, guardians, and foster parents signed off on to have their children in the program. At 6 feet 3 inches and a shade under 200 pounds, I figured handling a jazzed-up kid until the troops arrived wouldn't be a problem. No matter. Tracy and Marion were the sixth grade teachers and Bill and Sam were the eighth. All had substantial experience applying the Bertha Abess model which made me