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I toured Glore Psychiatric mental facility in 1965 with my psychology class. If you think the images at the museum were unsettling, you should have been on the tour.

When I look back on my experience touring Glore, it seems almost like a clip from One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest. When we entered the receiving area, a little woman dropped her compact and I helped her pick it up. When she dropped it again, I started to help her again and was told not to as "she does this all the time." Up to that point, I thought she was a visitor and not a patient. She continued to drop her compact over and over, to the annoyance of everyone.

We then went to the ward where patients were allowed some freedom and seemed to connect somewhat with us through smiles and "hellos". At one point, this very beautiful woman who had to be no less than 50, looked directly at me as if she wished she weren't "'on display", almost as if she was embarrassed to be there. I tried not to stare at her but couldn't help wondering what had driven such a pretty lady into a place like that.

To this day, I can see my teacher's concerned looks as we walked through the psychotic ward. We were instructed to stay close together and avoid any unecessary staring. We had a back-up of hefty female nurses, ready to tackle a patient at any moment. I will never forget the unreality of the place.

When we finally made it to the ward where the worst cases were kept, it was almost like going into a human "zoo." Patients made animal-like sounds and contorted themselves into inhuman positions.

I thought I was handling it rather well throughout the tour; however, once I got back to my house and shared the day with my family, I suddenly got a migraine and began sobbing almost uncontrollably. All the memories of the day came flooding through my mind over and over, and I wasn't able to sleep much that night. That was 38 years ago and yet those memories haven't faded all that much.

I hope that the current methods of treating mental illness will be successful in the long run. I do know that a lot of the people that would have been in Glore back in the '60's are now walking our streets. I can't help but wonder what happened to all those people I saw that day. I sure hope the pretty lady made it out of there!

Another person's comments about mental institutions:

It was fascinating for me to tour the museum, as my mother was hospitalized at another state-run mental facility on and off from the time I was less than 1 year old, in 1950, through the mid 1970s. I remember riding with my dad into the hospital grounds, down the long lane with tall buildings and barred windows. I remember the schizophrenic ward, with patients who shuffled and acted strangely.

I have a packet of letters my mother wrote while hospitalized. She was well-educated. She once taught English at the high school level, and her letters had perfect spelling and punctuation. She spoke of her daily acitivities as though she were writing from summer camp: new friends, her shock treatments, Occupational Therapy activities, seasonal celebrations, etc. Her letters are all in pencil. They would not allow patients to use ink pens—too sharp; potential weapons.

Mama died over ten years ago. She was never helped much by hospital stays or psychiatrists. She was a very unhappy, dysfunctional woman. It was all very sad. Currently there is a move away from institutionalizing the mentally ill. Perhaps medicines are better. Perhaps life is easier for them, living away from institutions. I hope so.

Read a related editorial:
Topeka Capital-Journal 04-14-2003