“Come to the Asylum Ball,” and join us for a “costume contest and party.” Pictured along with this ad are people in straitjackets, pictures of signs including Psych Ward, Morgue, Amputation, and Genetics, bottles of various medications, and a warning that reads “the Lunatics have taken over the Asylum.” While this Asylum Ball took place at the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum in West Virginia, it’s not the only historical institution that seeks to make money by inviting people to celebrate Halloween this way. For example, there are Halloween parties at other old institutions that used to be hospitals and asylums for those labelled insane for one reason or another.
Pennhurst Asylum offers a themed haunted house and bills itself as “Pennsylvania’s Most Terrifying Haunted Attraction.” As late as the 1980s, employees of this facility were arrested for beating and encouraging fights among the patients. Former patients were instrumental in filing a lawsuit which brought these horrors to light.
As the father of a son with autism, it’s not far-fetched to imagine that someone like my son would have been institutionalized in an asylum had he been born a century earlier. Years ago, autistic people were commonly labelled imbeciles, insane, morons, idiots or even possessed by the devil.
In 1969, as a student at Colgate University, I chose to do fieldwork as part of an education course. From a list provided by my professor, I chose to work nearby in an institution that used to be called the New York State Lunatic Asylum at Utica, New York. Unlike other students at this site, I chose to work in the Geriatric Ward. It’s pains me when I think back to this experience.
The place where I did my field work resembled a big old government building, with huge columns at the entrance. Inside, it had the feel of a cold, impersonal, and sterile institution. All the interior walls were painted white, the patients wore white gowns, and the metal cabinets in each room were all locked and white. When I entered, it seemed like there were always patients in line to receive their allotment of medications. Cigarette smoke filled the air. The men were not clean-shaven, most appeared to be heavily sedated and wandered around aimlessly. And they smoked cigarettes right down to the filter. A few played board games and I remember one ping-pong table. There was very, very little social interaction among the patients and staff. Each week, I spent a good deal of time removing cigarettes from patients’ hands so they wouldn’t burn their fingers.
In my new book, A Mommy, A Daddy, Two Sisters, and A Jimmy: Autism and the Difference it Makes, I write about this experience in more detail and how it provided me with perspective. Little did I know at the time how this experience would continue to shape my thinking and feelings toward the disabled over the years.
My field work and everyday experiences as a father have helped me to step outside of myself and my own world. In my book, Diversity Consciousness, I talk about this skill and how it affords us the ability to recognize, understand, and value diversity in all its colors, shapes and sizes. Now, I bristle at the thought of people attending Halloween parties at so-called asylums. If I hear words such as retard or moron, I make a point of speaking out. And in my teaching and talks on diversity, I try to provide students and others with opportunities to try to put themselves in someone else’s shoes, including my son’s and others who are on the margins of society.
Links to more from Dr. Bucher:
Buy A MOMMY, A DADDY, TWO SISTERS AND A JIMMY: AUTISM AND THE DIFFERENCE IT MAKES at Amazon.com
Dr. Bucher’s Facebook page on Autism
Dr. Bucher’s Facebook page on Diversity Consciousness