Between the fall of 1975 and the summer of 1985, my parents opened their home to a
wide variety of mental patients from the local psychiatric hospital. From the passive and timid to
the all out and out off the wall crazy, we had them all. You know that phrase, ‘If these walls
could talk?’ Well...get ready. Because they’re about to.
Chapter 3: “Harmonica Bill”
In the autumn of 1975, my parents took in their first Zoomie. I still remember his full
name. While I don’t feel there’s a need to write it down, I will tell you his first name was Bill.
Not giving you the last name isn’t as important as who he was...and it’s not that I’m worried
about getting sued, either. Odds are, he’s most likely dead by now, as are most of the Zoomies
we took care of. And even if he wasn’t, odds are (and this is the sad part), that nobody still alive
who knew him back then, probably even remembers him today.
Bill was a heavyset man, roughly late 20s to early 30s in age. He had almost a dutch boy
haircut, except is was perfectly parted in the middle. He had thick black hair that hid the tops of
his ears, and a double chin made it difficult to focus on anything else about him. Weird as that
sounds, it’s true. As a little kid, even now I remember thinking, “Dude...you’re really fat.”
But what I remember most about Bill was his harmonica collection. He had an extensive
array of harmonicas that were unlike anything I’ve seen before or since. I don’t recall if he
played them well or not. Funny...all that other stuff I remember vividly, but I can’t remember if
he played those stupid harmonicas or not. I do remember being very impressed with the variety
of them, though...the different shapes and sizes. Some were older than others, but almost all of
them had their own case to store them in. I do recall one that sat on his dresser in a clear plastic
case, set up on a little display stand. It was bigger than the rest, and oddly shaped, almost like a
cylindrical tube. Looking back now, I do think I saw him play that particular harmonica once.
But what Bill did more than anything else was, he chain-smoked. A lot of the Zoomies chainsmoked. It kept their hands busy. Bill seemed to have a 3-pack a day habit, though. And I
remember that he used to roll his own cigarettes, too. At first it was okay for him to smoke in the
house, probably because my dad smoked at the time too. After a point though, I think my mother
realized that this guy could easily set the house on fire with his carelessness. It was shortly
thereafter that the new rule was that none of the Zoomies could smoke in the house.
When Bill came to stay with us, it was, as with all of them, on a trial basis at first. He
was the first, and at the time, the only Zoomie we had. It wasn’t until later on that we started to
take in 2 and 3 at a time, then eventually 4 and 6.
As I said, we had a pretty big house. There were six bedrooms and 2 ½ baths, so it was
easy enough to give each Zoomie their own bedroom. They had their own bathroom in the back
of the house, and they ate their own meals at dinnertime. By that, I mean that they ate at a
separate time from us. And also, their meals were set a little differently. While I can’t recall the
reasoning right now, the men would have their big meal around lunchtime, and what would
typically be a ‘lunch’ type of meal at night.. Also, the last meal of the day was set at a different
hour from us, usually around 5:30 or so in the evening. My mother said that this was so she
wasn’t cleaning so many dishes at night, but it was also because she and my father didn’t want to
actually eat ‘with’ the guys.
Dinnertime was a real event in our house for these guys. When mom called ‘dinner,’ all
of them would literally jump out of their chairs and run to the dining-room. Well, maybe not
quite run...perhaps it was more of a really fast paced trot. You’d swear these guys hadn’t eaten in
days. And you know how on ‘The Simpsons,’ when they show the cartoon characters just
shoving food down their throats as fast as they can? That’s what it was like to watch the Zoomies
eat. In fact once, one of them almost choked to death. But my mother knew the Heimlich
Maneuver and was able to save his life. From that day forward, that particular gentleman chewed
his food very slowly and deliberately.
The guys were all really sloppy eaters for the most part. Some of them, you’d swear they
hadn’t eaten real food in years. They didn’t all have any real table manners to speak of, and the
burping and farting at the dinner table was par for the course. So yeah...you can see why she
wanted to keep their mealtime separate from ours.
Once, my mother was paid the ultimate compliment by one of the guys. They told her
after a big meal one night, that her cooking was almost as good as McDonalds. To her, this was
about as far away from an insult as you could get. She knew what kind of food these guys were
used to at the hospital, and for them, a trip to McDonalds or Burger King was a real night out.
And isn’t it a real treat after all, when a child gets to go to a fast food joint? You have to
remember...that’s what we are dealing with here. Big children. So for them to say that to my
mother...that was a compliment of the highest order, and she took it for how it was meant.
Another time we were having pizza for lunch. My father, two of the Zoomies and myself
were seated around the kitchen table. It was one of the few times we ate together, and I think it
was because we had been working outside loading wood for the fireplace. Dad heated a pizza in
the oven, and the four of us sat down to eat. I remember turning my head for a moment, and
when I turned back, one of the guys had taken the food right off my plate. For some reason, he
thought I was finished. And as you learn from the hospital, you never want to let any food go to
waste.
I think Harmonica Bill may have been the only guy that might have eaten with us at
mealtime, but I know it wasn’t for long. Harmonica Bill didn’t do anything with us for very long.
I don’t think his stay with us could’ve been more than a month or so, at most. Remember...this
was a trial period. That being said, any given day on any of these guys could have been a trial
period.
If my parents felt it was time for you to go, then out you went. What this meant was,
you had to follow simple rules. You didn’t have to help out on the farm or do manual labor or
anything. That was an option to some of the guys over the years who only wanted to work with
my dad. But you couldn’t stay inside all day either. Fresh air was what these guys needed, and
besides...my mom didn’t want to have them hanging all over her feet, either. They could sit out
on the porch, go for walks, do whatever they wanted, but they couldn’t spend the day inside. The
only exception was if it was raining or snowing. And it wasn’t like they could watch television
anyway. We got two really shitty stations out of Syracuse, and half the time you had to stare
through static to watch them. Sometimes, one channel would be fighting over another on a
similar wavelength, and you could be watching Hee-Haw out of Syracuse, but hearing PBS out of
Pennsylvania. Remember...we were WAY out in the mountains, and damn lucky to be getting
anything.
So there was no spending the day indoors, no smoking in the house, eat—don’t waste the
food given to you (rarely if ever a problem), and bedtime was at 9 PM sharp. Oh, and you had to
be out of bed by 7 AM. That was pretty much it. And don’t give Mr. and Mrs. Henn any of your
shit. You don’t like the rules, well then, there’s the door, Johnny. Nobody’s making you stay.
But none of these guys ever wanted to go back to the hospital, either. I don’t know for certain
what was going on at the hospital, but whatever it was, these guys didn’t want to be there. Maybe
it was just the simplicity of having their own space to come and go as they pleased. Maybe it was
something rooted even deeper in their subconscious. Whatever it was, being on our farm beat the
hell out of being back in the psych-ward.
However, as with everything, there are exceptions. Harmonica Bill was a quick one.
Before I go down that road though, I want to share just a little bit more with you about this guy.
Heavy. Obnoxious. Chain-smoker. Huge collection of harmonicas. Swung cats around by the
tail. Oh, wait...did I forget to mention that?
My parents would often leave me alone with these guys. Why? I don’t know. They
were very trusting, I guess. That being said, none of them ever touched me, never laid a hand on
me. In the ten years of various characters coming in and out of that house, not a single one ever
threatened me. It didn’t make me any less afraid from time to time, but for the most part I felt
safe enough. But on occasion, my parents would leave to visit a friend up the road, over the hill,
on the other side of the mountain...however you want to call it. And in doing so, they would
leave me totally alone with these guys.
Now at the time, it was just Bill. And Bill thought of himself as something of a
comedian. I remember several dirty limericks, racist jokes and gags. I also remember him
swinging our cat around by tail and then letting go. The poor cat would go sailing through the
air, surprisingly never getting terribly hurt. Even as I write this, I couldn’t tell you why I never
told my parents that. And while I’m ashamed to admit it, at 7 years of age I might have even
though it was funny. Looking back as an adult, I wish I knew why I never said anything. Maybe
part of me was afraid something bad would happen. I still look back and wish I had said
something to my parents. But for some reason, I never told. What I did tell them about though,
was something at the time I thought was innocent but nevertheless it was what would get
Harmonica Bill his walking papers.
On one of these nights when mom and dad were away, Bill and I went for a walk around
the farm. I don’t remember the conversation itself...but I do vaguely remember the walk. It
seems that Bill asked me if I had ever breast-fed as a baby. I’m seven, maybe eight years old.. I
don’t know what the fuck breast-feeding is. So I ask. I asked my mother. And after the initial
yelling and “Where did you hear that from?!?” I told her that Bill wanted to know. The next day
Bill was packing his Harmonicas in that big ass suitcase of his and heading back to the hospital.