Holiday story: Take off your adult suit and be a kid again * Holiday dinner * One of many * Bill's Coffeeshop Newsletter * Vol. 11 * Dec. 24, 2010

BILL WAS JUST ONE OF MANY

IN STATE MENTAL HOSPITALS

BILL Sackter spent nearly half a century at a state mental hospital in Minnesota. He was sent there as a seven year old child in the 1920s and remained there for 46 years. Sackter, for whom Bill's Coffee Shop is named, was a resident at Faribault State Hospital, a giant institution with roots almost as old as the state of Minnesota. Minnesota became a state in 1858; the very first session of the state legislature authorized the establishment of centers for the "training and care of citizens who suffered mental and physical disabilities and for children who were unable to care for themselves."

The "state asylum" opened in 1863. It first was a residence for the "deaf, dumb and blind." In 1879, an experimental program for "idiotic and feeble-minded children" was added. Two years later, this became a permanent program under the name of "School for Idiots and Imbeciles." Later names for the center included "Minnesota Institute for Defectives" and "School for the Feeble-Minded."  In 1885, another program, the "State School for Neglected and Dependent Children," was added. It was located in the nearby community of Owatonna.

 By the time Bill Sackter arrived at Faribault in the 1920s, there were hundreds of people living there from all over Minnesota. And the institution continued to grow during most of Bill's years there. By 1955, there were more than 3,300 residents at Faribault. Once sent there, few individuals ever left Faribault. After they died, they usually were buried in a cemetery on the state hospital grounds.

Minnesota was not alone in removing individuals with disabilities from mainstream society. Every state in the US had similar institutions -- and so did many other countries. These institutions were based on a philosophy that such segregation was a good idea.

An historical marker on I-35 in Minnesota explains that Faribault state hospital was "established to provide students with activities and training, while protecting them from the slights and rebuffs of the outside world." (This marker is located at the Straight River rest stop between Albert Lea and Cannon Falls.)

THERE were always parents and others who doubted the wisdom of separating individuals with disabilities from their families and communities. But it was not until the late 1950s that their voices were loud enough to be heard in the chambers of the legislatures and the meeting rooms of professional societies.

By the 1960s, conventional professional wisdom shifted to support the idea of having individuals with disabilities stay in their communities. Counties stopped sending individuals to state hospitals. Then came a series of decisions to return to communities those who had been institutionalized.

Bill Sackter returned to Minneapolis in the early 1960s. He eventually found a job working in the kitchen of the restaurant at the 

Minikahda Country Club. It was there he met Bev and Barry Morrow; Bev was a waitress at the restaurant.

Hundreds of other men and women left Faribault in the 1960s and returned to Minneapolis and other communities around the state. (The same process was repeated in Iowa, South Dakota and other states.) Then in 1998, the state hospital at Faribault was closed for good.

HOLIDAY DINNER

ON CHRISTMAS

A Christmas Day dinner is planned on Saturday at Uptown Bill's. It's at 1 pm. You're invited to bring a dish to share, but that's not required. Wonderiong what to bring? Call the coffee house at 339-0401. Uptown Bill's will also be open on New Year's Day.

HOLIDAY STORY FOR 2010

Christmas is tomorrow, isn't it?

IT WAS one of those evenings when things had gone well at the coffeeshop. The musicians had come, and played, and gone. The tip jar was full, the chairs were put away and the dishes were done. It was Christmas Eve, and we were planning to close early.

I looked around and counted who was left. Four people -- one who always tried to be last, one mother waiting for her son to put on his coat, and... 

Hmm, I thought. Who is that? I hadn't seen her before. She was dozing in a chair, holding a pink unicorn. Next to her: a backpack and a rolled up blanket. I guessed she was 16 or 17. She stirred a little, then opened her eyes. 

She got up and came to the counter. "Christmas, it's tomorrow, isn't it." I wasn't sure if she was asking me or telling me. She didn't wait for any reply. "I loved it when I was little. We lived in Kentucky then. It was magic, just magic. I even had Christmas lights in my room, hanging over my bed.

"But these last few years..." her voice trailed off. She climbed up on one of the stools and started playing with the salt shaker. After a couple of minutes, she spoke again: "Why do we have to grow up? Why can't we always remain kids? What would be wrong with that? 

"I MEAN, show me how being an adult has brought a better world. Kids share their toys; adults lock up their stuff. Kids share their lunches; adults let people go hungry. Kids don't start wars; adults do."

"I can't argue with you," I said. A moment of silence followed. 

I ended it. "What happens?" I asked. "When do you think we give up being kids and decide we need to be adults?" I stumbled a little with the word "kids." My daughter Molly always got upset with that word. "We are not baby goats," she would say. And I'd heard the word used often enough to dismiss the voices of youth. "They're just kids," someone would say. But I couldn't think of any other word at the moment.

"I don't know for sure," she answered. "But it could be somewhere in junior high. All of a sudden you're told to start acting like an adult. Ha! 

"YOU KNOW what I did? When I was in junior high? I tried to imagine every one of my teachers as a kid -- a kid with an adult suit on. Oh, that was fun. 

"School didn't think so, though. I kept getting sent to detention for saying things like: 'You're just a kid, too, but you're wearing an adult suit' and 'Hey, where's the zipper so you can take that head off and let the kid out.'

I laughed. "You think that's funny?" she asked.

"Yes, of course, it's funny," I said. "And the best thing to do when you think something is funny is to laugh."

"Boy, I sure would have liked you as a teacher," she responded. "Did you ever teach?"

"Yes," I said. "And I even taught junior high for awhile."

"Wow!"

"Say, what's your name?" I asked.

"Elizabeth, Liz," she replied. "Yours?"

"IT'S TOM. How are you? And what brings you here tonight?"

"Oh, I heard this was a cool place to hang out. And I just had to get out of the house. Too many relatives around tonight. Too many people fakin' happy.

"My mom has been here and said it would be okay if I came here. She used to come here back when she was in college. She said she knows you.

"She dropped out of school after I was born. That's when we moved to Kentucky. My dad got a job there. 

Oh, I have a brother, too. He's older. He moved away last year. Well, actually we moved away. Left Kentucky and came back here. 

"My dad has something wrong in his head. He can only take a job for six months or so, then he has to quit. We used up all the jobs where we were living. Mom thought things might be better if we moved back. 

"It's been hard, though. I didn't know anybody at first and everybody already had their groups -- like since first grade. 

"I've made a few friends, though. I invited a couple of them to come down and join me.

"I WAS going to close early." I said. "It is Christmas Eve, you know."

But Liz wasn't paying any attention to me. "Turns out that I'm not the only one who needs to get out of the house. Hey, are we going to do that Dance Along Nutcracker? My mom said you used to organize that when she was here.

"She also said you have a lot of really, really corny Christmas jokes. She said that she and her friends used to tell you that you couldn't tell any of those after 8 pm.

"Hey, I've got one for you," Liz said. "How do you know if there's a reindeer in your refrigerator?" She didn't wait for me to answer. "You can see her footprints in the butter.

I laughed. 

"You like it? Here's another. "What would you get if you were to deep fry Santa?" Again, she didn't wait for me to reply. "Crisp Kringle.

"HAVE YOU got any jokes?"

"Sure," I said. "But it's after 8 pm, so we'll have to call your mom and make sure it's okay."

"We just won't tell her," Liz answered.

"Okay then. What do you call people who are afraid of Santa? Claustrophobic."

Liz laughed. "My mom was right. Got another one?"

"What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire?"

Liz made a face. "I have a feeling this one will be awful," she said.

"Frostbite," I said. 

"Ugh," Liz said. 

JUST THEN the coffeeshop door opened and two other young people walked in. "Hey," Liz said, "it's Jenny and Kate, What's up?"

She gestured to me: "He was going to close, but I convinced him to stay open for us. Is Mike coming, too?"

"I don't know," one of them said. "Oh, this is Jenny," Liz said to me. "And that's Kate."

The door opened again and a young man came in. "And this is Mike," Liz said. 

"Hi," Mike said. "Are you Bill?"

I laughed. "No, but I've been asked that a million times. My name is Tom. There was a Bill who started the place, though."

"MY MOM says you like to tell stories," Liz said. "I told my friends that you'd tell us a few, maybe even a couple of Christmas stories." 

"Okay, once upon a time..." I started.

"No, Liz said, "not those stories. Your stories."

"All right," I said. I started by telling "Wise woman with a mirror," a story I had told Liz's mom one Christmas Eve some years ago. 

"I'm with Shannon. Why couldn't there have been a wise woman, too," Jenny said after I finished.

Then I told the "Christmas at Shelter House" story. Kate laughed loudest at that one. "Posadas posse? Joseph in a Batman cape? Mary with 'You're not the boss of me' on her t-shirt. Hah! Fun!" 

And finally "Searching for the Christmas spirit." "Gee, I would have liked to go along on that evening," Liz said. "I really liked the Pie Lady in that story. And Jesus in dreadlocks." 

"Thanks," I said. "Where's Mike?"

"IN HERE," a voice said from the office. "I found a guitar," he said, appearing in the doorway. "Could I play it?" 

"Sure," I said. "He started with "Twelve Days of Christmas." We all sang along. Then "Here Comes Santa." And "The First Noel."

"Hey," said Liz. "I'm beginning to feel like a kid again. How about 'Jingle Bells?' "

Of course she meant the slightly twisted version with "Batman smells..." and so on. We sang that, and a few more carols.

Then it was quiet for a few minutes. Mike broke the silence. "I have one more song I'd like to sing," he said. "It's called Christmas Wish. I'd like to dedicate to Tom, who kept this place open for us My mom told me it's one of his favorite Christmas songs." 

He started to sing:

For Christmas this year I know exactly what you'd like

And I know you know I want the same things too

And I wish that I could give to you all your heart's desire

And see your face on Christmas day when all your dreams come true

But worldwide understanding and peaceful people everywhere

Is something right now is beyond my reach

But we can do it simply: we could do it from the heart

Give presents that we know will never fade

And with all the ones we love, and everyone we know

Step by simple step, I know that we'll achieve

And in our homes, at least, a world that's filled with peace.

MIKE WAS right; that is a favorite of mine. But how did he know that?

"My mom told me that's one of your favorite Christmas songs," Mike said. "She said you have told her stories about Tuck & Patti, the people who wrote it. 

"Oh yeah, that's right," I said, "When they first started, Tuck and Patti frequently played outdoors in a community where I lived. They seemed like such opposites. Patti was very outgoing; Tuck was so reserved. Patti chatted a lot between songs; Tuck might not say a single word the whole evening. 

"But you could tell how much they loved each other. This song sure shows that. And their love -- and this song -- can be an inspiration for the rest of us."

By this time, we were all sitting on the couches in the middle of the coffeeshop. "I do have one more story to tell," I said. I pointed to the picture on the wall of the man with the beard. "It's about him.

"That's Bill, Bill Sackter," I said. "He spent nearly 50 years in one of those big old state mental hospitals. It was a terrible place. Bill didn't like to talk about it much, but a lot of bad stuff happened there.

When he got out, he eventually ended up here. In fact, he started this coffeeshop. This became his life. 

"Then every December, he would put on a Santa Claus suit. He didn't just wear it for a day, or a week. He wore it for the whole month of December. He wore it to work, he wore it on the bus, he even wore it to church. 

"'Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas everybody,' he would say. And when Bill had that suit on, he really was Santa. You believed again -- like when you were a kid, Liz -- that Santa was real and that Christmas was magic.

"But there was something else, too, about Bill being Santa. If someone who had such a hard life could still find such joy in Christmas, it gets you wondering why each of us can't do that. 

I mean, what if we really tried, like you said, to take off the adult suit, and be kids again for Christmas. We could be like Bill, spreading joy and peace. And if we could do that for one day, well..."

I stopped, and glanced up at the clock. It was past 11 pm. "Okay, everyone, that's. It's time to go. Get your coats and we're heading out." 

"Wait," Liz said. "Mike does have one more song. Actually, we have one more song. My mom told me you liked this one. She said that late on winter evenings, when the coffeeshop was closing, you turned up the sound system really loud and played this song. You know, the one by Stevie Wonder. 

Mike started to strum on the guitar. Jenny walked over to the piano and started to play. Then Mike started to sing:

"I just called to say I love you. I just called to say how much I care. I just called to say I love you. And I mean it from the bottom of my heart." 

Then he sang the first verse. When he got to the chorus again, everyone started singing. 

We finished the song, wished each other a Merry Christmas and headed out into the night.

"Thank you. Liz said. "That was nice. I think the 'kid' in me is ready for Christmas.

"Oh, and I'll be back next year for sure. And someday, I imagine, I'll be sending my daughter to see you on Christmas Eve."

LOOKING BACK IN THE

BILL'S NEWSLETTER

Eight years ago (2002): Holidays, shorter days and the Little Spirit Moon

highlight this month.

Nine years ago (2001): "Holiday stories and cookies" program will be at the

new Uptown Bill's this year.

Ten years ago (2000): A "Wild Bill's" coffee blend is now available in the coffeeshop. It's from Cafe del Sol,

a local coffee roaster

______________________________

Bill's Coffeeshop Newsletter is a virtual extension of Wild Bill's Coffeeshop and Uptown Bill's Coffee House. Published since 2000, the Newsletter is written by Tom Gilsenan, a former manager of Wild Bill's and now director of Uptown Bill's. You can write to him at tomgilsenan@gmail.com

Wild Bill's Coffeeshop is a project of the School of Social Work at the University of Iowa. It has been a part of campus life in Iowa City for more than 35 years. Located in North Hall, the coffeeshop is open weekdays from 8 am. For more information, check the Friends of Bill's Coffeeshop page on Facebook. You can call the coffeeshop at (319) 335-1281. Donations to support the work of the coffeeshop may be sent to: Bill's Coffeeshop Fund, University of Iowa Foundation, P.O. Box 4550, Iowa City, IA 52244. Contributions are tax deductible.

Uptown Bill's is the crosstown cousin of Wild Bill's. Now in it 10th year, it includes a bookstore, performance venue and other businesses in addition to a coffeeshop. Located at 730 S. Dubuque, Uptown Bill's is open every day from 8 am. For more information, check the Uptown Bill's page on Facebook. You can call Uptown Bill's at (319) 339-0401. Donations to support the work of Uptown Bill's may be sent to: Extend the Dream Foundation, Uptown Bill's, 730 S. Dubuque St., Iowa City, IA 52240. Contributions are tax deductible.