Volume 17 - Issue 4

Volume 17 Number 4

February 1, 1985

Publisher Peter Phleger Editor-in-Chief T ina K elley Business Manager Marilynn Sager Managing Editor Tony Reese Designer Andrea Fribush Production Manager Christianna Williams Photography Editor Jim Ayer Associate Publisher H ilary Callahan Associate Business Managers Lauren Rabin R ob Lindeman Associate Editors Anne A pplebaum R ich Blow Joyce Banerj ee Jim Lowe Art Editor Beth Callaghan Associate Designer Pat Santana• Staff •, Chris Berti Barrie Seidenberg• Adina Levin • Margie Smith* Tamar Lehrich Pam T hompson Art Ling Corinne Tobin Tom McNulty K a ren Yasha r Mike Sonnenblick Dan Waterman•

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A FAMILY OF FINANCIAL COMPAN IES. 2 The New JournaVFebruary I, 1985

• elect~d Du. 12, 1984 Mvnbers and Dirutors: Edward B. Benneu • Henry C. Chauncey, Jr. • Peter B. Cooper • Andy Court • Brooks Kelley • Peter Neill • Michelle Press • Thomas Strong Board of Advisors: Gerald Bruck • John H ersey • Roger K irwood • Elizabeth Tate • Pete r Y~ager Friends: Anson M. Beard,Jr.t • Edward B. Ben· nett, Jr. • Blaire Bennett • Jonathan M. Clark • Louise F. Coopert • James W. Coopert • Peter B. Coopert • J erry and R ae Court • David Freeman • Geoffry Fried • Sherwin Goldman • Brooks Kelley • Andrew J . Kuzneski , Jr. • Lewis E. Lehrman • E. Nobles Lowe • Peter Neill • Fairfax C. Randallt • Nicholas X. Ri:z:opoulos • Arleen and Arthur Sager • Dick and Debbie Searst • Richard Shields • Thomas Strong • Alex and Betsy Torello • Allen and Sarah Wardwell • Daniel Yergin thas given a second time

Th~ Ntw Journal encourages letters to the editor and comment o n Yale and New H aven issues.

Write to Tina Kellev, Editorials, 3432 Yale Sta· tion. New Haven,. CT 06520. All letters for publication must include address and signature.

Th~ Ntu• Journal reserves the right to edit all letters for publication.

TheNewJoumal.... _,,..._.

~¡

Cover photo by jim Ayer On the cover: The staff support room of the Connecticut H ospice in Branford provides a place for nurses and family to cope with the emotional stress of a patient's death.

TheNewJo___u__r_n_a____l_~-~~-ur~_:ry~1 ~ ~-~a-~b-er_4 ....... .

Between the VInes

8

"Abandon H ope, All Ye . . ."

Whik searching for jobs as paralegals, paratroopers or paramedics, seniors cope with University Career Services and overcome the angst of indLcisum.

By Sarah Lyall.

Features

10

Overcoming Alcohol Students who baltk alcoholism at Yak find the task more difficult because of the preval.ence of Liquor in University social Junctions, which may in itself shape harmful dnnking patterns among undngraduales. By Lelia Wardwell.

14

Within Two Worlds Members of a small but cohesive Orthodox jewish community struggk to balance thnr dtmanding rel~t:ious prtutices with the desm to participau in the secular mainstream of Yak. By Tamar Lehnch.

20

Learning to Live With Death The nation's first hospice, founded by a Yak dron, provida tht terminally zll with a home-like stitmg and control oter how tky spend thtir last days

By Joyce BanerJee.

26

Seeking Certainty A year and a month a.JUr Yak Dwzmty School stubnl Sam Todd disappeared in Manhattan, his Jamzly continues its tutiue starch for him, uhzk some ptopk speculatL ht doesn~ want to be found. By Michael Frdtag.

Letters

4

NewsJournal

6

The ¡e,. journaJ.IFebruarv I , 1985 3

The Orient Variations on a Chinese Theme • No M.S.G. • No Canned Vegetables • Non-Conventional Cuisine Bring Your Own Wine!

Klan Connection

Open Except Sat. & Sun. Lunches

376 Elm St., New H aven 777-3747

The New Journal thanks

Lisa Chang Matt Costa Matthew Ernst Nancy Feidelman Alison Cardy Kris Hartzer Yonina Helman Maria Hong Pearl Hu Meredith H yde Pam Lee Hank Mansbach Ow('n Martikan

Carol Martin Amy Metzler J ohn Neil Maureen O'Leary Sam Osborne Ned Reifenstein Adam Shayne Lori Sherman Strong Cohen Graphic Design Louis Thomas.

Melissa Turner Mlrem Villamil Janet Wu Peter Zusi

'

To the Editor: We are concerned with th e opening oaragraphs of vour article "The Klan ComesNorth"(TNJ, Dec. 7, 1984)and their implications.

We object to the connection made, in an otherwise well-researched and informative article, between a specific Yale event and KKK activities in Connecticut (" . . . this year's vandalism shows .the ramifications of an increasing KKK presence in Connecticut cannot be underestimated.") What is described as an "overt act of racism" cannot be fairly and fully addressed in such a brief · opening vignette. Unnecessary fears and tensions were created; the article implied an increased KKK influence on the Yale campus which we feel was unwarranted by the actual events.

We deplore any act of racism. As freshmen counselors our objective is to promote understanding among all students at Yale.

Names withheld by request

---!S

MEXICAN FOOD VOTED BEST MEXICAN FOOD in New Haven County

by Connecticut Magazine's 1983-1984 Readers' Poll OPEN EVERY DAY 161 PARK ST. New Haven 562-2499 6 DICKERMAN ST . Hamden 288-3784 MASTERCHARGE. VISA. DINERS. CARTE BLANCHE 4 The New J o urnal/ Februar-y I, 1985

Editors Note: We intended to express that while some people consider the Klan to be a humorous matter, there are several hundred residents qf our state who do not. As stated in our article, "the KKK had nothing directly to do with this incident . . . it is unlikely the Klan will have much direct impact at Yale. • We feel our readers deserved coverage qf both the Yale incident and recent events outside New Haven, and we tried to keep the distinctions clear between them.

Grounds for Repair To the Editor: I enjoyed Rich Blow's ar ticle on the residential college buildings and the sad state of their deterioration ("Yale's D ecaying Colleges, TN], December, 1984). To me, such terminology as "deferred maintenance" means no maintenance. I might also point out that as the buildings have become run down, so have the grounds.

I have worked at Yale for ten years.

During that time I have seen our

groundskeepers' crew cut from 15 people to 10. One of our best senior groundskeepers takes care of the Art Gallery and Trumbull, Saybrook, Branford and Jonathan Edwards Colleges- singlehanded! y. It is a monumental task simply to get the basics done.

The lawns in all the colleges are in various states of neglect and deterioration. Each spring they are renovated for Commencement only to decline during the long, hot summer because of inadequate irrigation. The only areas that manage to survive are the ones where automatic sprinkler systems have been installed.

The grounds maintenance budget has been so severely cut that often we have to work with equipment which is so old replacement parts are no longer available. Lack of preventive maintenance results in more frequent and costlier breakdowns. We have only two top-notch mechanics to maintain all the power equipment and vehicles in the science and central areas. rm glad to see the college buildings being considered for renovation and refurbishing. fd also be very happy to see the same attention focused on the grounds. The only hope seems to be better management of the limited resources that we all have to learn to live with and the hiring of more qualified and skilled professional groundskeepers.

Happy Hour Letter & Legal Size Copies

only3~¢ Monday - Friday Before 9:00 a.m. After 7:00 p.m.

All Day Saturday & Sunday

Respectfully, Gary Lavorgna Senior Groundskeeper, Old Campus

Clarification Joe

Levy's article "It's Only Rock and RoU" (TN], Dec. 7, 1984) described the band Singing Beach. The photos accompanying the article depicted the band The Whales from New London, led by To Benoit '82, o n bass guitar.

The Whales have re leased two singles on Orcabeat R ecords: "Buddy Lovers" and "Talk About the Weather." _TN] regrets a n y misunderstanding aris¡~g from the omission of photo captions.

Italian Clothing

998 Chapel Street The New Journal/February 1, 1985 5

NewsJournal

TV Cold Turkey

tion Center helped DeSalvo organize DeSalvo plans to keep encouraging the project, speaking to parents about both parents and children to be more Benjamin Persky's favorite TV shows the dangers of irresponsible television 1 selective about what they watch no11 are "He-Man" and "Mr. Rogers' watching. According to Singer, "We're that the experiment has ended. "We'rr.

Neighborhood," but the six-year-old most concerned about the kid for whom not promoting any kind of censorship,' hasn't watched them for a month. Along television is the only contact with the the librarian said. "The truth is therr. with hundreds of other children and outside world, the type of kid who just isn't that much on television worth adults in Farmington, Connecticut, spends six hours a day in front of the watching."

Benjamin vowed to give up television set. There is a surprisingly large Andrea Persky, mother of Benjamin for the month of January. He is part of number of children like that." and two other young children, agreed an experiment first conducted in with DeSalvo. "This is a' little like Since 1976 Singer has been at Yale January 1984 and organized by Nancy studying how television affects young dieting," Persky said. "Once you start you always have to keep it up or else DeSalvo, children's librarian at the Far- children. "Another thing we're looking you'll just fall back into your old bad mington Public Library. Last year at in Farmington," she added, "is the inhabits. My kids had a great time in DeSalvo coaxed over 1000 Farmington fluence of violence on television, parcitizens to turn off their sets and this ticularly on shows like 'Hill Street January. They relied on each other for entertainment and didn't miss the TV a year , she estimates, that number will be Blues' and 'Miami Vice.' Adults can sort bit ." even higher. that out from their daily reality, but Dr. Dorothy Singer of the Yale Fami- children can't, and they imitate what ly Television Research and Consulta- they see."

-Rich Blow

6 The New journal/February 1. 1985

Sophomore Sawyer TD sophomore Eric Berg walked to center stage. Standing before the empty theater, he spoke the words of Mark Twain. Several weeks later Berg heard that he had won the part of Tom Sawyer in a production of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, opening this February at Chicago's Goodman Theater. . Berg had played Huck Finn during hagh school in an adaptation of Stewert Gordon's original play. Berg's director, Robert Greenberg, discovered that Gordon was planning a revival and sug· gested Eric as a possibility for Huck. He a~ditioned in October, and a phone call nght after Thanksgiving break brought Berg the good news.

•r was ecstatic because I had to wait six ~eek~ to hear," he said. "It didn't fully smk m until January, when rehearsals started." Scheduled to run from F~bruary 4th to March 3rd, the play waU be an ensemble production similar to Nicholas Nickleby. In addition to the role of Tom, Berg will have five or six other parts, including understudy for Huck. The revival commemorates the tenth anniversary of the original show and the tOOth of the publication of Twain's novel.

Having done several plays in high school and such productions as The T'!'JfJtst, God and De~ and Twelfth Naght here at Yale, Berg is no stranger t? the stage. While he intends to audition for other professional shows, he lees theater more as a special interest, not a career plan. "~'ve got some friends who are professional actors, and it's tough when they're out of work." He paused, then answered, "I'll probably be an Econ.-Poli. Sci. major."

View up Chapel Street from State Street, taken by George R . B radley c.1890.

Elm City Rollers

When they rolled out of the past and onto the streets last November, the three trolley cars caught the attention of many New Haveners. The trolleys transported passengers as a trial run for a new shuttle system being developed by the Downtown Council, an organization comprising many local businesses.

According to Jack Sullivan, Project Manager for the new shuttle system , the Council thinks the system will benefit both public and private interests and will contribute to the revitalization of New Haven. Citizens seem to agree. Of the 600 questionnaires returned, "The worst comment \-\<as-'lt's good.'" SuUavan said.

Called "The Elm City Line," the system has three possible routes: a retail loop connecting shopping malls, businesses, theaters and hospitals; a - Tom McNulty . harbor route allowmg access to the new

Long Wharf complex; and routes con· necting downtown with parking areas.

The shuttle sh ould alleviate downtown parking problems and move customers closer to the business districts.

Sullivan sees the system as benefit· ting the Yale community as well. "I think that the shuttle would tie students in with different parts of the city, such as the Long Wharf, which they don't have access to now," Sullivan said.

The original trolley cars appeared in New Haven around the turn of the century and continued to operate until , buses replaced them in the early 1950s.

These trolleys, however, are motorized and do not use the tracks required by their predecessors. If the Downtown Council's plans continue as scheduled, the sound o f a clanging beiJ and the call of a conductor will once again become familiar sounds to New Haveners.

-Dan Waterman The New JoumaVFebruary I, 1985 7

Between the Vines/ Sarah Lyall

------~------------~--------~

'' Abandon

Hope, All Ye

• • •

'' )

Marjorie Schlaijker looked glum as she stood in the front hall of University Career Services one January afternoon, staring at a wall full of job descriptions.

"I get a stomachache," she remarked, "every time I come here."

Schlaijker had been reading the descriptions for a while, but nothing looked promising. There were a lot of banking jobs. There were a lot of jobs for computer science and electrical engineering majors. There were a lot of jobs she couldn't identify but which sounded lousy anyway.

Waving her pen around, Schlaijker, a history major, said, "I'm writing down everything that says 'all majors.'"

"Look at this- this sounds intriguing," she continued, brightening.

"American Express Travel Related Services. It sounds perfect- you get to travel."

She made a note on her growing list.

"I am never going to get a job," she said.

In high school, there was college; in college, there are jobs. Worrying about college was nothing compared to this. It is true that there are jobs out there, lots of them, jobs in banks, in bars, in Bermuda; jobs as paralegals, paratroopers, and paramedics; as zookeepers and xylophone players and toll collectors and doctors.

They're there, but you have to get them.

Many of the more than 150 seniors who attend the Morgan Stanley informational meeting in November wished that they could get a job with Morgan .Stanley. They concentrated hard as representatives of the investment bank showed slides, and discussed mergers and acquisitions, corporate bonds, equities, tax-exempt securities and money markets. They took notes on earth-colored notepads. After the presentation some crowded around the Morgan Stanley representatives, asking questions and perhaps hoping to be remembered.

"How many hours a week can we ex-

pect to work at Morgan Stanley?" asked one senior.

"None," answered a classmate, who was eating little sandwiches and drinking wine in the back of the room.

"Oh, about 60 to 80," said the executive, smiling. Several people put on their coats and walked out.

But the audience looked happy when the executive said that six Yale graduates "came aboard" at Morgan Stanley the year befqre. AI Puhala, an '83 Yale graduate who works at Morgan Stanley, showed slides of new employees falling asleep at computer terminals and dancing on top of their desks.

"We have a good time at Morgan Stanley," he said.

Scott Edelman, who was not paying all that much attention, noted that he had sold chicken fingers door-to-door on Long Island the summer beforechicken fingers similar to the ones they were serving at the meeting. Luckily, Edelman never had to pull his chicken fingers connection; he got into law school soon afterwards.

UCS (University Career Services) should not be called CAPS (Career Advisory and Placement Services) anymore, even though no one seems to realize it. Located at 1 Hillhouse, next to the language lab, UCS provides seniors with a large amount of information and advice, conducting strategy meetings on everything from choosing a career to interviewing for employment.

UCS Director Susan Hauser, her two associate directors, five assistant directors and eleven staff members could not be more helpful. Many students, however, feel lost in the shuffle.

"I don't understand how to read the information sheets," Sareet Majumdar said.

"The computer listings they have posted are really hard to read," Anne Wilson said. "The print is so smalland they're all jammed together."

Another senior said it was difficult to figure out when and where all the

various information meetings are held.

"I tried to go to a meeting with some company the other day, and I ended up wandering into all these janitor closets and empty storerooms in the basement ofUCS. I said, 'Right, they're really going to hire me if I can't even find a simple room.' , , "It turned out that the meeting had been canceled, and that it was the wrong company in the first place."

Most of the approximately 170 companies that recruit at UCS are banks and other financial organizations, and this dismays some seniors- those whose college careers have leaned heavily toward 18th-century English poetry classes, for example.

"I just read an article about how materialistic college students are," said Lauren Bober, who was thumbing through a book on employment in the media in the UCS library one afternoon. "But you can see why, if all the opportunities for interviewing are with investment banks."

Bob Broeksmit, who was about to turn in his resume to several companies recruiting through UCS, compared a banking career to the history major: "It's easiest to get herded that way," he said. "I sort of figured I'd be put into the investment banking frame of mind by now.

"But," he went on, "a lot of skills you learn at Yale overlap. If you can figure out what Milton meant in a passage, you can figure out what Texaco meant in their annual report."

Broeksmit said he had always been interested in business and money management. He is lucky. A lot ofpeo· pie have no idea what they're interested in and did not know what to do this Christmas, when hordes of noisy adults appro~ched them with the inevitable .question: "So, what are you going to do next year?"

There are many responses to this, in· eluding, "That's a good question," and "Nothing," but many seniors said they

8 Tbe New JournaJ/February 1, 1985

...

"If you can figure out what Milton meant in a passage, you can figure out what Texaco meant in their annual report." were afraid to reply this way- especially if their parents were nearby.

Parents are ge t ting worried.

"My mom keeps wanting me to write to all these people and ask them for favors, even when I don't like what they do," one senior said.

"I hac;! lunch with a friend of my dad's at Mory's the other day," Erik Kulleseia said. "'and we chatted about the insuran<.<. busi nes~ . ., "He said it was a good field to go into, because it was full of mediocre people and you could rise to the top quickly."

Thinking about insurance, Kulleseid smiled.

Lily Zimmermann said that after she told her mother she was interested in advertising, her mother introduced her to an advertiser at a cocktail party. . "I didn't know what to ask him," Zimmermann recalled. "So I leaned over ~nd said, 'So, tell me everything about advertising.'

"He said there were plenty of opportunities for a bright young gal like me.

'Why,' he said, 'my secretary went to Smith, and she got herself a good husband.'"

Dealing with adults is bad eno·•gh; dealing with peers can be worse. They won't admit it, but many seniors can 't ~die it when their friends get jobs or mterviews before they do.

"People are definitely feeling around to see who got what," said Anne Wilson, who had just been asked to interview at several companies.

A former Daily News editor, when told that a colleague had been offered a reporting job, said, "Ah, shit." She was thrilled, she added, but noted that it meant one less job opportunity for her.

Chris Wilkinson, however, seemed P~ud that he had failed to get an interVIew with First ' Boston Bank. "They g~ve it to everyone else," he said, grinnmg, "except for me.

"I also got rejected from a scholarship that I hadn't applied to. In fact, I'd never even heard of it."

For many seniors, the job hunt started on December 14, the deadline for applying to the first batch of companies prescreening for on-campus interviews.

Prescreening can be thought of as a process by which seniors give their resumes to companies who then reject them.

If December 14 had had its own slogan, it would have been "pick a job, any job." A lot of people waiting in the long line outside Room 208, where the company folders were kept, did not seem to know what they were doing.

"What's Kidder Peabody?" Allegra Bowers asked, as her companion surveyed the crowd and observed, "Wow, I know everyone here."

Some students say they submitted resumes to companies they'd never heard of, on the theory that it doesn't hurt to keep all your options open.

"I wanted to cover the bases," Kulleseid said with conviction, explaining why he had given his resume to a number of banks, even though nothing in his past would indicate a particularly strong affinity for banking. He wavered when pressed about specifics, like, did he really want to be a banker?

"I'll probably end up- I don't know-these are good starter jobs.'' His voice began to fade away. He clutched tightly at his stack of resumes.

Meanwhile, Marjorie Schlaijker hal:i found the perfect job. "I'm going to apply where there's no competition," she said, pointing to her noteboo1t. ·She had written down the name of a television station in North Pole, Alaska.

The job listing printout, which contains over 150 job descriptions and is updated every week, is the focal point of the

Sarah Lyall, a senior in Davenport, is a former news editor cif 1M Yale Daily News.

UCS front hallway. Often, crowds of students jockey for position in that hallway, seeking the right job. Many are overwhelmed by all the information and write nothing down; others say that it's hard to get excited about jobs when you don't know what their titles mean.

"There's not a single company here that I want to work for," said Elisabeth Malkin, who had just read the entire list.

Two men observed that it would be kind of.neat to work for the CIA. The Agency security check would probably take about six months, they decided, but it would be worth it. They wrote it down.

"Bloomingdale's?" someone muttered. "'Who the hell wants to work for Bloomingdale's?"

A woman exclaimed: "Oh my god, I missed the Lehman Brothers deadline!"

"Now that I'm here, do I get a job?"· asked a senior who had just arrived, obviously for the first time. Everyone within earshot giggled.

•

The New Joumal!February I, 1985 9

Overcoming Alcohol Lei ia Wardwell Susan just celebrated an important anniversary , marking a year and a half of a new life. It is a date she considers more important than her birthday, because 18 months ago she gave up drinking. Susan is an undergraduate at Yale, and she is a recovered alcoholic.

Seven percent of adult Americans have a drinking problem. Surveys conducted on college campuses estimate 16 percent of the 75 percent to 95 percent of students who drink are problem drinkers or alcoholics. "We can't determine exactly what the percentage is at Yale," said Maureen Flanagan, director of Student Medicine at University Health Services (UHS), "but I'd guess it is similar to the national statistic." If so, then about 700 of the almost 5200 undergraduates at Yale could be problem drinkers.

Susan developed a physical addiction to alcohol after she began drinking in high school, and the disease progressed as she continued the pattern at Yale.

10 The New JournaUFebruary 1, 1985

After her freshman year she came to him?'and the other will say, 'Yes, but I terms with her illness and sought treat- was drunk.' ment, which required eliminating "I also began to get involved in van· alcohol from her life completely. dalism and adventure," Susan said.

"People drink to stand out or to fit "Once I stole some things from a library in," Susan said, explaining the attrac- , here with a friend, and I don't tion drinking first had for her. "Also remember doing it. The next day I there is a standard here- students apreturned them with an anonymous let· plaud and encourage outrageous beter of apology. At first I didn't connect havior. One night freshman year I got this kind of thing with drinking, but drunk and danced on the roof of my then I began to realize something was dorm with a friend. People congratuwrong." lated me the next day, saying, 'You were Heavy drinking at Yale poses a great last night. • I liked having the serious problem because it so often reputation of working hard on relates to incidents of violence, sexual weekdays and going wild on weekends." harassment, vandalism and medical She also pointed out that women often danger. "The University as a whole sufstart drinking because they believe fers the consequences of alcohol abuse," alcohol will make them more comforEzra Stiles Master Heinrich von table with men, and if they ever lost Staden said, "because more accidents control of a situation, they could easily and dangerous situations than most know explain away their guilt and embarrassresult from it." ment. "So many times I've heard Masters and health officials face a women talk to each other about their challenge in identifying students who dates-one will ask, 'Did you sleep with abuse alcohol habitually. "We don't generally find out about the students with real problems," Branford Master l John Merriman said. "I don't tend to ~ hear much from the freshman coun· ~ selors about them." Many chronic ! drinkers manage to hide their habits ~ behind success and popularity. "There ~ is the alcoholic who doesn't think he's ~ having a problem- he's getting good ~ grades, he has lots of friends, he's young j and healthy- so he's not aware of the damage done by the four or five drinks he'll have every night ," Flanagan said.

"He has to recognize he's in trouble first before he'll come in for help."

Susan could not keep her drinking problem secret for long. Friends and roommates caught on and began to talk to her, asking her to cut down or find help. Usually Susan ignored this ad· vice, annoyed when others who "didn't understand" tried to teU her what to do.

"In the end it was my roommate who got me to find help," she said. "She was

"fm glad the person I was before is dead, but really she's only a sip away." very hard on me. She told me she was disgusted in me and she doubted I could ever stop drinking. It was the shock technique- quite a change from the approval or mild concern I was getting from everyone else." Susan talked to someone at UHS , who sent her to Alcoholics Anonymous. U H S has no specialist on alcoholism and in such cases provides physical examinations, medical information and referrals.

"U sually, by the time students come here they are already in a great deal of trouble," Flanagan said. "The number we see is not an indicator for the degree of alcoholism on campus."

Susan stopped drinking through the AA treatment program. She felt it was the best program for alcoholism but admitted some students might have trouble accepting its format and philosophy. Those who come from sheltered backgrounds may feel reluctant to discuss their personal problems with people from all parts of society, she said. Frequently alcoholism is all these people have in common , and the idea of making a deep commitment to this kind of group can intimidate students . "AA's life philosophy is not always consistent with the Yale student's," Susan explained. "It takes a one-day-at-a-time approach, while most students are thinking in long-range terms.

"The great thing about AA is its unconditional love . It is a terr ific support group. I remember the day I got my first chip, which some chapters award to Participants for every three months and then for every year they have been sober. I walked up before this huge group and received it while everyone applauded. I realized I was a good per~

son- a strong person- and all these people were on my side. AA is the reason I haven't had a drink in a year and a half."

While Susan struggled to give up drinking, she encountered further difficulties readjusting to social life at Yale without alcohol. "I had some trouble with my friends, especially those I used to drink with," she said. "I used to have a great rapport with one of my suitemates freshman year, but not since I stopped. It's very hard to realize alcohol was all you had in common with some of your friends. Some gave me a hard time for staying sober, by insulting me into drinking again. I praised myself for stopping. Friends would say I was making it up. 'We had hoped you would be comfortable enough with yourself to drink again,' they would tell me." Susan admitted she didn't go to many parties, mostly because all the drunk people around disgusted her. "It was hard for me to give up this dominant part of Yale life. I guess it's not as much 'fun' as before, without all the extreme h ighs and lows. I'm . glad the person I was before is dead, but really she's only a sip away."

Susan is grateful for her Yale experience, despite the trouble she had with its emphasis on alcohol. "The drinking environment is intense at Yale," Susan said, "and it gave me a chance to drink hard and fast at a low price. I'm glad I'm here, though, be-

cause I got the chance to discover, and then overcome, alcoholism at an early age."

Susan is fortunate because she stopped a process which might have ruined her life later on. She may have her experience at Yale to thank . If the social environment h ere overempi-..-:-;izes liquor and leads to alcohol abuse, it also often forces students to learn the hard way about the dangers of heavy drinking. Perhaps such a learning process is necessary within a society that features alcohol almost everywhere, but it is not successful and beneficial for everyone . "Drinking at Yale can be a useful experience for students who learn quickly and painlessly," von Staden said, "but for those who don't, it can be one of the most dangerous and destructive because it may lead to habits which can destroy their magnificent potential. Not everyone learns successfully how to drink moderately. " Each year von Staden holds panel discussions for Stiles students with Yale alumni from the class of'53 . Usually the panels provide advice and information about professional careers. Last fall , the three guests talked about their experiences with alcoholism. All three were alcoholics themselves and overcame the illness only after it had severely damaged their careers and families.

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at Yale," von Staden explained. "They talked freely about their lives and the fun they had drinking with their college friends, and then about the dangerous habits they had developed here as one, cause of the problems with drinking they suffered later on. I wanted the panel to make students aware of the fact that what seemed like innocuous fun could become extremely dangerousplaying with fire," von Staden said.

Paul is another student who received a double-edged benefit from alcohol's prevalence at Yale. Like Susan, Paul recovered from alcoholism after he realized he had developed an addiction to liquor.

Alcohol appealed to Paul because manv of his role models were alcoholics.

Ad~iring these teachers, relatives and writers, he saw nothing wrong with emulaun~ their drinking habits. "For a while I was more interested in Fitz· gerald's life as an alcoholic than in his \Hiting." Paul said. Like many alcoholics, Paul discovered right away he was good at holding liquor, so many people encouraged him to drink a lot. "I also adored it immediately.~ he said.

As the pattern of heavy drinking developed, Paul began to suspect something was wrong. The thrill and romance wore off as he realized the dominant part alcohol played in his life.

He felt guilty and ashamed, confused and often desperate. WI started feeling guilty about my friends," Paul said.

"Whenever I got together with them, we drank. When I went to a party with someone or met friends at Mory's, I could never be sure if I went because I wanted to see these people or because I just wanted to get drunk. I couldn't stand the thought my friends would ever suspect I was using them as drink· ing buddies." Paul worried so much he established a pattern of drinking alone so his friendships would not be compro· mised. Ultimately, this change made little difference, as Paul found himself lving to friends and roommates about how much he drank. "It's part of the ethical deterioration experts say is a clue to alcoholism: he said. "1 felt so guilty and powerless about it, and so I kept on drinking from the bottle I hid in my room.~

When Paul faced his illness squarely, he decided to stop drinking on his own and bought a paperback book on alcoholism to explain what would hap· pen as he went through withdrawal.

Undn tht Injluma, by Dr. James R. Milam and Katharine Ketcham, was Lhe only book Paul could find that presented the facts without lapsing into moral judgments or religious recom· mendations. It included graphic, step· by-step illustrations of the disease's stages. which convinced Paul he should give up liquor as soon as possible. "I went to one AA meeting and talked on the phone to someone involved in the program. I thought about what these people had told me for a long time after-

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wards, and the group's support and warmth greatly impressed me. I kept running into people from that first meeting, and I was amazed how friendly and caring they were to me. In the end, though I decided I had enough faith in myself to do it alone.

"I had some trouble with my friends at first," Paul said, "especially those who may have felt threatened by my decision. I feel much better about my friendships now, without all the guilt and uncertainty I felt while I was drinking." Paul avoids parties for many of the same reasons Susan does. "I get especially annoyed when there is nothing to drink but alcohol," he said.

The prevalence of alcohol in Yale's social life is something Paul and Susan will always encounter. Most likely they won't go to many Feb Club parties this month, and they won't participate in many Yale traditions which supposedly make college fun . These traditions have probably led to destructive habits for some students, though at first the drinking rituals on singing group tap night, the cups at Mory's and the qua.n ers games at any local bar seem only festive and harmless.

Such traditions will persist regardless of official policies and frequent changes in the drinking age, and alcoholism will continue to be a problem among Yale students. "We don't understand exactly how alcoholism develops- whether it's genetic or environmental- but it is not the alcoholic's fault," Flanagan said. "He has to take the responsibility , though, to recover by stopping, just as we all have to take the responsibility to learn about the dangers of alcohol abuse early on.

Alcoholism touches everyone's life here, and there is no one perfect solution."

•

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The Yad, a carved wooden pointer , is u sed for reading the Torah, a scroll of the five books of Moses.

Within Two Worlds Tamar Lehrich T he block letters engraved on the outside of the Georgian-style brick building proclaim from the Book of John, "I am the way, the truth, and the life." Above the archway hangs the message, "Come Unto Me ," from the Book of Matthew.

These quotes from the New Testament are the sole reminders of the period when the building served as the New Haven soup kitchen. This unimposing structure at 305 r.rown Street now holds the Young Israel House at Yale, more commonly known as the Kosher Kitchen.

Once inside, walk down a flight of stairs, open the heavy door to your left, and you'll find the Kitchen itself. The walls are a drab off-white and the carpeting is faded and worn. Thin curtains do not completely hide the iron bars covering every window. With thick poles a nd painted pipes, the room seems like an average family basement.

On the walls hang posters of Israel as well as charts which explain various religious rituals. At each of the ten long tables is a vase of flowers on a white tablecloth. As people sit down to eat, they immediately introduce themselves, and for the visitor, the feeling of being a stranger soon d isappears.

I+ The New .Journal/February I, 1985

In many ways Orthodox J udaism at Yale centers around the Kosher Kitchen. Founded 25 years ago by a group of Yale laY( students, this student-run cooperative now has 35 members.

Through the Kitchen and the sense of community it creates, a life of traditional J ewish observance can be maintained. Students choosing this lifestyle have joined the growing number of American Orthodox Jews.

Many Yale students are unaware of the Orthodox community's very existence here, not to mention the Orthodox way of life. For most students Saturdays may mean waking at noon, watching TV or studying in CCL. Yet for the Orthodox, the Sabbath, called both Shabbat (Hebrew) and Shabbos (Yiddish), is dramatically different. Beginning late Friday afternoon, the next 24 hours include religious services a nd prayer, meals at the Kitchen, topical forums at Rabbi Jim P onet's home and informal gatherings in students' rooms.

No one works or travels o n Shabbat. No one turns on lights or stereos. Orthodox Jews carry nothing- not knapsacks, books, keys or wallets. T h ey use no money. They neither read nor write.

Even the phone goes unanswered .

There are eleven days a year in which basically identical observance takes place. If these holy days fall consecutive to Shabbat, an observant j ew will not only miss classes for three days but will be unable to do any academic work.

Even during the week observance requires sacrifice. To remain kosher while eating dinner at Commons, one can only have a salad, a cold sandwich or a piece of fruit. Most Orthodox won't eat cooked or heated foods prepared in a non-kosher kitchen with non-kosher utensils. Three times a day one prays.

Some men wear ritual prayer garb, which includes tqillin, a network of small leather straps and boxes containing Biblical parchment which affirms the unity of God, and zizit, a fringed vest which is the reminder of the Com¡ mandments and the presence of God. During prayer the yarmulke is also worn, a traditional way of showing respect.

Men who wear a yarmulke at all times consider themselves always in the presence of God. Many observant Jews never stop feeling estranged from the college community as a whole. Feelings of isolation, insularity and detachment exist among the Orthodox here. While determined

"Finally I just decided I could never erase whatever made me different."

to make their orthodoxy uncompromising, some feel deeply ambivalent about taking on the double life Yale imposes. They are students struggling to balance the secular present with religious tradition, trying to collapse the boundaries of these two worlds.

During freshman year Yonina Helman, JE '87, found most social activities were organized on Shabbat. "I thought everyone else was becoming 'a real Yalie' while I remained on the outside," she explained. "I didn't want to admit to myself that I was different . Finally I just decided I could never erase whatever made me different. I know rd never be the kind of person people read about in the Daily News. â&#x20AC;˘ Helman, whose father is an ordained rabbi , has been Orthodox since birth . She lived in both Israel and Egypt, attended Orthodox day schools and deferred Yale for a year to attend Jerusalem College for Women.

Like many observant J ews, H elman never had to question the relevance of her observancy before coming to Yale.

The daily ritual and routine so foreign to other Yale students were an inherent part of her life. Helman never had a non-Jewish friend, and once at Yale she did not think any9ne outside the Kosher Kitchen knew she existed. "I think a lot of people here are against any kind of religious observance," Helman said frankly. "I felt I was on the defensive, guilcy for not answering the phone or turning ofT the lights on SIUJbbos. I felt uncomfortable going to Commons or to any place that didn't have kosher food, even getting a soda at Naples. During the holidays in September when most people were getting up to go to class, I was getting dressed up to go to religious services. I felt very alienated and alone."

Now very active in Hillel and treasurer of the Kitchen, Helman feels she is

David Henkin swings in the Branford College courtyard.

Th~ N~w Journal/F~bruary

I, 1985 15

"Now we pray in basements. To be visible would help all J ews at Yale."

moving toward a balance at Yale. "I told my roommate, 'Please introduct> me to your friends.' I want to feel part of Yale.

People form groups so quickly that it's hard to break in- I was afraid," she explained, looking down at her clenched hands. "I want to become involved in non-Jewish activities too, but I don't want to feel that what I'm doing now isn't valid or doesn't count."

David Henkin, BR '87, is perhaps the best example of an Orthodox Jew who is what Ponet calls "committed to living in two worlds and able to reach beyo nd himself." Henkin, the grandson of a rabbi and the son of a Columbia professor, grew up on Manhattan's Upper West Side. On Friday nights he moves with ease between a gathering of observant J ewish students and an entryway party, stopping only to place his

Rabbi James Ponet in his office.

16 The New Journal/February 1. 1985

Yarmulke casually in his pocket before beginning to dance.

While most observant Jews stringently try to follow the 613 Biblical commandments (known as mitzvot) intended to guide them through life, Henkin's brand of Orthodoxy stands apart from most. H e feels maintenance of an observant lifestyle is not entirely dependent on a belief in God. "I'm not sure I have that belief," he said without hesitation.

"I'm not quite sure of the reasons for my observance. When you're brought up to believe in God, even when you can't say ' I think there is a God,' you find yourself proceeding with â&#x20AC;˘the assumption that there is."

While most of Henkin's closest friends are not observantJews, Kitchen members usually share overlapping social groups. In fact many members

joined the Kitchen first semester freshman year, choosing rarely to experience the pandemonium of Commons or a residential college dining hall. The Orthodox way of life here creates the need to draw together, to form a secure, interdependent community. But this structured lifestyle also gives rise to a feeling of separatism, creating a sense of insularity within the community. "The Kitchen keeps people 10ut and it keeps people in. It provides for those who are doing real , kosher Judaism," said H enkin . "It's the Young Israel H ouse and that strangeness keeps people away. Students go there and use it either as a crutch or as an asylum from dealing with Yale . Yale is not always easy to deal with, particularly for people from homogeneous backgrounds."

Mimi Hasson, TC '85, regrets joining the Kitchen early freshman year.

When she applied to Yale from an Orthodox high school in Chicago, her teachers told her to go to Barnard or Harvard, since Yale had "abso lutely no observant community." "I was very afra id of the Commons' atmosphere when I arrived," she explained, embarrassed by her statement. "But eventually the fear went away and I became more involved in Yale." For the first time in her life, Hasson was exposed to flexible branches of Judaism which accept liturgical and ritual changes. She now considers herself no longer an Orthodox but a Conservative J ew. She plans to obtain a University dining hall contract, with the option of eating at the K itchen only twice a week. This is not easy for Hasson to admit , because deciding to leave the Kitchen can be li~e abandoning one's own family. Hesâ&#x20AC;˘tating, she explained, "My perception of the world has been altered . I've discovered a lot I didn't know existed."

For Atara Siegman , SY '85, the Kosher Kitchen became and remains a home. Comfortable with her Judaism, her belief in God and her commitment to Orthodoxy, A tara is warm and approachable. "I know people who have great friends in their colleges but don't feel a sense of community," she said,

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pushing her curly brown hair away from her eyes. Suddenly she smiled. "At the Kitchen people really care, "'â&#x20AC;˘hich matters at Yale where religion becomes a very private, internal expression.

What I do isn't ancient custom or just historical commemoration. It has relevance in the modern world. I'm part of a tradition that has meaning for me too."

For women who are observant Jews, however, living in a world enlightened by modern feminism may present conflicts. Among other restrictions, women are barred from the rabbinate, not counted in a minyan (a group of ten) for prayer and not called to read the Torah in the syna~ogue. "V\'omen and men are just seen as intrinsically different," Siegman suggested, "but that doesn't mean they must exist in two separate worlds. I believe I can maintain my selfrespect as an observant jewish woman."

M any O rthodox find needed support fro m religious students of other faiths.

Throughout. her four years in Saybrook, Siegman has lived with similarly religious women, includmg a devout Catholic. " It'!> comforting to know there's someone else in the Uni"ersity with related morals, ethics

and values, who doesn't hold to the secular world totally," Siegman said.

Andy W einstein , DC '86, is perhaps o n e of the Kitchen's most unusual members. Although he would not hesitate to agree today with Siegman's enthusiasm for Orthodox practice, a year ago he might have argued. Once a non-religious Jew, he has now made the transition to Orthodoxy. Weinstein g rew up in a non-observant family but one in which he always felt a strong Jewish awareness. "I had no conception of Orthodox Judaism," Weinstein remembered. "I thought it was obscure, a dying, irrelevant lifestyle. I always cared I was a Jew, though, and was aware I would defend my Judaism."

Freshman year Weinstein had n o intention of exploring Yale's J ewish community. Uninterested in H illel, unaware of the existence of the K osher Kitchen, he had what he called "a distaste for Jewish socializing." As a sophomore W einstein took Anthony Appiah's philosophy course, "Language, Mind and World" and began to explore what was for him a new realm of thought. "We read Wittgenstein, who is concerned with curing people from philosophy ; he cured me in

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Danny Rosenblatt, Judah Shechter and Gary Eisenberg read the Torah in the Branford Memorial Chapel. · the sense that I was really able to see the fallacy of rationality," Weinstein explained. "I learned that it took real hubris to deign to understand the human mind and the 'true nature of the universe.'"

Weinstein gradually began releasing himself from his extreme philosophical convictions. H e left Yale for a year, culminating his travels at a yeshiva (an Orthodox institute of Jewish study) in Jerusalem. H ere his interest in Orthodoxy was p iqued. Upon returning to Yale, he was hesitant to join the Kosher Kitchen, concerned with "keeping himself in circulation." At the end of September he became a member. "Any worries about cutting myself off or finding an environment where I could feel comfortable went away," he says. K eeping kosher, observing Shabbat and praying daily add a spirituallY- invigorating dimension which Weinstein previously felt was missing from his life.

Weinstein's preconceptions of the Orthodox Jew, particularly the Yale Orthodox J ew, are common among the 18 TheNewjournal/February I, 1985

undergraduate population. While he grew to understand, to accept and eventually to consider himself one of them , most Yale J ews share the impressions expressed by H anna Weg, MC '87: "Here I am, born and raised culturally Jewish, but the Orthodox world has . never existed in any real way for me. I have really no tangible concept of what it means to lead a life so full of ritual , yet so related to my own culture. Even if I intellectually acknowledge it, I don't think I could ever feel an emotional empathy with it. It must be a struggle for the Orthodox at Yale, because the whole social milieu here is more homogeneous than it seems."

Michael Rinzler, TD '87, added, "The observant Jew represents ideally what Pd like to be if I didn't succumb to the pressures to assimilate. I feel some guilt. I think I feel closer to nonreligious non-Jews than to religious Jews." Ri nzler's attitude and his reluctance to be visibly J ewish reflect "the basement mentality" of many Jews at Yale. While the Kosher Kitchen and the

"What I do isn't ancient custom or just historical commemoration. It has relevance in the modem world."

Hillel offices are literally located in basements, most of Yale's Jews also maintain a very low profile.

T here has not always been a significant Orthodox population at Yale. According to Hillel's Ponet, as recently as 1962 a Jewish admissio ns quota of ten percent maximum still existed here. Yet since the mid-sixties, the re has been a consistent increase in the Yale J ewish population, with the Orthodox community also growing in strength and numbers. Ponet, who as far as he knows is the first Yale graduate to become a rabbi, remembered, "Across the nation, there was a feeling of normality in being a J ew . But when I was a student here, som e a nti-Semitism still existed. Yale was a place somewhat new to jews, and we grew to think being jewish was pretty weird." He paused to answer the phone, speaking to the caller in H ebrew while jotting down a note in English.

M inutes later he finished his thought, undaunted by the interruption. "T oday, although 30 percent of Yale students are J ews, we're not Yale in some deep way."

Three fundamental changes have occurred during the last decade enabling the Orthodox jew to attend Yale: a blatant anti-Semitic atmosphere no longer prevails; an increased number of O rthodox Americans can afford a Yale ed ucation; and the possibility of obtaining kosher food has become a reality.

M oreover , Ponet commented, "There's a new attitude toward pluralism in this country. Ethnic identities are 'in.' Yale has been forced to deal with its welldeserved image as an anti-Semitic school with a gentile attitude."

D avid Ruderman, DUS of Judaic Studies, hopes that the growth of his program will ameliorate past problems.

As part of the new $7.4 million development campaign, four new Judaic Stud ies professorships were initiated this year, as well as two new chairs in Hebrew Language and Literature and in M odern J ewish H istory. "Until several years ago Yale was delinq uent in getting involved ," R uderman said.

"Yale is not a white, Protestant school any longer. T here are Jews who are interested in their own heritage."

Attempting to counter furthe r the "basement mentality," Rabbi Ponet has begun a $5 m illion development program for building what he calls a "Center for Jewish Life at Yale," to be located at 35 High Street. The complex will include a kosher dining hall , a synagogue, offices for both Hillel a nd affiliate organizations and the R abbi's home .

Reactions to the proposal for a jewish Center have been generally supportive, though not without some reservatio ns.

Some older alumni maintain fears of separatism. "Jews we re excluded from the Yale community long enough .

Don't recreate the ghetto and take us out of the mainstream," one alumnus said. Students express concern that the Center will not establish new social contexts for K itchen members who feel alienated. Some students believe that Hillel and the Kitche n should remain separate, clearly defined structures.

Others fear that the building will remain empty and unused. Many hope, however, that a new complex will be more palatable to Yale Jews than the Kitchen is now. "It will seem less of an enclave of fanatics and more like a Jewish cultural center," H enkin said. "It doesn't have to be an intimidating Orthodox bastion," Weinstein said in regard to the Center. "Now we dovm (pray) in basements. To be visible would help all Jews at Yale."

Weinstein intends to wear a y armulkL on campus this semester. When asked if he feels he's missing the "real Yale experience" as an Orthodox Jew, he just laughed and said, "People put too much stock in modern everything. I don't think the most important things have changed so much ." H e paused. "It's important to confront people with their own backgrounds. It's too easy to slip through the cracks here . . . I do n't want to make it easy for anyone to forget he's a j ew." Surrounded by thick poles and painted pipes, Weinstein placed his prayerbook aside before beginning to eat.

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Learning to Live with Death Joyce Banerjee "When anyone dies here, everything happens very quietly.

Once the woman in the bed next to me died and I didn't even know it. They don't want to excite you."

20 The New journal/ February I , 1985

'â&#x20AC;˘

Down the hall in the first common room, a man who arrived yesterday sits surrounded by his two teenage sons, his wife and his brother. Perhaps 45 years old, he has lost most of his black hair to radiation therapy, the crown of his head now covered with a fine fuzz. His pajamas look too big for his thin body and his beard lends the only fullness to his gaunt, olive-colored face. He and his family all sit without speaking, his son changing the television channel now and then.

Next door in the Commons, the largest of three triangular, den-like rooms, Rosemary Huerzeler, Connecticut Hospice's Chief Executive Officer, watches a volunteer wheel a very old woman through the room. Black and frail, the patient absently waves her lean hand and excuses herself by saying, "Evenin'. Just passin' through."

"Let me make something clear: this is not a death house," Huerzeler said, as the woman left the room. "People don't come here simply to die. The quality of life in the final stages is so important, and we try to make the suffering bearable. There comes a time when you hook a patient up to all sorts of medical equipment , and although it prolongs life, it doesn't make life better."

The first institution of its kind in America, Connecticut Hospice provides palliative treatment to the terminally ill, mitigating their pain without trying to cure their diseases. In the final stages of a fatal illness, most often cancer , Hospice patients have left behind the numerous operations, the

chemotherapy, the radiation treatments of hospitals. They have found instead a program which gives them power over everything from their bath time to their medication. Through a unique teamcare approach, the Hospice comforts both patient and family through illness and eventual death.

In the sixties a powerful dissatisfaction with traditional handling of the dying developed among both laymen and professionals. "After some point treatment is useless, hurtful," said Professor of Public Health John Thompson, a member of the Hospice's Board of Directors. "The care should be pain relief; they should be allowed to die in peace. The dying shouldn't be kept in hospitals, pumped up with all those damned drugs, because it just can't do any good anymore."

Frustrated with the accepted treatments, former Yale School of Nursing Dean Florence Wald, pediatrician Morris Wessel, oncologist Ira Goldenberg and others responded to the British hospice movement. In 1971 Wald and her colleagues incorporated the nonprofit, non-sectarian Connecticut Hospice. Three years later, with government grants and an eight-person staff on Prospect Street, the Hospice began to provide home care for the terminally ill . Then, in 1980, with the directors ready to offer care beyond the city, the Hospice settled in a new, 44-bed inpatient facility in Branford.

Even with this building, home care remains the Hospice's emphasis. In 18 communities around New

Lillian Nichols in her Hospice room.

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~ Children

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The NewjoumaVFebruary I, 1985 2 1

Haven, the home care program serves approximately 40 to 50 patients at a given time. In both inpatient and home care, patients are treated by a caregiving team consisting of doctors, nurses, clergy, a social worker and a pharmacologist. The efforts of these different professionals attend to all of a patient's needs- physical, emotional, spiritual , even legal. H ospitals, visiting nurse agencies and doctors all refer patients to the H ospice. The criteria for admission into both programs are similar: terminal illness, six months or less to live (as determined by the referring physician), consent and aid of the physician and of course the consent of the patient.

"With home care, the patient is assured someone will always be there.

They can whistle away at five a.m. and someone will come," Huerzeler said.

"The team from Hospice keeps the home life a balanced, well-controlled environment, because you don't want to wear the family out.

"Half our patients die at home, but at some point, a family just can't handle the strain any more. One woman whose son died at home last year has been haunted by the memory of the hearse pulling up to the house ever since. So this year when her father was dying, she had him in here for the last 16 hours of

The Connecticut Hospice in Branford.

22 The New Journal/ February I, 1985

his life. It enabled her to cope."

Physicians direct patients to the inpatient facility when their medical needs, particularly the management of pain, can no longer be met at home.

Carved from a tract of surburbia, the low structure appears to be a cluster of greenhouses. Every feature of the building has a purpose: the glass walls in corridors and common rooms let in sun and darkness, giving some disoriented patients a sense of time; the four-person suites allow patients to develop friendships at a difficult time; the big color TVs, plants and couches make common rooms look like dens.

The Charlie Mills Preschool, operated by the Hospice, shares the first floor. Originally created for staff children , the day care center is now used largely by Branford citizens.

Allowed to take phonebooks to the patients every year and do other small errands occasionally, the children be :orne aware people around them are sick and perhaps dying. Huerzeler believes children and patients benefit from this exposure. "Someone once said 'Where children play it must be safe," she said. "When a patient is brought in lying on a stretcher, the sight of the kids inspires a confidence no signs or touches can ."

In 1983 the Hospice inpatient facility

treated approximately 400 patients from the greater New H aven area as well as from out of state. Although 15 percent were discharged, most died within three weeks of admission.

Depending upon the stage of the illness, patients arrive in different conditions: some are alert, others confused and a few comatose. Although a team of professionals see to their total well-being, patients have great authority over their remaining weeks. Lillian Nichols, a patient, explained, "Here, we're the boss.

They ask you if you want to take a bath, you get to visit whomever you want around here, you even get to wear your own clothes. Since I've been here, I have gotten a really nice idea of Hospice. Before, my husband was taking care of me alone. He used to be up all hours of the night, which was a strain on him because he's diabetic."

After a long period of illness began last September, N ichols' doctor referred her to the Hospice a month ago. In and out of Yale-New Haven ten times since 1978, the 83-year-old patient has had double mastectomies, a spleen removal and blood infections. She sits near her bed, dressed in a flannel nightgown with a pink and white knitted vest over it. Her hands o n her lap, she twists her gold weddin~ band.

Before lunch Nichols plans to go to

"I rarely feel helpless.

I've mastere d techniques to h elp people die comfortable deaths. I know it."

Commons and listen to a Yale Divinity student deliver an address commemorating Martin Luther King's birthday.

Differing from a hospital intensive care unit·, the Hospice does not confine patients to their beds day and night. The Hospice employs an arts director who brings in entertainers or works with patients individually on crafts. Often patients sit with their visitors in a common room watching television and talking.

Nichols has improved since arriving at the H ospice and hopes to return home in a few weeks. Behind her left shoulder, a woman lies asleep in a partially raised bed, her jaw fallen, her mouth open. Nichols worries about her roommate, the fact that she sleeps all day, waking up occasionally to look around the room. Nichols realizes her suitemate may die soon, yet the thought does not frighten her. "When anyone dies here, everything happens very quietly. Once the woman in the bed next to me died and I didn't even know it. They don't want to excite you," she said. "There are no machines to keep you alive, nothing false, just natural."

Although most hospitals focus only on the patient during treatment, the Connecticut Hospice believes the families of the terminally ill need great support, particularly near the end. Families may visit any time and aJI members, even small children and pets, are welcome.

"In the building are several rooms called 'nooks and crannies,' which have sofas, cribs and televisions. When relatives visit from far or the family wants to spend the night with a patient near death, they can use these rooms," said G loria Mangual , Assistant Public Information Director. Family can use the kitchens in the common rooms to prepare a favorite dish, or the laundry room in the basement for wash. Most important, the caregiving teams at the Hospice keep in close contact with the families of the patients. Doctors and nurses not only give health reports, but provide emotional support as well.

When a patient dies, the family can spend time alone with the deceased before the hearse arrives. Often the body is taken to the second floor view-

ing room, which is actually two. long joined rooms, one dimly lit with a couch and table and the other with the patient's bed. The room shows the Hospice's concern for the smallest details in helping people face death. Placed diagonally across from the door of the sitting room, the bed stands at the greatest distance from anyone who enters the actual viewing room. The space gives the survivor time to approach, to realize his relative has just died.

To help families cope after death, the Hospice maintains a bereavement counselling service. Consisting of a volunteer team and a professional coordinator, the service saw half the families linked to both inpatient and home care in 1983. The counselors decide which families need face-to-face attention based on considerations such as children, the health of the spouse or the possibility of alcoholism developing in the family. A volunteer visits the survivors and periodically sends letters explaining they have someone who will listen to their recollections and help them with new problems. On Memorial Day and a Christmas weekend, the Hospice invites the families of the past year's deceased for a meal and memorial service in Branford. The Hospice provides counselling as long as the family wishes, although after six months most have learned to go on with their lives.

Nurse Kathy De Almo, evening shift supervisor , enters the Commons and ~its near Huerzeler. After working five years in hospitals, DeAlmo realized she wanted to practice the ideals of nursing which she learned in school. She wanted to care for only a few patients and felt the need to include the family in all aspects of care. The Hospice nursing system is based on the Intensive Care Unit method, with three nursing shifts covering 24 hours and very high nursepatient ratios. For every Licensed Practical Nurse there are three patients, and for each Registered Nurse who runs the nursing teams for patients there are five.

Because of these high ratios, nurses often grow close to their patients. Yet

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they must learn to face constant death: in the 44-bed Hospice, 26 people die in an average week. At the start of their H ospice careers, all nurses spend a week in orientation learning to cope not only with their own feelings but family responses as well. "When a patient dies I have a variety of responses," DeAlmo said . "Sometimes I'm so relieved it's over. I cry when I miss someone but I usually don't get angry. I don't get angry if a 22-year-old dies. I don't question it or tear myself apart over it anymore. But some people do, especially the families. People here die peacefully; most just go to sleep."

Often unable to cope immediately with a death, a nurse will go to the second floor staff support room. Situated inconspicuously on a landing near the administrative offices, the room is nonetheless identifiable by a simple cloth sign next to the door, a green tree for empty and red for occupied. Inside all is beige, the floors, the walls, the ceiling. Seven steps lead to a landing upon which sits a bean bag. There is no lighting. Rather, above the landing is a large, clear dome. Basic and soothing, the room gives a staff or family member a place where they can come to grips with death.

Along with the support room , the Hospice sets aside time each day for staff to deal with problems, share experiences and draw support. For exampie, every weekday morning for 45 minutes, dayshift nurses hold "huddles" in each wing of the Hospice.

Nurses also receive extra days off, particularly if a patient they are very close to dies.

"I rarely feel helpless," DeAlmo said. ''rve mastered techniques to help people with the symptoms of their diseases. I'm helping people die comfortable deaths. I know it."

Since 1974, a growing portion of the health care community has supported palliation and peaceful death. Slowly, some physicans and nurses are discovering letting a terminally ill patient die in comfort does not conflict with their oaths, and death does not mean a

24 The New JournaVFebruary 1, 1985

~

"After some point treatment is useless, hurtful. The care should be pain relief."

professional failure. Nonetheless, others still have difficulty with several aspects of hospice care, particularly drug treatment. At the Hospice, 40 percent of the patients enter experiencing terrible pain, but once there they are medicated around the clock, remaining alert but never feeling the onset of pain. Some medical professionals fear this method could lead to drug addiction, but Huerzeler denies it. "No one can get addicted because, frankly, the patients don't have enough time to. When we take them ofT a medication, we never see withdrawal signs," she said. "There is a real difference between taking drugs to feel comfortable and taking them to blot out the world."

According to Mangual, hospice programs are opening at a rate of one a week across the country. Currently, 1, 100 hospice programs exist in America, although most, unlike the Connecticut Hospice, are either entirely home care programs or sections of hospitals. Yet the Hospice in Branford has been instrumental in the creation of many of these programs, not only because it serves as a model for the others, but for its teaching institute, which operates every spring. Conducted by doctors, nurses and other Hospice staffers, the institute helps organizations develop their own hospice programs.

Perhaps hospice care has become so successful because it is far less expensive than hospital treatment. Palliative care settings have no use for all the medical machinery which keep the comatose alive, and so the cost of care for the patient remains relatively low. Yet after the insurance and Medicare payments, the Hospice stiJI does not break even, relying heavily on philanthropy for survival. New federal regulations may slow the growth· of the hospice movement. The laws cut the daily payment hospices receive for the care of their ill and force patients to give up future curative treatment upon entering a palliative program. When the laws were enacted in 1983, it was clear the Hospice couldn't operate under them, but it quickly and luckily received a

waiver from the regulations by being declared the national demonstration hospice.

Despite occasional setbacks, Huerzeler and others feel palliation will grow, reaching beyond the treatment of cancer patients to other illnesses and areas of health care. Recently, the Connecticut Hospice faced the difficult decision of admitting AIDS victims to its inpatient facility. The Board of Directors agreed to admit AIDS patients provided they met the regular admission criteria. Although the Hospice later received two referrals, one patient changed his mind and the other still has more than six months to live.

Other hospices, such as the one at San Francisco General Hospital, do admit AIDS patients on a regular basis.

The Connecticut Hospice continues. however, to prepare its facility to treat AIDS sufferers. "The difficulty is that it is a communicable illness," Hurzeler said. "We have to take certain precautions to contain it, precautions which aren't in place yet. It has to be safe for both the patient and the rest of the Hospice."

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As debates over patient rights grow more heated, the terminally ill around New Haven con\inue to join the Hospice program. Despite the controversies in legislatures and medical schools, the men and women of the Hospice focus their attention on the last weeks of their patients' lives. Free of respirators and life-support machines, the Hospice offers only comfort to those who cannot be cured.

Everyone entering the Connecticut Hospice passes by a gold-lettered inscription on the wall. Written by Reverend Ed Dobihal, one of the founders, the few sentences remind visitors they have arrived in a place of life: For all gifts and gittrs For hope and for caring For now and foreur Thonks bt to all.

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The Ne"' journal/february I, 1985 25

Seeking Certainty The Search for Sam Todd

••

Michael Freitag The article was hidden deep inside Tht Ntw York T1mts' metropolitan section; it was the kind of story you probably wouldn't even notice unless you were looking for it. But John Todd noticed it -he had been looking for such an arti· cle for several months.

"Body Found In Suitcase In Hudson," the headline read. On July 22, 1984, a woman fishing in the Hud· son River near the George Washington Bridge hooked onto something very heavy. With some help from a fellow fisherman she reeled in the object, which turned out to be a large suitcase.

Inside were the decomposed remains of a young man. He was dressed in a sweatshirt, jeans and running shoes.

From the description of the Hudson victim, John suspected that he had finally found his 25-year-old brother Sam, a Yale Divinity School (YDS) stu· dent who had disappeared in New York City on January 1, 1984. Sam had vanished in Greenwich Village, just a few blocks from the Hudson River.

John knew that if Sam had been murdered, his body might eventually resurface in the Hudson.

John soon learned, however, that the Hudson victim wasn't Sam. The body was identified by the police as another of the thousands of people reported missing in New York City every year.

For John the sighting was just one more false lead in the search for his brother.

"We really know nothing more than we did the first day Sam disappeared," 26 The New Journal/February I, I985

John said with a sigh. "None of the many possible sightings we have had were substantial enough so that we could say that they were conclusive evidence that Sam is out there and alive."

It has been more than a year since Sam Todd disappeared after leaving a New Year's party at a friend's apart· menton Mulberry Street. Sam had told his younger brother Adam that he needed to get some fresh air to sober up.

Dressed only in a sweatshirt and jeans, having left his coat and wallet in the apartment, Sam began to jog up Mulberry towards H ouston Street.

About two hours later when Sam still had not returned, Adam began to look for his brother. The following day the Todd family, assisted by scores of friends and detectives from the New York City Police Department, mounted an extensive search for Sam. Nearly 200 volunteers, many of them from YDS, scoured the streets of New York.

They distributed thousands of posters of Sam and searched all of the city's hospitals, soup kitchens and shelters.

The local media quickly caught wind of the search and devoted substantial coverage to the effort. By March, with Sam still missing and no solid leads, the Todd family extended their sear ch nationally. They sent letters and posters describing Sam to hospitals, churches and community groups throughout the country. But now, after 13 months of fruitless searching, Sam's whereabouts

remam an absolute mystery. Many theories have been proposed which might explain his disappearance, including a complex hypothesis offered by a YDS graduate, but none have proved correct so far.

This uncertainty, the continued lack of substantial evidence regarding Sam's status, frustrates all who are involved in the search. Detective Sergeant Marcia Stanton of the New York Police's Bureau of Missing Persons has des· cribed the Todd case as one of the most interesting and baffiing of her career. "\1\t'e don't know where he is, or even if he is alive or dead," she said. "What makes it so difficult to grasp for anyone involved is that the mind seeks certain· ty."

John Todd, a 30-year-old law clerk, has been emotionally consumed by the search for his brother. "I spent the first three months just getting up every day and banging my head against the wall.

There's an immense frustration that goes with that type of intensity because you think that by putting out so much energy you'll get some return for it. But in this case, there's none. Absolutely nothing.

"The other thing that drains you is the emotional rollercoaster you get on when somebody calls and says they think they've seen Sam. Whe1 that hap· pens now, a sense of fatigue over· whelms me. I keep telling myself that it's nothing. But you have to do everything in your power to try to

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determine at least that the sighted person was not Sam. You're aJmost guaranteed to be frustrated in trying to determine even that," John said.

The police have offered three possible scenarios to explain Sam's disappearance. He may have suffered some form of amnesia or mentaJ impairment which kept him from contacting his family. John ~onsiders this theory unlikely. "We've learned from doctors and other experts familiar with amnesia that people i, that condition tend to know something is wrong and tend to search out help. If Sam had done something like that , chances are that we would have heard about it ," he said .

"Even if Sam were in a more severe mentally disheveled state, something

more like a down and out street person, we've done a lot to try to tap into any network that deaJs with such people," John added.

The possibility that Sam is dead- the victim of an accident or violence - cannot be eliminated entirely. But that scenario aJso seems unlikely, John said.

"The police tell us th at if Sam was dead there is a very good chance we would have heard about it by now; a body would have turned up one way or a nother in a short time. Though you can never rule that out, it becomes less likely with each passing day."

Ironically, the Todd family has gained hope from such tragic incidents as the discovery of the body in the H udson River. Said John, "There's been a

grim comfort in stories like that because of the undeniable possibility that Sam's body would tum up in the Hudson once the spring thaw arrived. V\'e were aJl kind of waiting with bated breath to see what would happen. But now that's aJl gone by. So then you're left taJking about much more bizarre and improbable circumstances which would have resulted in his body just disappear ing."

The police feel that if Sam is neither dead nor suffering from amnesia, the only remaining explanation is that he voluntarily ran away and is no.,_.,.. hiding somewhere. Sam's family considers this the most appeaJing scenario because, in John's words, "It implies that Sam is aJive and well and ab~ to take care of The New journal/ February I. 1985 27

Adam and John Todd at search headquarters in New York City.

28 The New J ou rna VFebruary I , 1985

himself. If his disappearance was deliberate, then Sam can make the willful decision to return."

Unfortunately, scant evidence supports this theory. Friends and teachers describe Sam as quiet and stable, not someone who would run away on a whim. A social activist particularly concerned with the problems of the homelesS',â&#x20AC;˘ Sam loved his family deeply-too deeply to cause them such distress, friends say.

But what if Sam had some secret motive for running away? Both the Todds and the police have investigated this possibility. "I've begun to think of this as two different searches," John said. "The first, of course, is for Sam physically. The other search is for Sam mentally. Now we must say we don't know this person, because the Sam we knew wouldn't disappear."

The Todd family and the police are not the only people who have tried to reconstruct Sam's frame of mind at the time of his disappearance. Paul Keane, YDS '80, recently put together a 30-page report assessing Sam's emotional condition on that New Year's Eve. Keane, a New Haven resident, wrote his report as an "unsolicited, unauthorized and unacknowledged minister to Yale University." According to Keane, "The Sam Todd disappearance was a case in which I saw my alma mater suffering from many unanswered questions. I saw nobody offering any solutions, so I tried to provide some answers."

Keane's paper, . entitled "Fugitive From God, Country and Yale?: The Disappearance of Sam Todd," is based on interviews with 40 people, including many of Sam's classmates and professors at the Divinity School. Other than Doris Todd , Sam's aunt, Keane did not interview any members of the Todd family for reasons of privacy.

Keane suggested that a combination of financial , academic, social and theological pressures impelled Sam to run away. "My hunch is that a lot of stress accumulated to the point of intolerability in Sam's mind. At the party

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"The police tell us that if Sam was dead there is a very good chance we would have heard about it by now."

it got to the point where he just said, ' I can't take it any more,' and ran away.

What happened to him after that, I don't know."

In the report Keane noted th at Sam was in a difficult financial bind during the previous semester. Sam, who received little financial support from his parents, had to borrow money from his aunt to pay his fall tuition. Keane also described a meeting in which Sam was asked by his landlords to be more timely in paying his share of the bills.

Sam was under intense academic pressure at the time of h is disappearance, Keane added. According to a recent tightening of Divinity School regulations, a student could receive a failing grade in a course for not completing work on time. Described by his professors as a fair student, Sam may have left for Christmas vacation believing that he had failed two classes. Sam might not have been able to complete his requirements for graduation in his final semester at the Divinity School.

Moreover, Sam was experiencing some social problems during the holiday break. Keane quoted Sam's Divinity School classmate Shep Parsons as saying that Sam had decided to break up with his long-time girlfriend, but was having a d ifficult ¡ time of it.

Dramatically, that girlfriend showed up unexpectedly at the Mulberry Street Party on New Year's Eve. "Sam was blown away because (his girlfriend) was there and he didn't expect it . . . Sam was trying to get out from under her," Parsons told Keane.

Finally, Keane's report suggested that Sam may have been experiencing

an identity crisis caused by a sense of inferio rity to his father, a prominent Presbyterian minister who once held a prestigious position with the World Council of Chruches. Keane wrote, "Sam was not only walking in his father's footsteps, but remaining in his father's shadow; and the shadow cast from a desk on the World Council of Churches was a long shadow indeed."

According to K eane, Sam's identity crisis was so severe that he sought out the advice of a Divinity School professor. The two had a long discussion about the difficulties Sam was having reconciling self-interests with his religious beliefs. Sam expressed doubts about his desire to continue his social activism. "By thf! middle of fall semester ," Keane wrote, "there is evidence that a new feeling, an intruder feeling, was creeping into Sam Todd's personality, previously so grounded in the selflessness of global conceru.: fnr the oppressed."

John Todd read Keane's report but was not convinced by it. "Keane puts together a lot of things that , when you take them out of context, can be used to comfort yourself with the idea that they explain what may have happened. I just wish they presented as strong a story as Keane puts together."

The Reverend George Todd, Sam's father, shared John's opinion of Keane's report. "If you want to speculate on the possibility that Sam left voluntarily, then you can put together the kinds of things that are in that report. We would like to think that the report is right; it's the most optimistic scenario. But weighing all we can find out, it doesn't really seem to point substantially in that direction."

Reverend Todd said that Keane's report does not contain any information that the family didn't already know and may in fact contain some inaccuracies.

"Sam is a very open kind of guy, and so various kinds of things in the report, the things about completing his coursework and not having paid his bill, are things we were aware of from the start. There wasn't anything that seemed to represent any extraordinary special kind of

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30 The New Journal/February I, 1985

strain that wasn't more or less the type of thing that a lot of students experience. People that were close to him on a daily basis were very skeptical that he had experienced any special kind of tension."

The Reverend H arry Adams, the associate dean of YDS and a friend of Reverend Todd since they were classmates there in the late 1940s, also questioned Keane's findings. "Paul has presented an interesting theory, but it's ,, just a theory; I don't think he's solved the case," Adams said. "I don't believe that Sam was under exceptional strain.

Keane also cr iticized the Todd Everyone at the Divinity School exfamily's willingness to publicize their periences a certain amount of pressure, search as much as possible: the search continues to receive some local coverage but I don't think that it is any worse than in other parts of the University. and occasion ally attracts national attenThe pressures here are u-nique in the tion. In August, for example, the cable sense of the kinds of issues divinity television network H ome Box Office devoted almost 20 min utes of a special students deal with- questions of identity and purpose-but they do not require show about missing persons to the Todd case. any more strength than the other kinds of pressures at the other schools at Keane wrote in his report, "If Sam Yale," Adams said.

Todd had disappeared intentionally There is no precedent to suggest that January 1st and was having second Sam may have suffered an emotional thoughts soon thereafter that maybe he breakdown, he added. Adams knows of should quietly resurface, the clout of no cases in which a divinity student ran this compassio n ate, coordinated search may have bludgeoned him underaway. and he noted that the last suicide at the school occurred more than ten ground by January 11th." years ago.

Reverend Todd defended the deciReverend Todd feels that there is sion to publicize the search. "We have substantial evidence to prove that Sam been responsive to the press on the h ad no intention of running away. Sam thesis that the more the word got out, had been planning to have some friends the more the chance that something might be turned up. Sam knows how to stay at his home in Chicago for a conhandle himself, so if he is off on some ference in early January. Also, Sam had begun to make plans for his upcoming track of his own, then I'm not so worgraduation from the Divinity School. ried about h im. But if he's in a hospital ..Weighed against the other kinds of someplace, or if he is suffering some things we know about Sam's general sort o f trauma that makes it difficult or morale and things he was involved in impossible fo r h im to get in touch, then and plans he had at the time of his we would like to be able to reach out to disappearance. K eane's story just isn't him and find out what's haooenl"n " But John Todd acknowledged that compelling," R everend Todd said. his family has considered the possibility K eane disagreed with this assessth at Sam was afraid to retu rn w h ile so ment. "That's just wish fu l thinking. If much press attention was focused on Sam was suffering from an acute anxiehim. "Sam was in some ways a very tv reaction, it would be absurd to th ink private and shy person . I could very that he would send a note of regret to people saying, 'I'm sorry, but I won't be easily see him loath to come back and able to keep my appointment.' People sort of walk in front of the TV cameras and say, 'Hi, here I am. This is what I don't tie up loose ends before they run did.' It would be hard enough just to away."

"If Sam Todd had disappeared intentionally, the clout of this search may have bludgeoned him underground."

deal with the family in privacy, let alone having to deal with the public as a whole. So, we made a conscious decision to let things cool off as much as possible in the hope that when things were not so focused on Sam he might be a little more willing to come back. So far, that hope has been unfounded."

Although the search does not receive as much press attention as it once did, possible sightings continue to be reported almost on a weekly basis. One such incident occurred this New Year's Eve, exactly one year after Sam's disappearance. Doris Todd received a phone call from the New York City Police; they had a street person in their office who seemed to match Sam's description. H oping that the family's search would reach a miraculous conclusion one year after it began, Doris rushed to the police station. She immediately realized, however, that the young vagrant was not Sam. As the dejected Doris Todd was leaving the office, the young man turned to a policeman and innocently asked , "Well, am I Sam or aren't I?" "That really brought home to all of us the seriousness of the situation of a lot of people out there in the streets," John Todd said. "They are 'missing' in a much deeper sense than Sam. They don't even have someone to tell them who they are."

According to john, the Todds' determination to find Sam remains strong.

"You have to keep doing something in order to preserve your own peace of mind. There's always that lingering feeling that if only you could reach out a little bit more vou could touch Sam in some way and (naybe bring him home ." j ohn is planning a one-day reunion of Sam's searchers to take place in New York City later this month. This gathering, John said, will be a "fellowship of faith. It will provide an opportunity for us to keep the h9pe of Sam , rather than the memory of Sam. alive."

•

M ichael Freitag, a j unior in Branford C?llege, is a managing editor of the Yale Dally News.

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Beginning this week, to ask you to make a p pledged on an annual our Class's 25th reunion

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