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Volume 23, No. 5/6

April 19, 1991

5 ABOUT THIS ISSUE 6 NEWSJOURNAL Park 'n' Glo ... Mobile Medicine

10 BETWEEN THE VINES Next Time, Elope ...By Janina Palmisano page9

FEATURES 14 New Haven Fights Back ... By Katherine McCarron A city-wide movement struggles to unify Ne w Haven 's fragmented health services. Can it be more than a glorified referral service?

18 Radio Daze: New Haven Listeners, Yale Leaders ... By Laura Heymann W YBC

needs New Haven listeners. But Yale students call all the shots.

22 On Thin Ice... By Patrick Ho page 15

For many players, the Ne w Haven Nighthawks represent a stepping stone to the big leagues. But some arefinding that it's j ust the end of the road.

26 Mental Hygiene: A Clean Bill of Health? ...By Emily Bazelon Is Yale's Mental Hygiene department driving its patients crazy?

BooK REviEws 30 Terminal Blues ...By Matt Fleischer 32 Make Money, Not War... By Kathy Reich

page 18

FICTION 35 Evacuated ...By Nina Revoyr A n old woman in a Japanese-A merican internment camp finds solace in an unlikely companion.

Cover Design by Annette Kirchner--Cover G raphics--Mark Badger--Cover Photo--Joey Liao page 23

<Volume 23, Number 4) The Ntw Journal is published six times during the school year by The New Journal at Yale, Inc.. Post Office Box 3432 Yale Station, New Haven. CT 06520. Copyright 1991 by The New Journal at Yale, Inc. AU rights reserved. Reproduction either in whole or in part without written permission of the publisher and editorÂˇin-<:hlef is prohibited. This magazine is published by Yale College students, and Yale Universily is not re$ponsible for its contents. Eleven thousand copies of each issue are distnbuted free to members of the Yale UniversiJy ODmmuniJy. The Nno Journal is printed by Turley Publications of Palmer, MA. Bookkeeping and billing sevkes are provided by Colman Bookkeeping of New Haven. CT. Office address: C..lhoun College, 189 Elm Street, G~ntry Shop. Phone: (203) 432-1957. Subscriptions are avajjable to those outside the Yale communily. Rates: One ymr, 518. Two years. $26. The Ntw JounuJ/ encourages letters to the editor and c:omment on Yale and New Haven issues. Write to Jennifer Pitts, Editorials, 3432 Yale Station. New Haven. CT 06520. All letters for publ.ication must include address and signature. Thâ&#x20AC;˘ Nno JournGI reserves the right to edit all letters for publication.

APRIL 19, 1991

THE NEW JOURNAL 3

PuBLISHER

Anna Ljunggren EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

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APRIL

19, 1991

ABOUT THIS I SSUE So there we were. Ten people-the new TNJ executive board--crammed into a very small elevator. Four others from the old board lingered outside, but we coaxed them in. We hit "5." The elevator started up... l ...2 .. .it lurched to 3 .. .4. The "5" lit up for a second, and we waited for the doors to open. They didn't. Slowly the elevator began to sink. 4 ... 3...2 ... l ...B. Basement. The old editors got out, and we c l osed the doors to try again. Nothing happened. After a few more tries we decided to find the stairs. The basement was dim, dank, and filled with recycling containers. We thought briefly about setting up an office down there, but more on that later. After several misguided wanderings into closets and bricked-over doorways we found the right staircase. We groaned at the five flights of stairs-the easy path was clearly not ours. But finally we made it up to a wildly successful dinner party. And Joey's zucchini pasta was a big hit. We knew this experience must be a paradigm for something, but we weren't sure what. Here's what we came up with: in our exuberance to take the helm we tried to do too much at once. We've learned our lesson, but we still have a lot on our plate for next year. We're courting new readers by distributing TNJ outside Yale's gates: to places like City Hall, the New Haven Public Library, and Ashley's Ice Cream. In our inaugural issue we've tried to strike a balance between Yale and New Haven, with features on each and a cover story that connects both communities. We've revived the book review section, and we're printing a longer-than-usual 40 pages. We've also run the first piece of fiction in TNJ history. But we're trying not to lose a sense of our roots. In anticipation of our tenth anniversary in September, we looked through some old issues and found a statement of purpose written in October 1981. Having rescued a magazine that had died of what they called "bad luck and indifference," TNJ's second founders published their statement of purpose. They captured our aims so well that we want to reprint just one paragraph: We cover almost exclusively Yale and New Haven stories. We don't do this because our view of the world is myopic, but because we want to do what we can do best. With our limited resources, and your limited time, we think it wise to provide you with information you probably can't get in Time or Newsweek. Last year's board really lived up to this creed, with their commitment to hardhitting New Haven stories. We thank them for their leadership and we hope to fill the large shoes they have left. W ith commencement approaching we'd like to say farewell to the class of 1991: Mark Badger, Laura Heymann, Ellen Katz, Sean O 'Brien, Josh Plaut, Motoko Rich, Lisa Silverman, and Roy Tsao. A special thanks must go to Lisa, our former Publisher, under whose leadership the magazine saw a quiet revolution. It was Lisa who made the decision to switch from typesetting to desktop publishing. With Mark, our designer, and Masi Denison, our production manager, she convinced the staff and the Board of Directors to enter the modem age. This means flexible des ign, no more crooked lines of type, and an end to last-minute dashes to the typesetter. Our final thanks go to Master Turan Onat and especially to Dean Christopher Taylor of Calhoun, who gave us a room of our own. We knew we had arrived when we booked up our phone and answering machine, bung photos and old TNJ covers on the walls, and brought in our recycling bin. And the office is in the basementwe knew there was something in that elevator paradigm.

JGP

T he New Journal extends a warm welcome to the two newest members of our Board of Directors: Thomas Geyer and Patricia Pierce.

APRIL

19, 1991

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THE NEW J OURNAL

NEWSJOURNAL ----------------------------------~~-----

Mundy Hepburn's work redefines the art ofparking-under the neon lights.

Park 'n' Glo New Haven's Neon Garage may be the only parking garage that doubles as an art gallery. The rafters and walls of the garage display examples of an unusual art form-luminous sculptures made from glass, chemicals, and electricity. Usually associated with glaring commercial signs, neon is gaining acceptance as a medium for high art. Since 1988, the garage-located on Crown Street between College and High streets-has exhibited the work of Mundy Hepburn, an artist fascinated with manipulating molten glass. 6 THE NEW JOURNAL

Hepburn's creative impulse used to eclipse his concern for profit. But financial necessity and the prospect of reaching a large audience made him receptive to the idea of bringing his work into the mainstream. The owners of the Neon Garage saw marketing potential in neon that Hepburn did not realize. "He used to just give things away," said Joe Coppola, one of the owners. "If you said you liked something, he'd say 'take it."' Now some of Hepburn's pieces sell for several thousand dollars. "The garage was my first foray into reality," said the artist, who is currently exploring other venues for his work. Hepburn's sculptures defy popular notions about neon. Some pieces are

stark, clean, and geometric; others are malleable tangles of soft color with painterly strokes and patterns. Layers of multicolored triangles hover above the entrance to the Neon Garage. Behind them, iridescent glass ribbons drip with colored paint. At the back of the garage hangs a bouquet of flowers-one small example of Hepburn's elegant neon foliage. Magic Garden, his large sculpture permanently installed at the Panasonic headquarters in Osaka, Japan, is an exotic collection of glowing otherworldly flowers and "dweaselators." Sparks from electrified gas crackle inside these irregular, bulblike glass vessels. "Hepburn is an alchemist-a magician with light," writes Rudi Stern, whose latest book APRIL 19, 1991

Contemporary Neon features Hepburn's work. "By s uccessfully breaking the rules of neon manufacture he h as created a very individual fo rm of expression." Hepburn himself m ay be more intriguing than his work. At age eight he was so entranced by a man working glass at a fair that he began melting light bulbs over the gas stove at home. Hepburn is a self-taught scientist who is happier talking about chemi stry and physics than making aes thet ic declaratio n s. When asked what he wants his pieces to communicate, he quipped , "Do you m ean are they fraught with deep inner meaning?" Hepbu rn has never lost his childlike curiosity and desire to invent. He builds all h is major pieces of equipment-torches, vacuum s, furnaces, gas gauges-from salvaged materials. His latest technical challenge is to make g lass from raw ingredients: sand, soda, and lime. This glass differs from the flawless prefabricated tubes he used for the Neon Garage sculptures. Its thick, bubbly texture provides Hepburn with a more sculptural medium. When he illuminates this glass with neon, the light emphasizes the irregularity of its surface. Eventually, He pburn wants to make gigantic neon forms with his homemade g lass, still impossib le without better technology. T o achieve this goal, he must ftrst develop the tools and techniques necessary for largescale work w ith his te mpe ramental medium . "I'm awakeni ng to the possibilities of the technology," he said. The concept of a garage-exhibition space has not significantly improved the parking business, but it gives Hepburn good exposure. "People stop in off the street all the time," Coppola said. Some even have purchased or commissioned scu lptures for thei r homes. The idea of neon as art seems to be catching on. "The momentum of my life is picking up," said Hepburn. "Now I am much less the mad scientist in the basement."

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APRIL

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THE NEW JOURNAL

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THE NEW JOURNAL

Mobile Medicine " If they don't come to you, then you've

got to go to them," said Dr. Wilfred Reguero, Chairman of Obstetrics and Gynecology at Saint Raphael' s Hospital. For the hundreds of women in New Haven who fail to receive prenatal care, Reguero offers a revolutionary solution. Forty-eight feet long and set on wheels, Saint Raphael's Neighborhood Mobile Clinic parks in front of schools, community centers, and housing projects, providing free serv ices ranging from medical checkups to nutrition counseling. The van is a branch of Project MotherCare, an innovative effort by Saint Raphael's to combat the soaring infant mortality rate in New Haven. In the Dixwell area north of Yale, 23 out of every 1000 babies die in their first year-more than twice the national average. Reguero believes that prenatal care can overcome the poor nutrition and substance abuse that cause infant death. But in areas of the city that lack adequate transportation and medical resources, many women cannot get the treatment they need. According to Reguero, others do not realize the importance of prenatal care. "It's not a priority on their list," he said. Louise Endo of Saint Raphael's Foundation Board thinks some women are daunted by the forbidding atmosphere of hospitals. "When a woman enters the emergency room, first she sees a guard, then someone asks her about insurance," Endo said. "Hospitals are very inhospitable for people without money." Intensive care for an unhealthy newborn costs up to $100,000. But according to a national study, a hospital saves $3.38 on neonatal care for every dollar invested in prenatal care. Although the MotherCare van will cost Saint Raphael's nearly $500,000 in its first year, the program eventually should pay for itself. The van makes regular stops in neighborhoods su ch as Dixwell, Newhallville, and Fairhaven, where APRIL 19, 1991

medical services are scarce. "We're trying to reach areas of the community where there's not another immediate source of health care," sai d Lisa Collison, a physician's assistant in the mobile c linic. The New H aven community bas welcomed the facil ity. On the first day a lo ne, 134 patients sought treatment from the MotherCare van. Not all MotherCare patients are pregnant women . The van also offers primary care for men and childrenfrom routine blood tests and throat cultures to alternative medicine such as acupuncture. One cocaine addict has come to the clinic weekly for the past three months fo r acupuncture. He claims that the treatment lets him relax and concentrate on his determination to give up drugs. "We try to do what we can for everybody who walks in," Collison said, "whether that means making an appointment or getting them booked into a service."

Collison sees patients in one of two examining rooms. The van a lso has small rooms for a registered nurse and a receptionist, and offices for a substance abuse counselor and nutritionist. This

On the first day alone, 134 patients sought treatment from the MotherCare van. concentration of varied health services allows for one-stop health shopping. " Patients may come in for something and end up getting connected with a lot of services that t hey may not have known about," said Robin Illing, the nutritio n counselor. If patients mi ss follow-up appointments, the driver and a social worker seek them out in their homes and encourage them to return. Project MotherCare â&#x20AC;˘ s newest

program is an evening clinic at Saint Raphael's, open three nights a week for women unable to get help during the day. Yale-New Haven Hospital hopes to open a similar clinic on the nights Saint Raphael's unit is closed. As part of his project, Reguero also envisions a monetary incentive to boost prenatal care-he wants to pay women for going to a certai n number o f prenatal appointments. Such a program would save money on neonata l ex penses. Although Reguero reports that a similar plan has had tremendous success in Europe, it has not yet been accepted in this country. In the United States, he said, "We are archaic. We are a disgrace."

-Abigail Phillips

Making the most of their space: MotherCare clinicians provide back-to-back services. APRIL 19, 1991

THE N EW JOURNAL 9

BETWEEN THE VINEs------------------~

Next Time, Elope Janina Palmisano Long tendrils of ebony curls swirling in the wind. Smoky eyes peering with the innocence of a doe. Pouted lips parted in anticipation of the first kiss. A sparkling and shimmering ball gown, a peek of blushing cleavage. Pearl and Âˇdiamond earrings. Armfuls of meadow flowers. A barefoot bride kicking up sand on the beach. Grace. Softness. Perfection. The cover bride had a zit. Smack dab in the middle of her forehead,. a zit the color of her lipstick. Five editors, two art directors, and I, the lowly I ' intern, circled around the print proof; the editor-in-chief collapsed in a chair, mumbling feverishly to herself. But the worst was yet to come. "Maybe it's just me, but does anyone else see...freckles?" I asked. We lowered our faces still closer to the proof. We looked, we saw, we groaned. What was Images clipptf from 1Tri4e's Magazine, April/May 1991 there to say? A bride can't have zits or freckles. We called the printer, stopped the presses, airbrushed the zit, and lightened the tones to fade the freckles. Though we'd feminist head. With those magazines I bought into romance saved the bride's porcelain complexion, we couldn't deny all over again, and I believed. I believed that the dresses were that she was (gasp!) imperfect. For when her face was actually wearable, the brides were actually beautiful, and the lightened to pale the freckles, her neck and shoulders people behind the magazines actually cared about helping remained a good two sh ades darker than her face, an stressed-out brides-to-be. Ignorance was bliss. Like all good things, that illusion came to an end. I soon unforgiveable make-up faux pas right on the cover. But had we also lightened the bride's neck and shoulders, her skin discovered that the magazines, dressmakers, caterers, and would have blended right in with the dress's ivory-silk-lace- florists are engaged in a conspiracy to make the average bride fichu-collar neckline. And that would have been a mistake covet a wedding beyond a Rockefeller's dreams. The heart of beyond compare, for if that ivory-silk-lace-fichu-collar the industry isn't wine and roses, or even weddings-the neckline didn't stand out on the cover, Priscilla of Boston heart of it all is money. This fact became painfully obvious wouldn't loan us any more $3,200 dresses for our shoots. It the first time I worked on a photo shoot. Bridal magazines was a c hoice between a two-toned bride and an angry borrow prohibitively expensive gowns from manufacturers advertiser--one who forked over $10,000 in ads each issue. hungry for free advertising. These gowns range in price from We opted for the Technicolor bride. $2500 (which, surprisingly, is not outrageous) to over I had accepted the bridal magazine internship $ 10,000 (which, shockingly, is not uncommon). Such anticipating a summer of lipstick and roses, a taste of expensive gowns give the magazine an exclusive, Town and publishing, and a complete switch from the androgyny of Country allure, and desensitize the bride to the Yale. At 22, I was jaded. Few things seemed magical manufacturer's outrageous prices. If a bride-to-be has fallen anymore; I had discovered that - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - in love with dozens of $4000 the. eighth grade dane~, the wedding goW'OS, when she seruor prom, and the Christmas r ' walks into a bridal shop and Ball. were actu ally three discovers the "perfect dress" Y for $1500, it seems like quite a versiOns of the same nervous bargain. There's one born breakdown. Solidly grounded in a two-year relationship, I ' every minute. understood that after the first In one layout we featured year people usually don't kiss an $11,000 fairy-tale 'dress that in the rain or set aside $25 a week for flowers and Boynton would have put Cinderella to shame. The entire Alen~on lace greeting cards. I had become a cynk. bodice was band-beaded with miniature, Austrian lead crystal But when I flipped through a 500-page bridal magazine, beads-not plastic, not glass, but fine lead crystal. They page after page of champagne, diamonds, and glass slippers sparkled like light on water; never mind that dozens of the beckoned, and the princess deep inside me reared her non- Lilliputian beads shattered each time the model

Page aifterpage oifchamnagne diamonds, and glaSS slipnerS beckoned and the prinCeSS inside me reared her non-feminist head.

THE NEW JOURNAL

APRll..

19, 1991

temperamentally folded her hands across her chest. And what a chest there was. For $1100 a day we got a model with the right coloring and figure to wear the size-six ivory dress, but a size-six model doesn't have any chest of consequence, certainly not enough for a dress with a neckline emphasizing cleavage. So we handed her a push-up bra, and the make-up artist went to work with his fairy dust and magic brushes, creating light and sultry shadow where there were none. Absolutely none. The most striking feature of the dress was its portrait neckline, a collar that stands aw~ from the body, showcasing the shoulders, cleavage, and collarbone. And this was supposed to be a portrait collar to outdo all others. It was to plunge gracefully in front, showing not too much makebelieve breast, and stand regally away from the shoulders, casting a slight shadow on the upper arms. Or so promised the manufacturer. In reality, the weight of thousands of crystal beads caused the shoulders to sag, revealing half the APIUL 19, 1991

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THE NEW JOURNAL

bride's pretend breasts: fine for the June issue of Playboy, but no good for us, the purveyors of true romance. We stuffed the collar with crumpled toilet paper; it flopped. We tried holding it in

I was wreaking sweet revenge on everyone who preyed upon the emotional rollercoaster of wedding planning. ,'

position and whipping away our hands as the pictures were snapped; it crumpled. We tried asking the modeJ to flex her tiny biceps to support the collar; she couldn't. (Of course nothow strong could she be, eating nothing but radicchio?) Finally, we told the model to lean suggestively against a paneled mahogany wall while we carefully secured the sleeves to it with masking tape. The neckline stood away. it stayed up, it was perfect. And because she smiled so sexily, so coyly. we captioned the photograph: "Jennifer smiles sweetly with a secret for her groom..." No kidding: she was taped to the wall, bad pushed-up cleavage, and shards of crystal shattered at her feet every time she moved. That's some secret. By mid-summer, the magazine's sneaky tactics had tainted me. On one assignment I visited all the exclusive bakeries in New Jersey. Claiming that I was getting married the next summer, I requested a free taste of their cake. When you consider that a professionally decorated wedding cake for 150 guests costs upward of $450, it's a reasonable request. The bakers who smiled and gave me that free taste of cake earned kudos in my article on the best wedding cakes in the state. To the ones who wouldn't comply with my wishes, I flashed my bridal press pass. I informed them our readers would love to know just how miserably they treated brides-to-be. With that. entire cakes and apologies showered upon me, but it was APRIL

19, 1991

too late. I was wreaking sweet revenge on everyone who preyed upon the emotional rollercoaster of wedding planning. Such moments of triumph helped me feel powerful in a sleazy system that was beyond my control. I met reputable florists who told me that the moment someone walks into their shop and says "wedding" they increase their prices by 300%. Three out of four magazine covers feature a blonde because, a ltho ugh brunettes are 58% of the population, blondes sell more wedding d resses. Regard less of how many letters we received f rom established bridal free- lancers, my editors weren't interested in buying any new articles. Si nce t he average length of a subscription to a bridal magazine is one year, the editors recycle all copy. To the accountants in the back room, new articles seem unnecessary, especially w hen each full-color, full-page advertisement brings in more than

The heart of the industry isn't wine and roses, or even weddings-the heart of it all is money. APRIL 19 , 1991

$10,000 for the magazine. If you're putting out a 500-page magazine, that consists of 65% advertisements, you get some staggering profits. No industry knows how to prey upon its consumers like the bridal industry; it victimizes women by exploiting the very dreams it fosters. Even the most rational woman is not immune to its schemes. One bride I know spent $1600 on her silk designer gown, twice what she planned to spend. When it came time to purchase the veil, though, she was determined to be frugal. She found the perfect headpiece, a simple bow with demure appliques and a cathedral-length veil. The price on the headpiece said $250, complete. Standing on a pink pedestal, surrounded by mirrors and seven saleswomen cooing over how important it was to have the perfect veil (read: dress, shoes, slip, stockings, make-up, bra, underpants, deodorant, etc.) on "her special day," she asked if the veil came in the soft white color of her dress. "Oh, that color is only available in silk, and there's an extra charge for that." How much? "In silk, which you need in order to match your silk dress, that would be $600." The room started to spin. $600 for a seven-inch bow with some netting? The bride shook her head sadly, said that it was too expensive, and left the store. Unfortunately, on the 45-minute drive home she listened to the "Love songs, nothing but love songs" radio station, and by the time she pulled into her driveway, she had rationalized the purchase. MasterCard in hand, she was ready to close the deal over the telephone when a summer's worth of disillusionment flooded back to her. Yes, I admit it. I am that bride-to-be; I got engaged during the last week of my internship. And even well-armed with what I knew of the charlatans waiting to take advantage of my excitement and emotion, they almost got me. But at least I knew better than to fall in love with a crystal-beaded gown and its stand-away portrait neckJine. Janina Palmisano is a senior in Timothy Dwight College. When she gets married in July, she'll be wearing a different veil. THE NEW J OURNAL 13

New Haven Fights Back Katherine McCarron

Cremate the dust of a guy who got bust Left back his girl with invasion of lust. Based out crack and that don't stop I wonder how much crack can these people pop?

Robert Taylor taps his foot to the rhythm of a rap he is writing about crack. Taylor will perform his rap next month at a youth conference sponsored by a community group called A Way Out. For Taylor, who usually performs at night clubs like Third World Cafe, the conference offers a new platform for his anti-drug message. At 20, he is one of the oldest members of A Way Out, a group of more than 30 kids who want to end drug abuse and gang violence in their neighborhoods. Some of the members meet in the basement of the Hill Health Center, a community health clinic, while others meet at Wilbur Cross High School, to talk weekly with each other and several adult coordinators about whatever is on their minds. "The idea is that kids tell us what they need," said Allen London, a leader of the group and a sociology major at the University of New Haven. ''They target issues that are a problem to them-like su b stance abuse or violence-and work out the solutions themselves."

Fighting Back Program Director Lauri Winter keeps health and social service programs in touch with each other.

14 THE NEW JOURNAL

A Way Out is part of a larger effort to combat drugs in New Haven. In March 1990, New Haven became one of 15 cities--chosen out of 369-to win a 1 $200,000 grant from the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation. The Johnson and Johnson

"Some people are frustrated that Fighting Back is not doing anything. It is difficult to plaf!,... when people want something done." Co-mpany established the foundation to improve health care in the United States. Its latest effort, the Fighting Back grant, targets substance abuse. If New Haven can develop a convincing plan to beat its drug problem, the city stands to gain $3 million over the next five years to implement the programs Fighting P Jck has developed. The $200,()()(. planning grant from the foundation is an investment in the future. To make the most of scarce resources, New Haven's Fighting Back organizers want to unify existing programs before independent block watches and clean-up campaigns further fragment the city's drug prevention efforts. While the Fighting Back leaders sit in committee rooms, however, many community members want results now. "Some people are frustrated that Fighting Back is not doing anything," said Lauri Winter, New Haven's Substance Abuse Service Coordinator. "It is difficult to plan when people want something done." But it's careful planning that will give the Fighting Back movement staying power and offer New Haven a way out of the problems of drug abuse. " What's new about Fighting Back is that it's about collaboration," Winter said. "We ask the existing programs in New Haven to keep in mind that they are interrelated." While collaboration seems like a good idea, it's hard to integrate independent programs. "There are lots of chiefs and no Indians for the amount of work that needs to get done," she said. APRIL 19, 1991

Although more than 200 people sit on the various F ig hting Back committees, Winter di sm isses allegations th at the program is a n ineffective bureaucracy. " We' re well staffed, but we want to keep the bureaucracy light," she said. "If the implementation g rant is won , the majority of the money has to get out to the people who need it, rathe r than getting stuck in red tape." Accordin g to Alderman Mike Morand (D- 1), the most effective way

If New Haven can develop a convincing plan to beat its drug problem, the city stands to gain $3 million over the next five years to implement the programs Fighting Back has developed. to use the money is to invest in present resources. " Buildin g on ex isting strengths is the s urest success, not trying someth ing new," Morand said. Fighting Back draws on intervention programs such as those already offered at the YMCA, the Hill Health Center, and APRIL 19, 1991

Members ofA Way Out plan an anti-drug skit for a youth conference in May. THE NEW JOURNAL 15

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Health Outreach workers, ~ who go to the ~ homes of ~ pregnant women :::s to provide prenatal care and to help them through the health care system. "Intervention will keep New Haven off the list of the highest infant mortality rates in the country," said Bonita Grubbs of Christian Community Action. For now, though, New Haven needs more beds in its hospitals , and treatment centers. To this Âˇend, Fighting Back supports such advocacy groups as the Consortium of SubstanceAbusing Women and their Children, dubbed Moms and Babies. Last year, Moms and Babies secured eight additional beds at the Crossroads treatment center from the state legislature. Crossroads is the only inpatient center in New Haven that allows substance-abusing mothers to keep their children with them while they go through treatment, rather than placing the kids in foster homes. But eight beds are clearly not enough. Addicts who ~

St. Raphael's Hospital. Fighting Back plans to make the health system in New Haven more accessible by referring substance abusers and their care providers to available programs. Fighting Back also hopes to draw New Haven's many grassroots organizations into its network. Now, most volunteers either work in fragmented groups or give their time to churches and other established institutions. This fragmentation bas kept many programs from succeeding in the past. "People are more concerned about turf issues than about providing services," said Dennis Hart, the cochair of Fighting Back's prevention committee. According to Hart, Fighting Back must unite with well-established institutions to gain respect. "We need to tap into the church's credibility," Hart said. "We need to find out what the youth groups and Sunday schools are up to and get them involved." But Fighting Back wants to be more than a glorified referrai service. The movement hopes to improve substance-abuse care in New Haven by supporting new intervention programs like Project MotherCare (see page 8) and the eight Maternal and Child

"Building on the existing strengths is the surest success, not trying something new.'' need treatment and have no private health insurance still face six-month waiting lists at public and grant-funded facilities like Crossroads and the Addiction Prevention and Treatment APRIL 19, 1991

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The real question is where F ighting Back will find the money to implement the treatment programs they d emand. " The J ohnson grant will n ot fund treatment," said Cynthia Farrar, director of the Special Commission on Infant Health. "The Foundation never saw itself as responsible for having to pay for everything. They want to concentrate their support on prevention." One of Fighting Back's main goals is to learn what New Haven needs from the people who themselves are at risk. The A Way Out conference scheduled for thi s May will give New Haven youth a chance to tell their peers and the community that the prob lems related to substance abuse need to be

"People are more concerned about turf issues than about providing services. " solved. Their raps, skits, and banners are an i mportant first step toward raising community consciousness. Fighting Back hopes to become synonymous with collaboration in New Haven. "We are not out there to say we' re the answer," Winter said. "We're not here to take anyone over. We're like a thread th at binds existing programs together." If New Haven does not land the $3 million implementation grant from the Johnson Foundation next year, Winter believes that the program will find other sources of funding. "We' ll use our Johnson grant as seed money to start the program and continue to press for funding from other sources," Winter said. "Fighting Back is here to stay."

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THE NEW JOURNAL

Radio Daze: New Haven Listeners, Yale Leaders Wura Heymann

Joey Uaoffhe New Journal

18 T1iÂ£ N EW JOURNAL

APRIL

19, 1991

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In its November 1990 issue, the progressive rock magazine SPIN put WYBC at the top of its list of "The Best College Radio Stations." But not everyone at the station thinks the Yale Broadcasting Company deserves the award. "The rating is ridiculous," said disc jockey Jonathan Zittrain (DC '91). "I would say not even five percent of Yale students listen to wvac." The station management, however, has larger concerns. Unlike most college radio stations, WYBC caters to an audience beyond the Unive rsity. With 1200 watts of power, the F M station reaches listeners as far away as Hartford. More importantly, it targets listeners with money to spend. One of the few college radio stations in the country with a commercial license, wvac, which gets no direct funding from Yale, depends on advertising receipts to stay afloat. "Our mission is not Yale entertainment," said Caroline Drees (TC ' 93), general manager of wvac. "The Yale community consists of only 10,000 people. Our music is geared to those who can generate revenues for us." As a result, wvac tries to appeal to a wide spectrum of tastes. Tbis means jazz in the morning for the drive to work, urban contemporary in the afternoon, and alternative rock for the rest of the night. It also means classical, blues, folk, and even a "Sounds of Ireland" format on the weekends. "It's a damn good station," said Manuel Rodriguez, vice president and general manager of WPLR, another local radio station. "On the FM band, no one's doing what they're doing." But trying to maintain this range of formats under the umbrella of one outfit makes WYBC a bit schizophrenic. Within the station, program loyalty proves divisive. "Each format at wvac is a cohesive bunch of people," said Training Director Orin Herskowitz (SY '93). "But as a station, there's very little unity." While stude nts head the Jazz and New Rock programs, New Have n res ide nts direct and dominate Spectrum, the urban contemporary format. Spectrum, commanding eight hours of airtime each day, rakes in the most cash for the station. Wbile other programs boast a racial mix, Spectrum's OJs are almost exclusively African-American. "The major conflicts are between Spectrum and other formats," said Ted Friedman (TD â&#x20AC;˘91 ), New Rock program director. "Race, although it goes unstated, is as much an issue as anything else." Ove r a third of the people spinning the discs at WYBC come from New Haven. Community and student volunteers work side by side as disc jockeys and format heads. But at the managerial level, stude nts and community members don' t have an equal voice. Yale reg ulations protect s tudent leadership at WYBC b y requiring all the station's administrative decisions to be made by undergraduates. An Executive Board-composed of five s tudents-runs the station, under the supervision of a Board of Governors. One

APan. 19, 1991

non-voting member represents New Haven volunteers on the Executive Board. " It causes difficulties in some respects," said Drees. "Community members work very hard, and they have no vote. But we don't want to risk our status as a n undergraduate organization." Some o n the other side of the Ivy wall don't buy it. "Comm unity m em b e rs need a vote," said Mia Duff, Spectrum's format director. ' 'We can say whatever we want, but when the decision is made, it doesn't matter." Spectrum OJS believe the money their program generates should buy them a voice. "Spectrum is the main source of revenue for the s t ation ," said OJ Andrew " Big Daddy" Guilford. "Our popularity in the ratings shows we deserve a vote." OJ opinion on station tension is as varied as the wvac format. Although Duff feels the s ituation is " improving," Zittrain is more blunt. "There's constant tension between comm uni ty OJS and undergraduates," he said. "The community members see the bighfalutin' kids come in and have all the power. It's an adversarial system." While all station OJS are part-time workers, some New Haven OJS think students' hectic schedules make their commitment to WYBC mo re e rratic. "We're here to really learn radio," said Guilford. "For some students, it's just a hobby. They don't take it seriously." During Yale vacations, the New Haven OJS run the show and keep the station operating full-time. In the summer, the absence of student OJS means that their names may not be on the tips of listeners' tongues. "It's rare to have a student OJ who is well-known in the community," said Bill Steiger (SY '9 1), Jazz format director. The University's three-month summer hiatus allows local

A s WYBC's general manager, Caroline Drees tries to balance competing community and student interests. THENEWJOURNAL

on-air personalities to hone their craft and establish a listening base. Promotions such as the Spectrum SummerFest-a series of events in local parks-keep the "Spectrum Air Force" in touch with its audience. "It's over vacations that the really cool things happen," said Herskowitz. "In fact, much of what happens at WYBC happens because of the community members. They have the time and the commitment." In the long run, however, community members don't get more time at the station than the students. Because the Executive Board is composed entirely of undergraduates, it sees a complete turnover every four years. To keep students in power, and to insure WYBC's status as an undergraduate organization, the station added a rule to its bylaws in 1985 limiting community members to fouryear stints. As a result, no New Haven OJ can use seniority as a claim to control. "The four-year rule was created by Yalies to get rid of townies as soon

20 Tm: NEW JOURNAL

as they could," said Sam Tilery, former OJ at WYBC, now the promotions director for WPLR. "In my time, we all worked together." Community members aren't the only ones to struggle with students for control of the station. In 1989, WYBc's tremendous financial difficulties-

"The Yale community consists of only 10,000 people. Our music is geared to those who can generate revenues for us." caused primarily by student embezzlement of station funds in the early 80s-grabbed the attention of

Dean Betty Trachtenburg. When the administration threatened to shut the station down, WYBC hired an executive director to run the station's daily operations and restructured its bylaws to give the Board of Governors more financial control. Students feared they were losing power. Determined to protect their turf, they convinced the University to release the executive director at the end of her contract. Since then, the University's involvement has been minimal , and even accommodating. Yale's administration virtually ignores the $56,000 that the station still owes the University. "We' re not pressing the debt at all," said Dean Trachtenburg. ''That's really on the back burner." The University may not be forcing the issue because WYBC proves quite an asset to Yale. WYBC's license from th~ Federal Communications Commission is worth at least $15 million alone, a value that increases daily as the number of available frequencies dwindles. "The University is not worried about the loan APRIL 19, 1991

because the appreciation value of the station probably adds another zero," said Zittrain. "What's $56,000 in the

"The community members see the highfalutin' kids come in and have all the power. It's an adversarial system. " face of $560,000?" WYBC's largest contribution to Yale may not be financial. Student management sees the station as a bridge to the New Haven community. "wYBC is very valuable to Yale," said Steiger. "It is one of the few tangible things that Yale can point to and say we are doing for New Haven. This is really important to the minds of the administration." A APRIL

19, 1991

1961 addendum to wvsc' s bylaws crystallizes the image of community involvement the University wants for the station: "a communications link between the Yale community and the surrounding area, bringing the resou rces of the University to its neighbors, and fostering a closer contact between the two groups for the benefit of both." But by keeping students in charge, Yale puts definite limits on the equality of this relationship. Despite the fact that area listeners fill the station's coffers, the University sees its students as its main responsibility. While WYBC can give community members a start in radio, it can't help them go all the way. "I became very frustrated," said Tilery. "I was devoted, sometimes spending seven days a week there. But if you want to go any further in radio, you have to get out of WYBC."

Mark Badger Calhoun College Master Turan Onat Dean Christopher Taylor David Nydam Mike Ljung Katie Dixon Matt Fleischer Patrick Ho Alison Kartigener Melissa Kemlitz David Kovel Sam Lasky Wilbur Messing of the New Haven Register Janina Palmisano J. Britton Payne Abigail Phillips Josh Plaut Nina Revoyr Motoko Rich Meme Stowers Rob Taylor Warren Thio

Laura HeymCLnn, a senior in Saybrook, is on the staff ofTNJ. THE NEW JOURNAL 21

On Thin Ice Patrick Ho Friday, March 1, 2:00p.m New Haven Coliseum. The bus waits inside the Coliseum. Though the Nighthawks joke around before piling in, they know the next two days will either make or break their playoff quest. New Raven's minorleague hockey team has spent most of the season in the cellar of its division, but the team still has an outside chance to make the playoffs. It's a five-hour drive to Portland, home of the Maine Mariners. On the bus, the players avoid talking hockey. But even now coach Nick Fotiu cuts through their chatter to discuss business. "If any of you guys think y ou can't win these two games,

Nich olls ( n ow with the New York Rangers), Bob Kudelski (DC '87), and Steve Duchesne (both with the L.A. Kings), all got their start with the team. The Nighthawks serve as a training ground for younger players and a pitstop for older ones, who are called up to the big leagues when needed. Before players earn a spot on the big-league roster, they mu st prove themselves on minor-league ice. AHL schedules are fast-paced, and the level of play is high. Players travel on the road for . weeks at a time, venturing to distant cities like Peoria, Kansas City and Kalamazoo. Many minor-1C:~ague teams play three games in three nights,

shot at the big leagues. It was a short one, though. He played ten games with the Kings before the team dropped him. NHL teams draft players as young as 17. But while the draftees may have been superstars in high school and college, many still have to serve time in the minors before getting called up. Picked by the Kings when he was in high school, 'Hawks goaltender Robb Stauber had a stellar collegiate career. Named First-Team A ll-American, Stauber won the- coveted Hobey Baker A ward-for college hockey's top player-as a sophomore. Last year, though, he struggled through his first year in pro hockey because of a back

get off the fucking bus right now." in three different towns. "In college, injury. " I think I can play at the NHL Players immediately put on their you play 46 games, and that's if you go level," Stauber said. "But I haven't "game-faces. " The bus grows - - - -- - - - - -- -- -- - - - - - - - - - proven it down here yet." silent. "Even professional players need to be reminded 4:00 P.M. Somewhere in New England. about the importance of V: /[ winning, " Fotiu explains. The YOU 1.. OU Y As the bus speeds to Portland, players settle into their bus bu_s remains qu~e~forabout ten routines. A group of five mmutes after hmmg the road. â&#x20AC;˘ play ers hits the poker table. Stauber and Nighthawks broadcaster The Nighthawks are the National alJ the way to the national Hockey League's (NHL) Los Angeles championship," said defenseman Rene Dan Rusanowsky begin a best-of-seven Kings' minor- league affiliate in the Chapdelaine, who joined the 'Hawks match in chess. When Stauber loses the American Hockey League (AHL). The last year right out of college. "Here you series, he raises the stakes, betting ' Hawks have been the only professional play 80. You really have to pace "Snuz "a lunchfor the last game. With yourself." This year, Chapdelaine got goa/tending grit, Stauber rallies to win sports team to stick by New Haven for the past 19 years. NHL stars like Bernie what every minor leaguer wants-a the game and the lunch. "Snuz always

"Jnco[[ege you pay / 46 games.

H ere p /ay 80Âˇ rea have to pace yourself"

22 THE NEW JOURNAL

APRIL

19, 1991

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folds under pressure," Stauber comments. The bus arrives at the Holiday Inn in Portland at about 6:30. The younger guys set out to find a place to eat. Some of the veterans meet their wives for dinner.

While the Nighth awks exist primarily to prepare youngsters for the rigors of the NHL, the team relies heavily on its core of veteran players. The veterans act as insurance for the Kings. While many younger players are not ready to play at the big-league level, veterans can easily fill in for injured NHL players. "I'm in a position here to fill the holes," said defenseman Don Dietrich, a former Chicago Blackhawk and New Jersey Devil. "When I'm needed, if I'm needed, I'm ready." More importantly , the veterans serve as mentors for younger players. "On the ice, I try to show them how to be consistent," said defenseman and assistant coach Murray Brumwell, a two-year NHL veteran. "Off the ice, I remember when I first started out, being away from home for the first time, and I try to give them some pointers. I tell them 'spend your money wisely, take a course in school or something, stay active. '" Many of the veterans are married with children, and they try to set an example of familial stability for the younger members. The junior teammates appreciate t he special attention. "When the holidays came around and we couldn't go home, they were the first guys to say, ' Hey, come over to our house and we'll look after you,"' said cen ter Shawn McCosh. " It's a real family atmosphere." Veterans enjoy their big-brother role, but it doesn' t compensate for the knowledge that they may never return to full-time NHL play. Most veterans have college degrees and could find work elsewhere, but love of hockey keeps them playing. Jim Pavese played ten years in the NHL with four different APRD..t9, 1991

clubs before he retired last year to work on Wall Street. But he quickly abandoned his three-piece suit to don a hockey sweater again. "At this point in my career, the job gives me a place to play and get my skills back," he said. "I could make the jump back to the NHL, but I would rather stay here. After missing a year, it would be nice to spend a season with just one team." Saturday, March 2, 2:00 p.m. Cumberland County Civic Center.

arrives just two hours before the game. His equipment takes another hour to appear. He barely has time to suit up and join his teammates on the ice. Rohlicek later scores a goal, but he can't give the Nighthawks a win. Former 'Hawk Ken Hammond scores on a rush late in the third period to break a t i e and give Maine a 4-3 victory. The 'Hawks are frustrated, but the worst is yet to come-an eight-hour drive to Binghamton, NY. At least Rohlicek has his equipment for

Netting one for the 'Hawks makes a player's uncertain future a little brighter. Portland, ME. Darryl Gilmour starts in goal because of his past success against the Mariners. The Mariners boast an experienced squad, including Boston Bruins regular Allen Pedersen. He is shocked at his sudden demotion, but he makes his presence felt with bruising body checks throughout the game. The next day the Bruins call him back. The 'Hawks also get some extra support. Decimated by injuries to key players, they receive two men from Phoenix, L.A.'s other minor-league affiliate. One of them, Jeff Rohlicek,

tomorrow's game.

The Nighthawks suffer from a constant turnover of team members. Players bounce not only between the NHL and the AHL, but also among other teams and even other leagues. Some join the Nighthawks for only a few days-Rohlicek's stint with the team lasted two games before he returned to Phoenix. Some, like Graham Stanley, come to the ' Hawks after spending time in inferior professional hockey leagues. Passed over by NHL teams, Stanley THE NEW JOURNAL 23

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played briefly in the East Coast Hockey League (ECHL), renowned more for its goonery than for its hockey skills. Stanley caught the Kings' eye with his scoring ability and physical prowess.

"But honestly, all I wantisthatchance. {( I can't do it, hey, fine. I'll pick up my hockey skates and hang them up in the garage." His arrival at the Nighthawks brought him to a higher level of professional play. "There was·a lot more shuffling of players in the ECHL, two or three new guys everyday," he said. "In the 'Cocktail League' we used to travel from Virginia to Erie, about 12 hours on a bus. We'd get maybe an hour of sleep and then go play the game. This is better." Sunday, March 3, 2:00p.m. Broome County Veterans Memorial Arena. Binghamton, NY. In the locker room before the game, the players seem psyched, gossiping about Binghamton bars and guys on the Ranger team. But psyched or not, the 'Hawks aren't prepared for the Ranger blitzkrieg. Pavese injures his groin in the first period and does not return to the game. To stir up the 'Hawks, Captain Dennis Smith gets into a scuffle with Dennis Vial of the Rangers, but he hurts his neck in the fight. The Rangers bombard goalie Stauber with 15 shots in the first period, finding the net four times. Ron Scott replaces Stauber, but Binghamton scores three more tallies to win 7-2. It's the Nighthawks' fifth consecutive loss. The playoffs now seem a distant dream, and most of the players just want to sleep. With the NHL trading deadline approaching, some speculate that a few Binghamton players will join the New York Rangers soon. There is no similar

talk in the Nighthawk camp. Even for some of the most talented players, the dream of playing in the NHL remains just that-a dream. Signed by the New York Rangers in 1983, Ron Scott was billed as "the goalie of the future." For the next seven seasons, however, he bounced back and forth between New Haven and New York, never getting a real opportunity to prove himself in either place. The Rangers felt they had enough goalies. Even a strong finish with the L.A. Kings last year did not earn Scott a spot in the club. "I'm not bitter about anything that's happened," he said, "but I would have liked a better chance. For anybody to be' successful, someone along the line has to say, 'Hey, this guy's got 40 games to prove what he can do."' Forward Scott Harlow also fell into the minor-league rut. A two-time AllAmerican at Boston College, he graduated as the school's all-time leading scorer. Three of his teammates have become NHL stars, and he thinks he should join them. ''I'm frustrated because I haven't really gotten the chance yet," Harlow said. "I'm happy doing my job. Hockey has been good to me. I got a house out of hockey and a free education, but honestly, all I want is that chance. If I can't do it, hey, fine. I'll pick up my hockey skates and hang them up in the garage." 8:00 p.m. Somewhere in upstate New York. As the bus rumbles home, players get back to their normal routines. Stauber wants to take everyone on in chess. Bob, the Nighthawks' bus driver, gets everyone back to the city at 9:45, almost an hour ahead of schedule. A great job as usual, the players comment. They head home to get some sleep for tomorrow's 9:00 a.m. practice. 18)

Patrick Ho is a senior in Saybrook College. APRIL

19, 1991

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Mental Hygiene: A Clean Bill of Health? Emily Bazelon In the spring of Wendy's ftrst year at Yale, a painful break-up with her boyfriend led her to visit Mental Hygiene, the psychological counseling department of Yale University Health Services (UHS). As the daughter of a recovered cocaine addict, Wendy had considered therapy before but had never followed through. Her frantic state finally convinced her to seek help. After one session, the counselor told her to come back in the fall. Although Wendy joined Mental Hygiene's group for children of substance abusers, she did not return for private treatment. Yale's counseling service has two functions: handling emergencies and providing long-term therapy. Along with private counseling, Mental H ygiene staffs a 24-hour emergency hotline. It also provides each residential college with a liaison counselor, to whom Freshman Counselors and deans can tum with questions. For campus-wide crises, the service offers special sessions. After the death of Christian Prince (PC '93) in February, for instance, a counselor met with Prince's lacrosse teammates. Mental Hygiene's main function is to provide weekly counseling sessions. "We are here to deal with acute problems, but we also have a mission to help students better understand themselves," said Dr. Lorraine Siggons, director of Mental Hygiene. "College is a good time to be thinking

"Yale's policy is very difficult for students. If you don't decide to go in September, you're up a tree. " about one's self--one's wishes, aspirations, and past." The department provides students with up to four months of oncea-week treatment each year. Students average nine visits, more sessions than most universities. But long-te rm treatment for some means fewer open slots for people like Wendy, whose problems do not seem urgent to the counselor at the initial appointment. Many students who request treatment after September go on a waiting list for four to eight weeks. For students who are reluctant to try therapy, waiting can shatter already tentative resolve. "I'm the kind of person who

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has trouble asking for help," Wendy said. "When the counselor told me to wait, I thought I was being melodramatic." Rebecca went to Mental Hygiene to sort out a difficult hous ing situation for the upcoming year. She stuck out a two-month wait, but because ' the time for housing decisions had already passed, she felt sheepish about entering treatment when .her turn came. "I decided to go anyway because there were other things I wanted to work <:>ut," sbe said. "But when I felt really distraught and needed someone to talk to, they just weren't there." Âˇ Still, the co-coordinators of Yale's peer couns.eling service Walden, Margot Klimczak (BK '92) and Craig Motlong (CC '92), believe that Mental Hygiene does an excellent job. " Whenever I've dealt with them I've been impressed," Motlong said. "And I've heard only positive feedback from students." A Mental Hygiene counselor supervises training at Walden. Peer counselors often send students who need long-term therapy to Mental Hygiene. According to Klimczak, such !l referral usually translates into less time on the waiting list. Sarah bypassed the waiting list entirely. She called for an appointment last March when she was depressed and drinking heavily. Within three days, s he began treatment that continued for the rest of the semester. "At the time, I wasn't sure if I had a problem," Sarah said. ''They told me I was in trouble and were willing to begin therapy immediately." Siggons claims that only some students get the immediate care that Sarah received because Mental Hygiene lacks office space for more counselors. However, Siggons believes that Yale allots Mental Hygiene an adequate budget. "We could always use more money and space," she said. "But the resources the University commits are certainly more than at some other schools." Siggons believes that Yale's high number of average visits justifies the delay in services. Sarah thinks that explanation is a cop-out. "For someone who's feeling fragile, having to wait can be really hard," she said. "Depression is such a big problem at Yale that the administration should put more effort into dealing with it. The waiting list is not inevitable. Someone is malting a choice about how many counselors to hire." Other colleges emphasize providing services to as many students as possible rather than long-term treatment for each student. Dede Laveran, a counselor at Bryn Mawr, believes this policy works. " We can deal with a lot of problems APRD..l9, 1991

satisfactorily in six visits," she said. At small colleges like Bryn Mawr, every student receives treatment within a few days. "Yale's policy is very difficult for students," said Laveran. "If you don't decide to go in September, you're up a tree. And the crisis times come later in the year." At larger universities such as Harvard, Duke, and the University of Pennsylvania, no one waits more than ten days for treatment, although students average fewer visits than at Yale. To relieve the pressure on their counseling services, some universities refer students to community clinics. These clinics

"It sounds like you're going to have your soul scrubbed or something. " have sliding-scale fees, charging patients according to their income. Boston has several well-respected clinics, said Dr. Randoph Catlin, head of Harvard Psychiatries. Penn also uses local services, although Penn counselor Zoe Friedberg does not have the same confidence in Philadelphia's clinics that Catlin has in Boston's. " I' ve heard mixed reviews of the clinics," she said. "But realistically we don't have the staff to handle long-term therapy." New Haven has only one public clinic: the Connecticut Mental Health Center. But the state has set up this facility for people who are poor and mentally iU, leaving few openings for Yale students. Durham, North Carolina, home of Duke University, also suffers from a dearth of public clinics. Duke's Counseling and Psychological Services (CAPS) fills this void by referring students to its Medical School's Psychiatric Outpatient Service. Post-doctoral interns staff the service for nominal fees in return for job experie nce. "CAPS is not set up for treatment lasting more than o ne semester," said Rolph Pinkerton, assistant director of CAPS. "But the Outpatient Service takes care of students who need long-term treatment and can't afford private therapy." Although post-doctoral interns at Yale work at Mental Hygiene, the Medical School offers no outpatient service equivalent to the Duke program. Faculty doctors as well as interns staff Yale's Psychiatric Department Clinic, charging $80-90 an hour. APRIL 19. 1991

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Like most university counseling services, Mental Hygiene is free. But when stu dents have completed the maximum four months of treatment, or are on the waiting list, Mental Hygiene can only refer them to private therapists. For students who cannot afford visits that cost an average of $100 ao hour, the lack of a lternatives to private therapy poses a problem. Mental Hygiene, however, does not abandon those they see as extreme cases, and some New Haven therapists will agree to a partial reduction in fees for financially strapped students. For students who want and can afford private treatment, Mental Hygiene counselors routinely make referrals. But policy limits these referrals. to therapists who do not work at UHS-meanirig that students ~annot add private vis its with the sam e counselor to their weekly tr:eatment. "Our referral policy is intended to avoid conflicts of interest," said Siggons. She believes that allowing Mental Hygiene counselors to see students privately would suggest that counselors were using the service to recruit patients.

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Both Harvard and Bryn Mawr offer a combination of university-sponsored and private therapy. "For the people who need to see someone twice a week or more, our counselors are doing the college a service by agreeing to see them privately ," said Bryn Mawr's Laveran. " It benefits the students by giving therapy continuity." In addition to the waiti ng list, impersonal evaluations at Mental Hygiene also discourage students who are unsure about pursuing treatment. Coaxed by friends who noticed she had stopped eating, Allison went to Mental Hygiene last year. "I had misgivings about going," she said. ''The counselor I saw confirmed my worst fears. He made me feel that ' ' my problem was insignificant, which really undermined my faith that therapy was the right . action to take." Rebecca d~scribed her evaluation as a slap in the face. "I was very depressed, and having to answer a.Jot of question s about whether there was insanity in my fami ly and how many brothers and sisters I had made me feel like a case study," she said. "And then,

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ORANGE & ELM SHOE REPAIR after pouring out my whole life, they told me I had to wait." Students list other complaints about Mental Hygiene. The office's location on the third floor of UHS right across the hall from Student Health, does not afford much privacy. "It's strange to be on the elevator with someone you know and then tum left instead of right when you get out," said Rebecca. "There's still enough prejudice about therapy that people might thi nk you're weird." At Duke, CAPS moved to the building that houses the Career Development Center to make students feel more comfortable. Other students find that the name Mental Hygiene itself conjures up odd images. "It sounds like you're going to have your soul ~crubbed or something," said Wendy. Student evaluation of u n iversity health services ultimately rests on the success of their experience. "When I ask Duke students about the quality of care at CAPS, I get a lot of different answers," said Chris Bragg, former head of PISCES, a peer cou nsel in g ser vice at Duke. "It's important to reme mber that counseling is a very

i ndividual experience based on a personal relationship." Mental Hygiene addresses this issue by allowing students to switch counselors if necessary. Naom i, who avoided Yale's waiting list by signing up for therapy in September, believes her treatment has been helpful. "I've heard a lot of negative things about Mental Hygiene, but I really like my therapist, and that's what counts," she said. For Allison, Mental Hygiene provided only disappointment. ''I'm eating normally now," she said. "But I still have the same grief and mind-set, which kills me because I took the step of going to UHS a nd asking for help. I should have gotten it." 18]

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THE NEW J OURNAL 29

BooK REviEws division of labor, what will I do? "On Work and Alienation," nimbly If you have a college degree, you traces the restrictive, draining, and won't be doing manual labor: this is emotionally paralyzing world of one of the tacit understandings of assembly lines and computerized work contemporary work. The Nature of stations. Erikson claims that a growing Work , a collection of earnest mass of people have shunned the notion The Nature of Work, edited by Kai sociological essays, pries into such that work deserves an ethic of Erikson and Steven Peter Vallas. Yale assumptions. The volume's writers dedication. Instead, they "turn to University Press, 386 pages. $35.00. examine class divisions in our society, activities outside the sphere of paid Bad Attitude, edited by Chris Carlsson try to account for patterns of work for a sense of meaning and with Mark Leger. Verso, 285 pages. unemployment, and discuss the futures identity." $19.95. of dirty industry and high technology. Americans often view human Their many questions about activity along a work-or-leisure Long before I had a paying job, I saw occupations, indu stries, and class dichotomy: life is either tie-tight-andan unre lations all top-button-buttoned office work, or forgettable w a r r a n t parasol-and-sunscreen relaxation. What episode o t h or o u g h matters to workers, claims Erikson, is the game consider- leisure-the c h eckerboard, the s h o w at ion-if television, the Sunday drive with the M a t c h you are a kids. Nowadays most people survive on G a m e . p o 1 i c y their wages, not their work. The Wearing a consultant. workplace, the work hours, and the s i 1 k But what if division of labor are all out of their s moking you are 22 control. They focus their energy on jacket, ham and Âˇ about to their free time. a c t o r take an Free time dominates one of the Char I e s office job better essays in the book, Stanton N e I so n that's as Wheeler's "Double Lives." Wheeler, a R e i 11y confining as Yale law professor and accomplished squawked s c h o o I : musician, investigates Americans' from his ce"l'"e'b-r""=it-y-.-b_o_o-:;th',-;-;"Y'I''v-e-.b-e-e-n--as-s... ign-ed-.-s-e-a-:-ts-,-w-o..,rk,..,d'e-ad;-;!lines, a stream detachment from their paid jobs. He working on the railroad, all the livelong of awkward rituals like pencil- profiles people who routinely bounce day." Work in the United States has sharpening? between job and passionate pursuit. c hanged; unless you're a Hollywood The Nature of Work still brings Famous case in point: William Carlos entertainer it's hard to sing about it any you several pieces of news. While we Williams, doctor and poet. Williams more. Work songs like "Working in a see the blue-collar worker as the merged the two well-he liked Coalmine," "John Henry ," and prototypical American, the average pediatrics, and his art embraced "Working on the Railroad," once were worker will soon si t in front of a everyday activity. But his contemporary sung on the job by some muscular computer. A step up, supposedly, yet in Wallace Stevens, who spent his days at Paradiddle Joe while his back pearled many ways the only difference is the an insurance company , was more sweat. In contrast, today's work songs slightly higher pay. Sitting,...-----------,uncomfortable with the are sung after work: "Take This Job in a cubicle may be as division between poetry and Shove It." "9 to 5," and "Working stultifying as standing on and office: "It seems for the Weekend." Rhythmic production line; given tha insincere, like playing a complaints are inconceivable under "work" is probably bes part, to be one person on fluorescent lighting and quiet Muzak. defmed as "useful activity," paper and another in Besides, singing beyond the confines of each may be an equally pal reality." your cubicle may well be against pretender. Why can ' t we company policy. To most Americans rededicate o urselves to For children sitting in school, work of all color collars-"work" work in our society? is a mystery of the adult world, with suggests not useful activity Erikson, quoting the magical potential-"My daddy ," but daily humiliation an lapsed Marxist Andre announces little Justin, "works in an violence to body and spirit. Gorz, asserts that we no office!" While college students usually In his still-indispensible longer have a working have fewer illusions about the nuts-and- book Working, Studs Terkel class but a "non-class of bolts of the working world, they have chronicled Americans' non-workers- an only a slightly clearer picture of what growing disenchantment with their amorphous mass of the chronicaJly they' ll face between nine and five. It work. Fifteen years later, Kai Erikson's unemployed and underemployed, will be better than school, right? I'm opening essay in The Nature of Work, whose skills are no longer of apparent go n n a get paid. right? In the great "All gTllplrics rrprot~JÂŤ%11 with perm;.ion from Proc:eS6ol Worlll Mllpzirte''

Terminal Blues

Matt Fleischer

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APRU..

19, 1991

use in the new workplace." Shockingly, working conditions. "Making the Monte," a memoir of her experience as much of this majority is well educated. workplace nicer [and] giving workers a complaint clerk who opens packages As long as the workplace hasn't more responsibility...wiJl not make our of peaches with hair in them and adapted to our skills, it will erode our jobs any less alienating," writes Ana defective cartons of Hawaiian Punch. sense of craft and.--------------,Logue, a contributor. "For it is Unlike the arid (though wellleave us uninspired. capitalism itself and its considered) studies in The Nature of We will be dedicated reductionÂˇ of life to the pursuit Work, these documents have juice when to all measure o of profit that is the cause of our you bite in. It is a small price to pay other business-our dissatisfaction." that some of the more irascible ones poetry, our street Capitalism and profit are spit into your eye. hockey, our lawns, only one pair of a large chorus Rarely seeing beyond the failures and our shoppi ng. of villains in the PW drama. of today's work world, Bad Attitude Not work. Incendiary slogans pop out all offers few alternatives to computer hell. Instead o over: a series of ads for PW's take on work is that toil done griping at the water dummy-company Contek under under orders i s " deskilling," not to cooler, one crew o the motto "People Like You mention demeaning. There are workers has Helping People Like Us Help alternatives for the world of workproduced Bad Ourselves;" later, a picture of traditional options like the commune or Attitude. More riot cops holding back masses kibbutz-that PW could make more of. entertaining than the with the caption "Making the Work is not inherently bad, but it must average manifesto, this book culls World Safe for Bureaucracy." Some of be more integrated with our other . graphic graffiti and Tales of Toil from the graphics are crude anarchism ("If activities and must allow us some room ten years of a San Francisco magazine the system is the answer, it must be a to be creative. Let's insist that the called Processed World. By day its fucking stupid question"). These stand nature of work in our offices keeps contributors sell "their only marketable simply as the rawer side of Processed changing until it is in line with human skill atter years of university education: World's wish to stir up resistance. needs-which might mean eliminating Worker solidarity! Smash office offices altogether. handling information." By night, they twist comic-book pranksterism around idiocy! Processed World is cranky. But I don't really like books with broad rebellion-bent thoughtfulness. The much of the writing in Bad Attitude is sociological themes, unless they shatter contributors don't merely resent the . - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - , m y preconceptions and need to work, as Wallace Stevens did; extend my sense of a they are disgusted by the sterility and s ubject. On this score mind s uffocation in offices across The Nature of Work corporate America. Through their eyes s ucceeds: it is well the office world is a high-tech sweat written and accessible to shop, also known as the Abusement all who are curious. Bad Park. ttitude-a rarer Bad Attitude chronicles a realm treasure-is, at heart, too that in one contributor's phrase "buzzes convincing to skip. beige:" a hypnostatic world of College students about to electronic recordings, of stale enter what PW calls croissants, of meticulously wage s lavery still have systematized dungeons charitably their go-getter called offices. These souls try to be personalities, hopes for detached from their paid work, but they personal opportunity, are so repulsed that they can't merely and sense of zone out-their jobs warrant protest accomplishment. If you and agitation. In short, a coordinated suspect that a year of surge of bad attitude. being treated like solid The Processed World waste matter by a company would start to revolutionaries lead double lives, in the sense that Stanton Wheeler intends. get you down , peek at Wheeler believes that, because work is Bad Attitude before you now less back-breaking than it once as touching or reflective as the graphics slip into debasement. Maybe you'll find was, we can devote ourselves to other are provocative. Linda Thomas's "It's a way out. preocc upations. The PW writers' A Business Doing Pleasure With You" preoccupation is not diversionary but is a harrowing catalog of sexploitation. Matt Fleischer is a junior in Trumbull subversionary: educating and Paxa Lourde calls for a renewed College. organizing workers to overthrow their connection to our food in " Dear Del APRIL

19, 1991

THE NEW JOURNAL 31

...

Make Money, Not War Kathy Reich The Next Century. David Halberstam. William Morrow, $16.95. 126 pages.

America's militarism will cause its decline. In The Next Century, David Halberstam, a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, speculates that Japan's economic strength will soon present the greatest threat to America's national security. Halberstam believes that with the end of the Cold War, militarism has become obsolete. The new international "battles," he says, will be fought over education, economics, and technology. On all three fronts, Halberstam sees the u.s. failing because the country has become a war machine, eager to attack problems abroad while ignoring them at home. "Our political system is still based philosophically on the glory days of hegemony, but our economic (and social) system is stumbling clumsily in the early days of the new international economy," he writes. "The result is a society oddly oblivious of of its new realities, a people and a nation living above their heads, and politicians w ho dare not tell the truth to the population." Halberstam's description rings painfully especially in light of the s&L scandal, the growing gap between rich and poor, and a decade of record deficit spending. While the u.s. strives to maintain its military hegemony, its economic empire slips into decline. Halberstam clearly considers military foreign policy a waste of time in a new world order 32

THE NEW jOURNAL

powered by the microchip, fiber optics, and multinational conglomerates. He believes that an integrated international economy will bring world peace. It hasn't so far, however; the inherently peaceful new economy just caused a war in the Persian Gulf. He simply ignores this paradox. The deployment of u.s. troops to the Persian Gulf, well underway when Halberstam wrote his book, merits scarcely a paragraph. "Even if we win that war, we may lose in more subtle and complicated ways," he warns, without further elaboration. In hindsight, the events of the Gulf War d i s ·p · r o v e Halberstam·~

worldwide, shows no signs of abating. Whether Halberstam likes it or not, militarism provides a crucial base for America's selfimage and foreign policy. By sheer force in the Gulf War, the country has preserved its dominant position among world powers. Perhaps u.s. military power will wane as Japan and Germany surge past America economically, but for now might still makes right. And for now, winning wars abroad seems to make America feel better about a disintegrating society at home. Last summer, President Bu sh's popularity plummeted after the budget crisis and his vetoes of the Civil Rights and Family Leave bills. Now, the victor in a lightning war, he is the most popular president in American history. A country that can rule the world need not worry about racial strife and latchkey kids. A country that boasts

about crushing Saddam Hussein can ignore the fact that many of its own cities·

resemble the ravaged Kuwait City. ntil a miraculous economic and social healing occurs in, this country, militarism is the crutch upon which the American ego l«~ans. Halberstam argues convincingly that the u.s . must learn to succeed without that crutch. He wants to abandon militarism completely and substitute greater educational and economic competitiveness in its place-the standard "peace dividend" line. But he offers no suggestions about how to bring the u.s. into the 21st century without fueling a tremendous American inferiority complex. He seems to feel that if America will only stop building bombers, everything will be peachy. In an economy where the military and defense industry provide millions of jobs, and in a world where many look to the u.s. as global policeman, Halberstam' s view is simplistic. He does make a convincing case for dismissing the Soviet Union as an enemy. Halberstam argues that for nearly 50 years America has wasted its resources fighting the Cold War. Now it appears that the Soviet Union has been a vastly overrated foe. As it disintegrates, Halberstam fears that the USSR may pull America into the ashes alongside it, if the u.s. continues to APRIL 19,1991

view national security in military terms. Both America and the Soviet Union have lost the Cold War, according to Halberstam's definition of national security as an index of social and economic well-being. Victory has gone to a noncombatant, Japan. "As the Cold War was ending, those immune to it, or skilled at paying lip service and getting on with their new agenda, like the Japanese, prospered," he writes. Because Japan was demilitarized after World War II, it has poured all of its resources and nationalist spirit into becoming an economic giant. Halberstam noticed the trend as a correspondent. in Saigon during the Vietnam war. "My clearest memory from 1967, pre-Tet, was thousands of Americans wandering around Saigon in combat gear and hundreds of Japanese businessmen in their civilian clothes doing business in the city's best hotels and eating at new Japanese restaurants," he recalls . "We were obsessed with the Cold War and now the Hot War, but the Japanese were obsessed with commerce." In Halberstarn's vision of the 21st century, Japan will dominate, followed by Germany. With their well-educated workers and self-sacrificing drive to succeed, he says, the two countries simply can't lose. By contrast, Halberstam describes the u.s. as soft,

He seems to feel that if America will only stop building bombers, everything will be peachy. overconfident, lazy. The country bas lost the entrepeneurial spirit it once bad. "Three generations of affluence...in turn created a culture of high expectations, which in tum created a politics based on high assumptions and high consumption. What had started in the early fifties as a sense of possibilities APRIL 19, 1991

gradually became expectations and then finally entitlement." Americans now live for pleasure and self-gratification more than for · freedom and equality. Compared to Japan , says Halberstam, the U.·S. lacks vision, drive and know-how when dealing with education and the economy . But be offers no concrete solutions fo r the problems he attacks. As a pluralistic society in every sense, America can hardly model itself on Japan, a nation so tightly knit, he argues, that its citizens consider themselves a separate race. Without a course of action, Halberstam sounds like just another liberal reciting a familiar litany of societal ills. Halberstam writes i n vague generalizations, relying on anecdotes and personal impressions rather than cold h ard facts to back up his assertions. He wants to provoke thought and debate about America's problems; be never claims to have all the answers to them. Still, some solutions would be nice. Moreover, Halberstam is hopelessly naive if he expects America to abandon militarism immediately and entirely. As the recent war with Iraq indicates, war spurs American nationalism as economics fuel Japanese nationalism. Such a nationalistic force may be impossible to replace, even if it drags America as far down as Halberstam believes it will. As the situation worsens at home, Americans may turn gladly to wars abroad. The u.s. doesn't seem ready to abandon militarism and cure its societal ills. At a time when most of America is wrapped in the flag, bailing Bush's militaristic New World Order, Halberstarn cautions that success abroad cannot erase, and may even undermine, success at home. He has an excellent point. But as long as Americans measure success by wars won, not GNP gained, Halberstarn's warnings will fall on deaf ears. 181

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APRIL

19, 1991

In the summer, Kenji nailed soup-can lids against the night their sounds bled through the wall, their murmuring and holes in the wall to keep out the swirling dust. Now, in whispering and coughing and crying followed her into her November, the wind blew snow and pieces of ice against the dreams. side of the barracks. The ice hit hard, a winter assault, ticking Four months before, Yos hi had lost her daughter and out the seconds, hours, days. From the inside the child stood husband, Kenji his sister and father, in the space of eleven on her toes, reaching up and pressing the backs of her fingers days. The girl had died in the camp hospital giving birth, the against the soup lids to feel the shock of the cold. Yoshi blood draining out of her, her tiny body deflating. The old watched the child from the corner. Next to her, the oil furnace man, already bent and weary, died of heartbreak ten days later. He stopped eating and grew smaller; Yoshi pressed hummed and purred like an old cat. When Yoshi grew tired, or when she wanted to be alone, she glanced across the room against him and felt his ribs pushing out of his skin, his chest at Kenji, her son. He nodded and held his hand out to the a metal washboard, the bones spaced, hard, even. It was only child, and together they - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - a week after they buried him in the camp cemetery that the child disappeared into the storm, out C came and sat on their steps. toward the Children's Village, two blocks away. Yosh i had been talking to her Yoshi used to work in thee 0 dead husband in her head when fields, but then her muscles • she saw her, and for this reason stopped working, deadened in 0 s he t h ought the child was a ~er body, refused. Now sh~ sat ghost. She picked her up that m the room all day and wruted. • first even i ng and lifted her At 11:00 Kenji left for the eyelids with her thumbs, mess hall to cook; at 7:00 he look i ng into the bottomless returned wit.h fresh egg~ and black eyes. She asked the bread, sometimes only shghtly • child's name and the child said nothing. Kenji came home from spoiled fruit, so that his mother would not have to eat the runny ' cooking and bounced the child on hi s knee. She didn't laugh, piles of gray, the limp slabs of brown he prepared for '-./( ' did not even smile, only ever~one else. It wa~ always watched him, eyes of wisdom. freezmg; when Yosht opened r r "Orphan," said Kenji when she her door the cold air slapped wouldn't take his hand. Later he her face. The wind that pressed the dust into every crack of took her to the Children's Village, the camp orphanage, and her skin in the summer lifted the snow from the ground handed her back to the bowing nuns. now-whiter, colder dust, a freezing hell; the wind sucked The child came back every day, and Yoshi was glad for the water from her eyes. Kenji stuffed rolled paper into the the company. In the fall, before the ground froze, Yoshi sat door frame to shut out the air but the cold still rose from the on the front stair and watched the child play. Before he died, ground. But they were lucky, they were only two; on the her husband had made a small clearing in front of the other side of the wall lived a family of eight, the cries of the barrack s, three tufts of bush next to the stairs, the whole young ones rising in a chorus as they sat huddled in their space bound by rough white stones as if it were a garden. single room. Yoshi talked to them sometimes in the day. At Yoshi gave the child an old spade with most of the handle

p ast t h e h UrC h th ey reach e d th e d if h h b b d ge t e camp, t e ar e h l · if l wzre, t e ong strzngs meta with teeth They looked out at the brOWn land and the mOUntainS standing silent behind it They SaW the endlessneSS oif it Cali+ornia desert ground and sky onening un into each other.

APRIL 19, 1991

THE NEw JocR.'"AL

broken off and watched her sink it into the dusty ground. In the winter when it wasn't too cold, the child used it to slice into the snow, or to chip away at the ice frozen thick on the stairs. The wooden

The wooden handle, one chunk chipped out of it, was barely long enough to fit the child's hand, the blade so clean the sun gleamed off the metal. handle, one chunk chipped out of it, was barely long enough to fit the child's hand, the blade so clean the sun gleamed off the metal. Every day the child brought the spade with her when Yoshi led them both to the cemetery; there the child ran laughing through the graves as Yoshi spoke to her family, prayed that she would join them, that the winter and the war would spare the only one she had left, her son. Yoshi was always cold. Even when she lay in her cot under a mountain of clothes, even when Kenji held her so tight she thought he would crush her spine, even when she sat so close to the stove her skin blistered red from the heat, she felt the chill down to the bottom of her bones. She dressed now in men 's clothes, khaki trousers and peacoats and green earmuffs left over from World War I, black boots and knh caps the officials handed out after three people died of exposure; huge, ugly clothing everyone had to take because they had nothing else, because they had only been allowed to bring what they could carry. Kenji wore his cook's shirt, an old army jacket, and the same pair of gray work pants every day. The child wore a blue button-up sweater that hung off of her, an old woman 's sweater, trailing almost to the ground like a dress. The child was never cold because she never stopped moving. In the

THE NEW JOURNAL

daytime she ran around and around the barracks, past the hundreds of families boxed inside, past the bare trees that reached out to her with their spindly, skinny fingers, through the line of people outside the mess hall whose words rose in a white mist like one huge collective breath, through the shadow of the guard tower that stood a few hundred feet away. The s hadow pushed down on everybody, even when there was no sun. Kenji knew also that the child was a ghost. But this did not stop him from holding h er upside down, from bouncing her on top of his knees. Sometimes when the silence in the room grew so large he thought it would swallow him, he left his mother and took the child, walked her around the camp. They walked slowly, knowing there was only so much they could see, he singing to Jhe child in a voice that made old men nod their beads and smile. Sometimes he was interrupted by the ringing of the bells, announcing a birth or a death or a meeting. The child took everything in as they walked. She saw other children run by her, laughing; sometimes they would stop in front of her and stare. She saw young women lean their heads together in doorways. She saw boys playing stickball, and older women with their faces powdered white with flour, silent phantoms. Together she and Kenji walked past the Buddhist church, a tar-paper covered building like every other except for the sign on the top and the white doors flung open like the arms of a loved one. Past the church they reached the edge of the camp, the barbed wire, the long strings of metal with teeth. They looked out at the brown land and the mountains standing silent behind it. They saw the endlessness of it, California desert, ground and sky opening up into each other. There the child let Kenji hold one of her tiny hands; with the other she tapped the wires with her spade. Sometimes, while the child thrust her hand through the gaps in the floor and tried to touch the ground, Y oshi and Kenji would argue. She worried about the unease that had been rippling through the camp, worried it would build into a wave, that her only son would be picked up by the momentum,

carried, smashed against the ground. "We must be patient," she told him, "Good will come." He shook his head from side to side as the child pulled brown weeds up from the cracks between the floorboards. Kenji worried about his mother almost as much as his mother worried about him. With each week that passed she spoke Jess, as if opening her mouth would Jet in more of the cold, as if grief could not be carried by language. She sat silently and made clothes for the child, cutting and sewing and pinning her daughter's old dresses and sweaters. Kenji would pull a chair up in front of her and place his fists on her knees, trying to get her to meet his eyes. When s he wouldn' t'look back he moved across the room and sat on his cot. The c hild came over anq imitated him,

Yoshi was always , cold. Even whenÂˇ she lay in her cot under a mountain of clothes, eve'! when Kenji held her so tight she thought he would crush her spine, even when she sat so close to the stove her skin blistered red from the heat, she felt the chill down to the bottom of her bones. s miling. She pounded her little fists against his knees and then touched his face. His eyebrows were the width of her fmger, caterpillars crawling across his brow. Kenji put his hand on top of the APJUL 19, 1991

child's head and stared at the shrunken form of his mother. It was hardest on the old people; the walls of the barracks closed in on them most tightly. Kenji brought the best things home from the mess hall but Yoshi' s bowels still protested against the greasy, tasteless food. Many days the child led Y oshi to the bathroom, helping carry the folding cardboard refrigerator box Kenji had given his mother to bring. There they waited half an hour to catch a glimpse of the overflowing toilets, where the child waited another half hour while Y oshi sat in silence, the cardboard box her only means of privacy. Kenji was glad the child had appeared; she made his mother's days go faster. Even with her bottomless black eyes and dirty hair and silent mouth, he felt in her his best memories of those he had lost-if she was a ghost, she was a good one. He carried her on his hip and watched her catch snow on her tongue; he set her down and watched her dig into the ice with the spade. In December, though, the wave of unease overtook them. Yoshi had known it for months, fear strangling her out of her sleep. One morning Kenji came home from work and told her a man had been beaten, an informant. One of the attackers had been identified, and had been taken away from the camp the night before. He was supposed to be brought back inside that day. When her son went back to work Yoshi sat shivering. Around the camp the whispers flowed like water; alone on her cot she could feel them. In the afternoon the child came and pressed her face against Yoshi' s shins. Soon Kenji came home; people were going to the jail to ask questions about the prisoner, perhaps to protest. He told this to his mother and then left again, pulled away by the growing wave. Yoshi gathered herself up a few minutes later and followed. She limped outside and the child trailed after her with the spade. She saw men waver in doorways and then step out to meet each other. The wave swelled larger, washed toward the center of camp. Yoshi walked with the child, the sky dark gray above her, through block after block of the barracks. She had lost APJUL 19, 1991

sight of Kenji long before. Ahead of her the wave lapped up to the jail, to the feet of the camp police standing in front of it. The wave grew louder, questioned, shouted so that the police could not understand. Yoshi saw the wave rise up, huge but harmless. Then she heard them, loud cracks like the sky was ripping open: the police were firing. Screams rose up around her as she tried to keep from being pushed down; young men ran past her with their hands pressed to their ears. Still the sound of the gunshots, the echoes welling out into the air. Yoshi pushed through the crowd yelling Kenji' s name. She pulled the peacoat around her and limped through people. The cracks of the rifles stopped but she still heard them. Through the wave of people she saw the cook's coat, the gray work pants: Kenji. He grabbed her by the arm and led her into the flow of the crowd, away from the jail, away from the screaming and now crying people. In the doorways of the barracks men shook their heads and mumbled; children cried and pushed against their legs, covering their ears against the echoes. Kenji led his mother through the barracks. When they reached their own they rushed in and held each other on Yoshi' s cot. Somewhere outside of Yoshi's head the bells began to ring, the meeting bells; someone was striking them. All night she heard them as she lay huddled on the cot with her son. Yoshi pressed her hands against the thick cloth that covered Kenji's chest, his back, his shoulders-he had been lucky, nothing had happened to him. Yoshi sank under the weight of relief. At dawn, when they could feel the darkness begin to lift, Kenji raised his head. He stood up and hugged his shoulders, turned to his mother. "Where is the child?" he asked. Yoshi looked at him; she had forgotten. "She is probably back at the Children's Village," Kenji said, but Yoshi did not reply. She knew that she was not. She knew the child had run, bad fled; she felt fear tum itself over in her stomach. Yoshi thought of the child, her bottomless black eyes-she would find her. "Where are you going?" Kenji asked as she made her way to the d~.

but his mother did not answer. She wrapped a blanket around herself and stepped outside. She had to find the child. Even if she had to limp through all of the barracks, black shadows now against the brightening sky. Even if she had to go into the Children's Village and pull the covers back from every cot, she would find the child. She knew this, felt the certainty lodge in her mind. After a night with no sleep she had never been more awake. Deafened by the bells, she had never heard herself more clearly. Yoshi took her first steps onto the frozen snow and felt it crunch beneath her feet. She turned right and walked quickly, her muscles fluid again, muscles of a 20-year-old, still young. The camp was deserted, all the doors shut tight. It was emptied of life, a ghost town. Yoshi knew of the families locked inside the barracks and

At dawn, when they could feet the darkness begin to lift, Kenji raised his head. He stood up and hugged his shoulders, turned to his mother. "Where is the child?" he asked. felt their deafening silence. She limped through snow and through dirt paths, the cold dry ground. Across parts of the camp bushes were spread like a rash. Scattered throughout were leafless trees that seemed to be shrinking, only skeletons. Yosbi pushed through the camp alone, did not see another person except for the tiny green figures at the top of the guard towers, their rifles pointed out like black serpents. She did not see any of those shut inside, they did not venture out to watch her pass, but she felt them. She felt their anger and sorrow in the bells that still rang Tm: NEW JOURNAL 37

out all around her. She felt them with her as she called out to the child, longed for the warmth of the child's face against her knees. And as she circled back from the center of camp toward her own barracks again, she stopped feeling the others and began to feel the child, drawing her closer, pulling her by an invisible string. As Y oshi turned the comer to the back side of her own barracks, the child appeared before her suddenly like a photograph. Yoshi saw the blue sweater there, the tiny heap. Pressed up against the side of the barracks was the form of the child, frozen, covered with a thin layer of white. Yoshi ran to her. And as soon as she saw the child she saw the little hand that held the spade. There was a hole beneath the spade; she had used the. tool to dig into the frozen dirt right next to Âˇ the barracks, into the ground away from the bells and gunshots. The c hild was half-way inside the hole. She had tried to dig herself through, to escape. The tiny hand was frozen around the handle of the spade. The child was covered with snow. Next to her the barracks stood black and silent, a giant tombstone. Behind her, the sky was frozen white. Yoshi saw this all in an instant. And as Yoshi saw the child lying there, she felt a hole open up in her brain; and as she felt her feet pull her forward she heard the scream that streamed out from her stomach; and as the hole in her brain opened wider she felt it sucking in the sou nd of the bells, ringing and pounding against the walls of her head until she felt her mind explode. li1J

Nina Revoyr is a senior in Berkeley College.

THE NEW JOURNAL

APRIL

19, 1991

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