T 0 I f 4F w POT Tf t3NTERPOT- T Setting the bar on Rick's With Superman and Batman Ivsuperma~n As I stated a couple weeks back, there are certain guilty pleasures in life. Is the protector of the free world proud of these, well, no. But it is what it is. I'll say it, maybe not as loud as I should, but I like Rick's. There I said it; I enjoy that dingy bar. And I'll let you all in on a secret, the only reason Batman doesn't like it is the whole jilted lover thing. Yup, before him and Robin shacked up, there was a lonely night in February where he thought he could take home a girl. Side note, she was probably about a 1.8 out of 10, but that's beside the point. She turned him down, and Robin cried with joy when Batman came home with his balls in his hands. Sure, sometimes it's a little smelly in Rick's, and too often that frat boy pisses you off, but where else are you guaranteed as good a chance at fine booty as Rick's? Yeah, drinks can get pricey, but everybody knows some- one who knows another person that works there, and boom, drinks aren't as expensive. But back to the important thing, get- ting ass at Rick's is easy. Let me tell you from experience, when me and ole Lois were on the rocks, some nice little tart made me forget all about double L's sweet body. The best part? I never had to talk to this girl again. 400 of my closest friends and I are gonna shake it at Rick's then get some food at Backroom Pizza. B\ 9batman Oh that den of inequity near Backroom Pizza. On any regular weekend night you r' smell the stink of despera- tion and cheap rum in the air at Rick's. For someone like you Clar ... I mean Superman, who moves between the inhuman and mortal world like some trumped up deity, the lure has got to be appealing. Unaware citizens pumping their guilty, guilty livers full of whatever before simulating sex on another power-puffed, gaudily dressed person who's been tanned, fried and stoned more than a piece of Prime Rib? That's your biggest fan base. Yes, I fight for the puked on, sexually harassed and no-nonsense people who see Rick's for what it is: a blight of dually over/under sexed kids with nothing better to do then strip to glorified undies, waste money on drinks jacked up to five times their original worth and sulk around when their oh-so- special crush leaves the building. Bars are for drowning your sor- rows about dead parents in hard, unflinching tumblers of scotch and bourbon. Clubs are for mingling cigar smoke with quiet asides to member of the crime underworld, all the while plotting their downfall. Yes Superman, you'll never stop at preventing the people from learning the truth: Rick's does not uplift your spirit with its sloppy, double-chinned revelry, it is the soma of this fair city, lulling your once sharp minds into believing you are having a good time. Good times are had sulking in the fading grey light of a well appoint- ed mansion, trapped in the twilight between sin and vengeance, tearing yourself apart in the name of justice. And justice is not a $8 mixed drink. The lives of the sicker patients, however, are scarcely reflected in the newsletter. Those patients who were too disruptive to be kept in an open ward with other patients spent much of their time in solitary con- fin ement. The post-World War II era saw the construction of two new wards, bring- ing the hospital's capacity beyond 4,000 patients. It also saw an explosion of new research activities, ranging from mundane epidemiological studies, to "finger-painting as a diagnostic and therapeutic aid," to work involving a substance referred to as "L.S.D. CID #527." Dr. Jonas Salk honed the skills that would later lead him to develop the polio vaccine by testing flu vaccines in Ypsilanti State Hospital on what even a U.S. military medical history website describes as "volunteers," in quotes. The late '40s also saw the expan- sion of another therapeutic technique - the lobotomy. To patients who failed to respond to psychotherapy, lobotomy offered a last hope. To the hospital, it offered a means of managing the most difficult patients. Indeed, suicidal or combative behavior was one standard the hospital staff used in determining whether to lobotimize patients. Lobotomies performed at Ypsilanti State Hospital were somewhat less grue- some than the so-called "ice-pick lobot- omy," in which a surgeon hammered a metal spike into the skull through the patient's eye socket to slice through con- nective brain tissue. A lobotomy, how- ever, was still a serious matter. Of the 65 lobotomy patients in 1953, five died, and only one-third improved enough to leave the hospital or to require less supervision within it, according to a journal article by members of the hos- pital staff. Chemical or electric shock treatments or extreme procedures like lobotomy had no effect on many patients. Schizo- phrenics had particularly poor chances. Of the 4,077 patients in the hospital on a given day in 1955, for instance, more than half were diagnosed with schizo- phrenia. Throughout the nation, large public mental hospitals housed these people whose conditions could scarcely be treated. More than 20,000 people were confined to Michigan's mental hospitals in the '50s. Many of these people were insti- tutionalized for years and were aban- doned by their loved ones. A Friends and Family Circle was formed at Ypsi- lanti State Hospital in 1951 "to further the welfare of our patients, especially those, of whom there are over 1,000, who lack personal contact with relatives or friends." It was about this time that Ypsilanti State Hospital gained the greatest fame it is likely to ever have. Milton Rokeach, a social psychologist, decided to try group therapy with three patients who all had delusions of being Jesus Christ. The logical contradiction of having two other Christs in the room wasn't enough to cure the patients. But the resulting book, "The Three Christs of Ypsilanti," was required reading in many psychol- ogy classes for a generation. Healthy Progress The '50s saw the era of the large state mental institution begin to pass. During that decade, doctors had access to the first effective anti-psychotic and anti- depressant drugs. There was finally a weapon against the terrifying delusions and suicidal depressions that haunted so many of Ypsilanti State Hospital's patients. The new pills, especially in the early years, had dangerous side effects, but they were safer and far more effective than insulin treatments or electroshock. Hospital staff faced a new challenge - for the first time ever, they had to turn away patients from dances and movies because too many were feeling well enough to participate. The medical directors worked on developing active programs of therapy appropriate for healthier. patients. A publication commemorating the hospi- tal's 25th anniversary in 1956 noted that the new drugs were being incorporated into "a total psychiatric treatment of the mentally ill." A survey of the hospital's buildings in 1969 found that they were functionally obsolete because the units "were all designed for custodial care of the insane and are not well suited for a therapeutic program of care and treat- ment for the mentally ill." What happened, at Ypsilanti State Hospital and across the nation, was not, for many patients, a "total psychiatric treatment" or "therapeutic programs of care." Recognizing the potential of new psychiatric drugs and the shortfalls of large, impersonal state hospital, the Kennedy administration passed leg- islation encouraging the development of smaller, community-based mental health facilities. Decentralized community mental health centers have worked well for many patients, who have been able to reunite with their families or seek employment while keeping their condi- tions in check with the aid of psychiatric drugs. But the drugs didn't work for all patients. Those patients, and patients who stopped taking their drugs after being released or who couldn't afford them, have often fared poorly outside men- tal hospitals. Many of the mentally ill have ended up in prison; others have become homeless. A recent survey by the Washtenaw Housing Alliance found that 42 percent of homeless people interviewed reported suffering from a mental illness. Thanks to the new drugs, many patients were discharged from men- tal hospitals. Across the nation, state officials dealing with budget shortfalls noticed that their mental hospitals were operating at less than full capacity and that Medicaid didn't reimburse them for care in mental hospitals anyway, so they began to close them. In Michigan, Gov. John Engler sought to cut state spending on mental health. Under Engler, State Mental Health Director James Haveman Jr. sought to close all the state's mental hospitals. Ypsilanti State Hospital - by now renamed Ypsilanti Regional Psychiatric Hospital - was one of the first to go, closed in 1991. Of the state's original 28 mental hospitals, only three for adults and one for children remain in opera- tion today. A small portion at the back of Ypsi- lanti State Hospital, ringed with barbed wire, remained in use as the Center for See HOSPITAL, page 16B }%1:: +i% ::.. .k . }i } .: } C f :;4yi: I.L Co vi,4 Ato-t oi/r LYI FALL STUPJ ABR OAD FAIR! Don't miss the recruiters from Quicken Loans, the #1 online mortgage lender, and one of FORTUNE 100 Best Companies to Work For in America. Stop by to "Meet and Greet" recruiters from to learn about the amazing career opportun Friday, September 30 from 12 noon to 3 pm. University of Michigan, Ross School of Busin 100. 5'&y AmJg AK.x P"44t vL~idPt vh .TODAY FROM 3-6 eM. 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