"Friendly Persuasion"

I had decided in early adolescence that I was an agnostic. Then, a few years later, I discovered the Religious Society of Friends, or Quakers.

Adolescence was tough for me; I developed a serious depression, for which I was ultimately hospitalized for a time at Presbyterian-St. Luke's Hospital in Chicago. There I met a psychiatrist who also worked at Chicago State Hospital, where he had spearheaded a unique (for the late 1950s) program. In this program, young people teamed together to go to the state hospital and visit with some of the patients. Sponsored by the American Friends Service Committee (AFSC -- more about them next time), it was called an "institutional service unit," or ISU for short.

On my first Saturday as an ISU-er, I entered one of the state hospital's "back wards" with some trepidation. It bore little resemblance to the shiny new psychiatric facility where I had been treated a few months before. This one smelled of urine; feces were smeared on the walls of the shower room. Many of the men were pacing or sat crouched against the walls, seemingly oblivious to everything around them. Decibel level was high, both because the room was bare, with tiled walls and concrete floor, and because of the moaning, crying, squawking and other sounds uttered by some of the residents.

Uneasy, I focussed on one of the less bizarre appearing patients, a youngish man who reminded me a bit of movie star Montgomery Clift. He was squatting by one of the walls, too, but his dress and grooming were reasonably neat and he was silent. I tried talking to him, but since I was quite shy myself in those days, I'm not sure how much I had to say.

Mostly I urged him to come and play cards or some such. Looking back, I'm embarrassed for what I must have been like -- jabbering at this fellow with perhaps little awareness of his feelings or subtle responses. He just stayed silent and let me lead him around the ward, though he never did participate in any card game or other activity.

If nothing else, the youthful members of our ISU certainly brought newness to the place. New faces, new energy, new -- if not always skillful -- stimuli for the patients. And apparently the program was having some success. The psychiatrist who had inaugurated it seemed pleased with what was happening, and Life magazine published an article about it.

The ISU was very successful in another way -- it opened a new door for me. After spending the day at the state hospital, our young crew returned to an elderly house in one of Chicago's poorer neighborhoods. The house was kept by the AFSC for various community action programs in the area. Here, everybody joined together to cook and serve dinner (pasta) for ourselves, and then ate together, washed dishes together, sang and chatted through the evening. The fellowship felt wonderful.

The next morning, our group held a typical Quaker meeting for worship. This was again a totally new experience for me. The worship was held in silence -- a delicious meditative silence that embraced and inspired. Occasionally, someone would stand up and speak briefly, mostly about spiritual thoughts or discoveries. The statements didn't interrupt, but for the most part deepened the silence.

With the ending of the worship meeting, the ISU was over for the weekend. I went back to my family's home, in love with stillness and convinced that I had found new spiritual nourishment.