Winky’s treatment plan didn’t require an advanced degree in psychology to implement. He was to be observed, medicated, and charted on. Since he was admitted as a court-hold pending a competency hearing, Winky’s world would revolve around staff discretion: patient interaction, freedom to walk the halls, showers, meals, the occasional visit to the fenced in court yard to smoke his favorite corn cob pipe, or even unscheduled bathroom breaks were weighed against staff prejudice. As far as the majority of staff was concerned, Winky was a pedophile, already convicted by the Cedarcrest mentality. Pedophiles, no matter their accompanying DSM-IV diagnosis (published by the American Psychiatric Association to provide diagnostic criteria for mental disorders), were not treated kindly at Cedarcrest. Most staff were parents first, clinicians and policy-implementers second. It’s difficult to work with those who’d harm children—perhaps your own child, I understand this, as I too struggled with my objectivity concerning pedophilia, rape, or any type of injustice inflicted upon another, but within the confines of Cedarcrest I retained my objectivity—that was my job, my obligation to the education I sought out to study. No one forced me to work as a psych-counselor; no one required me to seek an understanding of Winky. Again, observation, medication, and charting were all that was required. A court-appointed psychologist would determine Winky’s ultimate ability to comprehend and stand trial—input from those who treated him could be, and most likely would be ignored.

Winky was astute when in came to sensing staff disdain. He followed staff’s orders like a trained dog. “Come… stay in your room… keep that trach-hole covered… be quiet… you need to piss? … use the urinal bottle.”  Winky’s status as one-to-one (staff required to  be at arms length of a patient at all times) added to the resentment. As I wrote about in part one, staff feared his hepatitis C. They feared his reputation as a spitter. But there were some staff that took an interest in Winky; they ignored the media; they concentrated on doing their jobs. Our staff psychologist exemplified empathy, Winky’s social worker tried hard to get the Department of Mental Retardation to coordinate efforts concerning a proper placement, our unit director did her best to educate those who despised Winky. All it really took was an initiation of dialogue with Winky to understand his crime. With his impaired ability to speak, he had a lot to say.

After a week at Cedarcrest, Winky’s confusion concerning his situation eased up. He became interested in wanting to explain what he did. For those who listened, a different component of his story emerged—facts ignored by the media and investigators; severe allegations (made by Winky) hushed by the private group home’s management entrusted with his care. Yes, the sexual assault happened. Winky pounced on a young girl walking to school, raped her with his hand, but understood his actions to be normal. Why? The answer sickens me, and justifies my distrust of the corporate mentality that poisons the private group homes in Connecticut—throughout this country. Somewhere in Winky’s development, his sexual urges were never addressed. In all probability, Winky was exposed to his own rape, sexual encounters initiated to please perverted staff, or sex done to quell the animalistic urge within without regard for consequence or understanding, all while he was a statistic, a client number, an inmate of a mentally retarded prison—Mansfield Training Center. This was a juxtaposition of assumption amongst the caregivers who knew of Mansfield; the manager of Winky’s group home (former co-worker of mine in DMR) certainly knew of allegations concerning Mansfield, but what did she do when Winky started acting out, demanding sex, wanting to seek out a haunting comfort? This manager allowed her staff to take Winky on excursions to strip clubs and massage parlors. He used his own money to pay for sex; his requests were coded in the phrase: I want a date. That’s what he said to the young girl before he attacked her. He asked her for a date—a request that had been ignored earlier that morning by a group home staffer—a staffer that suggested Winky go walk it off—Winky’s words not mine. I know this because I gave him the quarter to make a phone call to the group home’s manager—I overheard his promise not to tell. I took the phone and asked her what the hell Winky was alluding to. She knew who I was, and I knew all to well her evasiveness. I believed Winky. I charted on this phone call. Since Winky’s visitations were a closely monitored daytime activity, I requested that my sits with Winky coincide with all visitations. Staff debated and agreed--some reluctantly. That’s how I got involved in helping in the process of determining Winky’s competency; that's how I became his interpreter for those who wanted nothing more than to have Winky stand before a judge and face his punishment. That’s a story for part three.

part one 

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