For those who do not remember the late 50's and early 60's I doubt if you know what a DQ Chocolate jet is. A paper cylinder with a wooden stick going the through the free standing bottom was filled with deep rich chocolate ice cream with the signature twirl top, frozen to the exact temperature made a perfect jet. You would push the ice cream up with the stick to get every drop. No soft-serve would ever fill a jet.
Each time my grandmother and I returned to town a chocolate jet was in order. Each roundtrip back to town meant a chocolate treat for me. Once a week, we would head out west of town. We had to count the number of dirt roads we passed so we could turn south off of the highway.
There were no signs to direct us to our destination on the dusty dirt road. But I knew the name of where we were going, Cedar Rest. Out in the wheat fields of Kansas stood this two story limestone building. There wasn't a parking lot. Grandma would park on the grass quite far from the building. She could have drove right next to the building but she would rather hike to the entrance. Besides, she said I would be safer out here, in the middle of nowhere. It had to take grandma at least 10 minutes to reach the front of the building. When she returned to the car it seemed like she walked for an hour.
I followed my instructions to the letter, knowing my obedience meant a chocolate jet. The doors had to stay locked and the windows rolled up. I was allowed to open the vent window just a little. I could not allow anyone in the car. When most children were told to be seen but not heard, it was best if I couldn't be seen at all. I could lay on the seat, impossible to be seen from the range to the building. I found I could hide from Grandma as well. Getting down on the floor board, I could get under the dashboard. With everything made of steel, plus an air vent, it was a nice cool place to hide. All that was on my mind was that dairy delight. Everything else didn't matter.
It took some time before my mind started to wonder what Grandma was doing and what, exactly, was in the limestone prison. All I knew was children of my age were not allowed access. I wouldn't have known what an asylum was anyway. I don’t believe they were called mental health hospitals during that time of high stigma.
I was never scared. It was simply something we would do so I could get my chocolate jet.
I liked watching TV with Grandma and Grandpa in the evenings, even more at times when they were doing something else. There were certain shows that had things on them from time to time that I wasn’t suppose to watch. If they were in the room, the channel would be changed. There was a time a building that looked like Cedar Rest. Now, I would be able to see in. I saw lines of beds. Workers wore all white clothing, like a nurse would. There was a commons where people looked like they were playing games or watching TV. The problem was they all looked so sleepy. I believe some were asleep without being in their beds. Something was wrong with them. That’s what I thought Cedar Rest probably looked like inside. It seemed to be a boring place most of the time. Once in awhile somebody would really get mad and they would get a shot or taken away by big men all dressed in white.
It seemed liked in the past, I had been inside such a place but knew for sure I never walked a step in to Cedar Rest. The TV show wasn’t scary to me. I had yet to be taught to be afraid, to have a stigma towards these people. I saw they had some kind of illness and needed help. I never judged these people or thought differently about them. They just needed help, just like everybody else. The only thing that I knew for certain was if you went to visit them, always stop and get a chocolate jet on your way home.
I believe it’s easy for me to work with the mentally ill. Little did I know, at that time, I would have a similar illness some day. No one ever talked to me about the possibility.
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