Outtake: "Preparations" (Essay)

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by Jennifer Semple Siegel

(August 18, 2004-September 2, 2004)

(Sioux City, Iowa)

Summer 2004 has been extremely busy; getting ready for a year in Eastern Europe has been daunting and confusing. Many changes have taken place in Macedonia since Jerry’s last Fulbright there 16 years ago, including its independence from Yugoslavia, but we don’t know exactly what that means, so we’re not quite sure how to prepare or what to bring with us. Our good friend Liljiana Ordev and past Fulbrighters have assured us that most goods are available and that internet connection, while expensive, is up and running, but we keep thinking back all those years when the communists were still in power and about the stark socialist gray of the urban landscape–-when many goods were scarce and inflation 100% a month. So, in our minds, we carry this history.

In late May, after a difficult school year, we went to Daytona Beach for two weeks to read AP essays; in June and July, nearly every day spent doing a task connected with this trip; in mid-July, the Fulbright orientation; in late July, Jerry’s surgery and two weeks for recovery. I have spent January through July getting my short story collection ready for publication, finally released in late July.

“I don’t know if we’ll have time for Sioux City this year,” Jerry said, just before the orientation.

“We’ll have to find time,” I said, slightly pissed off; after all, we have devoted most of the summer to this Fulbright, his Fulbright. I just wanted these two weeks for me.

“Okay, I’ll try to schedule some time in August,” he says, a note of exasperation in his voice.

“I could always go alone.”

“I’ll make the time.”

Don’t do me any favors.

I feel slightly resentful toward Jerry anyway; I need to promote my book, but I can’t really do so until we return from Macedonia, and, by that time, it may be too late. Europe isn’t exactly a hot marketing spot for a collection of short stories about a fat woman.

Also, I will miss the late November birth of Rhia Alden Brown, my granddaughter–that, more than anything else, makes this year away feel all wrong.

But I knew that this Fulbright was a possibility before embarking on publication and certainly before Priscilla, my daughter-in-law, became pregnant.

Jerry does make the time for Iowa–-his concession for dragging me off to Macedonia.

As much as I wanted to escape Iowa in 1969, I need her now, especially since I soon will be living halfway around the world.

On many levels, this trip to Iowa has been important. Aside from the obvious visiting of family, going to casinos and races, antiquing and shopping, and just plain lounging around, this year’s visit feels slightly different. First, I wanted to show off Are You EVER Going to be Thin? (and other stories) to family-–perhaps set up some readings at local bookstores.

The family is only slightly impressed and the bookstores not at all.

Such is the self-publishing life.

I also needed to get my court records; I don’t even know if this memoir is possible at all, but I know it won’t be if I don’t have those records–-I need to know who committed me to Cherokee. For the past 35 years, this has been an unsettling mystery. Mo and Dee Dee would never talk about that time, except, perhaps, in fits of anger, when Mo would flat out say that I needed to be committed and suggested that, perhaps, I had signed myself in.

No way.

Fortunately, the letters, which I have photocopied and brought with me, offer a specific date-–February 19, 1969–-that I was committed, the same day the court papers would have been filed. We arrive in Iowa on the 18th; on the 20th, Jerry and I go to the courthouse, but the records office is closed because of a state budget holiday. We go again on Monday, August 23; now I have to wait a day while they retrieve my records from a vault. I also have to show my passport, proving my identity–-these are not criminal records, and, therefore, are not covered under the sunshine laws. The clerks simply want to make sure that Jennifer L. Semple’s privacy is protected and that I’m really Ms. Semple, who does have the right to see her commitment records. They photocopy my passport front page.

The next day, they call, and I return to the courthouse, have the pages photocopied, and pay a small fee.

What I find in those records regarding my commitment is a complete surprise.

We’re staying with Lyle and Colleen Baker–legally, she’s my sister, but, in actuality, she’s my aunt, my natural mother’s sister–-and they were close.

I have broached the subject of this book with Colleen; I get the sense that she’s uneasy about the possibility. In 1969, we had a falling out because Colleen took Mo and Dee Dee’s side, and I’m not anxious to have a falling out in 2004. But she and other family members need to understand that I must write this book and that I will be harsh in my treatment of Mo and Dee Dee, especially Mo. I will not be kind to my mother, either.

Colleen doesn’t remember much about the events leading up to my commitment. She was overwhelmed with raising her five kids, the oldest five years younger than me; while I was in the hospital, we had no contact, and I don’t remember seeing her during my trial visits home. Lyle didn’t even know about my commitment until I told him, on August 20, why I needed to visit the courthouse.

“This family keeps a lot of secrets,” he said, shaking his head.

“I pretty much kept this one to myself,” I said. “But I thought you knew.”

Lyle shook his head. “No one tells me anything.”

All these years, I have kept my commitment a secret–-I had very good reason to do so. No matter the reason for being committed to a mental institution, it was a black mark, both professionally and socially. In the late sixties and early seventies, every employment application asked, “Have you ever been committed to a mental institution? Explain.”

To answer “yes” would have ended any possibilities for employment–-no one wanted to hire a potential wacko. And to explain would have meant that they could have access to my hospital records, and I had no idea what those records would reveal. At that time, I had no idea that I, too, had the right to a copy of “Mental Health Records: Patient #29109.”

So I always answered, “No,” and kept my fingers crossed, hoping that no one would find out.

Now I tell complete strangers my story–-the short version, of course. If they want the long version, they can read my book.

As we leave for York, Pennsylvania, I feel a pang for Sioux City, a place I will soon eviscerate cruelly with my computer keyboard.

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Copyright 2008, Jennifer Semple Siegel. "Preparations" may not be republished or reposted without permission of author.

Disclaimer and Copyright Notice

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Memoir Madness: driven to involuntary commitment is a work of non-fiction.
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However, some names and/or minor characteristics of real persons have been changed to protect their privacy. Nicknames have been used for some real persons, most notably, Stoney.
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Some minor locales have been changed. The Crystal Ship was a real rock/head shop, but the name and locale have been changed.
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For coherence and literary purposes, some passages have been compressed, expanded, or shifted around. Some scenes and dialogue have been recreated.
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The time lines, late 1968 to May 9, 1969, April 2002, and August 2004 are accurate, and the facts of the case are correct, including the amount of time I spent in the Cherokee Mental Health Institute in Cherokee, Iowa.
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Events for which I have no documentation and/or memory of exact dates have been presented as flashbacks.
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Most of the illustrations shown on this website are symbolic and artistic representations of 1968-1969 and should not be interpretated literally. Some video clips have been embedded; copyrights remain with their respective owners.
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Minor factual errors, albeit unintentional, are mine alone.
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Website and all text copyright 1969 - present, Jennifer Semple Siegel. Text/images may not be republished or reposted without permission.
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Special Thanks and Acknowledgments

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To Dr. Mariano A. Favis, Jr., for being one of the good guys. Your wisdom changed the course of my life. Thanks to Michael Klein, author of Track Conditions and The End of Being Known and my former Goddard advisor, for his careful comments on my draft; he helped me to decide what to add and delete–mostly delete.
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Thanks, also, to York College of Pennsylvania’s Faculty Development Committee for a much-needed grant so that I could finish this book in a timely manner. Last, but definitely not least, thanks to my husband Jerry Siegel who read several drafts and offered me many valuable comments and insights.
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Apologies to Jeff Brown, a starring player and still my friend, for his immense understanding. I can only imagine what it might be like to have one’s past life dragged out and exposed to the world by an ex-spouse. Also, thanks to Jeff for reading the drafts and commenting on them.
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Apologies to one bit player: although my husband Jerry had no role in my life during the late 1960's, he has patiently accompanied me in my various quests for information. It must feel strange to read about that other Jennifer, not quite the Jennifer he met, courted, and married.
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Additional apologies to three offstage players: Eric, my son by Jeff; Casey, Jeff’s present wife; and Rhia, my granddaughter–Eric’s daughter. They have absolutely no role in this drama, and yet, by association, they are a peripheral part of it.
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