By Steve B.

During my stay, both drugs and EST were used. I was not treated with EST, only drugs, among which I am sure there were anti-depressants and tranquilizers. There were perhaps six or seven teens in my ward and one or two of them were administered EST. Memory tells me that most EST-treated patients were in the older population. On my ward, meds were kept in a locked chest located on the wall near the aides’ station. These were carefully measured and administered by the aides themselves. Mine were in powder format, mixed with orange juice for tolerable palatability.

Dr. Roy Moss, in “talk therapy” individual sessions, addressed my problems, but I was never given a diagnosis or nomenclature for those problems. Perhaps my parents were given a technical-medical name for what was ailing me, but they never mentioned it and I never inquired.

Hindsight tells me there were probably well over a hundred patients during the period of my stay, but these were scattered among different wards/dorms, and I never witnessed a mass-gathering of patients, so this is only my best guess.

There were many native Alaskans at Morningside during my stay. Again, since I have no real grasp on the total population, I can’t accurately say how many their numbers were. But I would run across them “all the time”, especially in larger gatherings such as daily cafeteria meals, so I would guess that they were still constituting a substantial portion of the general population. Most of these were older males (didn’t notice many, if any, females), and other than the normal courtesies, unfortunately, I didn’t converse with them – so I can’t relate anything regarding the frequency and/or process of returning them to Alaska. One exception was the only teen Alaskan I knew, who was an affable sort except when his anger management issues would trigger outbursts. However, I didn’t learn anything from him pertaining to native American life in Alaska. On my ward there was also a Native American named Reggie Hunt, but if I’m not mistaken, he was from Central (Warm Springs Reservation?) or Eastern Oregon, not Alaska. My first experience of Alaskan culture came in the hospital’s main office, where my parents brought me to be admitted. The walls were hung with all kinds of native crafts, a lot of masks and suchlike.

The aides were exceptional – reasonable, responsible, and approachable, some with wild senses of humor, which of course, immensely helped patients during their (in many cases) involuntary “incarceration”. The aides never abused anyone and were extremely helpful in all ways. Discipline was maintained, but I believe always in tandem with communication with the doctors – i.e., no unilateral, “fascistic” decisions were made by the aides. One punitive measure I recall was being “put on restriction”, which meant isolation from the rest of the community in the ward. Such patients would be permitted to attend the school, but were not allowed to return to the ward except at night for head-count and sleep. I recall one incident in which I was the only “innocent party” – and all the rest of the teens were put on restriction. It was a strange but exciting feeling for me to have my freedom, limited though it was, while all my peers were on off-ward restriction.

Again, I observed no abuse from “the powers that be”. However, kids being kids/people being people, there were strong rumors circulating on our ward of some teen sexual activity, but only between patients, never between staff and patients.

The quality of life at Morningside was as good as could be imagined, “considering the circumstances”. Movies were arranged, trips to local swimming pools, bowling alleys, etc. There was a rec room which included a piano; there was a “snack and fun” center with vending machines, a little shop, a small lounge, and other amenities. The school was well maintained and the teachers were quite sharp. I’m sure there was homework, but I don’t recall doing any on the ward.

Apparently Morningside would on occasion coordinate with outside physicians and/or medical training programs. One day I was asked to be interviewed by a visiting psychiatrist, to which I readily agreed. He asked the usual questions. I presume whatever data he obtained went into some institution’s records, but I can’t recall what clinic or hospital this particular doctor represented.

In addition to individual psychotherapy, there was group therapy for us (we?) teens. In his interview, Dr. Moss mentioned that this was fun but the whole teen group workshop/program eventually withered because aide staffing was insufficient to manage “difficult” teens. In addition to Dr. Moss, sometimes at group therapy, there was a woman therapist, a “Dr. Kelley” who would sit at the table with us and, like Dr. Moss, ask questions/lead discussions/prompt thinking.

I recognized a couple of other doctors around the place – by face, but I don’t think I knew their names. I think I do recall occasionally seeing Dr. Hutchens when he would be walking on the grounds.

The cafeteria was pretty amazing in terms of variety and abundance of food. Also in its attention to the exacting filling of special diet orders from the doctors. My tendency to weight-gain finally resulted in Dr. Moss directing diet orders to the kitchen. The outcome of this was taking all my meals in a special annex to the cafeteria, which was called “the Diet Kitchen”. This was efficient but unpleasant, first because the food was “dietary” and because it separated me from my peers who would of course be eating in the regular cafeteria.

Also there was a craft shop with saws, lathes, etc. Doctors would frequently assign patients a carpentry project, and that’s how I’m familiar with the shop. I remember a milk vending machine there that dispensed the most refreshing, ice-cold milk in small cartons.

The hospital also had a newsletter that probably came out once a month or maybe every two weeks. It kept us up on new and leaving patients, current patients (hobbies, aspirations), etc., had a cartoon, jokes, etc. I don’t recall the name of the newsletter.

The ward and its separate shower room and lavatory were kept spotlessly clean. I believe that the aides were hands-on responsible for these tasks.

Well, that’s about all I can remember – I hope it’s of interest and of use to you. Please feel free to ask any more questions.

One of the most fascinating parts of the book is the role played by the late Sen. Ted Stevens in convincing Congress that the federal commitment process used in Alaska was barbaric. Stevens, a protégé of Snedden, was a young lawyer working for the U.S. Department of Justice. Stevens related his experience with the criminal proceedings (jury trials) that were used to commit adults and children to Morningside. He told the Congressional sub-committee that the insanity jury system was “archaic” and that he had “a very great respect for juries, but not insanity.”

Dr. Cole directs the UAF Office of Public History and is a Professor of History at the University of Alaska Fairbanks. Dr. Cole kindly granted us permission to reproduce the section of the book dealing with Morningside and the Alaska Mental Health Act.

Fighting for the 49th Star Excerpt (4 MB)

If you’d like to read more of “Fighting for the Forty-Ninth Star: C.W. Snedden and the Crusade for Alaska Statehood” you can purchase it here.

Nancy’s uncle, Alan Johnson or Lindstrom, was also sent to Morningside for a short period for evaluation. Nancy would greatly appreciate any photos or information on Ivor, Nancy and Alan.

Here’s what we know (from Department of the Interior administrative records) about Ivor and Nancy:

Nancy Johnson (patient #1785) was committed from Seldovia on January 27, 1939 and admitted to Morningside on February 10, 1939. She was born in Alaska and of Russian and Alaska Native heritage. Nancy was 31 when admitted and was diagnosed as having dementia praecox and depression. One record noted that she had insulin therapy at some point during her stay at Morningside Hospital.

lvor Johnson (patient # 1952) was committed at Kodiak on October 14, 1941 and admitted to Morningside on November 14, 1941. Ivor was born in Sweden and was a carpenter. He wasn’t a citizen but had been in the US for 20 years, 10 of them in Alaska. He was committed because of loss of memory and an inability to care for himself. He had positive blood and spinal Wassermans and an advanced case of general paresis.

They were both listed as still being at Morningside in 1955.

Morningside Hospital in the 1950s or 1960s. There were many other structures on the property, including patient housing and farm buildings.

In 1968, Morningside Hospital was sold to the developers of the 205 Mall. This is what it looks like today.

This photo (L) is of a subpoena given to the Federal Marshall by the Judge. Subpoenas were issued for the alleged insane person and the witnesses. Summons were also  issued for six jurors. All persons alleged to be “insane and at large” had a 6 person jury trial.

This (R) is an example of a Probate Docket book from Ketchikan. Inside are records of Estates, Guardianships, Adoptions and Sanity court cases.

This photo (L) is an example of a page from a Ketchikan docket book from 1953. The amount of information varies from date to date and location to location. Some have entries with basic information only. Others have complete verbatim documents and testimony summary.

This photo (R) is of the vault in the Clerk of Court Office in Nome, Alaska. The vault was barged to Nome during the Gold Rush.

We found the Probate Docket books in this vault. The Probate Docket books have entries for the sanity proceedings from the late 1800′s to 1960.

This (L) is the inside of the vault in Nome where historical files, journals and dockets were kept. In early days, gold was also kept here.

The site includes information on how to claim cremains if you can prove you are a relative. The 6 Alaskans who died there between 1900 and 1903 were not on the list. Thanks to Eric Cordingly of the Friends of Multnomah Park Cemetery for sharing this link.

“My mother worked as a chef/cook at Morningside Hospital from the early 1950′s until 1965. I also worked there myself on a couple of occasions.  As a high school summer job,  I worked in the kitchen for a couple of months.

Beginning in 1962,  I worked as a psychiatric aide–working nights while I finished college.  I remember well–though maybe not always by name–many of the patients on the ward I worked.  This was a ward mainly for men with acute psychosis.  Most were in treatment focused on returning them home, so there was always a turnover, with some patients staying only a month or so.   Of course there were some patients so chronically ill or so developmentally disabled they were essentially permanent residents.

It was a fascinating place to work and an interesting life experience.  The history of the place along with stories of the patients and staff  could take its place right alongside “One Flew Over the Cukcoo’s Nest”. During my time at Morningside,  I experienced some mental health milestones,  not all of them necessarily positive.  For example the use of psychiartic drugs, and their overuse.   Only after a patient’s death did they finally discontinue the use of insulin shock therapy.  On the other hand–and not just owing to heavy doses of thorozine–there were no locked wards and the use of restraints was absolutely forbidden.

The hospital had its own farm and a prize dairy herd, so they raised much of the food for both patients and employees many of whom lived in apartments on the premesis.”

In a second email Charles wrote, “I’m happy to participate in any way I can to make sure the story of Morningside hospital gets told. Though the hospital grounds was a huge piece of land on the edge of the city and on a main street, few people in Portland were even  aware of its existance.  For one thing, it didn’t look like a hospital.   It was comprised mostly of wood frame buildings pretty much  shielded from view  by a acre or so of park-like trees and lawns at its Stark Street entrance.  When seen from 92nd, avenue, it was for all appearances just a nicely tended truck farm..

I was in my early twenties when I worked there last and was probably the youngest psychiatric aide at the time.  Most of the other employees must be getting well up in years.  The same is true for the patients–at least the ones I knew.  There were children and younger adolescents on other wards, but I had little contact with them.  I only know of one other person–an old college friend who worked there for a few months–who has personal knowledge of the place.”

Over the past two weeks in Portland we’ve unearthed quite a bit more backdrop on the search for the burial locations of Morningisde patients. Working closely with Robin Renfroe and her sister Peggy, from Salem, we visited the State of Oregon Archives to search for death certificates for over 150 people. Robin had done research on the Wickersham Paper, US Census reports and Morningside Admittance lists to unearth as many Alaska Native people (or known family names) as possible.

OR Archives, Salem

We have now searched all 121 names on the Wickersham list (pre 1916) as well as around 50 more Alaska Native people reported from 1920 to 1957. It is not complete but an important start.  Not all of them had a death certificate, but most did. The certificates are telling, from full names, to cause of death, burial location and family members if known. Those lines were almost always empty…. It was very sad to see how many were listed with epilepsy as cause of death.

Robin

Peggy and Sally

“For nearly sixty years, Morningside Hospital sat on a 47-acre parcel in Hazlewood, at the junction of SE Stark Street and 96th Avenue. Formerly agricultural land, the site was developed as a psychiatric hospital complex and working farm in 1910. After WWII, many of the farmers in the surrounding area retired and their land was developed into suburban communities. The rising population increased consumer demand and the under-construction interstate freeway promised easy access; in 1970 the site was redeveloped as Mall 205.

The hospital, founded in 1899 by Dr. Henry Waldo Coe, was originally run out of his family’s home. In 1905, Coe purchased the Massachusetts Building from the Lewis and Clark Exposition and moved it from the exposition site in NW Portland to Mt. Tabor, where it was converted into a psychiatric hospital. Five years later, Dr. Coe moved operations to what would be its final location, a 47 acre site in East Portland bounded by SE 96th and 102nd avenues, and Stark and Main streets. During its early years, the hospital went by several names including Dr. Coe’s Nervous Sanitarium, Mindease, Mt. Tabor Sanitarium and Crystal Springs Sanitarium.

In 1904, Morningside was awarded a contract from the U.S. Department of the Interior to care for mentally ill and mentally handicapped patients from the territory of Alaska, who would constitute the bulk of the hospital’s patients throughout its tenure. Between 1905 and 1968, nearly 5,000 patients were admitted to Morningside, not including the roughly 40 admitted monthly on behalf of Multnomah County, which used the hospital for emergency care.

After Dr. Henry Waldo Coe’s death in 1927, Morningside was taken over by his son, Wayne Coe. Although not a medical doctor, Wayne Coe acted as hospital administrator and eventually as Chairman of the Henry Waldo Coe Foundation.

In 1955, Morningside came under attack after a bill was introduced by U.S. Rep. Edith Green (D) of Oregon, to transfer care of Alaskan patients to Alaska. Questions of financial impropriety raised during hearings lead to an investigation of the hospital by the U.S. General Accounting Office in 1956. By this time, Wayne Coe’s son Henry Coe, had entered the family business. The Coes were accused of using hospital funds for personal expenses, including trips to South Africa and Mexico, a beach property in Gearhart and a ranch in Stanfield, Oregon. The Coes were also accused of “outrageous abuse of privilege” including the use of patient labor for home and hospital building and maintenance, under the guise of occupational therapy. The Coes denied the charges, defended the hospital practices and called the investigation “rude, uncivil and insulting.” Ultimately, no criminal charges were filed and Morningside was fully reaccredited in 1957. By 1964, Morningside’s reputation had recovered to the degree that it was featured in an Oregonian article about its success as an “open hospital.” Under the open hospital model, patients were controlled through sedatives rather than lock and key.

The Alaskan Mental Health Enabling Act was passed in 1956 and Alaskan patients began being moved from Morningside to new facilities in their home state. The Coes attempted to reorient the hospital. In 1960 they announced that the “transfer of 210 patients from Morningside will enable the Portland psychiatric hospital to begin taking patients locally.” The Oregonian reported “Hospital officials feel that Morningside’s present facilities and rehabilitation programs geared to both mentally ill and mentally retarded can be adapted to private patients with a few changes.” Morningside was never able to recover from the loss of Alaskan patients, however, and attempts by Henry Coe to find a buyer who would continue to use the facilities for medical purposes were unsuccessful.

In the summer of 1968, the last three patients were discharged and Morningside prepared to close its doors. The site was sold to Lenrich Associates, a New York based property developer, which, in partnership with Interstate Department Stores, redeveloped the land as Mall 205.”

Sources: Mills, Amy C, A Cultural History of the Neighborhoods Along the I-205 Light Rail Project, 2007; Hawkins, William J. and William F. Willingham, Classic Houses of Portland, 1999; Sullivan, Ann, “Morningside Hospital Closes After 58 Years of Caring for Mentally Ill,” Oregonian, June 30, 1968; various articles, Oregonian, 1920-1968; Sanitarium Company, Care of the Insane of the Territory of Alaska, 1925.