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.

By Marylou Elton

Dr. Henry Waldo Coe saw himself in the role of a father figure – a man who was firm but willing to give a patient a hand up or a second chance.  Morningside did not offer “treatment” but Coe was proud the hospital offered a safe place to eat, sleep, and possibly pass the time at some chores while recovering from whatever symptoms had induced fellow Alaskans to call for the individual’s commitment.  There were several times he petitioned the Interior Department to allow a patient to be reinstated if, after discharge, they were not able to make their way in the world or if the “symptoms” came back.

Many of the battles he waged with Congress and the Interior Department were to increase funding that would eventually impact his own bottom line (especially during World War I when the cost of goods rose dramatically).  But some of the skirmishes he entered into with the bureaucracy were strictly on behalf of the patients.

A true example of this was his pursuit of whiskey for his patients during Prohibition in the 1920’s.  In late January of 1920, Coe was notified that whiskey impounded due to Prohibition could be made available to his patients at Morningside if he would contact the U.S. Attorney in Oregon to apply to the courts for the necessary order.  Coe immediately gave a positive reply, noting “a few ounces of spirits for some of these old Alaskans at times is really a life-saving substance”.

The process dragged on for several months. Coe made contact with U.S. Assistant AG Austin Flagel, in Oregon, who at first said all that was needed was a request from Interior to release 50 gallons of whiskey to Coe as an agent of the department.  By the end of May, after numerous letters between all parties, Coe was disappointed to receive a letter from Flagel saying the deal was off since the state laws of Oregon prohibited the use of intoxicating liquor for any purposes.  Flagel suggested the Interior Department should ask for the liquor to be turned over directly to the department, rather than Coe.

Coe traveled in Europe that summer, but did not give up the quest.  In mid-October of 1920, the Acting Secretary of Interior, Alexander Vogelsang, provided the proper request to Lester Humphrey, Flagel’s boss, for the liquor to be turned over to the department to be disposed of how they might see fit.  Vogelsand also directed Coe to keep the liquor under lock and key and to include usage data in the monthly reports.

A week later, Flagel wrote back saying the request could not be complied with.   Since Flagel’s suggestion in May that Interior should ask for the liquor directly, the War Department had made proper application for the liquor and all they had available had been turned over to them.  Nothing was left.

Coe did not let it rest.  He agitated for action from the department with a letter to Acting Secretary Vogelsang pointing out “that Mr. Flagel has turned (about 1000 gallons) of liquor over to the War Department, and while he is willing to accept the receipt for the liquor from the War Department he is unwilling to do so for the Interior Department”.  “So far as I know”, he continued, “there is nothing in the Oregon law or any other law which manifests any disposition to discriminate between the different departments of the government.”

The Interior files include two more letters on the subject.   A December 11, 1920, letter, from Johnson Smith, the Federal Prohibition Director, authorizing Dr. Coe to accept and transfer liquor on behalf of the Interior Department; and a January 1, 1921, letter from Dr. Coe to Acting Secretary Vogelsang, notifying him that 200 gallons of whiskey had been turned over to him as an agent for Interior, with 185 gallons being kept under lock and key and an initial 15 gallons “released to the institution, was in the process of employment”.

You may view the letters actually copied from the files of the Interior Department here: 091520 Letter (9).  103120 Letter (9). 121120 Letter (10).

“The question still remains, why Oregon?  The State Insane Asylum (later Western State Hospital) at Fort Steilacoom near Tacoma had been in operation since 1871 and is geographically closer to Alaska than Salem or Portland.  Or perhaps even more logical would be to establish an institution in Alaska itself.  Our 1916 text hints that difficulties in transportation around the Alaska Territory made the transfer to another institution a reasonable solution.

Although Portland is somewhat remote from Alaska, it is to be remembered that Alaska, with some 3000 miles of water frontage has no central point.  A patient from the north would have to come to Seattle and be shipped back to the lower part of Alaska, if there was an institution in that region, and vice versa.  Moreover, the climate of Alaska is none too good for an insane patient.”

To read more, go to The Oregon State Hospital Museum Project blog.

Record Group 126, Records of the Office of the Territories, National Archives II, College Park, MD

Occasionally there are glimpses of who was at Morningside. Included in the Department of the Interior files from the National Archives was a tabulation of admissions between 1912 and 1942. There was a total of 1,601 admissions over the 30 years, an average of 53 admissions per year. The percentage of admissions who were female increased from 10.1% during the first 5 years (1912-1917) to 26.4% for the years 1938 to 1942. The report noted:

“Out of the 81 females now in the hospital, there are 13 who have been in the hospital more than 15 years. There are 20 of them who are epileptics or mentally deficient and there are 20 who are over the age of sixty at the time. The epileptics, mentally deficient and older women, that is 40 out of the 81 require more or less special attention and many are infirmary cases.”

It appears that the early patients were primarily miners and ordinary adults who were determined “insane” by the territorial legal system and probably deemed a threat to public safety. Later, the census shows many more Alaska Natives and children sent to the facility–probably under the guise that they needed the care offered.

Persons sent there were considered “insane”, but much later it was determined that persons with mental illness, developmental disabilities, Alzheimer’s and related dementias, and chronic alcoholics were included in the population. Also, there are numerous stories of people leaving the hospital after short stays and being perfectly fine (according to community norms) upon their return, so they likely had no clinical diagnosis at all.

These investigations revealed widespread financial abuse by the Coe family–subverting money intended for care of patients to items of personal gain like trips and art.. And there were substantial questions raised about care. These hearings laid the groundwork for the passage of the Alaska Mental Health Enabling Act of 1956. The enabling act, championed by Alaska Rep Bob Bartlett and Rep Edith Green of Portland set the stage for the termination of the arrangement the federal government had with the Coe Family to use Morningside Hospital.