The Sonoma Project
Volunteering in a
California State Institution
by Emily BUNKER
A decaying set of buildings in Sonoma
County, California, sits incongruously on 1,670 acres of lush rolling
hills. Horses and cattle graze
nearby. Outside is nature in all
its glory; inside are questionable injuries and deaths, botched investigations,
cover-ups by officials, and cruel treatment of whistleblowers. Thousands of residents were sterilized involuntarily
from 1918 to 1949, and young children were victimized by radiation experiments
between 1955 and 1960. After the
children died in agony, their brains were removed and analyzed. But we didn’t know any of this…
*
In 1971, when I was sixteen, a friend of
mine told me about a volunteer program called the Sonoma Project. She said that high school students
spent weekends at Sonoma State Hospital – in an old cow barn that served
as a dormitory – planning and carrying out activities for the
residents. Her enthusiasm was
irresistible. That weekend I found
myself sitting nervously in a van bound for Sonoma.
Once upon a Time in Oak Lodge
As soon as we arrived, we visited “Oak Lodge”
and were bombarded by boys ready for a fun break from their monotonous
routine. I was frightened but the
other volunteers advised and reassured me. The next day I took one of the boys, a vivacious little guy
named Freddy, out for a walk. As
we walked and ran and skipped, I asked him if he would like to make up a story –
I said I would write it down. He
thought this was a great idea, so we went to the Volunteer Village (our
converted cow barn) to find pen and paper.
Aglow in the attention of all the
volunteers, Freddy began: “Once upon a time there was a little girl.” He stopped and thought for a moment,
then said, “Once upon a time there was a little boy.” Another pause, then, “Once upon a time there was a BIG
MONSTER!” Next, he picked up the pen and drew some
squiggles. He told me it said Once
upon a time.
Moments later he was singing along with
pizzazz to a record called “Oldies but Goodies,” using his fist as a
microphone. The impromptu party
finally wound down, and we skipped back to Oak Lodge belting out “I’ve Been
Working on the Railroad” at the top of our lungs.
Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring
One of our jobs was feeding residents who
were severely disabled. Unable to
do anything for themselves, they spent their lives lying helplessly in
bed. We’d show up at dinnertime,
and the gentle caretakers would review proper technique, assign someone to each
of us, and pass out the puréed food.
The lilting strains of Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of
Man’s Desiring” was always playing in the
background. I only know the name
of the music because, having grown to love it, I checked the record one day and
wrote it down. Now whenever I hear
this piece of music, I think of the angelic employees who tried to bring a
little beauty to those who appeared to have nothing to live for.
Playing the Bones in Bane
Ping-Pong with the middle-aged men and women
of “Bane Cottage” was a favorite activity for us volunteers. We could tell ourselves we were doing a
good deed when in fact we were just having fun. On any given day, residents, staff, or volunteers would
likely be in the midst of a rip-roaring Ping-Pong tournament.
We all loved Tom. Very capable and full of joie de vivre, he was Bane Cottage’s
premier bones player. The
bones are a folk percussion instrument that consists of two curved animal bones
(cow ribs apparently work the best) held between the fingers, with convex sides
together. Nowadays they are often
made of wood. The instrument dates
back to medieval Europe and was brought to America by Irish immigrants; it is
used in many American musical genres.
I’d never even heard of the bones when I
first saw Tom and the other Down syndrome residents playing along with the
radio, keeping the beat with that marvelous clackety-clack. George, a longhaired tie-dyed
technician who worked the swing shift, explained that the flexibility of the
hands of people with Down syndrome makes them natural candidates for learning
to play the bones.
Years later I ran into George. He told me that our friend Tom had
died, but not before finally having the chance to live and work outside the
walls of the only home he’d ever known. An uncommon man at last set free from a common depository for society’s
rejects.
*
Sonoma State Hospital is currently known as
Sonoma Development Center, but it would take more than a name change to fix
what is broken. Having recently
learned that Freddy’s “big monster” was lurking around every corner during our
years there, I now wonder if our cherished Sonoma Project was a mere drop in
the bucket. Still, no one can take
away a moment of joy here or a bit of assistance there. When I remember Freddy’s gleeful
storytelling, the calming effect of exquisite music, and the smile on Tom’s
face when I asked him to play the bones for me, I see truth in the cliché that
the simple things in life sometimes mean the most.
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Also:
Nuri's Donkey: An American Bride in a Turkish Village by Emily Bunker
www.emilybunker.com
