The Waite Bipolar Society
In Dante Alighieri’s Inferno, Hell is structured as nine concentric circles descending into the Earth, where souls are punished based on the nature of their sins, with greater severity in lower circles. It says ‘Abandon all Hope, ye who enter here’ describes the descent into Hell with increasing punishment. Often, through no fault of their own, mental health sufferers end up in Hell and need help to get out.
The not-for-profit former ‘Roundtable Club’ is in dire need of a Board of Directors capable of raising funds for state-of-art facilities for sufferers of bipolar. It’s a funny thing. Although I’d heard the word ‘Pandora’s Box’ it took me 80 years before realizing its true meaning. Once opened, the box releases all the evils onto the world and the only thing that doesn’t escape is Hope. The board’s directors need to be people who can think outside the box.
“Mankind should make war on ignorance and poverty and not on each other.”
Sir William S. Stephenson, Intrepid, The Real James Bond 007, ‘The Boy from Winnipeg’
Charles I (1600–1649) was King of England, Scotland, and Ireland from 1625 until his execution in 1649. A staunch believer in the divine right of kings, his authoritarian rule and conflicts with Parliament over finances and religion triggered the English Civil War. Defeated by Parliamentary forces, he was tried and beheaded for treason in 1649. The regicides of King Charles I were the men responsible for his execution. King Killer Thomas Waite, one of 40, signed the death warrant against the king for treason and poor Charlie lost his head.
When King Charles II (reigned 1660-1685) ascended the throne, he hunted down those responsible for his father’s death and they were hanged, drawn and quartered for high treason. Luckily for Tom, his death sentence was commuted to life imprisonment. Charles took away the Waite coat of arms. The Royal Arms used in Scotland, frequently associated with military units, functioned with the motto of the Order of the Thistle. It consisted of three phrases. The one in German read: Ich dien - meaning “I serve”, while the second and third, both in Latin, read: “Nemo me immune laccassit” and “fac et sapera” meaning: “No one provokes me with impunity” and “Do and hope”.
The very first title for my memoir was ‘The Boy from Renfrew Ramblings of a Bird Photographer. The second was ‘Sir James Bond The Crazy Genius’. The third was ‘Sir James Bond II, The World’s Enthusiastic Dreamer’ with a Foreword by His Royal Highness King Charles III. It’s absolutely true. If you don’t believe me, ask Daniel ‘Dan’ J. Mulvenna, a top RCMP Security and Intelligence member during the The Front de libération du Québec (FLQ) October crisisis, 1970. He once sent me an email, “It’s plausible you did those things but it’s highly improbable”. Dan’s on U-tube. Type in, ‘Russia’s Secret Spy in Australia’ and ‘Dan Mulvenna’. The site has had over 3,000,000 visitors. It’s sad few people even know French Canadians wanted to separate away from the rest of the provinces and split our beautiful Dominion into Western Canada, the Country of Quebec and Eastern Canada. And finally, ‘Sir James Bond II: A Memoir’. One friend knows me well, “Don’s no genius. He’s just plain crazy.”
During a severe bout of bipolar in 2010, I created the ‘Pee-on Club’ and approached people looking for donations. Its motto was, “Anyone who pees on a pee-on gets stomped on.” The first person was the gardener for our townhouse complex. He was bipolar and gave me $100 cash. The second was an air photo client and her husband was bipolar. She gave me $100 cash. A top commercial realtor was the third and she cut me a $500 check for ‘The Pee-on Club’. The original name evolved into ‘The Roundtable Club’ and eventually the ‘Waite Bipolar Society’. Ironically my mom, a Registered Nurses Assistant (RNA) never knew she was bipolar. I never knew it was hereditary. Bipolar needs a trigger. Mom’s was the divorce of my kid brother Bill. My older sister Mae lost her son Jeff very likely through malpractice by doctors. Recently married, she had a mental breakdown and it wasn’t long before they divorced. She sued doctors and a hospital for $15,000,000 to make a point. Lawyers with the Doctors’ Union forced her to drop the lawsuit but not before she spent her last dime. She even put up a website justiceforjeff.com but the police made her take it down. There was a time when she lived on the streets à la Florence Nightingale helping those unable to help themselves.
Backing up three years to 2007, Canadian Wildlife Service investigators and Canada’s Justice Department lawyers charged an associate and I with nine criminal offences under the Migratory Birds Conventions Act and the newly created Species at Risk Act. We were photographing a family of birds. None died.The maximum penalty for each offense was $250,000. That was $4,500,000. I broke down and ended up in a psychiatric ward for two weeks. My brain became injured and needed years to heal due to a chemical imbalance caused by the trauma. The lovey-dove me before the break and the often unresponsive me after the break has stolen happy moments with wife Tina, my soulmate and rock, as well as my children, my grandchildren and friends. My East German Stasi spy friend once told me, “People who know nothing, believe anything.”
It’s strange how things with wills sometimes go awry when family members don’t pass away in the right chronological order. My Grandmother Waite was a good example. She willed her assets on her death to be distributed equally among her surviving children. She lived to be 99. That left the spouses of her dead children and their children not on the short end of the stick but off it entirely. On the other hand, my Grandfather McBride did his will so Mom’s half-sister got not only the lion’s share but almost everything. Mom’s sister’s husband was an only child. When his parents died, he got everything. When he died, she got everything. Then Grandpa McBride married a second time to the mother of mom’s half-sister. He made his second wife the beneficiary of his assets. Mom was so angry with how things played out, she wrote a four page ‘poison letter’ just before her death. It’s ironic wealthy old men and women with neither chick nor child sometimes die without a will and everything gets tied up for years in probate and where it goes nobody knows. With a will, they could leave part or all of it to ‘The Waite Bipolar Society’. Always ‘The Enthusiastic Dreamer’, maybe some could be used to care for mental health. Again the dreamer, I envision modern care facilities in a National Park with trees, water and singing birds. They have to be located at least 500 miles away from a city metropolis. Take psychiatric patients to such a place and give them back their dignity and eventually back into society.
City mayors and their council often make deals with land developers and swap Agricultural Land Reserve (ALR) for industrial parks or residential homes. Industrial and residential land can be worth several times more than a cow pasture. City politicians sometimes negotiate a deal for a freeway overpass or even a lake. The City of Coquitlam sold gravel to a cement company and in doing so ended up with Lafarge Lake right in the heart of the city. They sold off a 250-acre parcel of 1,000 acre Crease/Riverview/Essondale Clinic Psychiatric Hospital. It was originally built to house soldiers returning from the First World War suffering shell shock (post traumatic stress disorder). Maybe it’s time to sell off the remaining 750-acres in 250-acre parcel increments. It’s prime land for high rise development and its value will go up exponentially over the coming years. For the moment, the archaic Crease Clinic buildings are lying dormant and in decay. It’s time to bulldoze the old lockdown prison in readiness for sale to the highest bidder for city high rises.
As a policeman in New Westminster, I did escorts to the British Columbia Penitentiary (two years to life) and for several weeks escorted John Emmett McCann and David Ian Clarke to County Court. They were charged with the attempted murder of an Oakalla Prison Guard and were considered two of the most dangerous criminals in all of Canada. About this time Justice Department lawyers created the Habitual Criminal Act, the ‘Bitch’ and repeat offenders were sentenced to life. McCann was locked up from 1965 until his death from cancer in 2005. That’s 40 years. On several occasions he appeared in warden’s court and was sentenced to long periods in solitary confinement. The longest was over 700 days. Is it possible for a prison warden to be given that much power?
Oakalla Prison Farm (two years less a day) had the ‘Black Hole’ underneath cows barns and manure from above seeped through the cracks. The unfortunate victims sometimes endured 30 days and longer in the dark given only bread and water. My friend Dennis Storrings did two years in OPF for trafficking two pounds of marijuana.
Haney Correctional Centre in North Maple Ridge was the worst where incorrigible inmates were locked in a room and sprayed with cold water.
Many convicts went to prison sane but came out with mental illness.
As a rookie cop in Burnaby and straight out of training, I saw a young woman in a padded cell right at the entrance onto the lower level. It must have been a prefab cell. Anyway, I began talking to her and Sergeant Ken Jenson, my boss, told me to leave her alone. “She’s a head banger.”
“What’s a head banger?”
”It’s some kind of a mental illness. Don’t upset her."
When I transferred to Maple Ridge, a member of the congregation and his wife often sat near my wife Carol and I at The Anglican Church the Divine’, British Columba’s oldest church. Shortly afterwards his wife left him for another man. A short time later partner Ron Hurt and I received a call a man was wandering the street thinking he was à la Jesus. Driving to Crease Hospital, I checked the rear view mirror and could see Ron consoling him in the back seat.
A short time later, a young man was arrested and placed in a holding cell for fighting with his wife. She had lost his respect. He was suffering some kind of mental illness. He suicided and some of the younger members, me included, said “Good riddance”.
They say mental illness is out of the closet. Not true. Often on my walks, I see strollers with their dogs, joggers with blinders, and several looking at their i-phones. None ever take the time to smell the roses and appreciate the beauty of flowers and birds. Usually when mental illness is mentioned, they distance themselves from me as if I had a plague.
“First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they argue with you and finally you win.” - Mahatma Gandhi (1869 - 1948).
Pauper or Prince, mental illness doesn’t care.