Mennonite mental healthcare institutions have demonstrated ingenuity and leadership in the face of changing circumstances within the field. Examples over the years include the development of programs to assist in patients鈥� reentry to the working world, long-term independent living facilities, rehabilitation programs for people with drug or alcohol addictions, and the repeated adoption of new medicines and therapeutic techniques across all programs.

鈥淭here鈥檚 a much broader emphasis now on additional supports that are needed to help a person live within the community,鈥� said John Goshow 鈥�69, a retired social worker who was CEO of the Penn Foundation from 2000 to 2010.

One recent example of innovation at the Penn Foundation has been the development of聽 鈥渃ommunity treatment鈥� teams made up of a psychiatrist, nurse, social worker and other support staff to provide coordinated care to patients living in their own homes.

鈥淲e鈥檙e trying to take services to where people are, rather than trying to make them come to some centralized place,鈥� said Vernon Kratz 鈥�57, the former medical director of the Penn Foundation who now sits on its board of directors. 鈥淚t keeps people in their communities, it keeps people in their families.鈥�

Another example of an unprecedented initiative: Amish leaders approached former Philhaven CEO LaVern Yutzy ’70 and others in that Mennonite mental healthcare institution near Lancaster, Pennsylvania, to discuss the development of a treatment program for members of their community. Their collaboration led to the 2005 opening of a new 15-bed inpatient facility on Philhaven鈥檚 main campus for patients from the Amish and other 鈥淧lain鈥� groups (referring to their 鈥減lain鈥� clothing). To date, it has served hundreds of people from 12 states.

In Goshen, Indiana, Oaklawn opened the nation’s first residential unit to serve adolescents from Amish or conservative Mennonite communities in February 2010. Maria Martin Shisler ’04 is a case manager there.

Impact of “Managed Care”

Changing conditions within the industry have forced all mental healthcare providers to adapt, sometimes in ways that challenge the survival of non-profit institutions seeking to provide compassionate care for all who need it. The advent of 鈥渕anaged care鈥� in the 1980s and 1990s 鈥� through which insurers used new reimbursement models to encourage providers to treat more patients through outpatient programs and reduce the length of inpatient hospitalizations 鈥� had a mixed impact.

In 1993, soon after Yutzy was appointed CEO of Philhaven, 82 percent of the organization鈥檚 revenues came from inpatient programs. By his retirement in 2008, overall revenues had doubled but the share of inpatient revenue had dropped to just 32 percent. That drastic shift over a relatively short period of time, he says, threatened to sink the institution. A positive outcome, he acknowledges, was that more patients were being treated earlier and with less disruption to their lives.

Insurance reimbursements present a huge and ongoing problem for many of the providers interviewed for this issue of Crossroads. Gerald Ressler 鈥�79, executive director of the Samaritan Counseling Center in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, said that many insurers have reimbursed mental health providers at the same rate for the past 15 years, causing providers to see their real income fall dramatically (on the average, $20 worth of goods in 1996 cost over $28 in 2011). Some insurance companies are even cutting their reimbursement rates. Ressler said that the Samaritan Counseling Center鈥檚 largest insurer informed the center in 2011 that it will decrease reimbursement rates by 35 percent in 2012 鈥� a decision that will have a huge impact on the center鈥檚 balance sheet.

鈥淥utpatient mental healthcare is as close to being at the bottom of the [insurers鈥橾 priority list as it gets,鈥� said Ressler, a licensed clinical social worker who spent 30 years on the staff at Philhaven before moving to his current job.

Additionally, when it comes to public insurance programs like Medicaid, reimbursement rates are simply not high enough to allow practitioners to stay in business if they only see patients on those programs, said Tom Martin 鈥�78, who works as a clinical psychologist in addition to teaching psychology at Susquehanna University. Some practices, including the one in Selinsgrove, Pennsylvania, where Martin now works, have stopped seeing Medicaid patients entirely for this very reason. It鈥檚 a reality, Martin says, that points to a key shortcoming in our healthcare system: only employed people have a chance at having decent medical insurance policies. Yet people with serious, untreated mental illnesses tend to have difficulty keeping good, steady jobs with health insurance coverage.

鈥淚f you鈥檙e affected by a mental condition that prevents you from working, then you will not have ready or consistent access to the best mental healthcare,鈥� Martin said.

Falling in the Cracks

People with serious mental illnesses who need care the most are often left to seek treatment at crowded, publicly funded clinics that often, thanks to the constraints of resources and excesses of demand, struggle to provide quality care. And if, for whatever reason, that care isn鈥檛 quite enough, or a patient鈥檚 illness hampers his or her ability to apply for and receive public assistance, that person is at high risk of falling through the cracks, where the statistics paint a particularly grim picture of the state of mental healthcare in the United States today:

• Twenty-four percent of inmates in state prisons across the country had a recent history of mental illness, while up to 49 percent of these inmates showed symptoms of mental illness. ¹
• Three times more people with serious mental illness are in jail than in hospitals. ²
• In January, 2010, 26.2 percent of homeless Americans staying in shelters had a severe mental illness, ³ as illustrated by the article on the work of Nate Hoffer 鈥�03.
• The life expectancy of a person with a serious mental illness is 25 years shorter than the national average of Americans.⁴
• After earning a doctoral degree, a clinical psychologist at a psychiatric hospital or substance abuse facility earns a mean annual wage of $69,830, despite the demanding nature of their work and years of study.⁵ With reimbursement dropping, incentives for well-qualified mental health providers are largely internal.

鈥淪o many people are just not getting the care that they need,鈥� said Tim Derstine ’88, a psychiatrist and the medical director of Behavioral Health Services at Mount Nittany Medical Center in State College, Pennsylvania.

Tammy Eberly 鈥�80 Bos, a child and adolescent psychiatrist in Grand Rapids, Michigan, noted that a specific recent challenge within the field has been increasing pressure on psychiatrists to quickly prescribe medication to a patient and move on to the next one with little, if any, time for individual therapy. Adding to the pressure, there is a shortage of psychiatrists, making it hard for people 鈥� particularly ones without good insurance policies 鈥撀爐o receive prompt attention and treatment for mental illness.

This often means that programs, strained by high demand and limited resources, focus on crisis response rather than providing preventive care to patients with mental illness. 鈥淲e do a lot of cleaning up after things have gone awry for a long time,鈥� Derstine said.

Shortage of Providers

The shortage of treatment providers is more acute in rural areas of the country, and can be partially attributed to the fact that psychiatry is a relatively non-glamorous, lower-earning medical specialty that doesn鈥檛 attract as many ambitious young doctors as other fields of practice. (According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, psychiatrists earned a mean annual salary of $167,610 in 2010, slightly below the average salary for a family doctor and significantly less than surgeons鈥� annual average salary of $225,390.)

Derstine, who specializes in treating substance addictions, said that the perception that psychiatry is a less serious specialty persists to some degree even within the medical field, and that he spends significant energy working to counter the notion that addicts simply lack willpower or self-control, rather than suffering from an illness as real as diabetes or heart disease.

Among the goals of the Penn Foundation from its inception was public education to put mental illness on par with other medical problems and eliminate the stigma surrounding mental illness. While much progress has been made toward that goal, stigmatization of mental illness remains a challenge for patients and providers.

Progress Has Been Made

鈥淚t鈥檚 not as bad as it used to be,鈥� said psychiatrist Vernon Kratz, class of ’57, former CEO and medical director of the Penn Foundation, who is familiar with the appalling way patients were treated during WWII (see pages 2-11). 鈥淚t鈥檚 kind of like racism. We鈥檝e made a lot of progress, but there鈥檚 a long way to go.鈥�

Society has become more accepting of seeking professional help for mild depression, grief, troubled relationships and other problems, noted Ressler. Most of the clients at his Samaritan Counseling Center are in relatively good mental health and thus encounter little stigma. More severe forms of mental illness, he said, tend to be more disparaged and feared, as indicated by frequent (and far disproportionate) connections drawn between violence and mental illness in the popular media.

Counselors who see clients from conservative religious backgrounds often encounter the common misconception that mental illness is linked to spiritual or personal shortcomings, explains Lois Shank Gerber 鈥�66, who primarily sees Amish and other Plain clients at Upward Call Counseling in Lititz, Pennsylvania.

Yet another testimony to lingering stigma is a tendency for clients to pay Phil Weber 鈥�77 out of their own pockets when they come for a session. Weber, a psychologist with a home practice in West Chester, Pennsylvania, mainly sees successful, white-collar clients, nearly all of whom have good medical insurance policies. Yet frequently they don鈥檛 want records to exist of their mental health treatment, so they don鈥檛 file insurance claims. They simply pay him directly. 鈥淭hey don鈥檛 want people to know they鈥檙e coming to see me,鈥� Weber said.

More Humane, Compassionate

Depending on one鈥檚 perspective, someone could reasonably draw wildly different conclusions about the country鈥檚 ability to treat people suffering from mental illness. Taking the long view, there鈥檚 the fact that, within living memory, mentally ill people were treated like animals in filthy, dangerous and overcrowded state institutions 鈥� a situation that shocked the country鈥檚 sensibilities once it became widely known. Thanks to the resulting reform movement, both within the Mennonite church and larger society, this model of treatment has been replaced with something far more humane and compassionate.

At the same time, it can be a bleak exercise to focus on the current challenges facing the mentally ill and those who treat them.

Which view is the more accurate?

鈥淭he answer is, both of the above,鈥� said Tom Martin ’78 of Susquehanna University.

He concurs with Ressler that today people with less severe mental disorders, like mild or moderate forms of depression, face less stigma and can receive very effective treatment close to home. At the same time, people suffering from severe, chronic conditions 鈥� particularly if their illness prevents them from working 鈥� face enormous, and even growing, challenges.

Vernon Kratz, on the Penn Foundation鈥檚 board of directors, noted that a significant and positive development in the field over the course of his career is that the word 鈥渞ecovery鈥� is in common usage, even for people with serious illnesses.

鈥淭here used to be a feeling of despair and hopelessness when [serious] diagnoses 鈥� were made,鈥� Kratz said. 鈥淚 think today there鈥檚 much more hope that these can be treated.鈥�

State and federal agencies are seeking to cut expenses, raising concerns about reduced access to care for the most vulnerable people in our society. Yet this is not the first time that the Penn Foundation, Philhaven, and others working in the field have needed to advocate for those who need more supporters. And they know they are standing on the shoulders of earlier advocates for compassionate care for all humans.

鈥淭here are a lot of good stories, as well as some really painful ones,鈥� Kratz continued. 鈥淸But] overall, I feel fairly positive.鈥�

Able to Survive Challenges

John Goshow, the recently retired CEO of the Penn Foundation, noted that financial uncertainty has long faced mental healthcare providers.

鈥淲e鈥檝e been able to survive many different challenges over the years,鈥� Goshow said, adding that church and community support has played an essential role in allowing the Mennonite psychiatric institutions to continue their tradition of innovation and leadership. 鈥淚f it weren鈥檛 for the support of the community, it would be very difficult for the Penn Foundation to stay on the cutting edge.鈥�

At the Samaritan Counseling Center in Lancaster, Gerald Ressler also remains confident that, despite the increasing challenge of dealing with stagnant or dropping insurance reimbursements, his staff will continue to fulfill its mission of offering counseling to anyone and everyone who comes in the door. 鈥淲e鈥檒l have to be more and more creative to figure out how to provide services, [but] I think we鈥檒l figure out how to make that happen,鈥� he said.

As 黑料正能量 alumni search for ways to carry on the tradition of Mennonite leadership within mental healthcare, Carl Rutt 鈥�66,⁶ medical director at Oaklawn in Goshen, Indiana, from 1982 to 2003, sees a continuing role for the church-affiliated institutions founded after World War II.

鈥淲e convey hope,鈥� Rutt said. 鈥淲e try to plant mustard seeds until the state agrees, 鈥榊es, let鈥檚 do this. It鈥檚 the right way to treat people鈥� 鈥� I still believe there is a role for the Mennonite institutions.鈥�

And beyond these words, there are also now deeds demonstrating this commitment to continued relevance and engagement. Beside the Penn Foundation鈥檚 headquarters north of Philadelphia grows the steel skeleton of a $9.2-million, 32,000-square-foot expansion that will provide much-needed new space for its various treatment programs that long ago outgrew the original building.

鈥淭his is a sign of our belief that we will be treating people in our community into future,鈥� Goshow said. And when he says 鈥渃ommunity,鈥� he means everybody 鈥搉ot just Mennonites, or Christians, or people who can afford the care, or people who look and act a certain way. Everybody, whether they drive a buggy, a BMW, or hobble in on pained feet.

1. Loren E. Glaze, & Doris James, Mental Health Problems of Prison and Jail Inmates (Washington DC: Department of Justice, Bureau of Justice Statistics, Special Report NCJ 213600, 2006), 1.
2. E. Fuller Torrey, et a.l. , More Mentally Ill Persons Are in Jails and Prisons Than Hospitals: A Survey of the States (Arlington, VA: Treatment Advocacy Center & Alexandria, VA: National Sheriffs鈥� Association, 2010), 1.
3. Kristen Paquette, Individuals Experiencing Homelessness, Homelessness Resource Center Fact Sheet (Newton Centre, Massachusetts: Homelessness Resource Center, 2010), Feb. 1, 2012, http://www.homeless.samhsa.gov/Resource/View.aspx?id=48800.
4. Ron Manderscheid, Benjamin Druss and Elsie Freeman., “Data to Manage the Mortality Crisis,” International Journal of Mental Health (2008), 37(2), 49-68.
5. Bureau of Labor Statistics Division of Occupational Employment Statistics. Occupational employment and wages, May 2010. Feb. 1, 2012, http://www.bls.gov/oes/current/oes193031.htm.
6. Though semi-retired Carl Rutt ’66 still sees children, adolescents and adults with a wide range of mental and addictive disorders. Other alumni associated with Oaklawn are clinical psychologist Paul J Yoder ’77, clinical social worker Jeannie Brunk ’83, and psychiatric aide Ryan Graber ’02.

I shall never forget that first night.鈥� Soon after I was settled in bed the rats began to stir, one running over my pillow. I was wondering whether to go to sleep and not mind the rats or to get up, when I felt a few bites and then it dawned on me that there were bedbugs at hand .鈥� The night attendant didn鈥檛 know what to do so I sat up with him until 鈥� two or three o鈥檆lock in the morning .鈥� [Then] I finally got a little sleep.

Layman was one of about 12,000 men who performed alternative service as conscientious objectors (COs) during the war through the Civilian Public Service. Men from dozens of religious groups were COs, but the Mennonite contingent with 4,665 COs represented by far the largest church cluster, with the Church of the Brethren being the second-largest group with 1,353 COs, and the Society of Friends (Quakers) the third-largest with 951 COs.

Approximately 3,000 of these COs were assigned to some 40 mental health institutions across the country, filling a desperate need for staff after conscription for soldiers and budget cuts necessitated by the war. As reflected in their diaries, letters and later recollections, many of these young men were appalled at the inhumane conditions they encountered.

Russell Schertz, assigned by MCC to work in Mt. Pleasant Mental Hospital in Iowa, recalled the conditions 50 years later:

As I encountered the deplorable conditions on the mental health wards 鈥� unsanitary filth, patients tied to chairs, in straight jackets, locked in dingy rooms, and sometimes beaten by previous attendants 鈥� I became aware that this was an issue of justice.

At another facility staffed by MCC personnel, the Hudson River State Hospital in Poughkeepsie, New York, Willard Linscheid reported that he was assigned to a ward of 110 to 120 patients, with just one male nurse and one other attendant on duty.

Because of the large number of incontinent and destructive patients, clothing was destroyed and soiled 鈥� much of the time the disturbed patients in the small day room were entirely naked. Because of the wartime shortages of sheets and blankets the majority of patients had only one sheet or blanket on their beds most of the time. If possible, the disturbed and incontinent patients were also given a blanket or sheet, but much of the time they slept naked and uncovered on the hard canvas mattresses.

Charlie Lord, a Quaker CO at a Philadelphia mental hospital known as Byberry, secretly took a series of pictures that ran in Life Magazine on May 6, 1946, as part of an expos茅 of the horrific state of the country鈥檚 mental hospitals. Lord鈥檚 photos showed groups of naked men, huddled together on the bare concrete floors of otherwise empty, cell-like rooms, frighteningly evocative of scenes from European concentration camps still fresh in the minds of the American public.

Working in mental facilities

How did thousands of conscientious objectors end up working in mental health institutions in World War II? The answer starts centuries earlier.

For generations, members of the traditional 鈥減eace churches鈥� 鈥� the Anabaptists, including the Mennonites, Amish and members of the Church of the Brethren, along with the Quakers 鈥� have taken the position that Jesus opposed killing other humans or even treating them violently. Period. For many, this position extends to not supporting organizational efforts to kill people, as represented by military efforts.

Before the twentieth century, religiously inspired non-combatants in North America and Europe typically were expected to provide substitutes for their lack of military service, pay stiff fines, or do prison time if they resisted conscription. The consequences for refusing to fight were sometimes severe. In the region of Virginia where 黑料正能量 is now located, Mennonites were hunted down for their refusal to join the Confederate Army in the 1860s.

During the last year of the war, when the Confederacy was sorely in need of men. . . attempts were made to impress young Mennonites into the army, with the result that many went into hiding in the mountains [of western Virginia], some of them being hunted by army scouts who had orders to shoot them at sight.

During World War I, men who refused military service on religious grounds began to be called 鈥渃onscientious objectors鈥� or 鈥淐Os.鈥� In addition to men in the peace churches, there have been COs in smaller numbers from dozens of faith traditions, including Catholic, Methodist, Baptist, Presbyterian, Lutheran, and Jewish. Jehovah鈥檚 Witnesses also consistently refuse to do military service, though their reasons typically are different from those of most COs.

In the WWI era, 138 Mennonites were court-martialed for refusing to comply with conscription and were sent to prison. Nearly 2,000 other Mennonite men, however, were able to do alternative service in camp-type settings, a role for COs negotiated by the American Friends Service Committee (a Quaker organization). Yet most COs were not given productive roles in the WWI-era camps. More often they were subject to degradation.

Men were forced to stand at attention, sometimes with outstretched arms for hours and days at a time on the sunny or cold side of their barracks, exposed to the inclemencies of the weather as well as to the jeers and taunts of their fellows until they could stand no longer; chased across the fields at top speed until they fell down exhausted, followed by their guards on their motorcycles; occasionally tortured by mock trials, in which the victim was left under the impression to the very last that unless he submitted to the regulations the penalty would be death. Every conceivable device 鈥� ridicule, torture, offer of promotion and other tempting inducements were resorted to in order to get them to give up their convictions; but with only few exceptions the religious objectors refused to compromise with their consciences.

The counter-productive treatment of CO鈥檚 during WWI motivated leaders of the peace churches to lay the groundwork for better alternative-service possibilities during future wars. The Selective Service Act of 1940 provided for COs to do work of 鈥渘ational importance” under civilian direction.

In World War II, this work took the form of largely unpaid labor聽 鈥� on farms and on government-owned land, fighting fires, being guinea pigs in medical experiments, and working in understaffed hospitals, particularly mental institutions. Despite the conditions under which they labored 鈥� and their extraordinary length of service (the last COs were released in March 1947) 鈥� COs were treated scornfully in wider society. They were called cowards and worse epithets, hung in effigy, refused service in public places, and subject to venomous campaigns by veteran鈥檚 groups.

To ensure hardship, the COs were required to serve at least 100 miles away from their homes. Most of the Mennonites did their alternative service under MCC鈥檚 umbrella 鈥� an arrangement set up with the federal government. MCC assigned them to federally approved work situations and provided the only compensation they received, which was no more than $15 monthly for essentials (shoe polish, shaving cream, toothpaste, and such).

In tacit acknowledgement of the scorn heaped on COs, John F. Kennedy said:

War will exist until that distant day when the conscientious objector enjoys the same reputation and prestige that the warrior does today.

Seeking Improvements

Though it never attained the infamy of Pennsylvania鈥檚 Byberry, Virginia鈥檚 Western State Hospital in Staunton, Virginia, less than 30 miles south of 黑料正能量, had similarly disturbing conditions. It was one of the first institutions staffed by COs. Charged with assisting 2,000 patients, the first 19 men sent by MCC worked an average of 76 hours per week for their first year in this hospital, receiving an allowance of $2.50 per month. One CO did not have a single free day in seven months of work. Eventually a total of 110 COs worked in this institution between 1942 and 1946.

Among the 黑料正能量 alumni in the CPS unit at Western State Hospital was Clarence Kreider 鈥�40, who kept a journal detailing the inadequate meals served to hard-laboring staffers (e.g. on January 3, 1943, beans and prunes for lunch, and red meat and sour pears for dinner; the next day,聽 potatoes and apples for lunch, and meat and more apples for dinner).

When a Staunton Episcopal priest, W. Carroll Brooke, learned about the appalling conditions for both patients and employees at Western State, he gathered testimony from the COs in Civilian Public Service (CPS). Together they urged officials at the state level to replace the hospital鈥檚 superintendent and increase funding for mental hospitals. Trained cooks were among the improvements to emerge from the efforts of Brooke and the leaders of CO units in other Virginia hospitals.

In 1945 Harry L. Kraus Sr. asked to be assigned as a CO to Western State, in part to be closer to his future wife, Mildred Brunk, living in Harrisonburg. Caring for the patients at Western motivated Kraus to overcome great odds to become a physician after the war. He and Mildred raised chickens to pay the fees for his undergraduate studies (he started at EMC but finished at Bridgewater in 1951, for reasons of class scheduling).

Across the nation, the COs found that mental hospital conditions 鈥渨ere deplorable. . . . They [non-CO staffers] treated patients like animals,鈥� said retired 黑料正能量 administrator Paul T. Guengerich, who served in the CPS from July 21, 1942 to March 9, 1946. In a 2006 interview with 黑料正能量 undergraduates, Guengerich said that patients 鈥渨ere abused, and our COs that worked in hospitals did all they could to bring some change to that. They felt that these patients deserved being treated like human beings.鈥�

With as many as 300 patients for each attendant, however, there were times that the COs felt uncontrollably frustrated, showing 鈥渇its of temper鈥� and employing 鈥渦nnecessarily rough language and rough handling of patients,鈥� admitted Linscheid. Yet the patients and their families expressed gratitude to the CPS-assigned workers, telling the COs they were doing a much better job than previous staffers.

Referring to the Hudson River Hospital, Willard Linscheid said in the short term:

Our efforts were concentrated on giving better and kinder treatment to the patients and to keep the ward as clean as possible under the circumstances鈥�. We all chafed under this necessity of giving only custodial care and we were all keenly aware of the improvements that could be made with more attendant help, more supplies and better facilities.

In the longer term, Linscheid said:

We were all fired with a desire to expose mental hospital conditions to the general public in the hope that such an expos茅 would lead to action toward improvement of such institutions. Certainly to work for any length of time on such a ward a person must either agitate for betterment or sear his conscience entirely to the ills of humanity.

The COs struggled with how to handle patients鈥� violent outbursts, especially given the shortage of staff. Henry E. Nachtigal, a 26-year-old General Conference Mennonite from Kansas, died on September 1, 1945, after he received a head injury from a patient at Western State Hospital in Staunton.

Patients in a New Jersey hospital killed an abusive attendant 鈥� who was not a CO 鈥� with his own billy club. The next night, a Mennonite CO named James Kuhns was told to enter that same ward and take charge. Kuhns went armed only with the keys to open the door to the outside. 鈥淚 could walk out anytime. They could have taken my keys and walked out too.鈥� But the patients didn鈥檛; they liked Kuhns better than the attendant they had killed. Kuhns worked on that ward for several months and developed relationships that made it 鈥渁n enjoyable experience.鈥� He especially liked tending long-time residents who had chronic illnesses, such as tuberculosis.

By the end of the war, more than 1,500 CPS men had worked in Mennonite-run units at mental hospitals in 14 states, including at least 29 who are 黑料正能量 alumni.

Women鈥檚 CPS Service

In support of the conscientious objector cause, around 300 women volunteered to work with CPS units at mental hospitals during the war.

Edna Ramseyer, a dynamic woman who taught home economics at two Mennonite colleges, Bluffton and Goshen, initiated the 鈥淐.O. Girls鈥� with these goals: relieving human need, strengthening the witness of the Christian peace movement, and supporting the stand taken by male COs.

鈥淐.O. Girl鈥� Bernice Meyer Miller explained: 鈥淚 was motivated to show the world that COs were not slackers, but were willing to serve in positive ways.鈥�

Ruth Miller Willems, a nurse at the MCC-staffed Rhode Island State Hospital, said:

Frequently I was assigned to care for the most disturbed patients. I was often frightened but tried not to display my emotions for the sake of the employees and patients. I tried to win their respect by showing love.

Some of these volunteers were the wives of COs, but many were college students who used their summer breaks to work in mental hospitals.

At the Cleveland State Hospital in Ohio, CPS men and women under the American Friends Service Committee jointly filed reports on how abuse and neglect had led to the deaths of patients. The hospital administration retaliated. Deteriorating work conditions caused CPS workers to be withdrawn from that hospital in November 1943. A year and a half later, at the request of a new superintendent, CPS workers returned under the care of MCC. In 1945, 19 women recruited from Mennonite colleges came and gave 鈥渦nusually good care鈥� to patients in the women鈥檚 infirmary at Cleveland; the following summer, the program was repeated with 22 college women.

In one hospital the C.O. Girls developed these guidelines for themselves:

• Speak a greeting to anyone, everyone on the hospital campus, in the corridors, on the wards, in the cafeteria;
• Be willing to do any task regardless of how menial or filthy;
• Be willing to mingle and eat with others in the dining room;
• Discuss first with your ward attendants any concerns you may have about unsatisfactory conditions; and
• Be at anytime ready to give witness to what you believe.

Eleanor Roosevelt’s Support

In early 1943, Eleanor Roosevelt interviewed a number of COs at an MCC-staffed hospital in Marlboro, New Jersey.聽 In her 鈥淢y Day鈥� column on January 16, 1943, Roosevelt described these COs in positive terms:

We met here with some of the group of Mennonites, who are conscientious objectors, and who have volunteered to serve in hospitals for mental cases. They are a very fine group of young men and bring a spiritual quality to their work because of their religion. In many ways, this is probably raising the standard of care given the patients.

On July 9, 1945, at the invitation of Edna Ramseyer, Eleanor Roosevelt and her secretary visited the MCC-sponsored mental health unit of the Hudson River State Hospital in Poughkeepsie, New York. Two days later in 鈥淢y Day,鈥� Roosevelt referred to meeting a group of workers belonging to the Mennonite church and elaborated:

The superintendent told me that they had undoubtedly raised the standards for the care of patients, and that they had been of tremendous help in disclosing certain practices which existed there and about which he never before could get any real evidence. He said if they could stay longer they would probably improve the standards even more.

At war’s End

Reflecting on his four CPS years that concluded at the Hudson River institution, Samuel Yoder wrote:

In late December 1945 I was discharged.聽I was going home. The overnight trip gave me time to reflect on my four years.聽I had served in five units from coast to coast.聽I had switched cultures and church affiliation. I had met wonderful persons in CPS, believers from Mennonite General Conference, Mennonite Brethren, Brethren in Christ and a large number from the Mennonite Church of which I am now a part.

I had matured in my Christian faith and was stronger and more sure about my peace position.聽My experience in three mental hospitals in a small way was a part of the fabric that laid the foundation for our own Mennonite Mental Health program . . .

. . . I arrived in Goshen via New York Central on a Saturday morning and as I stepped off the train there was no band to play, no parade to ride in, not even yellow ribbons tied around the old maple tree.
But there was the horse and buggy 鈥� my folks were there to meet me and welcome me home.

Modeling a Better Way

By 1947, as a national reform movement was taking off in response to the Life expos茅 and other stories told by the COs, MCC had convened a committee to study the possibility of establishing church-sponsored institutions offering mental healthcare services as a humane alternative to the state institutions.

鈥淭hese people felt there had to be a better way,鈥� said LaVern Yutzy 鈥�70, a therapist who served nearly 20 years as CEO of Philhaven, one of the Mennonite mental healthcare facilities that was established in the aftermath of the CPS experience during WWII. 鈥淪o they said, 鈥楲et鈥檚 see what we can do about this.鈥欌��

In 1949, Brook Lane Farm in Leitersburg, Maryland, was the first Mennonite mental healthcare facility to open its doors, with beds for short-term treatment of 23 patients with acute mental illnesses. While some in the church thought that Brook Lane and other similar institutions should largely rely on compassionate treatment in a 鈥渉ome-like atmosphere,鈥� other leaders in the reform movement cautioned that professional medical staff was a necessity. Eventually, the latter group prevailed. When Brook Lane opened, a psychiatrist from Baltimore began making twice-weekly visits to see patients there.

Within a decade, four other church-run facilities to treat mental illness opened across the country. Kings View opened in 1951 in Reedley, California, followed by Philhaven, established in 1952 in Mount Gretna, Pennsylvania. In 1954, Prairie View opened in Newton, Kansas, while the Penn Foundation began seeing its first patients in Souderton, Pennsylvania, in 1956 (it has since relocated to nearby Sellersville).

During the 1960s, three more Mennonite-affiliated institutions joined the group: Oaklawn in Elkhart, Indiana (1963); Kern View in Bakersfield, California (opened in 1966, but now closed) and Eden, in Winkler, Manitoba (1967).

Grant M. Stoltzfus 鈥�38 was an 黑料正能量 alumnus who played a role in the post-war establishment of these Mennonite institutions. During his three years of service with the CPS, Stoltzfus had worked for a time at the notorious Byberry hospital in Philadelphia.

In 1945, Stoltzfus became the director of a unit at the Woodbine Colony for the Feeble Minded in Woodbine, New Jersey, where more than 20 men worked with hundreds of children with intellectual disabilities.

His final CPS assignment was writing educational pamphlets and researching how churches could run mental healthcare facilities for the National Mental Health Foundation, a reform-focused organization sparked by the CPS experience.

Stoltzfus eventually served as a professor of sociology at 黑料正能量 from 1957 until his death in 1974. Former students recall his unflagging interest in mental health care and the way he influenced them to work in the field.
Another alumnus who played a prominent role in the early days of Mennonite-led reform in mental healthcare was Norman Loux 鈥�42, M.D. He left a prestigious job at a psychiatric hospital in Rhode Island to serve as the founding聽 medical director of the Penn Foundation. Loux remained in that position from 1955 to 1980.

Community-Oriented Care

Belying their small size, the Mennonite-sponsored mental health facilities played important roles in sparking wider initiatives. Originally founded to provide the mentally ill with humane and compassionate alternatives to state institutions, their institutional missions soon grew to encompass outpatient and day treatment programs.
Another innovative approach taken by many of these organizations was a therapeutic focus on treatment within the larger community, resulting in broader outreach efforts and increased involvement of patients鈥� families.

Retired 黑料正能量 sociology Professor

Titus Bender 鈥�57, who earned a doctorate in social work at Tulane and who spent decades involved with the lives of marginalized people, published an article in 2011 about the impact of Mennonites on the larger mental health movement. In it, Titus spoke about a shift from volunteers to professionals in the 1960s:

Volunteers as a significant segment of hospital staffs gradually gave way to increased emphasis on clinically trained staff. This created some consternation among a segment of the Mennonite constituency who had envisioned a 鈥渉omelike atmosphere鈥� and lay involvement as crucial ingredients of a Mennonite-sponsored mental health program. Increasingly, the encouragement from the center was for Mennonites interested in mental health care to get professional training. Volunteers continue to play a vital role in assisting those with emotional stress to become integrated into the community.

The efforts at Mennonite institutions attracted national attention. Prairie View received a gold medal from the American Psychiatric Association (APA) in 1968 for its community mental health services, while Kings View received the same honor in 1971 for its contract model with local government to provide mental healthcare. In the 1960s, Prairie View and Oaklawn were cited as examples of innovative providers of mental healthcare in publications by both the APA and the federal department of Health, Education and Welfare. And in 1964, a profile of the Penn Foundation鈥檚 treatment programs was the lead chapter in a book of case studies compiled by the APA.

鈥淸These institutions] can take pride in their accomplishments on a national scale,鈥� wrote Lucy Ozarin, a longtime physician with the National Institute of Mental Health, in the early 1980s. 鈥淸They have] served as a. . . model for a nation to follow in providing psychiatric care where and when people need such help.鈥�

Mennonite College Role

While the church-founded mental health聽 institutions were becoming established and recognized, 黑料正能量 was taking steps to prepare students for entering the mental healthcare field.

In 1961, Laban Peachey ’52, who had been a 19-year-old CO at Rhode Island State Hospital in 1946, became the founding chair of 黑料正能量鈥檚 department of psychology. 鈥淚 was definitely influenced to go into psychology by working at the hospital,鈥� Peachey told Crossroads in February 2012. 鈥淏ut I didn鈥檛 want to work with ill people; I wanted to keep people from getting ill.鈥�

Beginning with graduate courses in psychology at Boston University and the University of Virginia, Peachey worked his way toward a doctorate in counseling psychology from George Washington University in 1963. In the late 1960s, he chaired a Rockingham mental health group that preceded today’s community services board. Peachey was president of Hesston College, a Mennonite institution in Kansas, for 12 years before re-settling near 黑料正能量, where he earned a master of religion degree at age 70.

After establishing its psychology major in 1961, 黑料正能量 gained accreditation for its social work program in 1975. In 1993, the masters in counseling program became 黑料正能量鈥檚 first graduate studies program outside of its seminary.

As of early 2012, 575 graduates had majored in psychology, 665 had majored in social work, and 221 had earned master鈥檚 degrees in counseling. Of course, not all of these 1,461 graduates remained in the mental health arena. This number, though 鈥� constituting about 10 percent of our current alumni group 鈥� does indicate significant interest in mental health among our alumni.

鈥満诹险芰� has had a long history of training people for service to people who are the most vulnerable,鈥� Tom Martin 鈥�78, a professor of psychology at Susquehanna University, told Crossroads. “If you look around in this society and ask, 鈥榃ho are the most vulnerable ones?鈥� you鈥檝e got to look at people with severe and persistent mental disorders 鈥� It鈥檚 really in the Mennonite DNA to do this kind of work.”

Love and Attachment

In the spring of 2011, 黑料正能量 hosted an unprecedented conference called 鈥淐onversations on Attachment: Integrating the Science of Love and Spirituality.鈥� A number of internationally recognized speakers cited the results of several decades of research to support their assertions that caring relationships are as necessary to human life as air, food and water.

With their grounding in the teachings of Jesus, the COs assigned to mental hospitals in WWII knew well the importance of love. Now there is a growing body of scientific proof that love is not just a preferred mode of conduct, it is truly necessary for human survival, as covered in the 鈥淐onversations on Attachment鈥� conference. (See more at .)

The integration of science and love is reflected in the life of CO James Kuhns. After his CPS years, he earned degrees in the sciences 鈥� chemistry, physics and math 鈥� at Goshen College, one of 黑料正能量鈥檚 peer institutions under the umbrella of Mennonite Church USA. For seven years, Kuhns worked in the scientific arena and earned a master鈥檚 degree in physical science. He and his wife did MCC service in Ethiopia for three years. But he found himself longing to return to his CPS days when he was focused on people鈥檚 minds. He returned to graduate school and earned a second master鈥檚 and then a doctorate in clinical psychology.

Kuhns worked as a clinical psychologist for the next three decades. Interviewed by 黑料正能量 students as a retiree in Harrisonburg, he said that his life鈥檚 work could be summed up in one Greek word, agape, which he defined this way:

It鈥檚 to establish a relationship with other people that is positive to help them become what they can become. . . Not in terms of what you can give to me, but [in terms of] what you are in need of. I will nurture, I will encourage, I will support. And if we show that type of love to our associates 鈥� whether it鈥檚 parents, child, husband, wife, country-to-country, vocation 鈥� problems disappear.

This Christian-based emphasis on relationships, on caring, on compassion 鈥� on agape 鈥� is what caused the Mennonites serving in mental health institutions in WWII to be praised by Eleanor Roosevelt and many of the institutions鈥� superintendents toward the end of the war period.

Roosevelt also accurately grasped that the CO experience had caused the Mennonite church to open itself to the world and to feel called to service beyond its own cluster of farm communities. Of the male and female Mennonite COs she met, Roosevelt wrote in “My Day” (July 11, 1945):

Many of them are preparing to travel for their churches after the war and undertake relief work in different parts of the world, and what training they get in hospitals here will be of value in the future.
By modeling another way 鈥� and calling attention to abusive treatment 鈥撀� the 黑料正能量 alumni who served in mental health facilities joined other COs in transforming the way mental health is handled in North America. And they paved the way for hundreds of future 黑料正能量 students to embrace the importance of mental health, to view it as a responsibility of a caring community, and to make it their own life鈥檚 work.

鈥� Andrew Jenner 鈥�04 & Bonnie Price Lofton, MA 鈥�03

For a bibliography, see the bottom of following page. 黑料正能量 historical librarian Lois Bowman ’60, assistant historical librarian Cathy Baugh, and alumni database specialist Braydon Hoover ’11 offered considerable research assistance for this report on conscientious objectors.