After finishing all but a few requirements before getting my degree from Columbia, I started a job search. I did Internships at Bellevue and Roosevelt Hospitals, but I had no desire for a long career in NYC. I was from a small beach town in Delaware. We summered in Ocean City, Maryland and Tom's River, New Jersey, and I had something like that in mind. Each week's work followed by a weekends of sun and surf.
Nothing I'd studied or done would prepare me for my speedy immersion into the world of adolescent sexual deviance, and here I must be careful with names, descriptions, and the facts, as it is not possible for me to expose certain details concerning underage youth. Therefore, names and incidents are altered to protect... the innocent, although you might have a different idea if that's true once you've read the accounts of some of my more interesting cases.
Psychiatry interested me from the time I was a boy. My father, being a GP, encouraged me. I ended up a psychologist, however, not because I lacked the intellect to be a shrink, but because I felt a psychologist could get closer to the problems. My first job would have me wondering about this decision, until I started writing this story and realized that I got the kind of education at Harrow House that you can't get in school.
I wondered for a while if anyone would hire me. The invitation came from Harrow House the third month after my search began. I was still hanging on in school, but was only a dissertation away from graduating.
The letter was postmarked Anderson, S.C., but the school was in Greenfield and I flew into Greenville-Spartanburg Airport.
The woman who met me was of medium build, well-dressed in a two piece navy blue suit. "And you are Dr. Anderson?"
"Not doctor. I'm Paul Anderson, Ph.D."
"Oh, Our last.... The last man in the position was Dr. Bliss. I assumed that Phillip... Mr. Arbor, was hiring a doctor. He was in a meeting with parents and sent me at the last minute to meet you. I'm Evelyn Sills."
She extended her delicate hand and I touched it with my forefinger and thumb and came up with an uncomfortable smile. She guided me through the airport and out to a waiting car. A middle-aged man in work clothes was our driver. We ignored him as I waited for her to seat herself before I got in beside her with an overnight bag to sit between us.
"Tell me something about Harrow House," I said once the car went into motion.
"It was founded in 1966," she smiled, and I notice that her red lipstick was too dark for her lips. "It was founded by Phillip's father. He took over in 1988. Phillip senior passed that year. We are an alternative to juvenile facilities for troubled boys. In fact we get some of our boys from juvenile hall if they aren't suited to that environment."
"Not suited? I wouldn't expect any boy would be," I said. "I'm tough. I'm a psychologist. How not suited are we talking here if you don't mind me asking?"
Ms. Sills reorganized her legs and sat up straight as the smile stood fast. Her blue/green eyes met up with my baby browns and she hesitated before going further, clearing her throat, no doubt in an effort to make sure each of her words were understood.
"Usually they come to Harrow, after they're in trouble."
"Violence?"
"No, more sexual deviation. If they are discovered in... doing something with other inmates, they are unsuitable and go into isolation. We get our share of those. There are only a handful of facilities licensed to handle such... boys. We've had a doctor up until now, but I don't believe Ed... Dr. Bliss, had any psychiatric background."
"How many students are at Harrow House."
"Sexual... sexually delinquent boys?"
"Yes."
"Sixty-three. Originally it housed fifty boys. We've expanded to one hundred but often have more. There aren't many places to house them and we get the majority of deviates in this part of the state."
"You're overcrowded?" I asked.
"Only because the state keeps sending us boys. We don't refuse them if we can help it. That brings questions and investigations and we'd rather not have the state trying to tell us how to run the school."
"How do you manage a hundred and twenty?"
"We are creative. We must double up some boys in single rooms. We put in bunk beds and leave the doors open so they have liberal access to the common areas; supervised of course."
"Sexual deviant boys? You double them up. How do you maintain order. From my perspective It seems like that might be a problem."
"That's why we have counseling services. We try to maintain order with reasonable supervision and programs that keep them involved."
"Teachers?"
"Nine full time and three part time."
The picture in my mind was dashed, when I first saw Harrow House. It was a nine-acre facility on green rolling hills. Each building was old red brick with a nine foot brick wall around just the housing units, but the school buildings and the medical facility with my office were on a hill overlooking huge oak trees, a stream, and a pond where you could actually catch fish. I was surprised and pleased.
The inside of Harrow House was equally impressive. The halls had pictures, were pastel in color, and there were supervised areas where students could gather. It was a nice facility and the people were nice.
Mr. Arbor, the founder's son and headmaster since 1988, gave me the tour, after he kept me waiting for an hour. All the time he kept saying how he thought I was just the man they were looking for. I was young and didn't come with the baggage of Dr. Bliss. With the latest updates in thinking about sex and sexuality, he was certain I was the man he wanted.
Being wanted was nice and no one was beating down my door with job offers, so by the time I left, I had made up my mind to take his offer. What better way to start my career in counseling. I'd start with kids and working my way up from there.
I didn't have much to move into the furnished apartment that was on the grounds. The previous occupant had fifties taste and there was a lot of chrome and plastic, but it was better than sitting on the floor to eat and watch television. My first day in my new office, I had six students scheduled for one form of counseling or another. Mr. Arbor told me to take my time, study the files as I spoke with each student, and I could set up a schedule that suited me.
"Some boys need more attention than others, you understand. Some needed little or none, but we are required to counsel all the boys here and we encourage them to openly discuss their improprieties. There are group sessions that take place in the evenings in the housing units. You'll oversee them but you aren't required to attend them. Each of our teachers is trained in counseling and is certified to lead group sessions."
Once Mr. Arbor closed the door behind him, I was alone with my thoughts and in my new environment. That didn't last for long and there was a knock at my door at exactly eleven a.m.
"Come in," I said, examining the files that had been placed on my desk.
"Dennis Bailey," Ms. Burdett, my secretary announced.
"Have him come in," I said, as I started my new career.
He was a tall boy with brown hair and eyes. He was ill at ease and sat swinging his legs back and forth under his chair.
"I'm Paul Anderson," I said, after a minute of silence.
"What do I call you?" He asked.
"Well, Paul is fine, or Mr. Anderson if you like. How are you?"
He was looking down at his hands, when I spoke, but he looked up at me and stopped swinging his legs. It was almost like he had only just then realized I wasn't the same guy he had been talking to for four months.
"I called Dr. Bliss Dr. Bliss," he advised.
"That's fine. You can call me Mr. Anderson if you like."
"You aren't a doctor?" He asked.
"No. I'm a psychologist," I said, pointing at the degree beside my desk.
He actually got up and walked over to the framed degree. He appeared to read it and then he turned to look at me from just a few feet away.
"You aren't a doctor?"
"No."
"Why aren't you a doctor?"
"I studied to be a psychologist so I could take a job like this."
"Dr. Bliss was a doctor."
"Yes, but I'm trained as a counselor and he wasn't. I think one balances out the other. I'm here to deal with your particular type of problem. He was here as a doctor who was not trained in psychology."
"So you're better than he was?"
"No, I wouldn't say that. I'm sure he wouldn't say that."
Dennis walked back over to his seat and sat back down, swinging his legs for a time before looking me over carefully.
"How are you?"
"Fine."
"Is there anything you want to talk about today. We have an hour. Actually fifty minutes. That gives me ten minutes before the next student."
"I know. I'm fine," Dennis said, legs swinging away as he looked around the room.
I pulled the top file off the pile on the corner of my desk. It was marked Dennis Bailey - 2762. I opened it and his legs stopped.
"You can't believe everything you read," he said, watching me apprehensively.
"You aren't Dennis Bailey, born July 9th, 88?"
"Yeah, I'm him."
"Says you've five foot three and one hundred and ten pounds."
"I meant the other stuff."
"You're taller."
"That's from juvie. I was thirteen."
"You'll be fifteen in July?"
"Yep."
"You've been here for a year?"
"Yep."
"Why so long?"
"No one will take me. I'm eligible for foster care but that's where that stuff happened."
"That stuff?" I asked, assuming it was in the file.
"Why don't you tell me about it and I'll get it right."
"You'll still read it," he said.
"It's my job," I said.
"You haven't read it?'
"Not yet. I'm just getting to know the boys."
"It's not true. I mean it is but not the way they wrote it down."
"Okay," I said, closing the file and setting it back on the pile. "Suppose you tell me what is true."
"You don't want to hear it. I tried to explain it to Dr. Bliss. He didn't believe me. Told me I was in denial and needed to tell the truth. You won't believe me either. Why bother?"
"Well, you say it isn't what really happened. I've got two options, read the file and figure someone who knew what they were talking about wrote it, or hear your version and take that into consideration. I'll do it whichever way you like. I'm not hear to argue with you."
"You're going to read that stuff no matter what I say?"
"It's my job. I'd be negligent if I didn't read your file, but I haven't read it."
"What's the point then? I'll save my breath."
"The point is that I'll know your version, when I read their version. If I know your version than I can have a better idea of what the truth is."
"They were already there, when I showed up."
"Bobby and Dan. Dan was the oldest besides me. He was the one."
"One what?"
"The one that started it."
"What did he start?"
"He was eleven. Bobby was ten and I was twelve. We slept in a big double bed. None of us was all that big."
"Were there any more kids in the house?"
"Yes, another foster girl. She was seven and their real son, Ted. He was thirteen and their only real kid. He had a room to himself."
"What happened?"
"They sent me there from another home. They were all temporary. No one wants thirteen-year old boys, you know. You can only stay but so long in one foster home so you don't get too familiar."
"Oh," I said, getting my education on the job. "Go on."
"First night I was there I woke up with Dan on it. That had never happened before."
"On it?"
"He was sucking my dick. Giving me a blow job."
"I get the picture," I said, suddenly needing to squirm.
"At first he did it through my underpants. He did it for a long time. Clamped his mouth down and just sucked me."
"You didn't tell him to stop?"
He shook his head no, and his legs were swinging back and forth even faster. He looked at his hands and his voice was softer.
"...And?"
"After that he started taking it out of my shorts. I guess it took about a week for him to get around to it. It was pretty neat at first but that was even neater."
"That's why you didn't stop him?" I asked, thinking I should interject some balance.
"Pretty much. He'd done it before. He was in three foster homes. The older boys made him at first, when he was maybe seven or eight. Then he did it on his own. He figured it was the way to get guys to like him."
"Did you like him?"
"He was okay. I liked that."
"Oral sex?"
"What he did to me at night. Then it was with Bobby and he'd start stuff up in the basement. We had a fort down there. He'd take it out and tell Bobby to suck it. Bobby did anything you told him. They'd get me in the middle and they both licked on me for a long time some days. One day Mrs. Cane came down and we got busted. Dan said it was all my doing. Bobby agreed with anything Dan said. I was history."
"Where are your parents, Dennis?"
"Got me. They ditched me at my grandma's. She died. I was five. I been in the system since then."
"You want to tell me what happened at Juvie?" I asked.
"It's all written in there," he said, indicating the file by moving his head.
"Anything I should know about your side of it."
"I never started it. I went along because... I don't know... because I liked it by then, I guess."
"Liked what?"
"Getting... oral sex."
"That's not what you call it though?"
"No. I call it getting blowed. It gets boring. There's nothing to do. Someone starts talking about doing stuff. You do it. I must not be very good because I always get caught."
"Who did you do it with at juvie?" I asked.
"There were like four guys that would. Some did it out of fear. Younger guys. A couple liked it like Dan did. Once it started I got in line."
"...And you got caught."
"Yeah, kid said we forced him to do it. I never forced no one. That's how I ended up here. No body will take me now."
"You think if you lived in another foster home you'd be good?" I asked, still learning my craft on the first day.
He turned his head from side to side to see if he could read something into the question that wasn't said. The opening I left him was far too big to be ignored. He shook his head ruefully before answering.
"If there wasn't someone that started it I could."
"If someone tried to start it, you couldn't say no?"
"I could say no but I don't think I would. When you like something, well, if something feels good and everything else feels bad, you do what feels good, you know."
"Isn't it going to make you feel bad in the long run?"
"Yeah, but I get to feel good first. I don't feel good that often."
That was my first case on my first day at Harrow House. There were sixty-two more on my desk and new arrivals came each day. I found that Dennis was guilty of no more than being an adolescent orphan boy, when some of the cases were more suited for Ripley's Believe It Or Don't.
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