Shock to the system

7

The paper appeared to be a photocopy of the original. It looked like a computer printout, with no date and no return address. It read:

To the Albany Police Dept. Homicide Division: Paul Haig died on March 17th. Verdict, suicide. Wrong.

Ask Vernon Crockwell, the so-called psychologist, where he was that night. Crockwell had his reasons for shutting Haig up. Play this tape. Vernon Crockwell has gotten away with murder, so far. Justice demands that you look into this. Let justice be done.

There was no signature. Was this Larry Bierly's voice? It sounded more like Phyllis Haig's voice than Bierly's. But she thought Bierly, not Crockwell, was responsible for her son's death, and she wouldn't have been siccing the cops on Crockwell.

I pressed start on the cassette player. The sound quality was poor, the voices distant and tinny, but the words were discernible. I got out my pad and made notes while the tape played:

"Now, Larry, it is customary to discuss the reasons when making a decision to terminate therapy." This was obviously Crockwell, Mr. Unctuouser-Than-Thou. "I think you'll agree that you owe it both to the group and to yourself to present your reasons for termination and see if we all think it is wise. How do you feel about that?"

"You mean if you think it is wise." I recognized Bierly's voice. "Don't give me that what-the-group-thinks shit, Crockwell-it's always been what you think and it always will be."

A voice I didn't know said, "Now, Larry, all Dr. Crockwell meant was-"

"All he meant"-this was Bierly again-"was that you're a bunch of sick fucks, and sick fucks like you had better do what the doctor says. But you're not sick and I'm not sick, and the only thing that's sick is all of us deluding ourselves and coming here every week and trying to turn ourselves into people we're not. We're not straight, we're gay. That's all there is to it. And it's not because our fathers weren't affectionate with us or some crazy shit like that.

We've been over and over that. Hardly any American fathers are affectionate enough with their sons, but it doesn't make them homosexual, for God's sake. Nobody knows why we're gay. We're all different and we all come from different kinds of families-"

"That's not true!" Another new voice. "The patterns are obvious. If my parents had-"

"Hey, Lar, don't you remember why you joined the group?" Yet another voice I hadn't heard. "Don't you remember how all alone you felt after you did it with another guy? How you always hated yourself in the morning? Do you want to go back to that kind of life?"

"But, Gene, I know now that that's not the only choice-"

"Perhaps," Crockwell said, "we should hear from Paul. I know that you and Larry have become good pals, Paul.

What do you think of Larry's decision to close off therapy and terminate his relationship with the group?"

Now came a long pause filled with scratchy electronic presence but no words. Then a quiet voice that must have been Paul Haig's said, "I'm leaving too."

A stir now, with murmurings that were indistinct except for one clear "Oh no" and a loud "Oh my Lord Jesus!"

Then a brief silence, followed by Crockwell's "I can hardly believe my ears-that you would even consider disappointing the group by doing such a thing, Paul. Or disappointing your mother."

"He's not just leaving," Bierly said. "Paul is leaving with me. Paul and I have been dating each other for some time now. We love each other deeply and we are going to have a life together. It's-it's great what we have-security and peacefulness. The one really good thing about this group is, it brought Paul and me together. We became friends and then lovers-well, to be honest, we became secret fuck buddies, and then friends, and then lovers. And now we're going to be-life partners, and neither of us have ever been happier in our lives, or ever imagined that we could be this happy and fulfilled."

"There is no peace and love in a lake of fire!" someone boomed-the one who had yelled "Oh my Lord Jesus!" before- but the others quickly shushed him up.

Then, after a little silence, Crockwell said coldly, "Paul, can this be true? That you too subscribe to the illusion that Larry has embraced so emotionally without being cognizant of the consequences?"

"No-no, I think Larry's right," Haig said. "I'm just-gay. I always was and I always will be, and there's nothing wrong with that. The one thing I do know is, I love Larry. When we're together, I just feel-like Larry said peaceful."

"Peaceful?"

"Well-yeah."

"But how long does this feeling of peace last, Paul? One minute? Five minutes? Do you feel peaceful when you and Larry walk down the street together? When you're with your mother, or when you think of her?"

"No, but that's because-"

"It's because of people like you, Crockwell!" This was Bierly again. "You and your bullshit that you spread around that there's something wrong with gay people. What's sick is you making us sit in those rooms looking at pussy and zapping us when we look at dicksthat is sick. All you ever did for me was make me sick of looking at pussy. I never cared about women's bodies one way or another until I came here, and now I can't stand the thought of them."

"Why do you think that is, Larry?" This was Crockwell, trying to sound oh-so-cool, but with tremors creeping in.

"When you, ah, think about, ah, a woman's genitalia, what comes to mind?"

"I think of you, Crockwell, and I think of those dungeons down the hall-those electrocution chambers that are like something you read about that Saddam Hussein does to people in Iraq. And I'll bet the same thing is true for everybody in this room, isn't it? The only time you ever think about heterosexual sex is when you come here and get strapped into Crockwell’s electric chair. Admit it-isn't it true?"

"No, no, that is definitely not true!" This was a voice I'd heard once before, briefly exclaiming indignantly over Bierly's assertion that nobody knew why anybody turned out gay. With the inflections of what can only be termed a real screamer, this group member again exclaimed, "Because of Dr. Crockwell's procedures, I have finally gotten in touch with my normal sexuality, and I resent your implications in regards to my manhood, Larry! You can just speak for yourself!"

"Dean, you should be ashamed of yourself," Bierly said. "I mean-suing your own mother and father because they made you gay? I never said anything before, because I never thought you'd go through with it. But that has to be the dumbest, greediest, meanest thing I ever heard of somebody doing to their parents. And Crockwell, you never discouraged him. You-"

"I am not suing them for the cash!" Dean screamed. "It's to set an example for others, and you know it!"

"Larry," Crockwell said, "there's something about Dean's anger with his mother and father that you feel quite strongly about. Would you like to talk about that?"

"No, I'd like to talk about you, Crockwell, you evasive, manipulative piece of ignorant shit! You always throw it back on each of us, but it's you who's everybody's problem. How'd you like a dose of your own medicine? What comes to mind? How do you feel about me challenging you? What if I dragged you down the hall and strapped you in one of those chairs and zapped you every time you looked at-whatever the fuck turns you on? How do you feel about that, Crockwell? Tell us about your mommy and daddy. What did they do to produce such a cold-blooded, sadistic piece of crap? Huh? Huh?"

"Now, Larry, you are being disruptive." Crockwell was asserting himself as the voice of authority, but it was coming out croaky. "Now, we do have rules to follow as to disruptiveness- rules we all agreed to follow."

"If that's the way Larry feels, I think he should just leave!" This was Mary Mary Quite Contrary again. "The rest of us are here because we want to be here, and to help each other act like real men are supposed to."

"Dean, a real man stands up for himself and stands up for what's right. A real man doesn't turn his life over to some

– some Nazi lunatic."

"You are telling me what's a real man, Larry? Now I'm sure I've heard – it – all."

"Those are strong words you're using, Larry," Crockwell said. "You seem to have some awfully strong feelings about me and my role in the group. Perhaps it would be helpful if you examined those feelings."

"Or perhaps it would be helpful if I put your lights out, just put you out of business, Crockwell! A year from now or even a month from now-everybody in this room with half a brain would thank me."

"I just think maybe Larry ought to leave if he's going to talk like that." This was the one called Gene again. "One of the main reasons we're here is to not let our behavior be ruled by our emotions. If you can't control your emotions, Larry, then maybe you better go. What you're saying sure does get in the way of the things we're trying to accomplish here."

"Gene, what are you trying to accomplish? I remember you said when the group began that you wanted to stop considering yourself a freak. But turning yourself into a gay married liar or a eunuch-isn't that the worst kind of freak of all? Because it's not really you. What every one of you are doing here is trying to make yourself live a lie. You're all paying Crockwell to turn you into liars. Is that what you want to be? A bunch of lying assholes?"

This caused a largely indecipherable uproar, but it was Crockwell's voice that rose above the others and went on when the hubbub subsided. "That is quite enough, Larry. That is enough vulgarity, and name-calling, and-and disruption. There are rules here- rules! -and you are breaking the rules. I want you to stop it."

"Fuck you, Crockwell. Fuck you and fuck all your fucking control-freak rules. Paul and I are out of here, and if the rest of you poor fucks want to stay here and let this-this Saddam Hussein torture you-well, I feel sorry for you. I just feel sorry."

"Paul, your mother is going to be so disappointed in you- so very, very disappointed. To reject her, to turn your back on her-"

"Will you please just shut up about my mother!" Haig snapped.

Bierly said, "The only thing that interests you about Phyllis Haig, Crockwell, is that she paid Paul's fees on time."

"Your father's heart would be broken if he knew," Crockwell went on. "Now that your mother needs a normal, whole man in the family more than ever, you plan to tell her your intention is to remain half a man. And that you're proud of it yet! You're going to rub her nose in it!"

"What are you saying?" Haig moaned. "Now that my father is dead, I'm supposed to marry my mother? What are you talking about?"

"Now, Paul, I never said-"

"Larry, you're right about him! You are so, so right about him!"

"Paul, this discussion involving your mother seems to arouse strong feelings on your part. Wouldn't you like to talk about those feelings?"

"Damn it, just you keep my mother out of this. My mother doesn't need a lot of ugly and depressing shit like this.

My mother is a wonderful woman, full of life, who always does her damned-est to look on the bright side of things. She's got joie de vivre. She's like Auntie Mame. To her, life is a banquet and she lives it to the hilt. Yes, she's set in her ways. But I'm used to that. She's not going to change, but why should she?

Mother and I got along just fine before she sent me here, and we'll get along just fine after I leave. So, just-just don't bring Mother into this, Dr. Crockwell. Mother has absolutely nothing to do with this! Do you hear me? Do you understand what I'm saying?" Haig had become shrill and sounded as if he was losing control.

"Your mother despises homosexuals," Crockwell said evenly. "That is the hard fact of the matter that you are leaving out."

"Crockwell, you are scum!" This was Bierly. "You are a dangerous, dangerous man-"

"Homosexuals are scum!" Crockwell shot back. "Homosexuals spit on nature and morality. Paul's mother understands that. In his heart, I believe, Paul does too. I'll have to speak with your mother, of course, Paul. I'll have to explain to her that the tough love she exhibited when she brought you to me will have to continue if you choose to leave the group. That it will have to take other forms, and I can advise her about that."

"Dr. Crockwell," Haig said, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. Do not bring my mother into this."

"Oh, it would be a matter of professional responsibility. I would be remiss if I failed to advise your mother, Paul."

"If you turned my mother against me," Haig said, very calmly now, "you would be very sorry you did."

"Oh, I don't see how."

"Don't do it."

"Are you threatening me, Paul?"

"I am telling you. Do not come between Mother and me."

"It's your sexual deviancy that's a barrier between you and your mother's love and approval, Paul. Not I."

"Just stay out of my family, Dr. Crockwell."

"Fortunately for you, in the long run, Paul, I can't do that."

"Well, I'll stop you. I'll just-stop you."

"You'll what?"

"I mean it, Dr. Crockwell. I'll do what I have to, to stop you from coming between Mother and myself."

Now came a long silence. Chairs shifted. Finally, in a voice strained as never before in the session, Crockwell said,

"No, you won't stop me, Paul. If I have to, I'll stop you. If you get in the way of my carrying out my duty to uphold moral standards of normalcy, I'll stop you, Paul. I'll just stop you dead in your tracks."

There were gasps and ohs and ahs, and then the tape went silent. I listened to the silence for a minute, then fast-forwarded to the end of the sixty-minute cassette. The remainder was blank. I flipped the tape. The other side was blank in its entirety.

I pocketed the photocopy of the anonymous letter suggesting that Vernon Crockwell had killed Paul Haig, along with my notes on the contents of the tape. I left Al Finnerty's office and went down the stairway and out into the pale sunlight.

I'd left my car up near the house on Crow Street, and that was okay. I didn't need to examine my feelings about where I'd parked my car. Strolling over to Albany Med would give me a chance to air out my brain cells, which had been polluted by my visit of some minutes via the tape with Vernon Crockwell and his victims, or his collaborators, or some unhappy combination of the two. But victims in what? Collaborators in what? Except for the obvious-a quack operating abusively as a mental health professional-I did not yet understand what was happening here. end user