Bryce Diary

I'm an Ultrasound Tech by trade. At the time of this account, my mother had just died and I was feeling pretty raw, emotionally. I had already accepted a 13-week Ultrasound Traveler contract at a hospital in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, which I considered getting out of, but I finally decided the change of scenery would do me good. My company put me up in a nice hotel that had a piano in the foyer, which I was particularly glad about, since playing peaceful piano is so calming for me.

Well, I settled into the new ultrasound job, which was great, and I enjoyed playing that piano in the evenings when no one was around----but I was still feeling bereft about losing my mother. Thinking about others rather than myself usually works for me, so I cast about for an after-work volunteer opportunity.

One day after work I happened to drive by a big sign up on a hill, "The Old Bryce Cemetery from 1861". We had worked on several patients from Bryce, and I knew it to be a psychiatric hospital. I suddenly wanted to see the gravestones in that cemetery. So I parked and walked up the hill. I was somewhat taken aback when I got up and into the actual cemetery----because at first I couldn't see any gravestones. But as I studied the landscape, I started to see them: little metal crosses about a foot high, dotting the lawn. These little crosses had nothing on them but a number----quickly fading and rusting in the weather. I guessed they were medical record numbers for patient confidentiality. It started raining while I stood there----which seemed appropriate, as I thought about all these nameless people, secreted away by a society that did not not want them on public display. I went home and called Bryce to ask if they could use a volunteer for 10 weeks.

"Do you have an idea of what kind of work you'd like to do?" asked the nice lady in charge of volunteers. Initially I said "Well, I guess I can do anything....." but after a moment I asked, "I don't suppose you have a piano...?" She really liked the idea of "music therapy" and signed me up to do just that.

So here I was, standing timidly in front of the double-locked door to the Recreation building, waiting to be admitted for my first night. I admit I suddenly had grave doubts, wondering if I was truly up for this. How many people would I be facing? Are they even capable of listening to "peaceful piano"? How safe am I? But...I found myself quickly smiling. I'm a Christian, and I love these adventures with Jesus. I know this one thing to be true: 5 minutes of peace is better than no minutes of peace. I knew 5 minutes of peace in a psychiatric hospital would be worth it.

A staff person opened the heavy door with a resounding clank, double-locking it behind her, and I turned around to face the room. I was immediately mobbed by over 100 mentally compromised folks, all ages, all colors, all talking at once.

"Can I have a dollar to buy a can of pop?" "Who are you?! Who are you?! Who are you?! " "Aboo aboo aboo....." "YOU!! You're going to HELL because of your sinning!!" "What are YOU here for??" "HEY!! I don't know you!!" "You come from outside, huh?" I remembered that I had been told in orientation that every one of these folks had been involuntarily committed to this hospital because they had tried to either hurt themselves or other people.

But anyway, I just smiled and headed for the piano, which looked like it was about a thousand years old, with yellowed keys, some of which were missing. A staff woman came over to me and whispered, "I don't know how this might go, but we're glad to try it out. Don't worry about your safety." (which did relieve me, I confess.) Then she called out, "OK everybody---pay attention now---- this lady's going to play some piano for us---Eddie turn down that TV...." and then she went back to the card game she was playing with 4 or 5 folks.

The room actually did quiet down, and I began with an easy-listening song to get used to the piano (and the crowd). The piano was horribly out of tune and as I mentioned, some of the keys were missing, but anyway the song got played. When I finished, there was a momentary silence, and suddenly everyone was clapping. I wasn't expecting that. And I suddenly realized the happy fact: there was peace in the room.

The attention span of most of the folks was fairly limited, though, so the noise level slowly reverted back to where it was when I came in. But in the meantime, a group of about 50 crowded around me, enjoying the music. After a few songs, a lady said, "Can you play something we can all sing?" A man next to me stood up enthusiastically and said, "Yeah! Something we can ALL sing!" I taught them a little chorus, encouraging them to point to one another while they were singing:

"I love His appearing in you! I love His appearing in you! I want you to see His appearing in me, and I love His appearing in you!"

They heartily sang out, obediently pointing to each other, an enthusiastic, off-key choir, to the accompaniment of that horribly out-of-tune piano----I started making mistakes because the keys were all blurry from the tears in my eyes----so great was their poignant singing.

I played twice a week at Bryce, and every time something wonderful happened. One man, Clarence, was completely non-verbal, but he enjoyed the piano music and was always right beside me, his hands constantly moving spasmodically all over his head and neck. A lady (who I nick-named "Loud Loretta") asked if I knew "Amazing Grace". I started playing it and the crowd doubled as people came over to join in the singing. The immediate area around the piano started heating up, and I felt perspiration dripping down my back. Loud Loretta's head was practically on my shoulder as she tried to see the words as I played. She half sang, half-screeched louder than anyone else, because she so-loved that song. But suddenly everyone quieted down because we became aware that non-verbal Clarence was singing. Indeed, he had a wonderful baritone and with closed eyes, he was singing Amazing Grace with all his heart. I looked over at the Staff lady and she was staring too----no one had ever heard Clarence say anything. When the song ended, we all clapped for Clarence, everyone surprised at this happy phenomenon. But Clarence reverted back to his non-verbal-ness and spasmodic hand-moving. Music pushes buttons, Folks.

I once knew a girl who hated that song. She resented the phrase "that saved a wretch like me". She came from a wealthy family and grew up with everything her heart desired. She certainly didn't feel like a wretch. The folks at Bryce had no such delusions. Amazing Grace was one of the top favorites----we sang it every night I was there, and enjoyed listening to Clarence every time.

Here's another of the crowd favorites: it was early November, but one night someone asked if I would play Silent Night. What is it about Silent Night? I started playing it and again the crowd around me doubled, everyone singing with all their hearts. I guess it must evoke memories of better days----calm and good and family----I don't know, but Silent Night was definitely one of the crowd favorites, another song that we sang every night I was there. I'm pretty short and small, and one night after Silent Night, a big and somewhat-intimidating-looking man banged on the top of the piano with his knuckles. I was nervous for a moment until he said, "Dat nice, ma'am---dat nice."

Another favorite was "What a Friend We Have In Jesus". One night we were singing that one, when Thomas, a man in his 40's, and pretty quiet usually, suddenly called out, "OK, stop that right now!! Stop singing!!" We all looked at him wondering if we were about to witness some kind of ominous incident. But he put a hand on his heart and said, "I'm getting so happy I might start crying." We all relaxed and smiled, and there was a little friendly chuckling, and a hand or two patted him understandingly on the shoulder.

Playing piano at Bryce was one of the high points of my life, and changed my whole attitude about people with mental health issues. One night while I was playing, a hand holding a photograph was suddenly put in front of my face forcing me to stop playing. I looked to see who was attached to that hand. I said, "I'm Judy---what's your name?" "I'm Betty----this is my grandbaby." She stared lovingly at the photo. I looked with her and said, "That looks like a fine grandbaby!" It was a happy photo, of a happy time, Betty and her husband I think, holding a baby in thir arms. Love is the thing that remains when everything else has been taken away.