The Clarke and Its Founders: The Thirtieth Anniversary

The Clarke and Its Founders: The Thirtieth Anniversary. A Retrospective Look at the Impossible Dream

D Frayn, editor

Toronto: Coach House Press; 1996.181 p

This is a book about the Clarke Institute of Psychiatry. Essentially, it presents a series of interviews of past and present luminaries, with Doug Frayn acting as interviewer and editor. Frayn, as a distinguished psychoanalyst, allows himself a piece of puffery regarding the title. Noticeably, all the comments in the book, and more so in the references, are idiosyncratic. Each of us trained, matured, and gilded at the Clarke will cherish different memories. That they may matter to others is a nice thought, but not critical. As Frayn would endorse, our memories are our delight as well as torment.

I was at the Clarke Institute for almost a quarter of a century, and I savor some memories, laugh at others, and see poignancy in yet others. I remember Robin Hunter, on my coming from Australia in 1971, looking astounded at the cost of removal and declaring he never had such an expensive relocation. Shortly after my arrival, I recall having been honored with an invitation to the monthly Friday-night poker game at his house and being mortified at being jejune, not having played for many years. In the end, however, by 06:00 on Saturday, I’d only lost $100! As I reflect on the decency of Robin Hunter, who always ate at noon at the same table on the 12th floor and was patient about and receptive to anxious questions, crass remarks, and timid jokes, I bear in mind his concerns expressed at the same table before his exploratory surgery, which led to his premature death.

Other events have become a kaleidoscope. Harvey Stancer ran the research ward and was a great chief. He always had his staff back to his house for parties and genuinely cared for them: he was the quintessential chief of service. I remember antivivisectionists bombing the research wing with a very serious risk to life and limb there; Ben, the barber, who cut our hair and would look pained if we went elsewhere; Molly, who presided over the cafeteria; and Siebert, who delivered the mail while singing hymns. I recall the ongoing obsession with rebuilding — the Clarke must have been built and rebuilt many times from within, producing many rooms with no soundproofing so that the secretaries had to play their radios to avoid hearing their bosses’ psychotherapy interpretations. There were also the maintenance staffs Christmas parties in the basement; the Christmas shows; the transsexuals with skirts and large boots waiting on the 4th floor for treatment; the patients with schizophrenia who used the place as a hotel; and the staff and patients who smoked outside the building together when the no-smoking legislation was passed.

Now we are somewhat at a nadir. The Clarke as I knew it has changed and is due to merge with Queen Street Mental Health Centre. The scenario will change, and things may never be the same again. Nevertheless, the same thing must have been said many times in the past 30 y. Change has been inevitable at the Institute, without necessarily being beneficial. Ironically, Charlie Roberts, the Clarke Institute midwife, recently died at about the time the Clarke was told it would lose its free-standing, unique place in Canadian psychiatry. Although he was not seen much at the Clarke during its 3 decades of existence, he surely would be 1 of the only people who could have said what the original dream was.

Those wanting to see how the work tallies with their own dreams and memories should read the book.