Hello, my name is Neurotic Man and I’m here to tell you a story, a story about my friend Ojeda. We met in the Haight where we both lived. I was visiting the shops looking for that “find” and he was selling or trying to sell to those same shops.
Ojeda was half American Indian and half black and he did not fit well into either group. He was gay and very gentle which was mistaken for weakness and he was very, very quiet. Ojeda often knew what I was thinking but he was awful at such behavior. He was a man with needs that did not get fulfilled and he mistook kindness from any human being as a sign that he was soon to escape his personal ghetto. He wished for money and fame and respect. Except for a select group of friends he had none of this.
His boyfriend was a slight fellow by the name of Bobbie who when we met was bent over from the disease ravaging his body. In those days the disease, Aids, had no name. On the rare occasions that Ojeda and Bobbie felt well enough to socialize we’d go out to dinner and they’d stay over and has childish delight by the little things, like coffee and oranges and croissants in the morning.
Ojeda was a brilliant sculptor and sculpt anything. Once we has a salad with avocado in it at my house and Ojeda asked for the pit and a few days later he gave me the pit back sculpted as a head with a face.
When Bobbie died from Aids a few years later Ojeda moved to Casper, CA and found a washed away pier and a few pylons which he sculpted. I would occasionally visit and I found the old Ojeda but with a new layer of pain.
Many years prior Ojeda overwhelmed by the pain man inflicted on other men couldn’t take it anymore and self-committed himself to a psychiatric hospital. He hoped to be healed there. Ojeda soon realized his mistake and it took him several years to escape that house of horrors.
Eventually I left the Haight but I still saw Ojeda who remained. But years went on and I got married and there were kids and a new job and Ojeda and I lost touch. I suspected that he soon became ravaged by the disease that killed Bobbie and which also lived in him but I never found out. I hold his sculpted pieces on occasion and they remain very precious to me as did that kind, good man.
“A few weeks earlier in the AP world history class Trimble taught, after a kid started acting childish, she put a diaper on his head — something she admits was a bad idea. When administrators heard about it, she was escorted off the property. Worried for her job and her ability as a single mother to support her daughter, she visited her doctor’s office in tears. A physician assistant asked if she wanted to talk to someone at Millwood.
Just after 8 p.m. that evening, a counselor at Millwood asked Trimble if she was having suicidal thoughts. With her pastor beside her for moral support, she replied, “Well, who hasn’t had suicidal thoughts?” She said she had no intention to kill herself but joked, “It’s Texas, it isn’t that hard to get a gun.” They all laughed, she recalled. She said she had no idea that the counselor characterized the line as a plan to commit suicide.
Nor did she know, she later testified in a deposition, that the dozen or so forms he gave her were anything other than standard doctor’s-office paperwork. She signed them and waited for her counseling session.” https://www.buzzfeed.com/rosalindadams/intake?utm_term=.xuvZjGZvJ#.yxRrQar39