“There but by the grace of God go I.” Those profound words kept echoing in my mind as I read the poignant stories of individuals, who had suffered insurmountable mental or physical traumas in life, but instead of wallowing in self-pity and remorse, went on to make something meaningful of their life. With all the petty problems I am faced with each day, I have only to read of another’s lamentable life to understand how truly blessed I am.

There were two books, in particular, which left me emotionally drained. As difficult as the memoirs were to read, I was inspired in the end by the victims’ resolve to accept their horrific past and move on with their lives.

My Lobotomy, A Memoir, by Howard Dully and Charles Fleming

In the early 1950s, Dr. Walter Freeman was performing transorbital lobotomies on adult patients in his office. The procedure lasted about ten minutes and the patient was usually given an electric shock as anesthesia. An ordinary ice pick was thrust about four inches through the thin bone at the back of each eye socket into the frontal lobe of the patient’s brain, and then moved around so as to sever the brain pathways in the frontal lobes. Dr. Freeman wasn’t a licensed psychiatrist, but he arbitrarily diagnosed patients with schizophrenia and other psychoses. He claimed that his procedure could save the taxpayers one million dollars a day by sending ten percent of state mental patients home. His motto was “Lobotomy gets them home!”

In 1960, Howard Dully was a normal, high-spirited 12-year old boy. He did all the things that boys his age do; he may have been more mischievous than his brothers, but not destructive. Regardless, his stepmother, Lou, physically and mentally abused him, convinced that Howard was not normal because he didn’t have the social graces she expected of her children. When she heard that Dr. Freeman’s procedure could “calm him down,” she contacted him. After two consultations alone with Lou, one consultation with Howard and only one consultation with Howard’s father, who was not sure but acquiesced to appease his wife, Dr. Freeman scheduled the lobotomy. It would be the first time that a transorbital lobotomy had been performed on a child.

Howard had no idea what was going to happen to him; he was told the doctor was going to do some tests. The procedure took ten minutes at a cost of $200 and left Howard feeling like “a Frankenstein monster.” After a year at home, Lou convinced Howard’s father to put him in a mental institution.

During Howard’s teen years, he was moved between the mental institution, halfway home and juvenile hall. In his 20s, he lived at a halfway home and received government checks every month for $120, which he spent going to bars. Eventually, Howard was kicked out of the halfway home and continued a life of drugs and alcohol. After two failed marriages, one of which presented him with a son, Rod, he married his third wife, Barbara. She convinced him to quit alcohol and drugs for the sake of his son.

At the age of 43, Howard enrolled in Phillips College and graduated two years later with an AS degree. Because of his past mental history, it was difficult to find jobs. One year later, his grandmother died and Howard suffered a heart attack. He eventually got a job as a school bus driver for Durham, driving Special Ed children, which he liked. But his true strength was in counseling others. When he counseled Barbara’s sister, who had been arrested for drug possession, something wonderful happened. His words changed her life; she quit drugs, went on to college and became a drug counselor. Howard had found his strength, but his past constantly bothered him. He had to know why his father let Dr. Freeman do such a horrible thing to him. Was he really such a bad child or was it simply because his parents didn’t love him?

Time was running out. Howard was 52; Dr. Freeman had died (but not before he had performed over 10,000 lobotomies); his grandmother was dead; his stepmother was dead; and his father — the only person still alive who could give him the answers he needed — just had a quadrupal bypass. Before his father died, Howard had to get answers.

While surfing on the Internet one day, Howard came across a book entitled Great and Desperate Cures by Elliot S. Valenstein, which described the ways that doctors had tried to cure or treat mental illness, including lobotomies by Dr. Freeman. But on page 274, Howard’s name appeared. He fervently continued his search and contacted many people, which ultimately brought him to a producer, Dave Isay, who loved Howard’s voice and wanted to do a documentary about him for NPR (National Public Radio).

Howard was asked to read through his medical records and his comments were videotaped. He was also videotaped while interviewing other lobotomy patients, doctors, Dr. Freeman’s son, Frank, and finally, his estranged father. Many of Howard’s questions were answered, but the most important question may never be answered: Why did my father let them do this me?

Howard’s brutally candid story, though tragically sad, is a story of strength, acceptance and forgiveness. The documentary received overwhelming response, and Howard was subsequently asked to speak at the National Guardianship Association about being a ward of the state.

* * *

The second book is no less tragic, but the torture is far more atrocious. Abuse in any form is abhorrent, but being abused by your own mother is incomprehensible.

A Child Called “It” by Dave Pelzer

This book is actually part of a trilogy on the life of Dave Pelzer. This review is of the first book of Dave’s life, age 4-12. The second book, entitled The Lost Boy, is about his life from age 12-18, and the third book is entitled A Man Named Dave.

In the 1960s, for the first four years of Dave’s life, his family was like the sitcom, The Brady Bunch. They lived in a nice home in Daly City; his father, Stephen, was a fireman in San Francisco; his mother, Catherine, was the perfect mom; and two brothers. Catherine loved her children and did everything for them — taking them on trips to places they hadn’t been and preparing exotic dinners. She was a great cook, clean freak and always well groomed. But, by the time Dave turned five, his mother was an alcoholic. Catherine no longer wore makeup or nice clothes, but chose instead to lounge on the couch all day in a bathrobe and drink, while Stephen worked long shifts at the fire station. Happy hour was at three o’clock every day and Stephen and Catherine would drink until bedtime. For reasons unknown to Dave, she vented her frustrations on him and no one else.

At first, his punishment would be to sit in the corner, then it elevated to smashing his face against the mirror and ordering him to say over and over, “I’m a bad boy.” Before he started first grade, she had pulled his arm out of the socket. By the time he entered first grade, the beatings were regular and school became his haven. When questioned by his teachers about the bruises, he gave them the answer his mom had prepared.

Before entering second grade, his mom ordered him to strip down to his underwear and then she turned on the gas stove and stuck his hand in the flame. Then she ordered him to get up on the stove and lay down on the fire. Dave pleaded and whined, always looking at the clock, trying to delay his punishment until his brother got home from school, and it worked. In addition to the regular beatings, Dave became her slave. She wouldn’t give him food until he did all his chores, and most of the time, he only ate scraps left on his brothers’ plates.

Every day was a nightmare. When she didn’t feed him dinner, he would steal food from his classmates, and they all hated him. When the principal confronted Catherine about his stealing, Dave was beaten and sent to the basement to sleep. He was no longer a member of the family and his mother called him “the Boy.” When Dave’s father would try to give him food, his mother would get angry, start an argument, and then smack Dave around because his father left. It wasn’t long before his father became just as detached as his brothers.

The only break in the abuse came when Catherine went to the hospital to give birth to the fourth child, Russell. But by age four, Russell had become her “little Nazi,” and kept a watchful eye on Dave to make sure he didn’t steal food. He often fabricated stories just to see Dave get punished. Another break in the abuse came when the fifth child, Kevin, was born. His mother showered all his siblings with love, but Dave was treated worse than a dog.

Physical abuse escalated to degradation — he was forced to eat his own vomit and his young brother’s feces — and then the abuse became life-threatening - attempted drowning, asphyxiation, stabbing. By age 12, no one in the family even acknowledged his presence and his mother referred to him as “It” or “Bastard Child.” He used to think that her abuse was a result of alcoholism, but now he knew she hated him and wanted him dead. Dave hated his family, but he also hated himself for being such a wimp; he decided there was no God and he totally disconnected himself from the physical pain.

When his father had enough, he walked out on his family and Dave’s mother said, “You are all mine now. Too bad your father’s not here to protect you.” But, his father was never there to protect him. It was at this point that Dave made a promise to himself that if he came out of all this alive, he would make something of himself.

While reading this book, I was disturbed by the lack of intervention by his school teachers, other relatives and neighbors. There were so many signs that should have alerted someone to the abuse; but in the 1960s, people didn’t think that parents could do such horrific things to their children, and many didn’t want to get involved. But, one teacher did get involved and took it upon herself to call the police. Dave was finally rescued and the second book in the trilogy tells of his life from age 12-18.