Detour from Normal (34 page)

The next morning my attorney arrived. He was short, probably five foot six, thin, and mild mannered. His dark brown hair was perfectly cut and styled. His suit, however, was another story—it looked like it had come off the rack at Goodwill. It wasn't that it was a bad suit; it
just looked a little beaten down. It was a good choice for him, though, because he seemed equally as beaten down as his suit, like he'd lost a lot more cases than he'd won.

"Hi, I'm Roger Lermer."

I shook his hand. "I'm Ken Dickson. It's nice to finally meet you in person. I've got a room set up where we can have some privacy."

Roger followed me into the same quiet room I had been in the night before. There was no handle on the inside of the scratched, dark blue steel door of the quiet room, so I took a shoe off and placed it between the door and the frame so it wouldn't swing shut, as I had other times I'd used the room. I directed him to take a seat on one end of the steel bed while I sat on the other end, rolling the cart between us so he could see the documents. It was deathly quiet in the room, and I could sense the public defender's unease as he took stock of his surroundings.

To me, that room was a safe haven from all the madness, a place where I could count on getting good sleep. As I observed his eyes darting nervously around the room, I tried to imagine what was going through Roger's mind. Perhaps he sensed poor Andy, the tall, lanky, dark-haired young man who had been restrained on that very bed only a few days earlier—his wrists, ankles, and head bound to the gray steel bed frame by heavy leather straps with cold, chrome-steel buckles. Perhaps he sensed him screaming and writhing madly, trying in vain to escape. Or perhaps he sensed Len cursing, pacing like a trapped panther, kicking and punching the door and walls with an animal vengeance, and ranting over and over about how the Risperdal that the doctors had given him was going to kill him. Maybe he noticed the outline where the domed security mirror had been mounted near the ceiling. A patient had managed to rip it down with his bare hands only days earlier, leaving only
rough holes in the wall and ceiling where the mounting bolts had torn out chunks of concrete. Perhaps he sensed me lying face down and paralyzed on this very bed. As I thought that, I ran my hand over the sheet where I used to be, and I shuddered.

Roger eventually joined me in the "here and now," and we began reviewing my case. As we went through the documents, he became more and more animated. I was a very capable client and that seemed to be a welcome change for him. I began by pointing out the glaring lies in the petition.

"The biggest thing I have a problem with is that it says I physically assaulted my wife."

"Did you
assault her?" Roger asked.

"No, I've never assaulted anyone. You can even ask my wife in private if you want. I'm not an aggressive person, and besides, I care a great deal about other people."

"What about this? 'He lay in the street in a fetal position' that you circled here on the petition?"

"I collapsed while I was walking with my brother. My neighborhood doesn't have much traffic, and in some places the oleander bushes overhang the sidewalk, so we were walking in the street. Sometimes, when I've been really sleep deprived, I suddenly become paralyzed. I just melt wherever I am. I can't talk and I can't do anything for a couple of minutes. My brother was so concerned when it happened that he called an ambulance, and I ended up in the hospital. He'd never seen it happen before."

"Why were you in a fetal position?"

"I don't know. I was in whatever position I collapsed into. My brother had to drag me out of the street."

Roger looked at the petition for a moment, at the other things I had circled. "Why were you 'running around the neighborhood late at night ringing doorbells and hiding behind bushes'?" he asked.

"I never did that. My wife was staying at a good friend's house right behind ours. We've known them for many years and even have a ladder over the fence so their daughter can come over anytime. She's been coming over the fence to visit us since she was only a few years old. Now she's driving a car. I went over at maybe 9:30 p.m. and rang the doorbell twice. I only rang a second time because no one answered the first time and I wondered if it had rung. Then I noticed that the lights were off and assumed everyone was in bed, so I went home. I never hid in any bushes, and I certainly didn't ring anyone else's doorbell."

"What about this buying a dream car?"

"I did buy a car, but it wasn't my dream car, just a very practical car: a Hyundai Elantra. I'd already test-driven Elantras twice in prior months, and my wife had even test-driven one after we tried a Mini at a nearby dealership. I have good credit, no debt, and I wanted to reward myself for surviving my surgery. It wasn't even top of the line—it was just a middle-of-the-road model."

Roger asked me about my surgery. I told him about it and everything that had transpired afterward.

"It says here that you also attempted to purchase another dream car."

"That never happened. My wife told me that they were taking the car back to be stored for thirty days. Later I went back to see if I could at least take it for one more drive. After arriving at the dealership, I changed my mind and left. Somehow that evolved into me trying to buy another car."

"Are you telling me that this is all a lie?"

"Exactly."

"Why would the crisis counselor do that?"

"I think she wanted to build a bulletproof case against me so they could put me in here, a place I can't get out of."

"Did you talk to the crisis counselor?"

"I just introduced myself, that's all."

"Hmm," he said, paging through the petition.

I finished by pointing out that nearly everything in the doctor's affidavits was borrowed from the crisis counselor's petition. In addition they were created on the day I first arrived at Gracewood and had not been updated at all in the weeks since. There was no mention anywhere of how helpful and cooperative I was or how I had been a problem to no one. Perhaps my condition had even significantly improved during that time. By the time we were done preparing, I was confident it would be impossible for Dr. Davis to force lithium or any other drug on me. We were going to be an unbeatable team—we
were
an unbeatable team.

The next morning I dressed in some nice clothes that Beth had left for me. As I walked out to the main area to wait for the shuttle to the court, there were a few catcalls from the female psych patients.
Even crazy women can appreciate a well-dressed man,
I thought to myself. I strutted like a runway model for them. It felt like I was going home, like the judge was going to throw out my case, remove my imaginary shackles, and shout, "Mr. Dickson, you are free to go."

The Hearing

My hands were laced together between my knees as I sat, leaning forward in a wooden chair. I stared at the immobile police officer guarding
the two oak doors of the courtroom. He was dressed all in black and had a black X26 Taser on his left hip and a Glock firearm on his right. There was a thin, nearly transparent coil going to an earpiece in his left ear and a push-to-talk microphone on his lapel. He wore a silver and gold police badge on the left side of his chest. He was tall and tough looking, and sported close-cropped hair. His arms were crossed imposingly across his chest.

Roger sat at my right side with his briefcase on his lap. His arms rested over the briefcase, and his right foot was tapping gently on the floor. Suddenly the officer pressed the button on his microphone to reply to something he'd heard. He proceeded to open the courtroom doors one at a time, and the witnesses, visitors, attorneys, and clients from the previous case meandered out, followed by another officer, who nodded his head in acknowledgment to the one at the door. There were no happy faces in the group.

"You may enter the courtroom now," the officer stated once everyone had left. I let Roger lead the way. As we entered the room, I was struck by how small it was. It was unlike any courtroom I'd ever seen. There was no place for a jury, and there was room for perhaps only a dozen visitors and witnesses in the few rows of seating at the back of the room. Everything was made from either oak or leather. The officer made his way to an area to the left of the judge's bench, turned and recrossed his arms. Roger and I made our way to an oak table on the right side of the courtroom and sat in two gray leather roll-around chairs.

On the left of the courtroom was the clerk of court's post, and in the center was a tall judge's bench with the judge's name emblazoned on a brass placard: Judge Veronica Graham. The great seal of the State of Arizona filled the wall behind the bench, and the American and
Arizona flags hung freely from poles on either side of it. There were several cameras and microphones scattered around the courtroom. The witness stand loomed directly in front of us.

Moments after we sat down, there was a rustling in the back of the deathly quiet courtroom. I turned to see my wife, two brothers, the plaintiff, and her attorney walk in. My family looked very solemn, as if they were attending my funeral. For the first time in my life, I didn't acknowledge them. I wasn't quite sure what to make of my own family testifying against me. I wasn't angry or upset; after seeing the lies in the petition, I was simply dreading hearing more of the same. The plaintiff and her attorney took a seat at the other table while everyone else filled the seats on the left-rear side of the court. I turned a little farther and noticed sadly that there were no witnesses or visitors on my side of the court. It was a humbling observation.

Everyone sat quietly awaiting the clerk and judge. Within a short time, the clerk arrived.

The following is a condensed version of the actual court transcripts, painstakingly compiled from the audio record:

"All rise for the Honorable Judge Veronica Graham," the clerk said. We all rose and the judge, a short, heavyset black woman, entered the courtroom and took her seat behind the bench.

The judge introduced the case. "Thank you, you may be seated. We're here this morning to consider case number MH3033001424 filed on June 1, 2011. The allegation is 'persistently or acutely disabled.' The patient's name is Kenneth Dickson. Please announce the petitioner."

"Good morning, Your Honor. Katherine Cuomo, deputy county attorney on behalf of the petitioner."

"Your Honor, Roger Lermer on behalf of Mr. Dickson."

"Sir, can you state your name for the record?" asked the judge.

"Kenneth C. Dickson," I said.

"Thank you. Ms. Cuomo," said the judge.

Ms. Cuomo mentioned that affidavits from two psychiatrists at Gracewood were admitted as evidence and that my brother Dana and Shirley Steinfeld would be testifying against me. My wife and my brother Cole were present but would not be testifying. It was clarified that I had been released AMA from Pinecrest by my wife and released under my own recognizance by a doctor from Phoenix Mercy. The two witnesses were asked to stand, and the clerk swore them in.

"Do you and each of you solemnly swear or affirm that the testimony you are about to give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

"I do," they replied in unison.

Dana took the stand. Ms. Cuomo questioned him first. She asked why he had come to Arizona, and he responded that he was here to help me. He had been here for five days from May 23 through May 27 and had flown back today to testify.

"Mr. Dickson, did you have frequent interaction with your brother during the five days you were here?" asked Ms. Cuomo.

"Every day," Dana replied.

"Was he very different than how he normally is?"

"Yes, he was very intense, he spoke rapidly. It wasn't what I was accustomed to seeing from him."

"Did he say things that didn't make sense?"

"He talked about things that were way out of the ordinary for him in terms of his family, work, and his future."

"Could you give the court an example that was out of the ordinary?"

He mentioned my ideas regarding a society without negative emotions and how the condition could potentially be spread, then added, "The ideas were very well conceived but not probable."