Exactly
when the following incident occurred is obscured by the fog of time. I have
searched my personal files/records and have found no notes to help me with the
date. But it happened in Ypsilanti , Michigan , between 1972 and 1974 when I was a full-time professor
at Eastern Michigan University
By
way of background, the offices of the Geography/Geology Department where I
taught were located on the first floor of Strong Hall, a general classroom
building on one side of the Quadrangle. My office was on an inside hallway
separated from the daily hustle-bustle of student traffic on the main corridor.
On
that particular Monday, I was in my office at 1:00 PM preparing for one of the
classes, most likely Urban Geography, which was an upper division offering
largely for juniors and seniors, when Steve (real first name last name
completely forgotten) knocked and asked if I had time to talk. Steve had done
very poorly on the last Urban Geog exam, taken about a week ago. I assumed he
wanted to discuss where he had gone wrong. He had taken another geography class
from me in the previous semester and had done okay. So, I was surprised when
his grade on the first Urban exam was a D-. I casually invited him to sit
across from me at my desk. By way of physical description Steve was about six
foot two inches tall and weighed somewhere around 220 lbs. In other words, he
was considerably larger than I and, of course, much younger.
To
my initial astonishment and confusion, he immediately began berating me for
following him around and telling the people in his apartment building that he
was the one who had set several fires at the residential complex and for
telling his girlfriend that he was violent and she should stay away from him.
As he was speaking I was struck by his increasingly bizarre appearance. His
face was something out of a horror movie. Although normal at first, seconds
after he started talking it exhibited a weirdly deformed appearance, as if his
facial muscles were popping out in hard knots, first on one side of his face
and then the other in an almost random sequencing. That’s when I noticed that
big bumps were working their way across his forehead and into his hairline. The
physical distortion of his face was horribly disconcerting and frightening as
hell. No exaggeration. And by that time his body had started twitching,
particularly his upper torso, like he was being given one electrical shock
after another. All in all the effect was fucking terrifying.
Naturally,
not being catatonic, I knew that the young man was experiencing some sort of
extreme mental or emotional distress. The very next thing I realized was his
hand was on my desk only inches away from a very large and sharp scissors. And
it was positioned sufficiently far from where I was across the desk that if he
grabbed for it I had no chance of beating him to it. Given his size, the last
thing I wanted was for a deranged guy to leap across the desk at me wielding a
potentially lethal scissors. Plus, I thought that if he decided to jump me I
would be better off closer than farther away. So I could grapple with him while
screaming for help. With my heart beating like a snare drum, I stood up and
indicated two chairs against the wall behind him and said we’d be more
comfortable sitting there instead of talking across the desk. Christ, was I
relieved when he moved to the chair nearest my open office door.
But
neither the move nor my immediate proximity deterred him from ranting and
raving about my supposed unwanted involvement in his life. Each story was more
bizarre and deranged than the preceding. Not more than five minutes later Drew
Nazzaro, whose office was right across the hall from mine, poked his head in
the door, gave me a look that told me he had heard everything, and said, “Bob,
if you need me I’ll be right here.”
But
Steve acted as though he hadn’t noticed Drew and continued with his rant about
me doing all sorts of literally crazy shit to him, including somehow sabotaging
his car so he had to spend hundreds to have it repaired. Although I was nervous
as hell, I focused on trying to inject reality into the conversion. I told him
I had never seen him off campus, didn’t know where he lived, who his girlfriend
was, or what kind of car he drove. Despite the effort, nothing I said made the
slightest difference. As soon as I had my supposedly rational say he would
immediately return to the delusional ranting and raving, his body twitching
uncontrollably and his face contorted by God knew what. It was like something
out of a horror movie except it was happening in my office.
I
was fucking scared to death, convinced Steve was about to launch a full attack
on me. Among the things he said in a serious, threatening tone was: “I don’t
know why I haven’t done something about you before now.” My God, talk about
chilling my blood.
That
went on until ten minutes before our Urban class started. When I told Steve I
had to get ready for the class he stood up and left the room. Drew had placed
one of the chairs from his office out in the hall and was sitting next to my
door. As Steve passed him Drew gave him a look that would kill and after he had
disappeared down the hallway said: “Jesus Christ, that fucker’s crazy.” His
exact words.
“No
shit,” I exclaimed, trembling from acute stress. And then told him the guy was
in my upcoming Urban class and I had to get in front of the class and lecture
on whatever topic we were discussing with him sitting in the second damned row.
I
can’t recall what I lectured about but do remember trying to keep my eyes on
Steve without seeming to stare at him the whole time. I thought he might be
dangerous but really didn’t know what to do. Lucky for me all he did was sit
there and stare back with empty eyes.
When
class was over I returned to my office and to my absolute dismay Steve followed
me and sat in the chair against the wall and immediately resumed ranting and
raving as if no time had elapsed. I sat next to him for nearly another hour,
desperately trying to get him on some sort of rational track with no success
whatsoever. When I thought I couldn’t take it another second he stopped
talking, got up, and walked out.
I
hurried to Drew’s office and asked if he had heard the second session. When he
said he did, I picked up the phone directory and called the University
psychologist. His secretary tried to make an appointment for the next day and I
told her it was a flat out emergency and had to see him immediately.
Drew
and I hurried across campus to the guy’s office and introduced ourselves. I
told him exactly what happened and that Drew had seen and heard everything,
which of course Drew confirmed. The psychologist asked if Steve had overtly
threatened to harm me in any way, verbally or physically. When I said he hadn’t
he told me that there was no way for either him or me to have the police pick
him up and have him committed involuntarily for observation. In Michigan
That
news took the wind out of my sails. I had expected . . . what? For the problem
to somehow be removed from my plate and be taken care of by experts in the
field. No way was that going to happen.
And
so my nightmare week started. On Wednesday and Friday, before my Urban class
and after it, Steve would sit in my office, face contorting, body twitching
violently, ranting and raving about totally delusional crap. It does no good to
further describe the situation except to say that he continued accusing me of
all sorts of heinous acts in a way that was both alarming and nerve-racking.
After each of those sessions, as soon as I returned home I locked and re-locked
every door, every window, hoping he wouldn’t find out where I lived. And warned
Sandy
In
my office on that final day of that awful week, after an hour of ranting Steve shook his head and in an off-hand, almost casual manner, said these exact
words: “I don’t know why I haven’t killed you yet.”
As
soon as he left I called the campus police chief and related the story to him.
He said that he still didn’t have anything he could use to have Steve committed. But I should call him immediately if the situation changed. He then
referred me to the Lieutenant responsible for the Plainclothes Division, who
listened patiently to my story but gave me the same news. Talk about being
helpless and frustrated. When I hung up I called the university psychologist
back and went to see him. I told him that Steve was scaring the shit out of me
and I was very afraid of being attacked. I couldn’t go on with things the way
they were. Something had to change. To my immense relief, he agreed to call a
psychiatrist from the University of Michigan Neuropsychiatric Institute and the
Dean of Arts and Sciences and get them both involved. For the first time in a week
I felt a tiny bit better.
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