Journey to the Edge of Texas Chapters 15, 16, 17, and 18

Telephone Blitz

THE   TELEPHONE   HAS   TRIPPED   ME   UP.
I occupied a pay phone on the psychiatric wing of Bexar County Hospital in San Antonio and called an old Scouts buddy who was now a general in the Air Force. How I saluted him I do not know. Whatever it was, it was not conducive to conversation, at least not memorable. I remember him flashing his most compassionate and authoritative voice and saying, "God Bless You," before hanging up.
Outside mania, he rarely surfaced, so it wasn't obsession. But if not on this occasion, then on others, when a jet was overhead, I imagined him in it, protecting me.
Before this admission, the buildings all around me were juxtaposed by a nearby ranch owner who could rearrange them with a toy laser.
And then I slept in a muddy field.
Deputies found me.
It is possible that in this series of delusions I flew from Austin with Chica in a first-class seat so that I could make a Harris County hearing. I called from the air that I would be late. I know that Harris County deputies drove down to San Antonio later to retrieve me.
I must say here that all officers, including those in Houston, Harris County, San Antonio and Bexar County, have provided exceptional treatment in seeing to my welfare. I am indebted.

THE    GENERAL    WAS    IN    GOOD     COMPANY getting a call from me when mania struck. But how I do the hat trick of producing his and others numbers I do not know. In the hospital I did not have pen and paper to write what the operators gave out. My goodness, at home I couldn't punch the buttons without looking at the number two or three times.
My ability, too, to find numbers when I am sick has been uncanny. Once, at my parents' home for a Thanksgiving dinner, I got notion to call a person whom I met a score of years earlier on a 1963 fishing trip to the Middle Fork of the Salmon River with Uncle Ed Thomasson. The girl was fourteen when we talked about integration in her dad's cafe, the Pheasant Cafe, in Richfield, Idaho.
She wrote a reply to my letter on stationary emblazoned with her name, Billie, in blue in the shape of a skirt, smart teen writing material. I kept it, and that is what set off my search for her during the holiday. It was postmarked at her mother's home in a small town near Boise. Low and behold, by checking directory assistance, I learned that her mother still lived there. Excited, I called in the middle of their dinner. Billie was there.
I called back, but small wonder, she didn't seem to remember me. I told her about the letter. She wanted a copy. So I tried to send it to her home in rural Idaho by fax, on her phone line. Further communications did not patch the blunder in mania.
Another call was to Queen Julianne at The Hague. It was made from a pay phone at a restaurant on the spur of the moment to wish her happy birthday around May Day. I recalled the piece of trivia from my visit there ten or fifteen years earlier, in 1974. When I called, I woke somebody in the middle of night with my greeting. It could have been the queen herself, since my touch becomes magical in illness.
The calls have been costly in terms of the closest relationships.
There was an especially supportive friend in Boston whom I had known ever since she and her family trailed me in a raft on a later Middle Fork journey. I visited them, and they rode in my van on the first Other Side of Texas tour, bringing their friends for my interpretation of the state.
She was an authority on Indians, having sent me the last set of her early books, and she encouraged me as a writer.
Then her husband languished with cancer, eventually dying. He was a pioneer in computers for the Navy.
His death changed her. We rarely wrote.
I called during an episode. The only words I remember, that I thought were said, were hers: "You should be in the street." I can't imagine what provoked that, or the return of an unopened letter I wrote from Rusk.
It was a tremendous loss to sever communications after twenty years. Why these people had driven me to Walden Pond and invited me to Beaver Creek, Colorado, to ski with them and their daughter. They had hosted dinners for me and their local friends. Some in our party had skinny-dipped on a hike up the Presidential Range in New Hampshire. We were personal.
My feeding frenzies with a telephone have cast a net of uncertainty over others as well.
I was never sure if I got through to Jackie (not her real name) at The New York Times more than once. She worked on the copy desk at The Post circa '70 and made us proud with her rise at The Times, as an editor listed in the mast. But I didn't contact her now except when manic.
That was the pattern with Eileen (not her real name), too. She was the one girl friend that my parents thought I should marry. We skied and played tennis evenly matched, but passion was absent. We went our separate ways—until I started phoning her during episodes. She took the calls good-naturedly, and in our last conversation said she was selling rings, not that I would be a good customer.
A royal telephone blitz focused on international operators. Never before having called abroad from home, I seemed to have a battalion of operators at my command. I fantasized that a newspaper office friend was herself Princess Di and I Prince Charles. We were a big society item on both sides of the Atlantic and at the same time wore reporters' hats as we covered a story breaking world-wide. It doesn't make a lot of sense, and never did. But the waking dream cost me a $650 phone bill.
AT&T wanted its money when I came back to earth.

Chapter 16

In Death's Shadow

IT WAS NEAR TWO Y E A R S that I watched life slip away from the homestead like dying embers in the night. My father was first to go, at eighty-five, from complications of Parkinson's disease. We moved him to a nursing home after many restless nights, and in October 1997 we buried him in his hometown, among the pink granite and limestone of the Hill Country.
My mother's time for interment in the family plot was months later. She too spent her last days in a Beaumont nursing home, suffering the pain of ovarian cancer, and was eighty-five.

As AN ONLY CHILD, I called her Mama. She had not wanted the end for either to come like this, in a nursing home. She fretted when my dad was admitted ahead of her and when he asked, "Is this our home now?" But then, as in her own case, she relied on the wisdom of doctors, who said good care would be difficult at home. Oh, she didn't let go. She drove to his "home" each morning and stayed the whole day, straightening over him the sheets he tossed off and feeding him. It was the type of care a thin staff could not devote much time to. And she would faithfully ask that the attendants put my dad in a wheelchair for a daily push through the halls, and when I was along, to the patient garden. This care for her husband of sixty-one years was a proud achievement. "I'm glad I lived long enough," she said.
This is not to say she lived in a serene state. When her memory faltered after Daddy's funeral, I took her to a geriatric psychiatrist who, based on a brief examination, said she had dementia, a deterioration of the brain. He recommended assisted living. She balked. Seeking further guidance, I wrote details of her conduct to my psychiatrist, asking what to do. He urged a locked-up unit for life, saying I could find a judge to order it. I balked. There was plenty of light in her yet.
Yes, there was the verbal abuse. She would, for example, thrash me daily for not using the car visor that blocked my vision. No amount of explaining quieted her. But to the doctor and a friend who associated this with dementia I replied, "If that's dementia, she's had it all her life."
In August 1998 her primary physician gave me a choice to make for my mother, chemotherapy or a hysterectomy with chemotherapy. I elected the operation, but local surgeons would not perform it because of the high risk. So I took her to Houston to see an acclaimed doctor who examined her and said he would operate. However, her doctor back home researched things further and said the operation would "destroy" her. I took that to mean insurmountable pain.
Chemotherapy was started on the glowing recommendation of a specialist, and it left her so dazed with nausea and temperature fluctuations that the primary physician stopped the treatment immediately. There were these irrefutable aftershocks: She was permanently weakened, and death was imminent.
Thus began her nursing home residency. She was free to come and go as she pleased, although we never tried an overnight excursion after the trip to Houston, where pampered care in a luxury hotel with gourmet room service was lost to the occasion. We instead made short forays, not all pleasant. When lunch was Italian, and I ordered Italian soup, she reprimanded me repeatedly. "But I wanted soup," I protested. Warmer like the fall afternoon was the kind suggestion of a nurse that I take her for ice cream. We both enjoyed the soft cones.
We watched the Astros playoffs in her room long after others were asleep. I made a point of it, and she maintained interest despite knowing her time at the plate was about up. She had asked, "How long do I have to live?"
"About six months," I said.
"You shouldn't have told me," she said.
We celebrated Christmas as she weakened. The Novaks, her best friends, brought a ham dinner and we took her home for the final time. It was a traditional setting, except I took her in the bedroom to see a snow scene on the computer, and she couldn't see. She would soon close her eyes to her failing sight.
There were tears. One of the nurses reported she had them all crying when she expressed sadness that she had but me to be with her in death. "Some don't have one," the nurse told her. The only tears I saw were the last time I brought her pal Chica, a Boston terrier, to the nursing home. The little dog jumped on her bed. I thought she was hurting her legs. But my mother shook me off, and she was crying. She hadn't had a pet as a child, and Chica in a string of dogs I owned came closest to being hers.
One day Barbara McNeill, who was a Gordon when I knew her growing up in First Christian Church, invited me out for a welcome break A registered nurse, she had labored to abort her mother's fatal complication in a hospital room across the hall from my mother's.
Barbara and her husband Alan, a lawyer, took coffee drinking as seriously as I did, and on a sunny and mild January day, we sipped away in their home. Shortly a phone call came for help in driving a herd of cattle from one pasture to another. I asked Barbara why the move. She explained, "It's a male thing."
The task was done, and shortly thereafter Alan ventured that they should name the newborn in the herd, a rambunctious red male, Carlton, after me. With a namesake I recommended they run a tab at the feed store on me.
Soon after, my mother perked up a bit when told about the calf, having been a farm girl. Successive days later she would ask, "How's the little calf?"
Death came in the night when I wasn't there. The nurse said her blue feet forecast her end, but at 10 p.m. I went for sleep, leaving a sitter on watch. At 2 a.m. I got a call reporting her heavy breathing, a sign before she would go. I hurried. "She's gone," the nurse said as I entered. The sitter volunteered that "she went in her sleep."
My mother had worried that no one would come to her services. She was a homemaker and sparingly a community volunteer. Most of her friends were dead. Yet fifty showed up at her visitation, and another twenty at a graveside rite in a remote corner of the state. A casket spray with eight dozen red roses was placed by her son.







Chapter 17

Home

"AND NOW HE is HOME, "I intoned over the freshly dug grave of my father.
"To this favored place where he swam as a boy, planting bare feet and swinging out into natural pools of spring-fed creeks and rivers.
"To the live oaks and cedar breaks he tramped for deer.
"He is home in late October when there is a hard clarity to the air, a softer glow of the sun on pink Texas granite of a billion years, and limestone ledges.
"He is back home with family, in their spiritual home of Lampasas. His brothers are or will be buried here, and his parents and grandparents."

AND THEN MY WORDS gave way to his words in a memoir he wrote, The Little Red Flag, about his first job in this community he loved, a rite of passage into adulthood.
"When in a group of people and the conversation was about sports, I have attempted to tell about the little red flag. I only wanted to tell about its usage in golf in the middle and late years of the twenties. These persons would only look at me in disbelief or make some remark to cause me to feel that I wasn't telling a true story.
"The golf course consisted of nine holes built about two miles from town on the rolling grass plains dotted here and there with live oak trees and some brush thickets. The drainage of this course was in the middle, which we called washed out gullies. Most of the land of this nature around Lampasas was used to graze sheep because native grass and weeds grew abundantly.
"After thirty-five years each hole is a distinct picture in my mind. As the saying goes, 'I ran my legs off on this golf course for about three years using the little red flag. I was only a boy on his first job
and was closely associated with men for the first time, most of whom operated businesses in this small town of a population of 2,000. By this close association I knew how each would play each hole.
"The first hole was a par four, about 315 yards. The fairways on this hole and all other holes were mowed with a weed sowing machine which left about four to six inches of grass and weeds. The rough was sometimes mowed to about eight or twelve inches, but most of the time was higher than that. A short slice to the right on this first hole would mean a lost ball in a thicket of grass and bushes. The approach shot to the green could easily go outside by rolling under a barbed wire fence just back of the green. All greens were made out of sand and treated with oil. All were enclosed with a mound of dirt about ten inches high.
"The number two hole was about 535 yards and par five. There was a barbed wire fence all the way down the right hand side and was out of bounds when you hit the ball over it. The number three hole was about 170 yards and par three, but in order to make a correct shot you had to shoot over a corner that consisted of two barbed wire fences coming together and forming a space to hit across of about 50 yards, which was out of bounds.
"All caddies hated the barbed wire because that meant torn cloths and flesh, lost balls, and an unhappy golfer.
"The number six hole was about 440 yards and par four. On the left hand side of the fairway about 150 yards out were very tall live oak trees. It was reported that a golfer hit a ball that knocked a crow out of the very top and killed it. On the right of this hole was a very thick thicket of oak trees of all sizes. Back of the green was a very large mesquite tree.
"The number seven hole was about 350 yards and par four. On the right side of the fairway it was very rocky and there was an oak thicket. This fairway and the number eight fairway joined each other and the gullies and drainage I spoke of a while ago was part of these two fairways. The number nine hole was about 390 yards and par four. There was a row of large oak trees that crossed nearly all of this fairway about 175 yards away and most all of the golfers tried to shoot to the left because the number two fairway joined the number nine. But there was a lot of balls that hit in the top of the large oak.
"I know you are wondering how a little red flag could cause me to remember each of these holes. I was told one day that I could make some money if I went out to the golf course and learned how to caddie. This I did but it was a very hard and trying experience. The definition in Webster's dictionary of a caddie is, 'a lad who carries golf clubs.' This definition is incorrect as far as this golf course in its use of a caddie. First I learned that every caddie had about fifteen little red flags of his own. Next I learned that every twosome, threesome, or foursome had a preference for a certain caddie. Since I was only fourteen, most of the caddies were older and more experienced. I then learned that there were a lot more caddies than needed.
"No one wanted a beginner because a beginner lost balls, since there was definitely an art in seeing balls in the air, listening for them to hit the ground, and seeing them on their first bounce before the weeds and grass could hide them from sight. Furthermore, it appeared, to succeed one had to conquer competition and personalities. As I learned later, this was done by patience, mastery, and determination to be good at your first job.
"So I went home and told my mother I needed fifteen little red flags. I had seen flags of different sizes and attached to the wire of a clothes hanger in some crude fashion. I told her that some of the boys had cut strips of red cheese cloth and attached them to the wire by bending it close together. I know now what was going through her mind. If you are going to have a flag, make it look like one. She bought enough red cotton cloth to make fifteen red flags of a size of three by four inches. She hemmed them all the way around but left a wider hem to slide the wire through on one end. Then I bent a small loop at the top of the flag and closed it tight with part of the flag covering the loop. Then to make sure it wouldn't slip off, she sewed it some more with needle and red thread around this loop. Then I took them down to Payne's Bicycle Shop and they made a sharp point on the other end so that it would stick in the ground easy.
"The next day I left for the golf course a proud little boy. Our pastor and neighbor, the Rev. Lawrence Williams, gave me a ride, as would become his custom, and that put me one up on many other caddies. But I was later disappointed on that and many days to come for I couldn't land a job.
"Finally, I caught on. I paired up with an older, more experienced caddie to learn the basic steps. Such was the practice that most foursomes had two caddies if they were not good players or if they did not have enough confidence in just one caddie.
"But here is the part no one believes and which proves Webster wrong.
"You would stand out in front of a twosome, threesome, or foursome about 175 yards on all holes of par four and par five for the first shot. As each one would hit their ball you were supposed to watch it and run stick a flag by it The player could seldom see the ball in the fairway and never could see it or seldom find it in the rough if the red flag wasn't by the ball. If it was a par three hole you stood close to the green. On the second shot of a par four and par five hole you stood within twenty-five yards of the green. You were supposed to flag every ball before the next golfer shot and retrieve if at all possible all balls over the barbed-wire fence. This was quite a task and was done by only the best of caddies.
"As I got better and more confidence in myself, I would go down and ask Dr. Fariss, a dentist, for a job that day so I would at least have one to caddie for and most of the time he would tell the others he had a caddie already hired for them also. This is the way I got ahead of the other caddies before the players reached the golf course.
"Dr. Fariss usually played with Dr. Dickinson, another dentist, and Dr. Willerson, an MD. Their average score for nine holes was between forty-three and fifty, but sometimes Dr. Fariss would break forty since his drives were pretty accurate and went about 225 yards.
"The more you caddied for the same players the easier it was, because you knew just about how high the ball would get off of the ground and which way it would go. I practiced running by a ball, and holding the flag on the end of the small loop, I could stick it close to the ball by throwing it instead of stooping down. Of course, I would miss quite often and then have to return and stick the flag up.
"Wooden tees were used in the fairways since the ground and grass were not in condition to hit from. These tees were usually pushed in a small slit in a piece of rubber cut from a tire inner tube so that you could retrieve them easily and not lose them.
"Thanks, however, to the little red flag, I earned 25 cents a player and a lesson about determination."







Chapter 18

The Storyteller

MY     GRANDFATHER,     MY     FATHER'S     FATHER,was a wellspring of storytelling. He  visited from his San Angelo home by train in my last years at home in the '50s, and my dad had the foresight to record these true tales from a life that stretched from 1873 to 1969, or ninety-five years.
In these reminiscences, Granddaddy (P. E. Leatherwood—he. went by his initials) told of "the best sport I ever enjoyed" He said:

WE MOVED OUT ON PATTERSON CREEK, thirteen miles north of Lampasas. The country was open, didn't have many wire fences. And let it come a rainy time or a time we couldn't work, we'd get out on the horses with a greyhound. It would take right in after a jackrabbit, and all the other dogs in the community would join in, too. And these common dogs acted as shortstop. They'd see the greyhound bringing the rabbit around in a circle and cut across and confuse the rabbit. Then the greyhound would pick him up.
"So one day I was out hunting with my uncles, and we jumped a rabbit and took after it. Their horses ran away with them and went over the hill, and the greyhound routed the rabbit back toward me. So I got right in behind them and rode standing up in my stirrups whipping the horse on both shoulders with my old hat and yelling at the top of my voice.
"And the greyhound was just nipping at that rabbit at every jump, and finally it caught it.
"We couldn't catch more than two, and we would catch the second one and quit because the greyhound was run down."
Had I been keen on genealogy in my youth, I would have appreciated more, and harvested more, from this fertile mind.
Said he, "My grandmother and grandfather Leatherwood came from South Carolina. My mother's mother was Grandma Jones. She was a school girl with my grandmother Leatherwood—my two grandmothers were schoolchildren together. They came from South Carolina to Alabama, and then the Leatherwoods lived over in Mississippi awhile and went back to Alabama. Then they came to Texas.
"My grandfather moved up near Liberty Hill and bought a tract of land to farm. My father had just become of age and helped him grub out the farm, then he went back to marry my mother. When he got back to Alabama, my grandmother Jones felt like it was a breaking up of them for mother to leave them. So he said, 'All of you get ready and go to Texas with us.' They came to Texas and settled in Bastrop County, where I was born August 21,1873."
His father died when he was six months old, and his mother, grandmother and two uncles moved up near Liberty Hill near his grandfather Leatherwood before all moved to Lampasas. His mother died when he was eight, leaving him an orphan in the care of his maternal grandmother.
He attended boarding school at sixteen.
"It was a co-ed school and the boys had a long row of rooms called the Sheep Shed, and the girls had a dormitory, a two-story building with a big dining room. The boys and girls got their meals together. And we had a teacher at each long table.
"One morning for breakfast we were served oatmeal. One of the boys kept picking at the bowl of oatmeal, and the teacher said, 'Is something the matter with your oatmeal?' And the boy said, 'Look here what it is.'
"It was a whole mouse cooked in it."
The patriarch of the Leatherwoods told of his personal work history, which spanned the Depression. He began work at seventeen and before long, after returning from a fishing trip, landed his job for the next twenty-five years, which was bookkeeper at Barnes and Manuel, a hardware store in Lampasas.
"I resigned to take the postmastership of Lampasas," he said.
He held the postmaster position from 1920-1922. There are family accounts that this job ended with difficulties. But a combing of newspapers and postal records do not support this.
Maybe my mother knew something more. She and her father-in-law indulged in the social grace of coffee in the kitchen long after my dad, an early riser, and I had gone to bed. With each visit she ushered him into our household with much honor and special thanksgiving.
He eventually worked for Standard Hide and Fur Co. in Dallas, leaving his wife Lou and five children in Lampasas for another ten years, a place they recalled with fondness. However, "The Depression came on, and the fur and wool business closed up, so we went to San Angelo to live in 1932 and I had a hard time getting started again. I took most any little job I could get."
Finally drifting into stability, he retired at eighty-one after eleven years at Findlater Hardware Co. in San Angelo. His good health and nimbleness of mind permitted him to do income tax returns for clients into his 90s. How alert was he at the end? He could recite in order of service the full names of all the presidents of the United States.
It was not until his death bed that I learned of our kindred spirit. Granddaddy told of turn-of-the-century camping trips by wagon to Fall Creek Falls on the Colorado River of Texas. The campers included school teachers and other professionals from Lampasas; a cook tent separated the tents of men and women.
It was obvious he had a vision for me. His gifts included a leather briefcase and a handsomely bound world atlas, both of which I held onto despite the coming of attaché cases and changes in national boundaries.
The Leatherwoods were united through marriage with the George W. Porters of Troy, Texas, when my parents exchanged vows on September 5, 1936. The honeymooners spent that Labor Day weekend at the Hotel Wooten in Abilene.
My mother kept the menu for their Sunday dinner. I don't know the choices made, but whatever they were, it was a splendid feast that might have included fresh Galveston shrimp, chicken okra soup (my mother loved okra), broiled fresh Alaskan salmon with cucumber slaw, three vegetables, lettuce and tomato salad, fresh Elberta peach tart and buttermilk—all for 75 cents.
There were also five children in the Porter family. All the children in both families would marry, but eight would have an only child. The generation of my aunts and uncles experienced both the Depression and World War II—and beget three more generations.
The patriarch of the Porter family, George, was diagnosed with heart disease in 1928, and the farm chores fell to Mida, the wife, and the children. None of the offspring stayed to tend the land when they became adults, moving into teaching, oil, and homemaking.
Of this family's genealogy, there is this proud belief that Mida Nelson was descended from Thomas Nelson, a signer of the Declaration of Independence.

Journey to the Edge of Texas Chapter 11

Doctor's Heat

     PETROU BEGAN THE NEXT MORNING with Leatherwood's doctor back on the stand.
"Dr. Blackburn, you wrote Mr. Leatherwood a letter in which you stated that you remained cautiously optimistic that he can be gainfully employed; is that correct?"
"That's correct."
"And can you tell us why you feel that way?"
"That letter was written at a point after he had made some substantial gains during the previous year in terms of schooling, work with the Texas Rehabilitation Commission, and was beginning to focus."
"Dr. Blackburn, if Carl Leatherwood is accommodated for his illness, is there any reason he cannot resume his lifelong occupation of being a journalist?"
"There would be no reason. Perhaps anyway, I'm not sure that any accommodation is required for him to be able to proceed with his life and be gainfully employed again."
"I have no further questions," Petrou said.
The court: "Cross-examination."
Bounds came forward.

GOOD    MORNING,     DR.     BLACKBURN.   I've put in front of you four of defendant's exhibits, which are records from your files regarding Mr. Leatherwood. Now, you testified that you first examined him in December of 1988; is that correct?"
"That's correct."
"I would like for you to turn to page 79 in Exhibit 3, a record of Gayle Goodman, a social worker. Would you please read for me the second paragraph under 'Presenting Problem'?"
"There is a significant discrepancy between the patient's account of the events preceding the commitment and that of the father and Mr. Gary Fortenberry."
"And the next four sentences, please?"
"'The patient denied any emotional difficulties warranting the extreme measure of commitment. He only went so far as to describe himself as eccentric. He expressed bewilderment at the concern and attempt of family and friends to put him in the hospital. He described their efforts as insensitive and repeatedly stated that he wished only to live a peaceful life.'"
"Mr. Leatherwood often referred to people who tried to get him into the hospital as insensitive, didn't he?"
"I don't know."
"You never heard him use that term before?"
"I don't know that he often—that he often referred to people as insensitive. I've heard that at least once or twice, but I can't say often."
"Okay. There's been testimony about Mr. Leatherwood's episode in the fall of 1988. This hospitalization began on December the 8th; is that correct?"
"That's correct. That's when I first saw him."
"At what point does a person become disorganized or delusional or lose their judgment in the midst of an episode?"
"That's an impossible question. Anything can happen, I suppose, at any point. It's not an all or none—psychosis is not like a light switch turning off and on. One's judgment and rationality waxes and wanes."
"Mr. Leatherwood experienced a severe psychosis in 1988, did he not?"
"He did have a severe episode of psychosis, yes, or severe psychotic episode."
"Now, there's been testimony that Mr. Leatherwood went into his employer, The Houston Post, and resigned his employment in somewhere around December 1st of 1988, or were you aware of that?"
"I knew that he had tendered a resignation."
"Would you please read for me the last paragraph on that page 79?"
"Okay. 'The patient indicated that he had travelled to the East Coast in October and suddenly went to the Southwest after Thanksgiving. He states that he wished to relocate to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Upon his return to Houston, he tendered his resignation.'"
"Isn't it true, Dr. Blackburn, that you knew that when Mr. Leatherwood returned to work in January of 1989, that that was only on a conditional basis for a couple of months so that Mr. Leatherwood could earn a little bit of money and have an opportunity to look for another job?"
"That is not a strange idea to me. I heard that statement. He was —my understanding is that he was attempting to get himself reinstated, that he was—felt like that his tendering the resignation, which apparently did occur at a point when he was rather irrational, was not either his wish or in his best interest."
"Even though he had decided to relocate and had some complaints about his employer?"
"Well, he also decided a lot of other things that—such as to take a hotel room and continue traveling and accumulated bills in a hotel room when he was not in the city and was doing many things that were irrational in at least part of his illness process."
"Isn't it true that you in fact had a telephone conversation with Ernie Williamson in which he told you that he was going to allow Carl to come back just for a couple of months so that he could earn some money and look for a new job and you told Mr. Blackburn—I mean, you told Mr. Williamson that you felt that was extremely humane and generous of The Houston Post?"
"I had a conversation with Mr. Williamson. The detail of your words, I do not recall. The gist of the conversation in my memory was that Mr. Williamson was supportive of Carlton coming back, was hopeful to get him back, but felt that the powers that be were not going to support that but that he was able at least temporarily to arrange some employment. So part of what you're saying is my recollection too."
"But if Mr. Williamson were to testify that that's what you told him, you couldn't dispute that, could you?"
"No, I couldn't dispute it. I would say I don't remember all of those details."
"But the bottom line is, you don't remember?"
Petrou: "Objection, Your Honor. The witness has answered that he does remember certain details." ' The court: "Overrule the objection."
"Please, turn to page 85. Is this your admission report?"
"That's correct. This would have been my first dictation at the time the patient came into the hospital."
"At the time that you read—I mean, the time that you dictated this report, you had read the five or six pages that had been prepared by the social worker; is that correct?"
"That's not correct. This would have been dictated the day or the day following his admission, and the social worker's detailed history would not have been available to me for probably a week."
"Would you read for me and the Court the two sentences at the beginning of the paragraph about 'Diagnostic Impression'?"
"The effect was mildly volatile. Irritability and in particular anger about being hospitalized against his will was manifest."
Over on page 87. The first line of your proposed treatment plan. Read it, please."
"Hospitalized for observation and protection."
"Who were you protecting with this hospitalization?"
"I was protecting the patient in my estimation."
"Now, at some point you did read the report of Ms. Goodman, the social worker?"
"That's correct."
"Did it present any kind of surprises to you?"
"There was new information in terms of history that I had not acquired. No major surprises."
"Did you find that your conversations with Mr. Leatherwood, his stories regarding events, were different from the report that you read with Ms. Goodman?"
"There were differences."
"Would you turn to page 80. At what point did you make your determination that Mr. Leatherwood had been disabled by this episode for approximately a month before his termination—I mean, before his admittance to the hospital?"
"I don't have any recollection."
"Okay. Would you please read the first sentence in the third paragraph."
"The parents and Mr. Fortenberry's account of these events present a picture of the patient's emotional deterioration since early October."
"So sometime within the first few days of Mr. Leatherwood's hospitalization, you had indication that his episode had actually begun some two months before his admittance; wouldn't that be correct?"
"That's correct."
"Would you, please, read the first two sentences of the next paragraph for the Court?"
"The parents report a confusing situation around Thanksgiving in which the patient invited them to Houston for the holiday and then denied knowledge of the plan when they arrived. He refused to transport them upon their arrival, although he met them for dinner. They reported that he acted inappropriately, was unkempt, and spoke loudly at the restaurant.
"When he suddenly left for the West Coast after Thanksgiving, he called the parents often but refused to tell them of his whereabouts?"
"That's fine. Is it normal for a person who experiences episodes such as Mr. Leatherwood to act inappropriately, to be unkempt, and to speak loudly?"
"It's certainly something that is often reported. These are the type of things that lead one to a diagnosis of manic depressive illness. A manic episode."
"And Mr. Leatherwood himself does exhibit these types of symptoms when he gets into a manic episode, does he not?"
"That's correct."
"Would you please read the second sentence of the fifth paragraph on page 81?"
"According to the parents, they had been in contact with the patient's supervisors at The Houston Post in an effort to track the patient's whereabouts."
"So you had an indication on reading those notes The Post as well as the—the people from The Post as well as the patient's parents as well as Mr. Fortenberry and his girl friend had all been involved in trying to get Mr. Leatherwood to go to the hospital; is that correct?"
"There's certainly some involvement in their efforts to gather information."
"You testified yesterday that outside stresses often affect a person with bipolar disorder and can cause the reoccurrence of episodes: Is that correct?"
"That's correct."
"Is the condition of personal relationships also an outside stress that can cause recurrence of episodes?"
"Certainly."
"Would you turn to page 83 and read the first two sentence of the third paragraph?"
"The patient's relationship with his parents is not good. He states that he has been unsuccessful in breaking the ties with them."
"Isn't it true that you have seen a pattern in Mr. Leatherwood's experiences in his episodes, and contact with his parents or arguments with his parents have contributed to recurrence of his episodes?"
"That's one of the circumstances that have been associated with the recurrence of his episodes. There are many elements of stress. No one particular stress that I would attribute, I would not say that employment stresses are the only stress this gentleman has had, nor would I say that relationship stresses are the only stresses that have been important in terms of his illness."
"So all of these relationships have equal bearing on his psychological well-being?"
"I would not say equal, necessarily. They all have varying degrees of bearing, yes."
"Were you seeing Mr. Leatherwood on a regular basis from his hospitalization in October through his hospitalization in June of 1989?"
"Approximately monthly, perhaps biweekly initially."
"I said hospitalization in October but I meant December of '88."
"That's what I understood you to mean."
"Would you turn to page 72? The third paragraph under 'History of Present Illness.' Begin with the second sentence."
"Okay. 'The patient remains on a regiment of lithium carbonate, 600 milligrams twice daily. To return to work. He had biweekly office appointments through May 9th. Between that time and an office visit on 6/1/89, a change occurred. Telephone contacts from the patient's girl friend and employer indicated that emotional behavioral change.
"The girl friend learned of changes after the patient went on a driving trip with his aged parents. The parents had also been aware of substantial emotional change in the patient."
"Well, how much credence do you put in telephone calls that you receive from family and friends and coworkers of your patients when they call you to discuss the possibilities of emotional changes?"
"All depends on the circumstance and the informants. I try to listen."
"In this particular case, you had telephone calls from his girl friend and from Mr. Williamson possibly at The Post or at least someone at his employer indicating that his mood had changed and his behavior had changed; is that true?"
"Uh-huh, yes."
"Did you not act on any of those phone calls?"
"J would have taken action. I don't remember the specific nature. I think it would have been that the patient was to see me and, in fact, he did see me at some point, at which time I made some adjustment in medication."
"Would that have been the visit on 6/1/89 that you made the—"
"I suspect so. I don't remember the precise details of the timing."
"Do you ever when you get conversation—get calls like this, do you ever take the time to call your patients and check with them if they don't come in?"
"I do on some occasions. That's not a customary practice, but I certainly support the individuals coming in for appointments when something is changing so that we can evaluate our phone conversation or adjust medication. As a last resort, hospitalization would be something that would be considered."
"Would you please read the next little paragraph and then the first three sentences in the paragraph after that."
"'The patient had uncharacteristically left the girl friend at a Hill Country festival. He was appearing preoccupied and easily distracted.'"
"Continue."
"'At work, hyperactivity and impaired concentration with workers was reported. The patient was reported to be unable to sit down. He was spending more time talking with other people.'"
"Thank you. These things had been reported to you by his girl friend and by his—people at his employment, correct?"
"That's correct."
"What else are these people supposed to do? If they have contacted you, told you that they've got a problem, how much further are they supposed to go? Are they supposed to bodily restrain Mr. Leatherwood and bring him to your office?"
"I don't have a particular opinion about that. This information is about a hospitalization that occurred as a result of this information and these changes. On this occasion the patient was hospitalized, voluntarily, treatment was modified and that was good. I would have no complaints about anybody at this time in the picture."
"So the types of accommodation that you're talking about are what these people have been doing; is that correct? They have been noticing behavioral change, trying to get him to go see a doctor, and reporting that?"
"Some people, certainly some people have been doing this very effectively."
"You don't think it's the responsibility of every person who comes into contact with Mr. Leatherwood to do these kinds of things."
"Certainly not."
"Are there certain cases of bipolar disorder such as Mr. Leatherwood's, where he will experience an episode even if he is taking his medication religiously?"
"Yes."
"Now, following Mr. Leatherwood's discharge in June of 1989, you wrote another letter, this time to Mr. Janiga, his employer at The Post, is that correct?"
"That's correct. What page?"
"Page 67. In that letter, you simply state in your opinion he can resume his usual work activity immediately; is that correct?"
"That's correct."
"In a February letter, you discussed the continuation of treatment of outpatient therapy. You don't discuss that in this June '89 letter. Why is that?"
"I don't know. I mean there were certainly plans for continuing outpatient treatment, but I didn't include that in the letter because of the—the letter was basically to say that in my opinion, the patient could return to work."
"It was your opinion on June 29,1989, that Mr. Leatherwood was perfectly capable of returning to work?"
"That's correct."
"This was to return to work in his usual occupation as a copy writer for The Houston Post, is that correct?"
"That's correct."
"Had you ever spoken to anyone at The Post about what Mr. Leatherwood's job duties and functions on a daily basis were?"
"Not in great detail. That would have been some of, I think, the communication with Mr. Williamson some months before; but I did not pursue that nor do I have any sufficient understanding of the business to have understood what I was told if someone had told me all of that."
"You didn't think it was important for you to know what his usual work activity consisted of before you released him to return to that activity?"
"That's more or less correct, because I did not see compromise of his mental function being such that he could not perform the jobs that he was accustomed to performing. I felt like he had not performed his work well when he was psychotic. When he was nonpsychotic, he could do his work satisfactorily, that was my sense. So the nature of the job at that point was not something I was concerned about."
"Did you have an occasion to write a letter on August 11 of 1989 regarding Mr. Blackburn's health and his ability to perform his job?"
"Mr. Leatherwood's health and—"
"Ability."
"Yes."
"Ability to perform his job?"
"In August."
"I believe it's on page 66."
"August 11, yes."
"This letter is stated 'To whom it may concern;' correct?"
"That's correct."
"I think that Mr. Leatherwood needed the letter in terms at this point in beginning to look at future employment. This was after he had been terminated. There no doubt may have also been some need from this with respect to his attorney. This was a multipurpose letter to document, basically, the status at that point."
"There's been testimony that Mr. Leatherwood was terminated effective July the 12th in a letter dated July the 25th. This letter was written on August llth. And in fact, at about that time, Mr. Leatherwood was attempting to get long-term disability benefits as well as Social Security disability benefits; is that correct?"
"That is likely, correct. I don't recollect the precise dates on the nature of the issues with regard to long-term. I know that those were all relevant, but I was not keeping track of the precise nature of those."
"But, in fact, you wrote letters and filled out reports and sent medical documentation to both the long-term disability carrier and the Social Security administration; is that correct?"
"I'm sure that's true."
"That was in an attempt to facilitate Mr. Leatherwood's obtaining benefits from both of those sources?"
"That's correct."
"Now, you wrote the letter on June 29 saying that, in your opinion, he could resume his usual work activity. On August 11, you wrote this letter."
"Uh-huh."
"In paragraph two, the second sentence says, 'Because of these periods of fluctuation in his emotional stability, Mr. Leatherwood may not be able to work with any continuity in his chosen profession or perhaps any other profession.'"
"Uh-huh."
"What had occurred between June 29 and August 11 to change your position and your opinions so dramatically? He had not had another episode, had he?"
Petrou: "Objection. One question at a time if you would, please."
The court: "Overrule the objection. Overrule the objection."
"The change—several changes. It was during that time that the patient was terminated from his employment, and his mood had substantially changed. He was in this period more depressed, he was not in a manic episode, he was not out of control, he did not require hospitalization but his emotional state was substantially different. His ability in my judgment to pursue some kind of work at that point was substantially less than it had been at the time, both times, after hospital treatment in December '88 and in June '89.
"He chronically responded as people often do when they're in manic episodes. The response—the treatment when they're more depressed—is often slower. But that was just the fact that his clinical condition had changed in my judgment from June until August."
"In that six-month period, how many times had you actually seen Mr. Leatherwood for visits?"
"From June to August, it wasn't six months."
"I mean, six-week period. I apologize."
"I had probably seen him only a couple of times. I don't remember the dates of outpatient appointments, but I would have seen him within several weeks of his hospitalization and then approximately monthly, maybe some extra ones. But I would have had very little contact, but it doesn't take a lot of contact if a person's mood is substantially different and if circumstances are substantially different.
"At this point when I was writing this letter, the patient was fearing destitution. He was unemployed, he did not have plans for employment, he had his bills to pay, et cetera. He was quite concerned and he was depressed and that's reflected, I think, in this."
"Had you altered Mr. Leatherwood's medication at any time in that six week period?”
"I don't remember a change at that point."
"In fact, you did not alter his medication during that period. You did not alter his medication?"
"I said I don't recall altering it during that time."
"He had not been hospitalized during this six-week period either, had he?"
"No."
"And it's your testimony that you probably saw him maybe twice in that six-week period?"
"That would be reasonable. I have no idea."
"Did you have any conversation or telephone conversations or contacts from his parents or his girl friend or had you had any conversation with anyone from The Post in that six-week period?"
"I don't recall any other communication at that time."
"At the bottom of that middle paragraph, you go on to say, 'The manic phases have occurred sporadically in spite of his use of maintenance medication.'"
"Uh-huh."
"'Because of these unpredictable episodes and the necessity of hospitalization, I cannot say that Mr. Leatherwood would be able to perform the material duties of his occupation with a reasonable continuity.'"
"We're talking again about his usual work activity or the material duties of his occupation which you've testified you legally never found out exactly what that was, did you?"
"That's correct. I knew only that they were editorial in nature. And the most important thing from that perspective was that he had performed these duties as for as I understood reasonably well for nineteen or twenty years, and I thought he could do that again."
"Would you read the last paragraph of that letter, please?"
"'From having evaluated and treated Mr. Leatherwood, I know that his education, training, and experience have all been in the newspaper-field as an editor of some type. As this is his current occupation, and as I have already stated, he's disabled with respect to its performance. It follows that he would likely be disabled with respect to similar occupations to which he would be suited by virtue of training and experience."
"So what I've done, I'm prognosticating as far as when the patient is substantially down, he's not manic, he still has the same illness. And we're never very good at prognosticating. As a matter of fact, he has probably done better in terms of his return to ability to function cognitively than I thought he might at this particular time."
"In fact, you weren't able to actually prognosticate about his condition from—approximately month to month; is that correct?"
"I don't remember a change at that point."
"In fact, you did not alter his medication during that period. You did not alter his medication?"
"I said I don't recall altering it during that time."
"He had not been hospitalized during this six-week period either, had he?"
"No."
"And it's your testimony that you probably saw him maybe twice in that six-week period?""
"That would be reasonable. I have no idea."
"Did you have any conversation or telephone conversations or contacts from his parents or his girl friend or had you had any conversation with anyone from The Post in that six-week period?"
"I don't recall any other communication at that time."
"At the bottom of that middle paragraph, you go on to say, 'The manic phases have occurred sporadically in spite of his use of maintenance medication.'"
"Uh-huh."
"'Because of these unpredictable episodes and the necessity of hospitalization, I cannot say that Mr. Leatherwood would be able to perform the material duties of his occupation with a reasonable continuity.'"
"We're talking again about his usual work activity or the material duties of his occupation which you've testified you legally never found out exactly what that was, did you?"
"That's correct. I knew only that they were editorial in nature. And the most important thing from that perspective was that he had performed these duties as far as I understood reasonably well for nineteen or twenty years, and I thought he could do that again."
"Would you read the last paragraph of that letter, please?"
"'From having evaluated and treated Mr. Leatherwood, I know that his education, training, and experience have all been in the newspaper-field as an editor of some type. As this is his current occupation, and as I have already stated, he's disabled with respect to its performance. It follows that he would likely be disabled with respect to similar occupations to which he would be suited by virtue of training and experience."
"So what I've done, I'm prognosticating as far as when the patient is substantially down, he's not manic, he still has the same illness. And we're never very good at prognosticating. As a matter of fact, he has probably done better in terms of his return to ability to function cognitively than I thought he might at this particular time."
"In fact, you weren't able to actually prognosticate about his condition from—approximately month to month; is that correct?"
"It has nothing to do with month to month. The fact is, we can never prognosticate that well. In fact, the whole effort of therapy, I guess, is to—when we're pessimistic, to disprove our pessimism with efforts to facilitate the patient functioning better than we think they're able to do."
"Being aware—"
The judge: "I think that this is as good a point as we can find to take a break for a brief mid-morning recess. The jury may retire."

AFTER THE  RECESS, Bounds returns to her tough pursuit "With regard to your statement, Dr. Blackburn, that the loss of Mr. Leatherwood's job had a significant impact on him—I think you said that yesterday as well as today—isn't it true that most people's job and the loss of that job has a significant impact on them?"
"Yes, that's true."
"You stated that your opinion regarding Mr. Leatherwood's prognosis of never being able to return to work has since changed; is that correct?"
"That's correct."
"When did that change?"
"It changed over a period of approximately a year to a year and a half during which time he managed to work with educational opportunities, TRC, completed courses in school making some adjustments, some change from one subject to another and made satisfactory grades and continued to maintain his emotional stability during much of that time in spite of having some subsequent setbacks toward the latter time that I was seeing him. But he certainly demonstrated that he was more able to function than he had been in the summer following his termination or during the summer that he was terminated from employment."
"Please look at Exhibit 4, page 7, which is the first volume of the Standard Insurance Records. Do you have that?"
"Okay. This is an insurance form. I completed it on 8/22/89."
"Which was some 11 days after you had written this letter; is that correct?"
"I suppose so."
"And you put on the bottom of that under prognosis, could you read the remarks to the Court, please?"
"'Based on the recurring clinical psychotic episodes, I believe it unlikely that the patient can return to and sustain his usual or similar work.'"
"Now, you told me that it was your opinion in October—I mean, in August that he could not continue his usual work, correct?"
"That's correct."
"But that it was your opinion on June 29 of 1989 that he could continue in his usual work, correct?"
"That's correct."
"Now, at the top of that page under what's marked No. 3, 'Assessment'?"
"Uh-huh."
"It says, 'Date you recommend patient should stop working.' Did you fill in that date?"
"I have June 24th, I believe."
"You filled that in?"
"Which I think was the day of hospitalization if I'm not mistaken."
"Actually, Mr. Leatherwood was hospitalized from June 19 until June 24 of 1989, correct?"
"Oh, okay."
"So in August, it became your opinion that as of 6/24, which was the date of his discharge, he should quit working; is that correct?"
"I'm not sure. I perhaps didn't read this very well. I don't know, because it's not—my memory is not that I recommended he stop working on that day but that, in fact, he had—was not allowed to go back to work at that date."
"But, in fact, Mr. Leatherwood hadn't been at work since June 1, had he?"
"That sounds correct, yeah, when he went in the hospital. But I think, if my memory serves me correctly, I recommended that he return to work at the end of the hospitalization. And I think I must have been reading this as a typical insurance form that I'm supposed to give the date when the patent last was employed or the last working day. I can't quibble on that. I said effort to return to work January through April '89 failed in spite of ongoing treatment."
"So is it your testimony that in August of 1989 it was your opinion that he could not—that he should stop working on June 24th?"
"It was my—it was in my knowledge that he had not been working during that period of time. I don't want to, I guess, belabor that, but I don't think that I recommended on 6/24 as I gave that date—I filled it out myself, but I don't think I recommended that he stop working at that time. I think I was filling this out as though he had not been working from June until the date in August when I was completing this form."
"So either you didn't—you did recommend that he quit working on June 24th or you didn't read the form; is that what you're saying?"
"I read—if I read the form, I read it incorrectly. That would be my speculation. At least I don't think it's consistent with the letter that I wrote in June if I'm not mistaken."
"It certainly is not—"
"From the discharge summary when he left the hospital, I felt he should return to work."
"Well, I think we're in agreement that it is not consistent with the letter that you sent to The Post on June 29th, aren't we?"
"That's correct, so I must be inconsistent."
"Following these letters that you wrote in August 1989, did you continue to see Mr. Leatherwood on a monthly basis?"
"That's correct."
"And he, in fact, had another manic episode in the fall of 1989, did he not?"
"That's correct."
"Would you turn to page 63 in Exhibit No. 3? Is this a summary that you wrote or dictated?"
"That's correct. It is a summary that I wrote. It appears not to have the day of admission. I must have been confused at that time, too."
"On the next page, page 64 in the lower left-hand corner, there are some numbers?"
"Dictation numbers which would be close to the time of admission."
"Is that the 'D' that says 11/16/89?"
"That's correct. That would be the time it was dictated, and 'T' is the time it was transcribed."
"So this was dictated by you approximately November the 16th of 1989; is that correct?"
"That's correct. Actually it was—the admission was 11/16, the discharge 12/4."
"Okay, good. Looking at page 63, would you read for the court the first sentence under 'History of Present Illness'?"
"'For the past month, the undersigned had been receiving calls from friends and family of patient suggesting another shift in the patient's mood. He was beginning to be talkative and rambling, restless and preoccupied.'"
"Below that a couple of sentences you say, 'On several office visits, the last on October 30th, the patient maintained reasonable emotional control and confirmed his compliance with usual 1200 milligram lithium carbonate daily.'"
"Uh-huh."
"Did you make any efforts at that time, October 30 or those visits, to change his medication?"
"I would have to review the office visit material to say precisely whether I did or didn't at that time. I don't remember."
"But you did not hospitalize him based on your visits with him at that time?"
"That's correct."
"And at the time that you were having these visits and he was maintaining reasonable emotional control, you were also receiving phone calls from family and friends, were you not?"
"I think the phone calls were subsequent. They were after the hospitalization but I don't think they were before—I don't know the precise time that was."
"It states here that for the past month, the undersigned had been receiving calls from family and friends. Your last office visit was on October 30, and hospitalization you just said began November 19. So would that have been—"
"I'm not sure whether the calls came before; they came sometime reasonably close to the time. He subsequently was hospitalized two weeks afterwards. So my assumption from this is the end of two weeks. I had additional contacts, reports that didn't coincide exactly with my observations at the time I saw him."
"But you put in here that for the past month, which we've determined would be a month prior to November 16, you were receiving these calls?"
"Okay."
"Are you saying now that that was incorrect and that was only for the previous two weeks?"
"I don't remember. I don't remember that."
"So this document is really the best evidence of what was occurring at that time; is it not?"
"Probably the document, which I think you have my notations of office visits, would be more likely to show whether I recommended hospitalization or whether I had had phone calls from family or friends before that visit. That doesn't trouble me too much. It may have been—either way, I would not necessarily change the treatment on the basis of the input that I had received. I would be confronting the patient with what I was hearing, looking at what—how he was looking, seeing what he was doing. I might recommend medication change, I might recommend some altered strategy. So I don't quibble about whether I know the significance of whether they called before or after."
"Well, the significance that I see is that you're saying here that for the past month which would be sometime beginning in the middle of October, you've been receiving calls from friends and family of the patient, which by my understanding from your testimony and a prior expert's would be his support group."
"Okay."
"What you're telling me is that saw him and made an assessment and— “
"At that particular—at the time I saw him that he was in reasonable emotional control."
"So you discounted their information or their observations regarding his situation; is that not correct?"
"I don't know that that means I discounted it."
"Well, you obviously decided that you, as the trained professional, knew more than they did, and based upon your personal observation, it was not as serious as they seemed to think it was?"
"I did not call the police—"
"No, I'm not asking you that."
"—lock him up."
The judge: "Pardon me, but don't overlap each other.
"Proceed."

     I'M NOT ASKING You if you called the police. I'm asking you if you changed his medication, and you've obviously stated that you didn't feel at that time on October 30 that it was necessary for him to be hospitalized. Is that what you're saying?"
"All I'm—what I've said is that I don't remember if I changed the medication at this time. I did not hospitalize him at that time. I don't remember whether—I wondered whether this might end up in another hospitalization, what was happening, but I didn't hospitalize him at that time. The patient appeared reasonably stable, and I did not remember anything important to put in the summary at that point."
"What does reasonable stability or reasonable emotional control mean to you?"
"That means that the patient is not having obvious delusions, hallucinations, is not hyperactive, is not loud, is not manicky. That's basically what I mean. So everybody in here right now is reasonably, emotionally stable."
"You testified yesterday that it was certainly preferable to get someone such as Mr. Leatherwood with a bipolar disability into the hospital or to notice a manic episode as quickly as possible; isn't that correct?"
"That's correct."
"You also testified that the beginning symptoms of these types of episodes are a mood swing, increased repetition in speech, things like that; is that correct?"
"That's correct."
"And those types of things, the mood swings, are what you were receiving phone calls about; is that correct?"
"That's correct. As I say, I don't know the precise times of all the phone calls and what each phone call was about.
"If for example the phone—the hyperactivity was obvious and the dysfunction in other people's eyes was obvious and if I saw the patient and didn't at least discuss—consider with him possible adjustment of medication, that would have been an error on my part. I may have made an error. I may have made a misjudgment, but I don't remember that.
"I'd have to look back at the notation as to what my thoughts were about the medication. But that is—it is true that if the individual is having increased hyperactivity, if there's sleeplessness beginning to occur, this is a telltale sign for me and the patient in the long run to learn—for the—have the patient learn to recognize some of these things so that we can adjust medication on the telephone for example with just a call, for example, we need to increase the medication."
"If you are considered to be the learned professional in this particular situation, and two weeks prior to the admission of this patient you did not notice any problem or in your judgment there was not a problem, how can ordinary coworkers or friends and family be expected to spot that sort of thing?"
"I'm not saying that people should spot that. I also was not saying that I didn't spot any problem. He was coming to me on a relatively regular basis because he had ongoing problems. I don't automatically change the medication. I may offer some support, try to understand, try to get the individual to moderate what their activities are which may be self-monitoring, may be reducing some of the stresses."
"Approximately just over halfway down that paragraph towards the right it begins, 'On the day before'?"
"On the day before the night of admission, he was brought home by a neighbor—neighborhood security patrolman who found him lying on the lawn. Subsequently, he asked his cousin to take him to the hospital which he did. However, while admission was being arranged, he ran away from the hospital."
"Continue."
"Apparently, the family contacted Houston Police Department, and officers located him and brought him to the hospital in handcuffs. Patient was agitated, talking about religious themes including Mother Teresa and about the universe being saved. He had attempted on several occasions to run away. He was combative with the staff and had to be restrained."
"This is much the same as the situation in which Mr. Leatherwood was brought to the hospital in the fall of 1988, is it not?"
"That's correct."
Petrou: "Your Honor, I want to state an objection for the record here that I believe that after his termination, this intensive questioning about what happened to him and his hospitalizations is irrelevant."
The court: "Overrule the objection.
"Would you turn to the next page which is page 64? Again, this was written at the time of Mr. Leatherwood's admission in November of 1986, correct? I mean, 1989. It followed the letters that you wrote in August and the forms you filled out in August, correct?"
"Yes."
"About midway down that paragraph there's a sentence that says, '”The patient had been rather stable until the onset of the present illness episode.'  That seems to me to be a bit contradictory to what you just testified to that in the six-week period between his last hospitalization in June and this in the writing of those letters in August, there had been such a significant change in his emotional state that warranted you completely changing your testimony. Does that not appear to be a bit contradictory to you?"
"Rather stable? I mean rather stable basically means that he wasn't manicky for most of that time. It doesn't mean that he was out of the woods or was not having problems. In fact, what I have indicated that my recollection is that there was more depression, discouragement, deep concern about his situation that—but he was stable. He was coming for appointments, he was taking his medication. And only some several weeks before the hospitalization as you've indicated, I received some calls, began to be aware that he was indeed deteriorating again.
"Now, what you're saying is that in that six-week period between June 29th and August the 11th, you keep saying that he appeared to be very depressed. In your opinion, was Mr. Leatherwood clinically depressed during that period?"
"I'm not saying that he manifested a major depressive episode; I'm not making a diagnosis. I'm simply stating the fact that his mood was that of discouragement and considerable apprehension with respect to his circumstances."
"My problem, Dr. Blackburn, is I have a—it may be semantics. It seems to me that rather stable and reasonable emotional stability is quite different from saying that because of these periods, he can no longer continue with his chosen profession. Do you not see a discrepancy in those two or three statements?"
"Not necessarily. He had been—he was rather stable, but not in a state of high function. There's a—particularly in cyclic disturbances such as bipolar disorder, manic depressive disorder, there is a lot of fluctuation. And when I say stable, I mean there's less fluctuation, but it doesn't necessarily mean that things are operating on a perfectly good level."
"It is your testimony that you did not diagnose Mr. Leatherwood as being clinically depressed in August of 1989?”
"I didn't—"
"But isn't it true that he has really never experienced the low—"
"Has never had—"
"—the clinical depression side of the bipolar disorder?"
"That is correct."
"He was low in '89 because he'd lost his job, correct? Is that what you're saying?"
"I was just saying that he was low. I think losing the job is one element of that."
"Most people who lose their jobs do get—have a certain amount of unhappiness, wouldn't that be correct?"
"That's correct. And people who have significant biological mental disorders such as bipolar disorder are more apt in periods of discouragement or loss to have changes in their clinical state. Perhaps to become manic."
"So do we have a responsibility not to allow negative things to happen to people who have bipolar disorders?"
"I would not generalize to that extent."
"In November of 1992, about the time of Mr. Leatherwood's—I mean, November 1989 about the time of Mr. Leatherwood's hospitalization, you wrote another letter, did you not, to a Charles Crane, who was a disability examiner for the Social Security Administration? If you'll look on page 61, you'll find that letter."
"Yes. On November 22nd."
"Would you read for the court the fourth paragraph of that letter?"
"'The degree of psychosis at the beginning of the present admission was more severe than the two previous compensations which I observed. In view of the chronicity, greater than ten years, and the deterioration over the past year, it is my opinion that if the patient is able to return to work at all, it will require at least three to six months more active rehabilitated effort,
"'Although he appeared to be making an adaptation to work from January through April of '89, he has mostly been seriously disabled since about September 1988.'"
"So again, your opinion has changed. Hasn't it?"
"My opinion has not changed. I have different frames of time that I am reviewing the situation."
"In January of 1990, you had an occasion to fill out another one of these forms to Standard Insurance Company. If you'll look in Exhibit No. 4 on page 2."
"Dated January '90."
"And is that your signature at the bottom?"
"It is."
"And this is some two months after that letter you wrote to the disability examiner?"
"But isn't it true that he has really never experienced the low—"
"Uh-huh."
"Would you please read the paragraph in part B where it says 'Medical Prognosis'?"
"For one-and-a-half years there has been major deterioration with multiple relapses and required hospital care. The patient is not expected to ever be able to return to his prior job situation."
"Do you generally tailor your remarks according to the audience to which you're writing?"
"Certainly do. Try to. Sometimes I fail."
"Then on March, 20,1990, you wrote another rather lengthy letter. I believe you'll find that at page 50 in Exhibit 3. Who was it written to?"
"This was to the Social Security or TRC examiners."
"What isTRC?"
"Texas Rehabilitation Commission. This was for purposes of ascertaining his status for Social Security."
"Please read the first paragraph tided 'Chief Complaint.'"
"'The patient is discouraged, frustrated, and fearful about reestablishing himself vocationally and socially due to recurring manic episodes which have resulted in hospitalizations, dismissal from work after more than twenty years and financial disarray.'"
"So the recurring manic episodes has resulted in hospitalizations as well as the dismissal and the financial disarray, correct? That's what that says, right?"
"That sounds good."
"Would you turn over to page 54, which is several pages into this formalized letter. Under D, 'Deterioration or Decompensation in Work or Work-like Setting in the Past Year.' Would you read that paragraph, please?"
"'Since about September 1988, the patient manifests declining ability to sustain his usual work. Management changes at work may have contributed. Personal stress related to relationship to parents and girlfriend may have contributed. Three grossly psychotic manic episodes have resulted in three hospitalizations during the past fifteen months. In spite of effort to return to work or perhaps because of the effort to return to work, deterioration and relapse occurred.'"
"It was your opinion at that time that the prognosis for Mr. Leather-wood was to be considered guarded to poor; is that correct?"
"That would be no doubt correct."
"One final document. On May 6, 1991, you had an occasion to write a letter to Michael Jobst, the benefits representative for Standard Insurance Company. Would you please read the first two sentences in the last paragraph on page 46?"
"'In the fall of 1988, progressive hyperactivity and inappropriate interpersonal interactions led to work dysfunction. A trial back at work in the spring of 1989 was experienced as highly stressful.'"
"And, on page 47."
"'In my opinion the prognosis is good. Present expectations are for his retraining to include part-time work efforts during the spring 1992. Subsequent to that, a trial of gainful employment may be a realistic goal, though not in the pressured newspaper environment.'"
"Dr. Blackburn, do you feel like you placed The Post in any kind of precarious type of position by providing them with releases to return to work for Mr. Leatherwood and then within weeks changing your opinion as to his ability to perform the job?"
"No, I don't. I changed my opinion after the second hospitalization. That was the—after—actually, I changed my opinion after he was terminated from his employment, and I don't—I did not feel that the clinical situation was that different than it had been six times over ten years when he had gone back to The Post and successfully returned to work."
"But all of a sudden you did in August in an effort to achieve disability benefits for Mr. Leatherwood; is that correct?"
"In August after he had become unemployed, his condition was different."
"He needed benefits, didn't he?"
"He did need benefits, that's correct."
"Did you ever give Mr. Leatherwood a release to return to work while you were treating him after June of 1989?"
"I don't recall any situation of doing that."
"In fact you never did, did you?"
"Although there—there would have been no cause for it and no requirement for it in the work that might occur with the vocational rehabilitation thing. The letters that I wrote to TRC are fully in sync with Social Security law, that I don't understand, but there are two arms, I mean, an individual can be disabled and at the same time the TRC works with them to rehabilitate.
"And that's what was occurring, and part of the rehabilitation may be working. We have people working in the veteran's hospital while they're hospitalized. We used to call it industrial therapy. Now it's called incentive therapy, because you have to pay people something; it's not enough to work. But work is therapeutic, and so that's not exactly out of sync with what we're trying to do."
"So it was—at some point became your opinion that Mr. Leather-wood could return to work and possibly even in the newspaper industry; is that correct?"
"I would say that now. I only say that on the basis of the fact that somewhere in the midst of time—I don't have this in my mind—he began to do some writing. And some of the writing—I'm not a critic of writing, but he was writing what seemed reasonable. And I figured if he can write reasonably now, then that might be somewhat related to the newspaper work."
"Did you ever notify the long-term disability carrier or the Social Security Administration that Mr. Leatherwood was now able to work, therefore, no longer required the disability benefits?"
"I don't recall doing that. He was continuing to work with TRC during all the time that I saw him until I last saw him in June of '92. So there was no situation where he was at a point of sustaining gainful employment. He was still in a rehabilitation posture with respect to the TRC. So that didn't come up to my knowledge."
"Dr. Blackburn, did you come here pursuant to a subpoena today?"
"That's correct."
"Are you being paid for your time?"
"No, I'm not."
"Are you on a salary with the VA Hospital?"
"I'm on vacation today and yesterday."
"Thank you. I pass the witness, Your Honor."
The court: "Mr. Petrou, redirect."
Petrou was brief.
"Did the stress factors of dealing with his parents and his girl friend play a major role in his deterioration in December of '88 and in the spring of'89?"
"I think that the issues of the relationships were important but had also been stresses for him over years, and there was no—the most important single change I'm aware of during this period of time during this year or so was the change of his employment. There were always these other problems in the multiple times that he had returned to work before."
"And the defense counsel talked to you about Carl Leatherwood and whether he was violent or not. From examining all of his medical records and from talking to Carl, did you conclude that he was a violent person?"
"No. The only references to violence occurred on the occasions when he was restrained against his will. And on those occasions, he was indeed struggling with the attendants and that is certainly violence, but it's not the kind of violence that we usually are more concerned with."
"Is it therapeutic if Carlton likes to write and desires to write for him to get a job writing?"
"Certainly."
Judge Gibson: "Thank you, Dr. Blackburn. At long last, the witness is excused."

Journey to the Edge of Texas Chapter 10

Range War

"CAN  YOU  TELL  US  YOUR  FULL  NAME?"
Petrou asked the next witness.
"Martha Liebrum."
"And what is your position with The Post right now?"
"I'm assistant managing editor. My duties include the features department."
"Were you at one time in charge of The Houston Post Sunday magazine?"
"Yes, I was. I was editor of the magazine that lasted from 1974 to 1988. The editor decides what's going into it, assigns stories to writers, edits some material that comes in, selects the presentation, design."
"Was it a good magazine?"
"We thought it was a wonderful magazine."
"Was it well written?"
"We won prizes."

DO     YOU     RECALL     ANY     CONTRIBUTIONS from Carl Leatherwood ... ?" "Yes."
"Were there a number of contributions from Carl?" "Yes. In one year he wrote a lot and a little in the year before that and the year after that."
"I'd like to show you some exhibits that we have entered into evidence here. Do you recognize this?"
"Yes, I do. It's a cover story that Carl wrote on going down the Rio Grande in Big Bend."
"Who took that picture?"
"Carl."
"What did you think of this picture?"
"Oh, it was beautiful. He took great photos."
"What did you think of the writing here?"
"I think it's very fine. It was very good."
"Okay. I want to show you another exhibit. Do you know what that is?"
"Yes. It's an article that we ran in the magazine called Texana. It was a standing column that appeared almost every week, and Texana was about travel in Teas. This happens to be about the Hill Country."
"Who wrote this article?"
"Carl."
"What did you think of this article?"
"It was fine, very fine."
"And do you recognize this article."
"Yes. It's another article of Carl's. It was published January 1986."
"The reason I'm asking you about it in particular is because—first of all, were you aware that at the time that Carl wrote some of these articles, he was experiencing some mental health conditions?"
"I don't know if I was aware or not to be honest."
"Did anything that he did whether he had mental health problems or not, did that affect his writing in any way?"
"No."
"I want to ask you if you were aware that just before this article was published that Carl was in the hospital for about a month?"
"I don't remember, honestly."
"Did you edit Mr. Leatherwood's stories?"
"Yes, I did."
"And did you heavily edit them? Were there—how much did you edit them?"
"Very little, very little. I mean, most feature stories require some editing. Even our best feature writers need some and he had some but not a lot."
"Were you also in charge of overall features at the time?"
"Uh-huh."
"This weekend section here, is that something that you would have been in charge of?"
"Yes."
"And is this considered a feature here?"
"Yes. It's a cover story on fall."
"Who wrote that cover story?"
"Carl did, in November '86."
"Did you recall telling Carl after you saw the story that this is lovely writing?"
"I'm sure I did."

  THE   POSTMAN   KNEW   IT.
"Oh, man, I've been waiting for this all summer," he said, high-stepping across the intersection of Sugar Hill and Tanglewood.
The Boys of October were in the Astrodome that day, but the letter carrier alluded to something else. He could have borrowed a quote used by Mets Manager Davey Johnson, and proclaimed, "This is as good as it gets."
Autumn was here, in Houston. The message was written on a cool breeze, carried by songbirds and later delivered with flair.

There are about 2,000 kinds of mushrooms (upper left) in the Big Thicket.  Nearby a wagon train rolls near Winnsboro in Northeast Texas. (upper right)
A boy and his dog hike (lower left) at Lost Maples State Natural Area in the Hill Country. Youngsters feed seagull on a cruise to see Whooping Cranes at Arkansas Wildlife Refuge. (lower right)

And this weekend may be the best of the season—the best of times to enjoy the outdoors in Texas. People from the Big Thicket to the Hill Country who keep watch on the trees have forecast a peak of color in fall foliage about now.
Not that that's all there is. Nature belies the cynics who, narrowly focused on the foliage, say we have no vibrant change of season, True, wild creatures must hustle less to prepare for winter in forests only spotted with brilliant color. The area is, however, the darling in fall of bird lovers and mushroom fanciers on a national scale. And the beaches have special appeal.
A statewide ramble in autumn can open up the biological wonder of Southeast Texas or a park in north Harris County that has built a display appropriate to a blissful Indian summer. Down on the middle coast a record number of whooping crane chicks are arriving. And out in the Hill Country are the makings of a traditional downhome trip through brightly painted woods.

THE PADDLE SHOT OUT of my hands and away from the canoe. Current widened the gap between the two as an autumn sun set on Village Creek about 100 miles east of Houston. I now coveted sage Wyatt Moore's past practice of carrying two paddles when hunting ducks on Caddo Lake in northeast Texas.
He did it mostly for "bushwhacking," what they called his method of duck hunting up there where the season drifts through a little earlier.
Bushwhacking meant he would see a duck, drop his paddle instantly, and go to pumping shot "I used to carry an extra paddle in the boat," Moore said, "and then if a duck jumped up, I could just forget about the paddle I was paddling with. Later, I would take the paddle in the boat and retrieve the one that fell off in the water."
Over in the Big Thicket, literally up a creek without a paddle, I looked at Chico, a Boston terrier who had propped his front paws on the port gunnel to stand watch. He had the answer to our predicament. So I dog paddled belly down on the stern to retrieve the paddle.
Village Creek runs through a biological crossroads of international merit, with plant species converging there from all directions. The tangle of vegetation has long been called the Big Thicket. Portions are in a national preserve, though most of this creek is not. At most bends in the creek white quartz sand invites a picnic or camping.
I paddled toward a sand bar draped with willows, toward a cypress-darkened slough that widens into a pond, toward remembrances of youth. A cypress swamp had existed behind the sand bar. The wind didn't penetrate the tangle there, and the mirrored surface of the water, where an ancient age seemed to hang as real as the Spanish moss, kindled awe.
As I reached my stamping ground, twilight was fading in the western sky, abbreviating the journey, but I embraced an autumnal reward. The crisp air quickened strokes, worked in conjunction with primeval craft and starlight to rejuvenate the soul.
Al Schotz, the director-naturalist of the Big Thicket Museum in Saratoga, stalked seasonal forest colors with me under a blue sky the next day. Transplanted from upstate New York where the trees put on a splashy show, he found amazing things here.
"During the fall, most of your mushrooms are out," he said. "There are about 2,000 different kinds of mushrooms in the Big Thicket. That's unbelievable. And that's not including molds; that's just including what people would picture a mushroom as being."
We encountered several species of amanita mushrooms, very poisonous fungi, capped in deep orange and white. "The amanitas are most beautiful," my guide said. "They come in almost every color of the rainbow." One half-foot giant deserved the moniker "Big Daddy."
"Because of the humidity and warmer climate, people can find mushrooms on New Year's Day," Schotz said. "They come in all sizes and shapes. One looks like a turkey's tail, and that's what we call our official Thanksgiving mushroom here in the Big Thicket. Anyone interested in mycology—this is the place to be."
He noted earlier that "people have more of a chance to see wildlife during this time of year because of the cool, and the animals are out and about getting prepared for the winter months." Our steamy summers keep most animals nocturnal then.
A squirrel had built a nest perhaps sixty feet up in the limbs of a tree. "Squirrels are beginning to store up acorns and pecans, and they put them in their special hiding places," he said. "And then they try to come back and find them. Fifty percent of the time they can't find their storage area." In our mild temperatures and without snow on the ground it doesn't matter so much.
Some creatures do start to slow down. "Snakes seek refuge at about 60 degrees," Schotz said. "Honeybees cease to fly under 54 degrees. When it is below 54, they stay at their hive and they rotate—the ones on the outside will go inside to get warm, and vice versa."
Also coloring the area were red-seeded magnolia cones, purple American beautyberries, goldenrod, dark purple sweet-gum leaves, an orange tint of. cypress, redheaded woodpeckers, yellow foliage on white ash and red on swamp maples. "What's different around Southeast Texas than say up in Michigan, where the leaves all change at once and are spectacular, is here one tree will change and then another, like a sequence, not all at one time," Schotz said.

INVERSELY, THE CHANGE to a duller color in bird color heightens interest in an autumn phenomenon on the Texas coast of continental importance.
"The thing in animal life to naturalists down here that signifies fall more than anything else is the migration of birds," said Carmine Stahl of Mercer Arboretum and Botanic Gardens, and Jesse Jones Park and Nature Center, both in North Harris County. "The little woodland songbirds come through here and head on to the tropics. One of the world's largest concentrations of wintering waterfowl is out here on the prairies around Katy and Hockley, and in Jefferson and Chambers counties."
Through the course of the year you can usually see more species of birds within a hundred miles of Houston than anywhere else in the United States, he said. "It's one of the best birding places in the country."
Kay McCracken, a birder of note in Corpus Christi, pays tribute to what we can find in our own backyards. "Your area is really a bit more spectacular than ours in the fall—it has been lately, not always."
In Texas, one begins to see the broad-winged hawk migration over the Piney Woods in August and then around the coast, she said, and it funnels down through the point of Texas into Mexico. The birds number in the thousands. But autumn migrations aren't as concentrated in the bird world as those in the spring. "The birds aren't in any big hurry in the fall, and they take their time," she said. "They may linger in a spot that has food for four or five days. In the spring they refuel every time they stop and keep going to their breeding places."
Though the Houston area has its thrills, for birders like McCracken, the biggest attraction on the coast is near her home, in the Coastal Bend of the state. It is the wintering habitat of the only wild flock of whooping cranes.
The cranes start their 2,600-mile migration from western Canada for the area adjacent to Matagorda Island in September.
This year, the first whooper hit the Texas coast in mid-October and most will have arrived by the end of November. The population of the rare birds has swelled to an estimated 115 because of abundant water at the breeding grounds in Canada. It is the highest number in the flock since their survival became a conservation cause.
The cranes literally stand head and shoulders above other birds. Measuring fifty inches high, they are the tallest birds in North America. Wings span seven feet from black tip to black tip. The adults sport red faces, the youngsters rust heads.
"We had 96 leave last spring to go north," said Dave Blankinship, whooping crane biologist of the National Audubon Society. "They had a very good reproductive year."
One bird died of natural causes in the spring migration, but about twenty young birds were produced and lived to begin the journey southward. That's a record, too.
"Of course, there’s a good chance that some of those birds may get lost from one cause or another during migration," Blankinship said, "but we certainly are looking for well over 100. The increase in the young is primarily due to favorable weather conditions, water conditions on the breeding grounds."
At the time of our conversation, red tide was considered a serious potential threat to the whooping cranes.
"So far there hasn't been any concentrations of red tide up in the area where the cranes winter," Blankinship said. "We know that the organisms and their toxins are concentrated in shellfish like oysters and clams. Clams are a major food item of the whooping cranes.
"Fortunately, when the cranes first arrive here, they feed primarily on crabs, and it is not until later in the year that they really turn to clams as a greater part of their diet. In winter the water level drops and the dams become more available. But it's a situation where conceivably only one or two clams would be enough to cause a crane some real problems. They will eat a clam if they come across it."

A girl fishes at sunset near ferry landing at Galveston.

'TIS THE SEASON IN GALVESTON. A monarch butterfly flutters among the sun-drenched hibiscus blooms and palms outside the dining room at The San Luis Hotel. Strollers, both beachcombers and baby carriages, meander unscorched and uncrowded down the beach. Rooms cost less. There are those who fish under a harvest moon. Others dance on a skateboard or a wave or a paddlewheeler. A tour of the seawall in a little surrey is a pleasant thing, if attention to staying above the steep rocky shoulder is not diverted too long by wonderful bodies and sandcastles.
As do the songbirds and butterflies, the snowbirds come and migrate down the coast. Snowbird is not a good analogous term for the people visiting through the winter from the north. The real ones stay home and frolic in the snow.

A monarch butterfly alights on a hisbiscus blossom (above) also on the island.
(Below) Red berries on dogwood in the Big Thicket. 

Probably, the most brilliant leafy display accessible within weekend driving range from Houston can be found around the western Hill Country town of Utopia. The peak of bigtooth maple color will have probably passed by now, but another species vies with it in autumn dress, the Spanish oak on which the golden-cheeked warbler depends for caterpillars to feed its young in summer.
Bee Garrison, whose roots in the hills go back to early settlers, was anticipating "beautiful leaves" near her ranch and recommended sightseeing on roads running from Utopia to Garner State Park and from Leakey to Vanderpool, "a beautiful drive anytime." People coming over in late November and early December may not see any maples, but the oaks are "so pretty," she said. "The only thing that would ruin it would be if we get a lot of rain and a lot of wind."
Hunters also find wild turkeys and a lot of white-tailed deer for the Thanksgiving table in those hills. It is an old custom.      
"We served wild turkey for Thanksgiving when I was growing up," Garrison said. "We grew or found wild everything that we ate back then. Momma used to take venison and fry it up like chicken fried steak, put it down in fifty-five-gallon crocks, a layer of fried meat and a layer of melted lard, until she had the crocks full. Then you would still be having venison steaks long after the hunt. Sometimes they would kill a deer out of season to make jerky, to cure it in the heat of July and August. They would hang it in strips on a tin roof or on a clothesline."
Pecans are another bountiful harvest as smoke begins to rise from the hunters' campfires. Native and cultivated pecan trees grow on the northern edge of the Hill Country around San Saba. "At one time we were the leading state in the union in native pecans," said John Lipe, horticulturist for the Texas Agricultural Extension Service. "It is said there are 500 miles of waterways in San Saba County. All of the rivers have wide bottoms, and pecans grow native in the bottoms. The estimate is 90,000 acres of native pecans just in that one county alone."
Hal Borland, a naturalist of national eminence, and others within the state have written bizarre accounts of the pioneer harvests. "For many years only wild pecans came to market," Borland says. "The method of harvesting those wild ones now seems unbelievable. Nut-gatherers went through the woods, chose the largest, heaviest-bearing pecan trees, and when the nuts were ripe they cut down the trees. Then they put boys to work picking the nuts from the fallen giants. And that was the end of those pecan trees, forever."
When I first mentioned that story to Lipe, he could not believe it either. "Sounds like one of those Aggie jokes," he said. "Obviously, it's a lot easier to shake the pecans from the tree. To chop the tree down is a lot of work."

AN EARLIER PEOPLE returned home to north Harris County in autumn to apparently gather nuts in a more civilized way. The Akokisa Indians would live on clams and oysters in area saltwaters and then paddle their cypress dugout canoes back up Spring and Cypress Creeks to gather acorns and hickory nuts, hunt, and spend the winter.
The Akokisa traded hides with the Spanish and French from the beginning of European exploration in the 1500s. The tribe's population may have peaked at 3,000 but was decimated by diseases carried by the explorers. When Anglo settlers began trickling over from Louisiana in the 1820s, few of the natives remained.
"We have been developing a typical pioneer homesite of that period at the Jones park," Stahl said. "We have built a log cabin, a smokehouse, and other outbuildings—shed, corn crib, chicken house."
And the small group of Indians around then are not forgotten. A replica of their living quarters has been constructed. It is an oval hut of poles shingled with palmetto fronds which grow in the state from here to the Big Thicket, and in other isolated stands. "The fronds shed water very nicely," Stahl said. "Sometimes the Indians added furs for warmth in winter."
The park also contains the largest cypress and magnolia stands in Harris County along almost five miles of paved trails. Foliage color of the other trees may not measure up to the past because of "a bit of an unusual fall this year," Stahl noted. "One reason is that we had a long period of drought this summer ... that condition caused a great many trees that normally do color up for us to lose their leaves early."
But the dry spell followed by an extended period of rain also produced some forest color unusual for this time of year. Observed Stahl, "We have had more spring flowering trees blooming this fall than I can ever remember."

ONE HOUSTON PHOTOGRAPHER has chased autumn colors from East to West Texas. "It's flaky," said Blair Pittman, who has pursued the traditional image of fall with more determination than most, and found it. He stayed for two weeks waiting for it in the Guadalupe Mountains. Residents near the mountains on the New Mexico border kept saying that it wasn't right yet, and he had to get back to Houston. "We came back, and they called five days later to say, *Hey, it's perfect, it's perfect.' I caught a plane and flew back up there. And it was perfect."

OKAY," PETROU SAID, poised to ask Liebrum more questions. "Do you recall that at one time Carl asked you if he could be a full-time feature writer?"
"I don't honestly remember if he did."
"Is it possible he may have asked you?"
"He may have. We don't have very much turnover in the features department. So whenever there's an opening, a large number of people in the room usually ask. Feature jobs are considered to be good jobs."
"Could Carl have been a full-time feature writer?"
"I doubt it."
"Why is that?"
"Well, general feature writing is different. He has a specialty. His specialty was traveling in the state of Texas. He wrote really well about travel. He wrote nice features about people in the state of Texas, but that's not a job that we were funded for. A general feature writer has to report, interview, cover a wide variety of subjects from abortion to new clothes, I mean, there's just—it's very broad. He had a particular interest that he was good at, reporting at."
"All right, but for some of these features stories he did interview people, did he not?"
"Uh-huh, yes."
"He could go out and interview people; isn't that right?"
"He certainly could go out and interview the people he interviewed."
"And some of them you thought were wonderful pieces, right?"
"Right."
"Okay. Do you recall ever approaching Mr. Peter O'Sullivan, I think, at the time? Was he the editor in chief?"
"Yes."
"Do you recall approaching him on Carl's behalf and asking whether there could be a spot for Carl as a feature writer?"
"I don't believe that I ever did that. I don't remember that at all."
"If Carl has testified that you did that, would he be mistaken?"
"I believe he would be. I don't remember that at all. This is the first time I've heard that."
"Are there free-lance writers?"
"Yes."
"What's the situation today with being a free-lance writer? Can you get something published in The Post as a free-lance writer?"
"A very few articles are bought anymore, and it's true with all newspapers. We have a staff and we use staff material to fill up pages. We just don't need free-lancers as we once did."
"It's hard for someone to make a living being a free-lance writer?"
"I think it's hard anytime for anybody to free-lance as a writer."
"No matter how good their writing is?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. Do some writers sometimes write at home, at their computers at home?"
"Yes. But a full-time staff person would not work from his home."
"At this point you don't have any full-time staff people working at home, you say. But if somebody was disabled, and had some kind of health problem where he could work at home out of his own computer that did not require him to report to the office, could that person work out of his home?"
"Theoretically."
Bounds takes up the questioning.
"Did you ever have occasion to see Mr. Leatherwood bring his dog into the newsroom?"
"One day, yes."
"Was there a disruption?"
"Well, it was a spectacle I'd say. I guess we'd call it a disruption."
"You were asked a question about whether or not a person as a staff feature writer could work at home. You said that that was theoretically possible. Is that what you said?"
"Because people all have home computers now, we have had writers every so often say I'd like to work at home, you know, da-da-da, I need to keep the kids or whatever; and it works sometimes and then other times they have to be in the office."
"Do you think it would be reasonable or practical to have a staff writer full-time working from their home?"
"It's not desirable actually, because we think that the writers need to be there and they need to feed off each other. They give each other ideas. They discuss their stories. Operating in a vacuum is not the best way to do good feature stories."
"You said that in your opinion Mr. Leatherwood could not be a staff feature writer. Why is that?"
"As I said, he has a specialty and that's what he's demonstrated and that's what his interest is, that's what he's good at. We would not hire someone who did not have background with a lot of—showing a lot of range, and he does not show a lot of range."
"People with chronic illnesses, are they being accommodated at The Post?"
"We have new ones, you know. Now, with the computers, we have that carpal tunnel syndrome and that is a problem, yes. It's very accommodating."
"Currently?"
"Currently."
PETROU:  "WE  CALL  DR.  ARCHIE  BLACKBURN.
"Tell us basically what you do for a living?" "I'm a psychiatrist and am full-time at the VA Hospital and the medical school, Baylor."
"Are you also a medical doctor?"
"Yes."
"Do you know a patient by the name of Carl Leatherwood?"
"Yes, I do."
"When did Mr. Leatherwood become your patient?"
"I first saw him in December of 1988 and saw him until I went back to full-time in the Medical Center in June of'92."
"Do you recall where he was working when you first saw him?"
"He was working at The Post."
"Okay- Were you able from talking to Mr. Leatherwood to determine how important the job was to him?"
"Well, I did certainly learn that the job was very important to him, and my recollection is that he had been there for twenty-two years, and it was extremely important to him. I guess that I came to know that after he lost the job, which was perhaps six months after I had been seeing him, and his clinical condition, of course, worsened considerably at that point.
"From examining Mr. Leatherwood and reviewing his medical history, do you know if he ever deliberately stopped taking his medication?"
"I actually thought that he did that originally. That's, I guess, my suspiciousness as a clinician. But I came to understand rather confidently that that was not the case. That he would start having his episodes of manic symptomatology first, and then in the course of that sometimes would terminate his medication or just not be taking his medication."
"I want to turn your attention to the fall and winter of 1988 when Mr. Leatherwood first came to see you. Which hospital was he admitted to?"
"This was Memorial Southwest in Houston."
"In this hospitalization, did he come to the hospital voluntarily?"
"On this occasion, he did not."
"Did he later agree to stay in the hospital voluntarily?"
"He did."
"Were you able to stabilize his condition?"
"Yes, we were. We basically restarted the lithium that he had been on, and we also used a small amount of tranquilizing drug."
"Did you release him to go back to work, Dr. Blackburn?"
"Yes, I did. But his return to work was difficult for him in some respects. His mental state had cleared rather remarkably in a short period of time. But my recollection is that from my office contacts over that period of time, the difficulty for him was associated with the fact that he came to feel rather strongly that he was not going to be allowed to continue in his work, and he was given a new assignment. I don't know the nature of that in terms of details, but he perceived that it was unlikely that he was going to be able to continue to work even though he felt able to go to work."
"And how did this perception of a person with bipolar disorder that he may not be allowed to remain at the job that he's had for twenty-two years, how did that affect him?"
"Well, it was very stressful, very stressful. It had a significant impact on him."
"Do you recognize this exhibit?"
"Yes. This was a letter that I wrote to Mr. Leatherwood's employment. It was to Mr. Williamson who was the executive editor at The Post, and I was simply indicating that the patient was under my care
and had been in the hospital, and in my opinion he could return to work."
"Okay. I want to direct your attention to the second paragraph here where it says 'prior to hospitalization for at least one month, he was seriously disabled by his symptoms.' Does that mean that you felt for at least a month before he even entered the hospital he was having some problems?"
"That was my impression, yes. I would think it was unlikely that he was functioning normally during that period of time before."
"If there are some fellow workers and supervisors that did not know that he was experiencing mental health problems, could they believe that he just wasn't doing his work?"
"That could be true."
"Do you know if around June of 1989, a few months later after that letter, that Mr. Leatherwood was hospitalized again?"
"Yes."
"Okay. I want you to look at another exhibit, a hospital summary. This is for the date 6/19 through 6/24/89. Did he voluntarily come to the hospital this time?"
"My recollection is that this was a voluntary admission. His family and friends and colleagues had been noticing him going through changes and had coerced him into coming would be the right way to say it."
"After his hospital stay, was he stabilized again and was he able to go back to work?"
"My recommendation was to return to work as soon as possible."
"Here, what is Defendant's Exhibit No. 9?"
"This is a letter with my signature to Mr. Jim Janiga at The Houston Post, director of Human Resources. I explained to him that the patient had gone through a change in his mental state, not as severe as before, that he was hospitalized and I had adjusted his medications and that I felt he was ready to return to work."
"And you say there in the first sentence he experienced a hypo-manic mood shift? What does that mean?"
"Basically that is something less than manic. An episode is heightened mood, some symptoms but without significant compromise in the ability to carry on ordinary life activities."
"Is it your understanding that he was not allowed to return to work, and as a consequence of being fired, his condition worsened?"
"Yes. It was a major upheaval for him. The stress had an adverse affect."
"Okay. Did his condition reach a point, Dr. Blackburn, where you had to write letters and fill out forms to his long-range disability insurance company and to Social Security informing them about Mr. Leatherwood's worsened condition?"
"I did."
"In your opinion was there a time after he was fired when Carl Leatherwood was disabled from doing the kind of work that he did before he was fired?"
"That would have been my opinion some months of that particular year."
"When you determined that Carl's condition had gotten worse after he was fired, did you determine that he could be disabled forever, from ever working again?"
"I don't think I ever thought that."
"Could he recover from the firing and at some point in the future resume productive work?"
"Certainly."
"Is it possible for people who have mental health illnesses to work in jobs that are not as stressful as the jobs that they used to have?"
"Certainly. It's always better to work than not to work."
Judge Gibson: "We will resume with your testimony, Doctor, tomorrow morning. I hope you enjoy the afternoon off. The weather is with you."