Aqua Therapy

I worked at Devereux for ten years. Helena Devereux was a visionary, who revolutionized the care and training of developmentally and emotionally disabled people. She had no degree, but doctors and educators sat at her feet to learn. She earned numerous honorary degrees and accolades for her enlightened advancements. Back then, the “retarded” and mentally ill were simply institutionalized and forgotten. Their potential was never realized. Helena Devereux saw their potential. She was convinced that they could live successful, independent, and happy lives. She set up residential facilities with schools and vocational training. She proved her theory. The not-for-profit organization grew from that effort. Today there are facilities all over the country as well as “outpatient” services for individual treatment and family counseling.

Devereux Viera is not an easy place to work. Many of our kids (5 to 18yrs) tested limits and tried patience all day, every day. They could be dangerous, or behave so bizarrely as to cause nightmares. Devereux Viera is a “locked facility”. We accepted the hard cases that other facilities (including juvenile justice) could not handle. The average employee lasts less than a year. The burn out rate for teachers and therapists is two years. Still, this facility has more than its share of dedicated professionals who make it ten years or more. They couldn’t last if their efforts were in vain.

I will interject. The campus is pristine Florida, with red tile Mediterranean buildings that are the envy of high end condos in the area.

I started as a Mental Health Technician, which I call a cross between a babysitter, a bell hop, and a bouncer. Everything is locked up. You find yourself serving “clients” who need things for hygiene, or activities. I took a difficult job. I was “on call”. That meant that I went into the worst situations at the worst time. When trouble was brewing some staff inevitably called in sick.

I’ll give one example. We had inner city kids from Miami and Washington D.C. They were “wanna-be“ or actual gang members. At first, our job was to protect them from each other. Soon, it was to protect ourselves. They joined forces and made a new gang. “Gangstas” had to oppose and hurt staff to gain stature. They were clever and made serious weapons out of anything.

Now, some in corporate will not appreciate this story. However, it is a testimony to the quality of the organization. We revamped to deal with this new influx. We turned the unforeseen circumstance around (to the advantage of all) in short order. Line staff did well to maintain until things improved.

The kids studied our tactics and outsmarted us. They caused a ruckus on one of the residential units. When staff responded en mass to a severe “code” situation, they took the cue from our loud radio communication and caused a wild uproar on another unit. More staff responded to that “code”. The real melee broke out on the least likely residential unit, now outmanned and underpowered. It wasn’t pretty. The emergency room got busy that night and a few of the “gangstas” got out by beating a staff member and taking his keys. Three called to be rescued within a couple of hours. The other two were back before morning. It made the paper.

We were having an administration change. That is how I became the resident artist and a vocational instructor. The new administrator wanted to cheer the place up with murals. They established a successful, motivation based behavioral program where the “clients” earned progressive privileges and less institutional imposition in daily life. On higher “levels” they could earn their way to a unit that was more like a prep school dorm, be paid for their vocational training, and go into town to shop and relax.

After the kids got loose into the newly developed neighborhood, some of the homeowners organized a protest to our presence. The new administrator invited them for a tour guided by handpicked students, catered by vocational food services, and entertained by a talent show with fancy sets made in my sign and display class. By the end of the day we had a new organization in town. The “Friends of Devereux” raise money, volunteer as reading tutors, come by for special events, and host affairs in the community for the kids.

I needed to prove that I was getting too old to do certain athletics. I tore my knee up in the process. I had two surgeries, and was out forever. I don’t think anyone believed I was coming back. When I finally did, my classroom (not in the new vocational center) had been emptied and reclaimed for an academic class.

WD Curry 111, “You’re kidding me, right?!”

Ms. Principal, “We really need you to take a CDD (Center for Developmentally Disabled) class until we can replace the teacher.”

WD, “Oh, no! That’s not my bag! I do better with the bad boys.”

Principal, “When I suggested you for the interim position, the therapists and teachers were unanimous in their approval.”

WD, “What about voc?”

Principal, “We reassigned your students months ago . . . there is no place for a new classroom right now.”

WD, “What other choices do I have?”

Principal, “You could take an involuntary layoff and collect unemployment.”

To my surprise I loved it. There was good therapeutic and staff support. The kids in my class were older and had grown complacent from years of the same ol’ same ol’. I held their feet to the fire and made them work. At first, the therapists wished I would back off. See, at Devereux, the kids can train you. They act out until you wear down and back off. I didn’t feel sorry for them. Helena Devereux said not to. I had them reading, writing and doing math at new levels. We would write fan letters to pop stars. They often responded with fan club kits. They used their best penmanship for Michael Jackson or Brittany Spears. Videos and music activities were great tools. I used the motivational system from the SED (severely emotionally disturbed) program instead of their CDD program that was designed for younger children. I saw a lot of improvement and a few breakthroughs. The therapists and staff got on board and helped me understand my students. Almost everyone had a good time. One speech pathologist was flabbergasted! I had her patient saying, “May I have another Nutterbutter peanut butter sandwich cookie, please?” (Will work for food)

Every morning, we went to the cafeteria for vocational training. It was something new for this group. We replaced chairs and tables moved by the night crew to mop the floor. We cranked up the sound system and everyone got a healthy snack. No one got to “bag out”. Even the most severe case of non-verbal autism had a job. He did it with excellence. He pushed chairs wherever he felt like they needed to go. It wasn’t much help (he could barely walk), but the esprit de corps was invaluable for one and all. We should work more like this in “real life”.

Then, I discovered the pool! I grew up as a competitive swimmer. I passed the Red Cross Sr. Lifesaving course at twelve. I surf. One of the therapists saw me with the class at the pool during a scheduled activity. She noticed things were going exceptionally well until it was time to return to class. She informed me that I could use the pool as much as I cared to as long as I had a lifeguard and plenty of sunscreen. I was a Devereux lifeguard and so were a couple of my regular staff. It was on!

Tyrell and Jamie were almost non-verbal. They were both autistic. They “functioned” well, but required a lot of coaxing. They loved the pool and would work hard to get there. It took them forever to change, but I wouldn’t let anyone help. I would stay back with them while the staff took the others out. They both got “stuck” while changing into their bathing suits. They were standing motionless in their briefs. I said, “You yahoos pull off your tightie-whities!” They busted out laughing! They weren’t supposed to be able to do that. They enjoyed standing around buck naked and twirling their underwear for a few minutes. They were doing their best to say tightie-whities. It would have been clearer . . . they were laughing too much. It became a running joke. Those two almost made me sorry that I taught them how to cut up and call each other Yahoos.

Justin was over eighteen, but there was nowhere else for him to go. He is autistic and difficult to deal with. He is so strong, that when he gets upset and his adrenaline is flowing, he can rip a steel door off of its hinges. The staff were afraid of him and his unpredictable mood swings. This is one reason I was in the class. I am gifted at “Physical Management”. Martial arts? Whatever. I could handle him alone. Also, I learned that I am gifted in meeting people on their own level and connecting with Love. Some folks don’t think so, but they don’t comprehend Love. It isn't always soft.

At pool time, Justin would stand in the corner and “self-stimulate” by splashing in one place over and over, and throwing water in his own face. I started goofing with him one day, and this game grew from our interaction. I taught the kids how to blow out air and shove it with your hands for a “Bubble Blast”. Justin will give me one, and dare me to catch him.

I don't know what is up with this funky program. If you could see this on my good computer . . . in my user friendly program, it would blow your mind. In this Quarky, European piece of junk, and a PC, it ain't the same. It is time to go California with the computers, folks!