Traverse City State Hospital, Hall-18

About Me Read My Story Leading Page of Book Photos

The True Story Of Ron Larson & Hall-18, 1965-1971

When I was a child I was not so-called a nuisance to my parents, however back in the late 1960’s the term dyslexia had not been defined in medical history. Call it ignorance from the lack of knowledge that the world presented back then. Although, I was an average adolescent I was sent to a place where I could be “controlled. ”This begins my painful passageway to a portal back in time, that until recently I was ashamed to speak about, acknowledge, and cope with. It was a part of me, and a part of my childhood that I buried to spare myself from the agony of remembering the cold reality that occurred during my youth, and compromised my mortality immensely. I now have the courage to recall the events that so direly changed my life. I now seek to find the peace, and exalt myself from years of guilt, and shame. So begins my story… Ron Larson

I began my journey at the break of dawn. It was mid January in 1965, and I was only 12 years old. Not quite old enough to understand what was really happening, but not young enough to realize that it would change my life forever. The sun was shining upon the new fallen snow, and shimmered as its newly shed light reflected off the vast white blankets that enveloped the earth. The road was a distant blur, caused by the enormous snowdrifts , and the blizzard that still had not ceased its rage. There was a strong lake effect storm that was pounding the coast of Western Michigan, and it was relentlessly unleashing itself as I traveled to my destination. It could have been considered a sign for things to come. Even though the heater was blowing full force, the backseat was a frigid abyss that overwhelmed me. The chill in the air would not be the last time that I would feel the bitter cold. It created an eerie sense in me that I still cannot forget. The compass in the car indicated that we were traveling north, and I could tell that my life would now involve this rigid climate. As I was gazing out the window to my left I saw a lone buffalo, standing in the field, covered with snow. It was then that my heart stopped, and I realized that it would be a long time before I ventured this way again, where buffalo roam.

The Story-Book Was Never Written