Stories From The Self-Help Therapeutic Community Movement - Hovels to Castles
This is a story about how Synanon acquired large white elephant properties that were rehabilitated into housing and community living spaces. The building rehab work provided the ongoing projects needed…
Hovels to Castles
“Learning is possible in an environment that provides information, the setting, the materials, resources and by his being there. God helps those who help themselves”
Excerpt from the Synanon Philosophy
In the early 60’s Synanon, the first member of the recovery revolution, was in full gear. Hollywood produced the first full length picture about this self-help folk therapy community where addicts were helping each other kick their habits. As LA elites began to embrace this novel self-help therapeutic upstart, many donated money, goods and services. This community support was used to create a sparse, yet drug-free positive environment that provided a lifestyle beyond the financial resources of the recovering residents.
White Elephants. There were three property acquisitions that facilitated Synanon’s urban expansion. The once prestigious Del Mar Club on Santa Monica Beach, used by the US Navy for housing during the second World War, was left in disuse during the 50’s. The famed Athen’s Athletic Club of the 30’s, located in downtown Oakland fell victim to white suburban flight. And the Dutch Boy Paint Factory was abandoned by National Lead Corporation in the 60’s like many industrial sites located at the edge of the San Francisco industrial district. The work of rehabbing these white elephants was fittingly left to this band of human lost causes. Building rehabilitation provided new jobs, new homes and new beginnings.
The conversion of a beach hotel, a men’s club and a factory into attractive housing, provided the renovation projects that launched the Synanon Trade School. Over several years, hundreds of apprentice carpenters, plumbers, electricians, carpet layers, painters, cooks and project managers developed employable skills. Veteran skilled residents, who made up the faculty, famously communicated their ethics in street-smart terms: “Get to work, newcomer. Do as I ask and just maybe you will learn something. In the meantime, all I want to see is teeth and fuzz.”
The Dutch Boy Paint Factory was a five-story all concrete structure. To maintain a good name with the San Francisco locals, Synanon hosted parties for the public every Saturday night. Saturday afternoon triggered a well-choreographed setup routine. Team A cleared the cafeteria lunch cart and dishes. Team B setup a presentation table directly in front of the open shafted warehouse elevator. Team C lined up eight rows of folding chairs. There was always a live band that could crank out at least three dance tunes. Once the setup was completed, all recovering residents took a shower, put on their best donated outfit and turned out to meet the public.
Beginning at six pm a metamorphic event could be observed. Recovering addicts, ex-cons, former burglars and prostitutes populated the former paint factory public hall to conduct themselves as if they were emissaries at a UN event. Smiling at every guest. Shaking hands, offering coffee and polite conversation.
Saturday Night Open House. At seven pm, the host would invite everyone to take seats for a presentation. After a newbie stood up to nervously read the philosophy, the host welcomed the guests and then proceeded to deliver an informal organizational quarterly report.
On one memorable Saturday night Joey B. was telling his story to the crowd about his dope fiend life on skid row in Detroit. Stealing, cheating, lying to friends and family, just to get a few dollars for that next fix. No dignity, little hope. A near death overdose was the wakeup call that landed this refugee on the doorstep, begging for help. Today was Joey B.’s 365th Clean Man Day. For one year he managed to wake up on time to put in a hard day’s work. If he ever slacked off, his rehabbing peers called him on his bad attitude. Like building new muscles in the will, Joey was feeling stronger. And although he still did not have all of the answers, he was learning. And, with a little help from his friends, he was acting-as-if life was worth living.
New beginnings. A second chance. A little choked up, he closed by saying, “I am just beginning believe that today, this day is the First Day of the Rest of my life. Thanks for listening.”
Teary-eyed guests clapped in congratulations and encouragement. It was always suspected that most in attendance had a friend, spouse or child who was a candidate for residency. What they wanted to know, “ is this place truly turning paupers into princes?”
Suddenly, there is a loud bang, like a gunshot echoing up the elevator shaft. Big Jim the director, calms the guests while signaling the band to play their first number. Jim pulls two guys aside directing them to investigate the downstairs commotion. While folding chairs are quickly rearranged around coffee tables, making room for a dance floor, the investigators descend into the caverns previously reserved for paint storage.
Because paint is quite flammable, Dutch Boy installed steel rolling fire doors strategically throughout this 60-year old factory. Due to the age, there was always a chance a door might, without announcement, roll down a few inches. On the second floor they found Doug Hurt (no pun intended), a nineteen-year old newcomer and missing band member, flat on his back like a boxer who was clocked in the sixth round. His forehead was bleeding profusely from his collision with a fire door. Not wasting time they wrapped a towel turban-style around young Hurt’s head. Doug starts to regain consciousness. Somewhat disoriented he blurts out, “I, I was teeth and fuzz, man. Honest. Just hustling to get my guitar for the party. What happened?”
Relieved he was not suicidal, they picked him up and as a threesome, staggered three blocks to San Francisco General Emergency Room. At the time it just seemed obvious that, although very enthusiastic, Doug did not seem to be the brightest bulb in the warehouse. That proved to be a great miscalculation.
They missed Joe B’s celebration. And furthermore lost track of Joey’s ongoing recovery. Statistically, most newcomers found the requirements of rehabilitation, too much to ask. The vast majority only stayed a few weeks.
But Doug Hurt (guitar player on the far right) was the exception. He received twenty stitches. Flash forward a few years and Doug was running the Synanon S.F. warehouse trucking operation. Next, he set out on a new path that lead him to law school. Fifty years later, he is still a practicing trial attorney who spends some of his free time helping families in need. Doug is a prince of a man and still a pretty good guitar player.
That is just another story from the annals of self-help central. Lesson learned. Putting recovering addicts to work, rehabbing abandoned white elephants can from time to time yield compound benefits.
A story from the Self-Help Therapeutic Community Movement
Recalled by Andre James
July 2020
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