5150 Involuntary Commitment
I Was Locked in Two Mental Wards in San Francisco, and I Was Diagnosed as Bipolar I
Strapped in a Bed, Singing “Redemption Song” and Getting Shot Up
In 2003, when I was still a lawyer, I flew back to New Mexico after my ordeal with the Minneapolis Police Dept. By this point, I missed all but half a day of meetings of lawyers that sued Microsoft for antitrust violations, in San Francisco, which I covered by phone. I still had a ticket for the redeye on Sunday, February 16, from San Francisco to New York for some meetings on BuSpar, the case. I have since become a patient, and several times I have taken generic buspirone for anxiety.
On Saturday, February 15, 2003, I flew to Oakland, California. I spent the night at the Park Hyatt. I hired a personal shopper to purchase some things I needed through the Hyatt’s concierge because my first wife threw me out of the house and changed the locks.
On Sunday, February 16, there was a major anti-war demonstration in San Francisco. I had spoken with the National Lawyers’ Guild attorney, Riva, about speaking at the rally. Given my previous encounters with the police, I had two bodyguards with me at the demonstration.
That morning, I flew my brother David up from Ontario to come to join me. I met my cousin Paul that morning, and he went to get David and join up us. They never did. By late afternoon, I never was allowed to speak at the rally. Also, I called Jet Blue, and due to the weather, my redeye was canceled.
Since February 17 is my brother’s birthday, I booked us a room at the Presidential Suite in the Mark Hopkins for $2,900. That night, my brother and I spoke with my mother on the phone. They thought that I was having an allergic reaction to my medications. We called my family doctor back in New Mexico on his cell phone. He told me to stop taking all psychotropic medications until I could see a psychiatrist. I planned with the Mark Hopkins to have a psychiatrist come to my room on Monday and visit David and me.
On Monday morning, I called one of the bodyguards and told him that I had his thermos and to please come on by for breakfast. Likewise, the personal shopper came by to have me try on some Brooks Brothers suits. We invited Paul. I called room service and ordered a Veuve Clicquot LeGrand Dame champagne bottle, lox, and bagel spread for 5 for breakfast. I was trying on suits. David was acting glum for his birthday, so I told him to go for a walk. Unbeknownst to me, he told the front desk that I was acting strange, and they called 911 from the lobby.
I was talking about having a press conference to announce my 2004 run for the Democratic nomination for President.
I was on the phone with my friend and financial consultant when I heard a knock on the door. I said, “come in.” In walked two paramedics and 5 police officers. I sat down in a chair in the far corner, wearing only my pajama pants and a t-shirt. I politely asked the police officers to leave. They refused.
I explained that this was my room, and they had no permission to be there or to search the place. They agreed. I said politely that the paramedics were adequate and they could leave. They refused. Given my experience with the Minnesota police a week or so earlier, I shouted, “God dammit! Get the Fuck out of here!”
At that point, the cops jumped me, threw me onto a sofa, cuffed me, and strapped me to a wheel bed. I demanded water for the next 45 minutes and was given none. I was injected with several psychotropic drugs, including large doses of Haldol. I stayed alert for 2 hours singing Bob Marley’s “Redemption Song,” Richie Haven’s “Freedom,” “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised,” and other songs of freedom and revolution. My mouth was parched.
I was admitted to Saint Francis Memorial Hospital in San Francisco. I still have a form titled “Involuntary Patient Advisement” according to section 5150, et seq., of the California Welfare and Institutions Code (the same “5150” that’s a Van Halen song title). On that form, RN Regina Glass found that I was “Gravely Disabled (unable to provide for your own food, clothing, or shelter). We feel this is true because you are manic. You are unable to give a reasonable plan of care.”
I was, therefore, to be held involuntarily for 72 hours. I believe that I must be the only guest at the Mark Hopkins who has been found to have been unable to provide food, clothing, or shelter. Remember, I had just ordered a $500 brunch from room service, and I was trying on Brooks Brothers suits. I later signed a medication consent form for Ativan, an addictive, anti-anxiety agent.
San Francisco’s mental hospital that had to take everybody was very colorful at St. Francis, I met a local who farmed psychedelic mushrooms. But it had that eerie “mental hospital sound” in the background — people shrieking, shouting, and acting out. Still, it was quite a shock coming from one of the most excellent hotel suites in town to peeing oneself in a strapped down bed in a charity mental hospital.
On February 18, I was transferred to St. Lukes Hospital because SF General found out I had private insurance coverage. The transfer is akin to going from a Motel 6 to a Holiday Inn. There, an RN with an illegible signature also found me “Gravely disabled.” This RN said that “P[atien]t was brought in by paramedics after being picked up by police at Mark Hopkins Presidential Suite. P[atien]t was reportedly violent and aggressive.” Apparently, yelling at the police while sitting unarmed in a chair in my pajamas is “violent and aggressive.” If you are in the behavioral health profession, please explain this to me.
I met the drummer from a local rock band, who had checked himself in for depression, so that was fun. That night I was administered a pill beginning with the letter G, against my will. It felt like I had been given a frontal lobotomy. I joked that I felt like Jack Nicholson. I entertained myself the next day by reading a biography of Richard Nixon and some sections from the newspaper.
On February 19, my mother flew in from Tampa. She was with me when I was finally seen by a psychiatrist, Dr. A. Grinberg. He noted that for a manic psychotic, I had made tremendous improvement in a short time. He discharged me and prescribed Klonopin, another highly addictive anti-anxiety pill, as the only psychotropic medication. Mom was a little surprised that I had a bodyguard pick us up and take us to the Fairmont, but I think she later understood why I did that. We spent a relaxing evening on February 19 at the Fairmont. We went out for Chinese food. The following day, we flew back to Albuquerque.
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