This is the story of the mental institution. It is not a literary symphony. It is not a glorious tale that will thrill the human heart with fancies of man’s conquests; nor will it quicken the pulse with triumphs over evil. It is an ugly story of man’s failure; and the undeserved suffering that springs from it. It is a dissonance of tangled notes and broken chords – the blare of man’s neglect and apathy. But beyond this it is a plea for warmth and comfort, for love and understanding, for all the important little things that make for human dignity. It is written by one man, but it is shouted by many – the discouraged and deserted, the ill-treated and abused, the lonely in heart. It is the story of a mother wailing behind walls for a child she cannot see; of a punch-drunk invalid in a broken wheel-chair waiting it out while disease creeps up his spine. It is told between the twists and turns of the afflicted in their spastic fits. It is the lament of the thousands – sitting on wooden benches, alone, neglected, forgotten, society’s “missing men.”