But one day she ran away, and Morrie was asked to help bring her back.
They tracked her down in a nearby store, hiding in the back, and when Morrie went in, she burned an angry look at him.
“So you're one of them, too,” she snarled. “One of who?” “My jailers.”
Morrie observed that most of the patients there had been rejected and ignored in their lives, made to feel that they didn't exist.
They also missed compassion—something the staff ran out of quickly.
And many of these patients were well-off, from rich families, so their wealth did not buy them happiness or contentment.
It was a lesson he never forgot. I used to tease Morrie that he was stuck in the sixties.
He would answer that the sixties weren't so bad, compared to the times we lived in now.
He came to Brandeis after his work in the mental health field, just before the sixties began.
Within a few years, the campus became a hotbed for cultural revolution.
Drugs, sex, race, Vietnam protests. Abbie Hoffman attended Brandeis.
So did Jerry Rubin and Angela Davis. Morrie had many of the “radical” students in his classes.
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