It took a little while for the news to find me. The Charter-Heights in Albuquerque closed in mid-March. For those who didn't know about Charter, it was a collection of treatment centers for people suffering from every problem psychologists could diagnose. For those who don't know me, I worked almost two years as a Child Care Worker for Charter.

The label Child Care Worker never really explained what the job entailed. Enforcer, confidant, bouncer, hall monitor, buddy, nurse, psychologist--all part of the job. I worked at Charter's Residential Treatment Center in the Southeast Heights where committed kids ranging from four to 18 lived twenty-four hours a day. Charter did not discriminate the kinds of patients it accepted. Bi-polar, paranoid schizophrenic, sexually hyperactive, chronically depressed, attention deficit disorder, bouts of uncontrolled aggression, delusion, or just plain unstable. Labels upon labels. Most of the kids dabbled in three or four different categories to stay unique.

I worked the evening shift, 2:30-11:00. Although I never went past on-call status, they scheduled me in for three to five shifts a week. I was very excited and fascinated in the beginning. Less than a year out of college and I was putting on of my degrees (psychology) to good use.

Charter wasted no time throwing me into the fire, putting me on the dreaded Unit 1. These were five to eight-year-old kids who seemed to be connected to the same vein. If one child had an outburst, three or four more would follow suit to make sure they received as much attention. I learned how to do blanket wraps on my first day. This consisted of laying down two thick wool blankets and rolling small kids up tightly to where only their head could be seen sticking out of the top. If a young child was aggressively trying to attack the staff, other patients or themselves, they got wrapped.

It wasn't long before I moved to what would be my most consistent unit, Unit 4. Charter had six units which could hold twelve to fifteen kids on each. Unit 4 consisted of preteen boys and girls who for a variety of reasons could not function in society. Every child presented different symptoms and emotions, and the staff had to discover what was the best way to deal with each patient. Our job was to keep the kids on a schedule. Art time, rec. time, dinner time, hygiene time, expression time, free time, bed time.

Although each child had unique problems, the reasons for their plight were predictable. Almost every child came from a one-parent family and were neglected. These kids who needed extra attention were left to fend for themselves and failed.

After working a year, I had learned how to handle every case that came through the door. A six year old with a mood disorder, an abandoned twelve year old, a hoodlum fifteen year old with two kids of his own, a suicidal sixteen year old girl. I took them as they came. I treated them with respect when they were good, and I punished them when they broke the rules.

I rolled kids up in blankets. I held kids in basket holds. I made sure kids took their medication. I locked kids in cinder block cells. I strapped kids down to metal beds in five point restraints.

I joked around with kids. I watched movies with kids. I played psychologist when kids expressed their issues and feelings. I hugged kids at bed time.

As the job wore on, I began to break down. What started out as four or five shifts a week became two or three. I decided it was better to be poor than go crazy. Every day was guaranteed at least one crisis, if not five or six. Kids I cared about would leave, only to be replaced with a new child that had to go throw all of the growing pains of living inside a locked treatment center. I was told to fuck off more times than I'd like to remember, I had kids try to bite me, I was spit on.

I have never worked so hard at anything as the shifts I had at Charter. Physically, emotionally, mentally. They told me the burn out rate for mental health jobs was five years max. I lasted less than two. I'd like to say I made a difference, and in the short term, I did. But we sent these kids back to the environment that help ruin them in first place. The gratification was fleeting.

Charter began going downhill when the State of New Mexico switched its insurance policy on mental health. Many patients no longer had the proper coverage and were forced to leave. Charter responded by cutting back its staff, and an understaffed mental health facility was a recipe for disaster. One night a twelve year old boy sneaked into a girl's room and had sex with her. The juvenile delinquent unit rioted with the graveyard staff about a half an hour after my shift ended one night. Charter's license was suspended.

The Residential Treatment Center limped on for a year and half after I stopped picking up shifts, but it never recovered from a string of bad incidents. Now when I drive by the building, the night lights are still on but nobody's home.

I still wonder how the lost young man I was made it through those years.

Chris Jungle had jobs caring for dogs, the homeless and dysfunctional kids. There were many similarities.