The New Runaways: Old Folks

By John Leo

Nursing home residents break out, if only for a day or two

Chicago police call them "wanderers," "walkers" or "repeaters." They are old people--some depressed, some senile, some merely looking for action --who stray from nursing and rest homes all over the city. In the past two years, 1,618 men and 802 women over age 65 have disappeared, if only for a few hours or a day or two. Says Arnold Levine, administrator of Chicago's Royal Gardens Nursing Center: "It's a very serious problem."

Most walkers are back within 24 hours after a minirebellion or a nostalgic trip to old neighborhoods. Says Royal Gardens Resident Arthur McShane, 75, who has been picked up six times in and around Chicago: "You get tired of it here. I go back to my old neighborhood because it's busy." A man who likes to ride trains often sneaks out; he was once picked up in Salt Lake City. An unmarried couple in their 70s escaped regularly for weekend flings, leaving separately and meeting at a Salvation Army center. Says the man: "It was something to look forward to."

Elsewhere the phenomenon is familiar, if not as widespread as in Chicago. In Somerville, Mass., Mother Genevieve of the Little Sisters of the Poor says old people sometimes get into a cab and give the driver the address of a home they lived in many years before. In 1979 Phyllis Murphy, 72, who lived in a nursing home in Hyannis, Mass., filed suit against Governor Edward King, demanding state support for old people who want to live outside such homes. "There's no privacy," she said. "Somebody's running in your room one minute to mop the floors, or to ask you questions." Last February she was finally able to move into her own apartment. In New York City, residents of homes in Queens wander off seeking stimulation--the roller coaster at Coney Island, the lights in Times Square--or simply conversation. Says Police Officer Thomas Chodakiewicz: "Many will come into the precinct just to talk. When they leave, they say, 'Thanks, we just wanted to be listened to.' "

For some, walking away is intended as a more permanent escape. George Donahue, 70, disappeared from his tidy retirement apartment at Chicago's Lawrence House a year ago, leaving behind his checkbook and credit cards but no note for his family. Police assume that he is alive and getting his Social Security checks at a new address. Under the Federal Privacy Act, Social Security officials are not allowed to divulge information on AWOL oldsters.

Nursing home patients have a right to sign themselves out on their own recognizance. Few do so. Some may be unsure of their rights. Others may be worried about alerting family members who want to keep them safely tucked away.

Some escapees cannot function in the outside world but are desperate to try. One wheelchair case, angered that his family would not remove him from his nursing home, broke out and was found dead in the Chicago River. But many are streetsmart, eluding police for long stretches, sometimes cadging up to six meals a day at various social agencies.

"The runaways," says Chicago Police Officer Guy Neubert, a missing-persons specialist, "are often loners who cannot handle institutional living. They have been self-reliant and suddenly everything is done for them. They have nothing to do, and they want out." In most institutions an inmate receives only $25 to $30 a month from Social Security benefits and other income, while the home gets the rest. Out on the street, he has no bed or home, but he may have independence and a Social Security check for about $300.

To restrain runaways who are too fragile to survive on the outside, Administrator Edward Farmilant of Chicago's Somerset nursing home gave the front door guard pictures of 36 patients who might make a break for it. "I may be violating their civil rights," he says, "but many would be in danger on the streets." Administrators often see a breakout coming. Says Levine: "When residents get very quiet, we know they are thinking about leaving." Levine stopped one repeater by simply converting him from prisoner to guard. Now he is an "underground security agent" who watches the back door to see that no one slips out.

Friction between patients and their nurses may also account for the impulse to escape: the helpless elderly see the nursing staff as bored and grudging; though many nurses are heroically selfless, some think of themselves as stuck at the bottom of their profession. "Nurses who work in nursing homes traditionally have been stigmatized by their professional peers," says H. Terri Brower, a professor of nursing at the University of Miami's School of Nursing. Says Ruth Tappen, another professor at the school: "Nurses are not interested in working in nursing homes. They don't want to go near the places." In a study of 581 nurses working in southern Florida, Brower found that most of her subjects had no special training in gerontology. Many admitted that they had come to actively dislike the old, a feeling that grew more intense the more they worked in geriatrics. Those who spent 75% or more of their time caring for old people had the most negative attitudes about them; the most positive views were held by nurses who managed to avoid spending any time with the elderly patients. Brewer's data seem to suggest that even within the subprofession of caring for the old, the higher the nurses' status the less time they spend with their patients. Nursing schools, Brower says, are not doing enough to prepare their graduates for the graying of America. --By John Leo. Reported by Patricia Delaney/Chicago, with other U.S. bureaus

With reporting by Patricia Delaney, other U.S. bureaus

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