Those of you that are regular, semi-regular, and “I promise, it was just that one time” readers of these essays, might have noticed a several week absence of my thoughts and words. There is an explanation – I’m not saying it’s a good explanation, but it is an explanation.

If you were granted the opportunity to travel on an expedition with no time constraints, agenda, destination, or purpose – would you do it? If one of the goals of this sojourn was to purge yourself of the hazy film that living life by the rules tends to deposit on one’s being – would you do it? If the only other goal was to connect with new and past (but not quite forgotten) experiences – would you do it? If the only rules of this road trip were to follow speed limits, stay off interstate highways and make all Decisions of Consequence by the flip of a coin – would you do it?

I did it. I tossed two suitcases of clothing (one bag for warm weather and one bag for cool weather), a small cooler full of bottled water, an industrial sized can of trail mix, a 2002 Rand McNally Road Atlas (no GPS navigation systems – all old school), and a magnifying glass (to read the road atlas – my eyes aren’t what they used to be) into my pretty red pickup truck and headed on down the highway. What follows is the official account of the “2018 Purge and Connection Tour” (T-Shirts and CDs will be available in the lobby after the show).

There is a problem with beginning a trip that has no destination – how do you know if you are going in the right direction? As I began to travel away from the Center of the Universe, I discovered several small towns that I have heard about during weather forecasts, but have never had a reason for visiting. I may never have a reason for going back to those towns, but I will know where they are when I am told they are getting a foot of snow.

Eventually, I found myself in Logansport, Indiana – my birthplace. I have no memories of this city, situated at the junction of the Wabash and Eel Rivers, as I was only a year old when my family moved away. However, as I approached the city limits I said to myself, “Hey, I was born here – in the insane asylum.”

Three important things to consider (1) Yes, I did talk to myself like that, (2) the Logansport State Hospital was founded July 1, 1888, as the Northern Indiana Hospital for the Insane and is Indiana’s oldest operating psychiatric hospital and (3) as I understand it, also within the grounds was a general hospital facility – I was probably born there, and not in the actual asylum (some folks see humor in stating that I was born in the “crazy house,” as if that explains something).

The original administration building is an impressive Victorian structure, reminiscent of every scary movie about clueless teenagers in an abandoned insane asylum. I parked my pretty red pickup and walked around the empty buildings, snapping pictures and envisioning what this place was like a mere 65 years ago.

About three minutes into my first connection with my earliest moments, I was interrupted by a really old guy in a tricked out golf cart. I knew he was a really old guy because his opening comment was, “What the hell ya’ doing, taking pictures up here, young fella?”

As it turns out, the Logansport State Hospital is not a tourist destination. It is against federal law to take pictures of empty buildings on the same grounds as buildings incarcerating the criminally insane. Who knew? I didn’t!

I was given a very quick (and less than polite) escort off the grounds.

Only a couple of hours into my sojourn and I was already in trouble with the law.