F Troop

My mother and step-father met in a mental institution - they were not employed there! They were married before my fifth birthday. I have little recollection of the years leading up to their union, and I am not sure which "memories" are real and which have been placed in my mind by family members. In any event, they are relevant as they form the foundation of my intellect which has guided my decision making processes for the past 45 years. The "pre-history" I am about to relay is probably a combination of real memories and the actualization of recounted stories. Or, as my grandfather used to say, "If it ain't true, it ought to be."
My mother had married my father when she was 17, pregnant with me. I have been told she had mental issues from an early age, and that the marriage was an act of rebellion on her part. Evidently, they had four very tumultuous years. I have very few memories or images of my father, other than a tall man fishing with me. One memory, or pseudo memory came from my maternal grandmother. She told a few years later that I had saved my mother's life. She said I had gone into my parents' room to find my father putting pills into my mother's mouth as she lay unconscious. I asked him what he was doing and he told me he was saving her life. Evidently I went into the other room and called my grandmother extolling his deeds. She called the police and an ambulance, and my parents were divorced a short time later. Now I can visualize this event clearly in my mind, but the construction of the event seems far too mature for a child of 4 or 5. My mother had a breakdown and ended up in the aforementioned institution, and I don't think I saw my father again.
Meanwhile, up the road a bit, my step-father was having his own issues. My mother told me years later that he had come home to his family (wife and two kids), and flew into a violent rage. He began beating his wife, and in order to stop him, his brother came over and shot him in the leg with a rifle. He was divorced shortly thereafter. He was a large, violent alcoholic who suffered from his own demons. He ended up in the same hospital for different reasons.
My mother and step-father got together soon after arriving at the hospital, and I do remember visiting them both. On one occasion, we could not see him as he and his roommates had seized control of their dorm (a bloodless coup that was quelled quickly) and hung a sheet from a second story window with the words "F Troop" written on it. It was twenty or more years before I appreciated the irony of that metaphor.
What I have learned from that amusing gesture (a group of mentally ill men adopting the moniker of a slapstick sitcom) is that no matter how cute or poignant the manifestations of mental illness can be, they are never funny. The sometimes charming rogue who led his peers in revolt would become a real life entity in my life, and he brought no humor to me for the next twelve years.
So, the manic-depressive alcoholic met his depressed suicidal second wife, and the fun was about to begin.............