Donelle’s voice was silenced by circumstances beyond her control—a tragedy that reflects our society’s failure to protect its most vulnerable members. Born into a family where neglect and poor choices created conditions ripe for exploitation, she became a victim of sexual abuse at the tender age of six, setting in motion a lifetime of trauma that our systems were ill-equipped to address.
Her mother Marlene, herself a product of brokenness, married Donald Flick in 1954. While Don worked tirelessly at the Crown Zellerbach paper mill to provide for his family, Marlene’s choices during his absence created dangerous situations for her children. The parties she hosted, filled with alcohol and unmarried men, left her young children exposed to predators. It was during these gatherings that Bud Barr, a man with a history of child abuse, targeted six-year-old Donelle repeatedly.
When Marlene’s marriage to Don ended, she made the devastating decision to marry her children’s abuser. For the next decade, Donelle lived under the constant threat of assault, though family members later confirmed that safeguards were eventually put in place. However, the psychological damage was profound and irreversible.
The instability continued as Marlene moved from relationship to relationship. After divorcing Bud in 1973, she began seeing Tom, a coworker from Parker Furniture. When Donelle graduated, both Marlene and Tom insisted she leave home, attempting to transfer responsibility to her father. Don’s new wife, Alice, initially tolerated the arrangement but eventually demanded Donelle’s removal just as she was receiving treatment for schizophrenia.
Faced with a young woman suffering from severe mental illness, Donelle’s family was prepared to abandon her to homelessness. This crisis forced me to leave my own family home in 1974 to provide the protection and support her biological family had refused to give. I was to give up my full ride scholarship to the US Air Force and abandon the ROTC program at the University Of Portland as a result. I began to work at the US Postal Service while attempting to get my engineering degrees, but it was too overwhelming for me to balance all of the demands.
Phase 2: A Brief Hope
Donelle’s brothers Terry and Keith provided a lot of friendship and family support from 1974-1979, and their stabilizing presence in our life was invaluable. Our marriage in September 1979 represented a moment of hope. Donelle had stabilized with new medications and was excelling in her culinary studies at PCC Sylvania campus. For a time, it seemed the nightmare might be over. However, the fragility of her recovery became apparent when a seemingly small betrayal—her sister-in-law’s broken promise to let her babysit—triggered the most devastating breakdown of her life.
By January 1980, Donelle was again experiencing the full horror of paranoid schizophrenia. Her cries of “I am controlled!” reflected a mind under siege, though she could never articulate the source of her torment. The disease stole her sleep, filled her with imagined sounds of torture, and left her vulnerable to further exploitation.
During this vulnerable period, in which I moved to another apartment complex across the street to try to preserve my own sanity, my closest friend Dan, one of the two best men at our wedding, despite my explicit warnings, took advantage of Donelle’s compromised state. She awoke to find herself being sexually assaulted while unconscious from alcohol. This betrayal by someone we trusted demonstrates how society’s most vulnerable are repeatedly victimized by those who should protect them.
Though medications eventually stabilized Donelle enough for us to briefly reunite, the marriage could not withstand the cumulative trauma. We divorced in 1984, and Donelle eventually became homeless on Portland’s streets—another casualty of our inadequate mental health and social support systems. She would come into the public cafeteria at the US Postal Service, where I worked from 1975-1985, every night and cry, hoping that I would see her and give her some support and money. I was counseled by my employer to do something about Donelle, but my tool kit was empty at that point. Donelle was to be “rehabilitated” by a local mental health outreach program by late 1984, who found her temporary housing while securing disability income for her. I left my lifetime guaranteed job in 1985, giving myself some space from my troubled past before making some serious self-destructive decisions beginning in 1986.
Phase 3: The Power of Genuine Connection
My friendship with Sean Tucker, which began in 1972, represented something precious that Donelle rarely experienced: unconditional acceptance and spiritual connection. Sean’s presence in our lives provided stability and understanding, particularly during Donelle’s episodes of illness.
During a road trip in 1977, while Donelle struggled with another relapse, Sean and I wrestled with our helplessness in the face of her suffering. My desperate attempt to understand her experience through psychedelics, while misguided, reflected the profound desire many feel to bridge the gap between those suffering from mental illness and those who love them.
Sean’s eventual departure to military service and subsequent religious conversion meant the loss of another supportive presence in Donelle’s life, highlighting how those with mental illness often lose the very relationships that could provide healing.
Phase 4: Moments of Transcendence
In 1987, while making amends as part of my recovery program, I witnessed something extraordinary. Donelle was experiencing what appeared to be multiple personality disorder, but within this breakdown emerged profound moments of clarity. When I addressed the child within her—the six-year-old victim of abuse—we both experienced a cathartic recognition of her innocence and the injustice she had suffered.
Later in that visit, another presence emerged that spoke with wisdom and compassion, offering guidance that felt divinely inspired. This experience challenged my understanding of mental illness, suggesting that within the chaos of a broken mind, glimpses of transcendent truth might still emerge.
Phase 5: The Systemic Failures
By 1992, Donelle was confined at Fort Steilacoom Mental Hospital, her third commitment. The medications that were supposed to heal had instead ravaged her body—she had doubled in weight and could barely keep food down. The beautiful woman I had known was lost beneath the side effects of treatments that seemed to cause as much harm as healing.
This experience crystallized my growing skepticism of our psychiatric system’s approach to mental illness. The reliance on pharmaceutical interventions, while sometimes stabilizing symptoms, often failed to address the root trauma that drove the illness.
The mentally ill often exist in a liminal space where societal rejection compounds their suffering. Yet within their struggle lies profound wisdom about the human condition. Donelle’s journey, while tragic, revealed truths about love, forgiveness, and resilience that “normal” society rarely glimpses.
Our children deserve protection from the unconscious projections of damaged adults. Until we address the generational trauma that creates both victims and perpetrators, we will continue failing our most vulnerable members. Donelle’s story is not unique—it represents countless individuals whose potential was destroyed by preventable trauma.
True healing requires acknowledging that mental illness often stems from societal failures, not individual defects. We must create systems that protect children, support families, and provide genuine healing rather than mere containment.
Sharon (left) and my first wife Donelle, in 1993 after Donelles’s long-term stay in Fort Steilacoom mental hospital.
As Nelson Mandela observed, true freedom requires living in ways that enhance others’ freedom. For our most vulnerable citizens, this freedom begins with protection from those who would exploit their defenselessness.
