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The Arkansas Democrat-Gazette

February 3, 2002

Reprinted with permission. Copyright 2002 by The Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. All rights reserved.


EDITORIAL
The voices finally stop. But at what cost?

"But the voices in Louis Peyton's head were stronger than those of his family.
It's time our laws recognized as much. Before he died, Louis Peyton left a suicide
note saying he was helping his son by taking him to heaven. We should
have tried harder to help them both--while they were still here on earth."

DAY AFTER DAY all of central Arkansas was searching for Louis Peyton and his five-year-old son, Luke. You could see the fliers on any streetcorner, posted in any restaurant. The photo of the boy was inked onto a sheet of white paper. Just like in the newspapers. The story was familiar: Thirty-five-year-old Louis Peyton suffered from paranoid schizophrenia. And he'd stopped taking his medication. He had picked up his son from school and disappeared. You knew what could happen, though you prayed it wouldn't. Then it did, and something went hollow in the pit of your stomach.     

On Sunday, January 27, the news came. Louis Peyton had killed himself near some woods in Perry County. And he'd killed his son, too. Questions remain about those last days. We don't know what was in Louis Peyton's mind during the final hours. But we know it was something he seemed unable to control. At least not without the help of doctors.  

FOUR AND A HALF million Americans suffer from severe mental illness--brain disorders like schizophrenia and manic-depression. Despite Hitchcockian lore, most are as gentle as the local librarian, wanting mostly to be left alone. We should be more worried about the guy who's drained one too many beers at the bar. But if somebody with psychosis stops getting the medical help he needs, he can become violent. He may turn on himself, or maybe his closest friends. Even family.    

It was in 1985 that Louis Peyton first began speaking of the voices in his head. They were being wired in through transmitters in his clothes. He was told he'd been genetically groomed to become president of the United States. He was to rid the world of drugs. But he should be careful. There was a plot against him, people were watching.    

Louis' parents tried to help their son. He was taken to a doctor and put on medication. That seemed to help. But in 1986 he quit taking his medicine. The following spring, Louis' parents came home to find their son lying in the street, hallucinating. He told them he had joined the FBI. His orders were coming through a television set.    

Louis Peyton was put back on medication in 1987. Again, he quit. There wasn't anything anybody could do. Arkansas law doesn't require somebody to get medical help unless he presents a "clear and present danger" to himself or others. Which can be hard to prove.    

OF THE MILLIONS suffering from the harshest brain disorders, about 40 percent - nearly 2 million - aren't getting proper treatment. Many refuse help because they don't understand - don't believe - they're sick. Doctors have a term for this: anosognosia, literally, a "lack of knowledge." The part of the brain that distinguishes the real from the imaginary is shut down. There's no longer a dividing line. Voices from a blackened television set can be as real as the voice of an old friend drifting in from the porch.    

After quitting his medication in 1988, 22-year-old Louis Peyton made plans to drive down to Dallas, where he would meet up with fellow CIA operatives. He put a gun in his truck, hid another in his microwave. Things had gotten complicated, the conspiracy against him more dangerous. He was being followed by a man who hid in the shadows. He was certain the stranger was the Devil. Louis asked his best friend, Jeff Weller, to help him escape. Instead, Mr. Weller called Louis Peyton's parents. By the time they arrived, Jeff Weller was dead. Louis Peyton had shot him twice, once in the back and again in the head. Then Louis had gone back home to prepare for his trip to Texas.     When he was arrested, Louis Peyton was surprised to learn his friend was dead. He thought he'd only freed his friend's spirit from the devil that had taken possession of Jeff Weller's body. When asked how he felt now that Jeff was dead, Louis Peyton said it was the right thing to do. "It had to be done," he said. "I'd do it again." Nobody can say we weren't warned.     

In an observation cell that night, Louis recognized the man from the shadows in the cell across from his. He was being watched. He grew suspicious of the nurses who came to see him. He refused medication. Everything was closing in.   

AFTER A BRIEF stay at the State Hospital, a miracle: Louis Peyton was declared cured. Well, sufficiently cured to stand trial. A jury convicted him, and sentenced him to ten years in prison. After doing his time, he was discharged--a free man.    

Despite his history, there were no requirements that Louis Peyton stay on medication. He was free to do what he wanted. His parents tried to make sure he saw his doctor and took his pills, but, by law, nobody could insist on it. Only Louis Peyton could make that decision. Unless he presented a "clear and present danger." Which is just what happened in the winter of 1988. And again last week. But by then it was too late for anybody to prevent what would happen.    

E. Fuller Torrey, a doctor who specializes in schizophrenia, says Arkansas' clear-and-present-danger law is useless. "What does it mean?" he asks. "That someone has to have a gun to his head, or to somebody else's?" It's clear what needs to be done in cases like Louis Peyton's. The state should be able to step in and require potentially dangerous patients to get treatment - consistently, long-term, with a nurse watching. That job shouldn't be left to a patient who can't even realize he's sick.    

An order to get treatment doesn't require commitment to a hospital these days. With new outpatient clinics, and advances in medicine and therapy, a patient may be able hold down a job and live at home. Just so long as he sees his doctor--or somebody who'll make sure he's following his treatment. Whether that means pills, therapy or a combination of the two.    

For too long, requiring treatment for people with severe brain disorders was seen as discrimination, possibly punishment, an infringement of their civil liberties. Meanwhile, the sick were left to suffer. And inflict suffering on others. Five-year-old Luke Peyton had rights, too. He had a right to live. And what about his father, Louis? Shouldn't he have been able to expect that the rest of us - the state - would see that he got help? And that his hand would be stayed before he took his son's life?    

States like Wisconsin and Maine seem to think so. They're revising their laws to take the patient's history into account. Has he refused treatment in the past? Did his going off medication ever result in violent behavior? Then he needs help. And monitoring.    

Why doesn't Arkansas adopt a similar law? "You won't find many people with a stronger history than Louis Peyton's," says Doctor Torrey. "It raises a question in my mind: Who's really psychotic here?"     

LAST WEEK, for at least the third time, Louis Peyton quit taking the medication that helped quiet the voices in his head. And again the results were tragic.    

His parents had done what they could. The doctors, too. Maybe even Louis Peyton himself. His pastor, his family, his friends . . . all note that Louis Peyton loved his son. Luke himself referred to his dad as his best friend.     

But the voices in Louis Peyton's head were stronger than those of his family. It's time our laws recognized as much. Before he died, Louis Peyton left a suicide note saying he was helping his son by taking him to heaven. We should have tried harder to help them both - while they were still here on earth.


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