I am a Synanon survivor. I was inducted in late 1976 at the age of 14. I was taken there by my mother. I had been getting into minor trouble, nothing serious and ditching school frequently. She caught me smoking weed one day and freaked. Her friend, who was from Santa Monica, had heard that Synanon was a fantastic and successful organization.
The interview was brutal, with a half dozen or so people insulting and threatening me. They told me that right then I was a dope fiend and there was only one salvation-stay there for six months. They told me that if I ran away my mom would have me put into juvy. They proceeded to shave my head and made plans to ship me north to the Tomales Bay area. I was to enter what was called the "punk squad". I stayed there for several months.
The schedule was grueling. Up at 5 am to run five miles. Then we ate breakfast-usually a dry unsweetened whole grain mix. Then it was off to work. I usually had landscaping duty, which meant clearing brush at the bay facility, some 15 miles from where I lived. I worked until it was too dark to see. Then it was 20 minutes of fast paced step aerobics and then dinner. We often had to go to a game following dinner, which is an excellent recipe for a belly ache. I did not see a day of school while I was there, and neither did any of the other "punks". NOT ONE DAY. I have read some posts about Synanon kids going to school and was intrigued. Some of the kids from the school were occasionally sent to the "punk squad" for disciplinary reasons. These kids were usually more screwed up than the kids that came straight from the streets.
Friendships that formed between us dissolved quickly due to the "cop-out" games. They would wake us in the middle of the night, put us in the usual game circle, and tell us that we to confess our sins and and tell the group the sins that you know others had committed. These games typically lasted 36 to 72 or so hours, during which time we were not permitted to eat or sleep. This was pretty effective at breaking the will of most people there. I was not easy to break and led them to believe that I had bought into their scheme. I had committed some punishable offenses there, in fact many. During my first "cop-out" game, which took place about a month after I had arrived, my friend and confidante ratted me out for smoking. We could not get any cigarettes, so we smoked the dried tops of dock plants. Dock is harmless and does not get you high. We both had to wear a large sandwich sign for a week that read "I am so stupid I smoked weeds". I never trusted anyone there after that. During the following "cop-out" games I would keep my secrets to myself and invent small infractions that I knew would not get me into much trouble just to appease my tormentors.
I personally was never beaten at Synanon, but I had witnessed many beatings. Heaven help you if you were caught trying to escape. At about two months into my stay I saw a 14 YEAR OLD GIRL savagely beaten by adults. Two grown men took turns punching her in the face and gut. One of my friends was mercilessly beaten for 15 minutes for attempting suicide. These beatings were always public and the recipients were often stripped nude before the beating. We were always forced to witness these. We were always terrified but if it showed we were punished. Smaller scale violence was an everyday occurrance with us.
I was transferred to Badger, California. This is where most of the real trouble started. There were two facilities there. On one of those facilities the founder, Chuck Deterich, lived. I lived at the other. I was rewarded for being such a good boy. I learned quickly how to disguise my true feelings. At the six month mark I was looking forward to going home and getting the hell out of there. They informed me that my treatment was not complete and they convinced my mother to keep me there another 6 months. I cried in secret for a couple of weeks. I figured that if I could somehow contact my mom and enlighten her as to what really goes on here I had a chance of getting out. I stole a stamp and sneaked a letter out. My mom told them about it. From that point on they pretty much knew how I felt about that place and those people. There were some stories in the LA times about child abuse. I went home nearly exactly a year after I went in.
After having read some of the books here that claim that these "punks" were dealt with appropriately, I started thinking that maybe the main community was somehow sheilded from these crimes against children. We had games with the some of the elders and voiced our fear and disgust. Many were just as brutal as the sadistic bastards that were in charge of us. Most of those people in charge of us should have had criminal charges pressed against them. I specifically remember a man named Chauncey Davis. He forced one of the boys to give him oral sex and told him he would kill him if he said anything. This all came out when he split and was no longer a threat to the boy. The police were never contacted, of course, and that pervert walked scot free.
I have read some accounts by former members that tell tales of great happiness and togetherness. I knew some of these people and I believe that they are telling the truth. It was very different for the "punks" and I'm pretty sure that most of the addicts that were sentenced there at that time had a very bad experience. I could go on for many more paragraphs about the horrors I experienced there, but I won't right now.
I am doing well these days. I have a degree in environmental science and am gainfully employed. By the way, I still smoke weed. I never quit except for my stint at Synanon.
