Medicine: Psychiatry in Harlem

The big, stoop-shouldered doctor hurried down the steps to a dingy basement, borne of his Negro patients were already waiting for him. An ex-G.I. fidgeted in his chair, muttering: "Daid. . . . He's daid." A woman waited stonily, clutching her daughter with one hand and a note from school in the other. The doctor briskly pulled on a white coat and shot a rapid greeting at his youngest patient, a moon-faced ten-year-old: "Hello, Midgie, I hear you got a new football for your birthday." The boy grinned.

Dreams of Battles. The doctor put his arm around a patient's shoulder and ushered...

Want the full story?

Subscribe Now


Get TIME the way you want it

  • One Week Digital Pass — $4.99
  • Monthly Pay-As-You-Go DIGITAL ACCESS$2.99
  • One Year ALL ACCESSJust $30!   Best Deal!
    Print Magazine + Digital Edition + Subscriber-only Content on

Learn more about the benefits of being a TIME subscriber

If you are already a subscriber sign up — registration is free!