CBS newsman's wife talks of disease's toll on others The man who faced down presidents, mobsters, despots and stars was strangely withdrawn.
He hesitated to enter a restaurant for fear of what people would think. He resisted social engagements. If the woman he loved suggested that he get up in the morning, he would tell her to mind her own business. He argued, criticized and complained.
"It was like there was some huge, thick cloud over everything," she said, looking back on the autumn of 1984. "You'd walk in the door and it was like, boom! Nothing happy went on, or fun."
It would soon become apparent that CBS newsman Mike Wallace was suffering his first bout of clinical depression. He would eventually get help, and the cloud would lift.
But when the symptoms first struck, neither he nor Mary Yates, the longtime friend who in another two years would become Mary Wallace, had any idea what was wrong. And like so many spouses, friends, sons and daughters, she assumed she was to blame.
"I'd never been with a person who was depressed," she said Tuesday, a few hours before addressing the 20th annual symposium on mood disorders at the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine. "I was flying alone in a new place."
A former television producer with blunt observations about life, Mary Wallace, 77, visited Hopkins to share a family member's perspective on depression. It's a disease that afflicts 18 million adults in any given year, according to the National Institute of Mental Health. But the figure doesn't begin to capture its impact.
"Like severe forms of cancer, the illness affects the whole family," Dr. J. Raymond DePaulo Jr., director of psychiatry at Hopkins, said in his introduction.
Now an advocate for the direct and indirect victims of mental illness, Mary Wallace serves on the board of the National Alliance for Research on Schizophrenia and Depression. Her husband participates with her in fundraising events and has spoken widely about his illness in hopes of helping others.
And although she doesn't seek the attention, she does speak occasionally about the things she has learned about caring for - and coping with - a depressed person.
She learned that the disease isn't anyone's fault, that it's useless to argue with someone whose thinking is distorted, and that you can't help a depressed person if you are not taking care of yourself. Above all, she said, she learned that the best thing you can do is make sure the person gets proper care.
"They have to go for professional help and take medication," she told the Hopkins audience. "And if they don't behave, you have to leave."
"Not him," she added, sensing the audience was beginning to squirm. "You leave the room."
Learning to cope did not come easily. Mike Wallace's first depressive episode came at a time when his professional integrity was under assault. Gen. William Westmoreland, the former U.S. commander in Vietnam, had sued the newsman and CBS over a documentary that claimed the general's intelligence apparatus had deliberately low-balled enemy troop strength to bolster the public's sagging confidence in the war.
"I was on trial for my life because it was my credibility and everything I stood for," Mike Wallace said in a telephone interview last week.
Although he had experienced low periods like anyone else, he said, suddenly he found himself plunging into a darkness that was foreign and without definition. "You feel helpless and hopeless," he said. "Insecurity, low self-esteem, tears, the works."
He had a hard time concentrating, and this made it hard to conduct the confrontational interviews for which he was famous. The very act of formulating questions and staying on top of people's responses became a struggle.
"You're thinking more about yourself than about the questions," he said.
Seeking help, Mike Wallace consulted his general practitioner, who didn't recognize the problem as clinical depression and instead told him to live up to the tough guy of his public image. Mary Yates knew something was terribly wrong. But what?
"It's like he was a different person," she said. "But you think you're crazy yourself because you don't know what to do."
The two had known each other for most of their adult lives. She and her first husband, television journalist Ted Yates, were close friends of Wallace and his wife, Lorraine. Then, in 1967, Ted Yates was filming a report during the Arab-Israeli War when he was shot in the forehead and killed.
In 1984, after the Wallaces decided to divorce, Mike Wallace and Mary Yates grew closer. They moved in together and began to share a life. She knew him as energetic, interesting, charming and fun.
But suddenly, he was anything but that.
"If we were going to meet people for dinner, he wanted to walk around the block a few times before going in," she said.
He would complain about the food she cooked. He would bark at her to curtail her phone conversations, certain that somebody was trying to reach him.
"It had been going on for weeks, and I kept thinking, 'It's a new life for me. I have to learn. I'll make it all right, which of course I can't. I'll start doing things differently.'"
Meanwhile, the two trudged daily to a Manhattan courthouse for the dreary Westmoreland trial. He would sit at the defense table, and she would hunker down in the spectator's section next to Westmoreland's wife, Katherine, with whom she became friendly.
"She was remarkable. ... Then she'd come home with me and cook dinner," said Wallace, who recently announced his retirement from 60 Minutes at the age of 87.
"And she'd listen to my boring complaints about how bad I felt. I was a charmer, I was."
Looking for answers, Mary began meeting with about a half-dozen female friends whose husbands were displaying similar symptoms. They even hired a psychiatrist, who helped them understand the nature of depressive illness and the innocence of loved ones who sometimes feel responsible.
Then one night, Mike Wallace collapsed. Though he credits Mary with putting him in the hospital, she says he insisted, even though he still had no idea what was wrong. "He was so desperate that he'd do anything," she said.
He spent 10 days in the hospital, where he began taking an antidepressant that made his mouth dry and hands shake. But several weeks later, his gloom began to lift. He says the antidepressant helped - along with the psychiatric care he finally received. But so, too, did an unexpected change in his life: with the trial going poorly for Westmoreland, the dejected general dropped the suit.
The newsman would eventually suffer two relapses, both when he decided to stop taking his medication. (He now advises people to stay on them.) He also says events in his life may have played a role in the relapses: a broken wrist suffered during a tennis match and his 75th birthday.
But now, Mike Wallace says he has enjoyed more than a decade free of symptoms.
He also benefited from the support of two friends, columnist Art Buchwald and writer William Styron, both of whom battled serious bouts of depression. For a while, the three billed themselves as the "Blues Brothers," speaking to groups about their struggles. All three have been featured separately at the annual Hopkins symposium.
As for her own coping strategies, Mary Wallace says they are simple and few. "You make sure he goes to the doctor and you set boundaries," she said. "Yelling is not allowed. I hate being yelled at. I hate being criticized for something I didn't do."
Dr. Karen Swartz, director of clinical programs at the Hopkins mood disorders center, echoes one of Mary Wallace's key observations: It does no good to debate someone whose illness has distorted their perceptions.
"I repeat as a mantra," Swartz said. "'This isn't accurate. Your thoughts are being distorted by depression. You will not think that once you get better.'"
Families, she added, "are not responsible for cheering the person up." But they can help by providing structure in the difficult weeks or months it can take for medications to take effect. They can encourage their loved one to get out of bed, shower, eat, get enough sleep and exercise.
They can also set modest goals: watching a half-hour television show rather than a feature-length movie, dinner with a friend rather than a room full of people.
Mary Wallace also discovered the importance of taking care of herself. She developed a large circle of friends, took ski trips and engaged in other activities she enjoys.
"It's like being on an airplane," she said. "You put on your oxygen mask before you put it on your baby. You have to take care of yourself before you can be of any help to him."
These strategies, along with the professional help her husband received, played roles in keeping the marriage not just intact, but vital, she said.
And there was something else.
"I really love Mike and he loves me," she said. "It's a true love. When he gets like that, I still love him. I may not like him too much, but I love him."