Linda's Story: Inside the Mysterious World of Amnesia
By Sandro Contenta
In early September a woman known only as 'Linda' walked into a Toronto homeless shelter. She was well-dressed, without identification and completely lost to herself. Within weeks, police launched a continent-wide search to find out who she was. Toronto Star reporter Sandro Contenta stumbled onto Linda's story in a small news entry, and embarked on a quest that would lead him deep into the science of memory and its loss. Linda's Story is a fascinating investigation into the mysterious workings of the human brain.
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By Sandro Contenta
In early September a woman known only as 'Linda' walked into a Toronto homeless shelter. She was well-dressed, without identification and completely lost to herself. Within weeks, police launched a continent-wide search to find out who she was. Toronto Star reporter Sandro Contenta stumbled onto Linda's story in a small news entry, and embarked on a quest that would lead him deep into the science of memory and its loss. Linda's Story is a fascinating investigation into the mysterious workings of the human brain.
When you subscribe to Star Dispatches, you'll receive new eRead titles, for only $1/week. That's only $1 per week, with a minimum subscription period of 1 month, to explore news and features from a new and unique perspective. Single copies of Star Dispatches eReads can be purchased for $2.99 at starstore.ca or itunes.ca/stardispatches
Excerpt:
Linda's Story: Inside the Mysterious World of Amnesia
On a hot and humid day in early September this year, a neatly dressed middle-aged woman walked into a crowded shelter for the homeless in downtown Toronto. All she had with her was a jealously guarded tote bag filled with scraps of paper, a bottle of water, a map of Toronto bus routes and a wallet with a $20 Canadian bill. She had no ID.
The shelter was full, so the next day she was sent to Heyworth House on Danforth Ave. in the city's east end, an emergency shelter with 70 beds and links to agencies that help with mental health problems. For three weeks the woman followed the shelter's rules and routines. She was free to come and go, but didn't leave the building much. One day someone stole her tote bag and its miserable contents. She rarely spoke and remembered almost nothing.
After failing to confirm her identity, staff called police. The report of a woman with no memory landed on the desk of Det. Roger Caracciolo, a broad-shouldered 43-year-old with a shaved head and 13 years of police experience. He was skeptical. "Is this person faking it?" he wondered. "Is she running away from a bad marriage? Is she running away from someone's abuse? Or has she done something that is so egregious that she just has to get away from it all?
"I mean, I haven’t heard of this, and I've investigated a lot of things," he said.
Caracciolo went to the shelter early on Oct. 3, 2012. He met a woman he guessed was between 55 and 60 years old. She wore the clothes she had the day she appeared, including a pink bandana holding back blond, shoulder-length hair. Nothing about her suggested she made shelters or the street her home. She looked to Caracciolo like she had "walked out of a Second Cup in a downtown trendy neighbourhood."
"We're looking at very nice, clean, slip-on leather shoes, white ankle socks, black capris — not faded black capris, not ripped black capris, not tattered black capris, but black capris — a fitted Old Navy jacket — not one that I found in a dumpster or that I stole from the person next to me on the (shelter) bed, but a fitted Old Navy jacket. And a nice T-shirt underneath," he continued.
"Her nails — I'm not going to say they're manicured, but they're not weathered in any way. Eyebrows done. Nice glasses; I'd almost say designer glasses. And a very nice watch."
He also detected what seemed to be a hint of refinement: the woman preferred lemon in her tea. But something was off. Her blue eyes seemed empty and her voice was weak. "Within six seconds," Caracciolo said, he suspected she had mental health troubles. The woman didn't know what day it was, where she came from or what city she was in. She didn't remember the summer Olympics or the 9/11 terror attacks on the United States. "I don't know" or "I don't remember" was pretty much all she would say.
The shelter was full, so the next day she was sent to Heyworth House on Danforth Ave. in the city's east end, an emergency shelter with 70 beds and links to agencies that help with mental health problems. For three weeks the woman followed the shelter's rules and routines. She was free to come and go, but didn't leave the building much. One day someone stole her tote bag and its miserable contents. She rarely spoke and remembered almost nothing.
After failing to confirm her identity, staff called police. The report of a woman with no memory landed on the desk of Det. Roger Caracciolo, a broad-shouldered 43-year-old with a shaved head and 13 years of police experience. He was skeptical. "Is this person faking it?" he wondered. "Is she running away from a bad marriage? Is she running away from someone's abuse? Or has she done something that is so egregious that she just has to get away from it all?
"I mean, I haven’t heard of this, and I've investigated a lot of things," he said.
Caracciolo went to the shelter early on Oct. 3, 2012. He met a woman he guessed was between 55 and 60 years old. She wore the clothes she had the day she appeared, including a pink bandana holding back blond, shoulder-length hair. Nothing about her suggested she made shelters or the street her home. She looked to Caracciolo like she had "walked out of a Second Cup in a downtown trendy neighbourhood."
"We're looking at very nice, clean, slip-on leather shoes, white ankle socks, black capris — not faded black capris, not ripped black capris, not tattered black capris, but black capris — a fitted Old Navy jacket — not one that I found in a dumpster or that I stole from the person next to me on the (shelter) bed, but a fitted Old Navy jacket. And a nice T-shirt underneath," he continued.
"Her nails — I'm not going to say they're manicured, but they're not weathered in any way. Eyebrows done. Nice glasses; I'd almost say designer glasses. And a very nice watch."
He also detected what seemed to be a hint of refinement: the woman preferred lemon in her tea. But something was off. Her blue eyes seemed empty and her voice was weak. "Within six seconds," Caracciolo said, he suspected she had mental health troubles. The woman didn't know what day it was, where she came from or what city she was in. She didn't remember the summer Olympics or the 9/11 terror attacks on the United States. "I don't know" or "I don't remember" was pretty much all she would say.
