Sunday morning in Salt Lake City, whenfaithful Mormons flock to worshipat neighborhood wards, my father'ssecret psychiatric patients slip insidethe back door of 508 East South Temple,for fifty-five-minute appointments.A nurse impersonator, I greet them,steer them into the doctor's office,return Atlas Shrugged. We mightargue car, but on arrival fatherand team up. He exchanges his suitjacket for ...