The Sullivanians:Through a Blue Window ((c) 2019 shelley feinerman's Podcast

Personal Histories: The Group’s Collective Conscious

• shelley feinerman

Share episode

 The ‘group’ was self-monitoring by design, with the oral telling of one’s life, a history, at its core. Each history began with your earliest memory and ended on the day you entered the group and like Madame Defarge, all this information was knitted into the group’s collective conscious with every detail deemed significant.  History sessions were recorded with the trainees passing the tapes on to their supervisors and then  in turn to Seth.

Childhood trauma was the bedrock of therapy and the way in which Cora and the others in the group were controlled.  Abandonment was a constant thread throughout  Cora's life and the turmoil of one event in particular and the emotional roller coaster of unanswered questions it created. This  episode delves into the inherent power and profound influence our childhood experiences wield over our lives and  how  Cora,  "in the twilight before sleep, flies out the window, into the mystery of a sudden disappearance and asks why."

The complete documentary Through a BlueWindow can be seen on my youtube channel shellfein1. I would love to hear your thoughts.
Thank you


Speaker 1:

The group was self-monitoring by design, with the aura of telling of one's life, a history, at its core. Each history began with the earliest memory and ended on the day you entered the group and, like Madame de Faug, all this information was knitted into the group's collective consciousness, with every detailed deem. Significant Therapy sessions were recorded and the trainees passed the tapes on to their supervisors, who in turn reported to the four horsemen, seth Lewin and the three licensed psychiatrists, seth's wife, ellen Meyer, herb Trachtenberg and Mark Weiss. Histories weren't limited to sessions. They were part of apartment protocol and you were required to give a history in each new apartment and summer house, in any subgroup as when I joined the riders group, and an abbreviated history was given to each new person you dated. In this way they became a valuable cross-referencing tool, supplying therapists and eventually Seth, with the imitated details of over 300 people. The apartment histories were taped as well. And all these years later, listening to my former roommates, women I once loved and trusted, and their reactions to my childhood, encrusted with group speak, the Arlethean lexicon, those specialized expressions like murderous rage and parataxic, I'm suddenly exhausted, sinking deeper into the quicksand of my past. But I insert the next tape labeled Camp Timberlake, moving to Queens and Father's Last Visit and listen, hoping to create order from my uneasiness.

Speaker 1:

My mother was late. She was late for everything. It was parent's day at Camp Timberlake and after hours of waiting and watching the emotional reunion of other campers, my sister and I were the only ones left in the sun-baked parking lot. We were dressed in identical camp uniforms emerald green shorts and a coordinating golden yellow t-shirt, the letters T-L inside a green circle emblazoned on the front. I'd pulled the bottom of my t-shirt up and through the neck, creating a common Miranda bear midriff look, though I lacked the natural assets needed to fill out the shirt.

Speaker 1:

At 13 years old, sheila had begun to mature and already needed a bra. She also needed heavy metal braces to correct years of thumb-sucking and, when she slept at night, a canvas cap that tied under her chin with tiny rubber bands hooked on for added tension. My poor sister got it all. Acne, my mother stands straight as you can. Rules when placed against a wall and oily hair. Listen, my mouth hurts and I'm hot and I'm going swimming, Sheila said, tugging at my pigtails. You know what you look like? She said you look like a frizzy-headed troll. That's what you look like Cora and I'm tired of waiting and maybe mommy's not coming at all. Shut up, Sheila. I'm going to tell mommy that you said that when she gets here You're supposed to be nice to me.

Speaker 1:

My cheeks did feel red, hot, and my skin too small for my face. Come on, wait for me. I begged Wiping at the hard red sand with my foot when a red dust cloud caught my attention. Look over there, I think I see something. There's nothing coming. It's a mirage. Look around, there's nobody else here and I'm leaving. I was close to tears when Sheila disappeared over the rise, but then I realized that the pink, swirling dust cloud moving towards me was no mirage. Just later, a winged cataract emerged like an enormous sand beetle, iridescent beneath the blazing noon sun.

Speaker 1:

The car continued to drive around in circles until it finally squeezed into the last shady spot beneath the sweeping branches of the camp's prize weeping willow tree. A man in a chauffeur's uniform black suit, black vinyl-tempt cap stepped out. He opened the rear door and there was my mother there, pulled into a tight French twist, lips and nails painted her preferred color, the deep red orange of a Persian melon. She swung her legs around grey silk swishing her matching grey suede pumps, gingerly touching the ground. Mommy, I yelled running. Wait, sweetie. She said, holding up her hands like a shield. Whoa, let me brush you off. I squirmed impatiently as she padded and brushed my clothes. Oh, mommy, I missed you. Did you get my letters? I got yours. You look so pretty. I rambled on, just happy that Sheila had been wrong. Cora, honey, you're a sight and that outfit and you're as red as a beat. Okay, done. She finally said Let me look at you. That's better. And now a big hug, but not too tight. After she pulled me away, but still fussing with my t-shirt, she explained you know, larry hired a driver for me and let me use his car, but there was so much traffic, that's why I'm late. Wasn't that nice of him? Is Larry here too? I asked, on tiptoes pulling away and peering around.

Speaker 1:

Larry Hibner was my mother's boyfriend and boss. They'd met years before, when he'd hired her straight out of high school to work in his real estate firm, her secretarial diploma in hand. Larry was married at the time, and soon. So was my mom. She left for a year when Sheila was born, returned part-time for three years and, when I was born, left again Two years later after she divorced my father, he hired her as his personal secretary. By this time, larry was divorced too, and soon they were lovers. Larry's not here today.

Speaker 1:

Baby Mommy, missed you too, but don't pull at me, sweetie. Did they ever comb your hair? It's like a rag doll. Oh, never mind. I brought some red ribbons. Her solution to my frizzy hair was to decorate me like a poodle, and Grandma sent those candies you like from Barcini.

Speaker 1:

She looked around and asked after Sheila, where's your sister? She got tired of waiting and went swimming Everybody's down at the waterfront, and before that she was being mean to me. Well, I have a surprise, and since you're here, I'm going to tell you first. I knew it must be serious, because she pulled me onto her knee inside the plush interior of the car and, still fussing with my shirt, she said your father's coming to visit tomorrow, daddy's coming here, but it won't be Parents' Day anymore and I don't think Sheila's going to like it. You and your sister are going to have your own special Parents' Day. You haven't seen your father since June.

Speaker 1:

So I asked the camp director, mr Rosenbaum, and he's arranged it for tomorrow. You'll even be able to leave the grounds, she said, pausing, then asked Don't you want to see your father, cora? I'd much rather see you. Well, you girls need to see your father too. I don't care if you are in camp. He has a car he can drive here. I wanted to stop her talking about my father. It always made her angry. I guess I don't mind seeing Daddy, but can you tell them I don't want to wear the camp uniform when I see him. I don't know if they'll listen, but I'll tell them that it's OK with me. Come on, mommy, I have things to show you. I said, grabbing her hand. My long wait forgotten. We went in search of my sister, swinging our arms together in rhythm.

Speaker 1:

On Sunday, any anxiety I may have had about my father's visit was replaced by excitement the moment I heard our names over the loudspeaker. I promised to stay between my sister and my father at all times during this visit, because Sheila was still afraid of him and she was in no hurry to meet him. Come on, I yelled, yanking at her arm, but she broke away. Leave me alone, cora. Fine, I'll meet you in the main office. Lay. She yelled, but I was out the cabin door, racing up the hill into my father's arm-stretched arms.

Speaker 1:

How's my little curly-headed princess, he said, tussling my hair with his fingertips and where did you get all this fizzy hair from? Sheila's hair was smooth as silk, unlike mine, and it seemed neither my mother nor my father wanted to take responsibility for this particular attribute of mine that everyone found outrageous. Sheila came into view as he tossed me in the air like a beach ball. I had to yell for him to stop and then landed on my bottom with a thump. You OK, honey bunny? Asked as he pulled me up, checking me over.

Speaker 1:

Not waiting for an answer, my father turned to Sheila and said Aren't you going to give me a kiss, sweetheart, and you can show me all that expensive hardware in your mouth that I'm paying for? I don't want to. They're ugly and I have to wear this contraption on my head at night and it really hurts. You should see it. I think the orthodontist is a sadist. Sheila answered petulantly why doesn't, cora? She didn't suck her thumb like you did. Just think when you're finished you'll have the most beautiful smile money can buy. And don't forget, you still look beautiful to your daddy pumpkin. Sheila smiled at that and finally kissed him lightly on the cheek. Listen, girls, are you hungry? I thought we'd have lunch in town. I don't imagine the camp food is very good, he said as he grabbed two shopping bags filled with presents. Let's drop these bags off before we go.

Speaker 1:

As we strolled down the hill I forgot about my scraped knees and I took his free hand and held on to Sheila with the other, imagining he was a visiting emissary with offerings of diamonds at pearls At my bunk. I led him to my cot, which was decorated with fairytale cards he'd sent me each week Snow White, cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, embossed in gold, with a real feather sticking out of the top of their heads, that he'd sent to me. Look at the cards, daddy. Those are pretty sweetheart. Did your mother send them to you? He'd forgotten and looked over at the boxes he'd brought resting on the floor. Those are for you both to share, and you know what I remember the cards now, really, princess. It's just that I hadn't seen them for a while and they look really nice the way you displayed them. Thanks, daddy, I love them.

Speaker 1:

Can I have a hamburger and fries and a chocolate-multed milk at lunch? Sheila can't have chocolate because she gets pimples Shut up. Cora, sheila barked Well, you do. Then I turned back to my father. I passed my swimming test. I'm in the deep water swimmer now. Will you come back to camp after lunch so I can show you how good a swimmer I am? Did you ever ride a horse? I really like it. I play badminton and I'm the best volleyball player and I'm going to be in South Pacific. I'm going to sing Honey Bunch, whoa. Slow down, sweetie. I'm getting tired just listening to you. When do you have time to sleep? Oh, daddy, silly, what about you, sheila? Do you like camp? I answered for her.

Speaker 1:

Sheila's really good at arts and crafts, daddy. Maybe we can go to the craft's room after lunch too. Let your sister speak for herself. Cora, she's got a tongue, hasn't she? He admonished. Sheila spoke a little more over lunch, describing the mosaic plate she was making. It was for our mother, but she didn't mention that.

Speaker 1:

After dessert, a hot front sundae for me and blueberry pie on a mode for Sheila. We drove back to camp. I changed into my pink flowered bathing suit, but Sheila disappeared saying something about volleyball practice, a game she never played. After lunch I raced my father to the waterfront where we stayed until evening. Mess, the sky was ablaze, but it had turned cool enough for a sweater, go, take a hot shower and change. My father said, and I'll meet you at the car. Sheila turned up to say goodbye and the three of us sat in the backseat of the convertible watching the red afterglow of the setting sun. Isn't it beautiful, daddy? I said you know what they say Princess Red sky at night. Sailors delight Red sky in the morning. Sailor, take warning, I never heard that before, daddy. You'll see, tomorrow is going to be a beautiful day, and remember tonight and see if it doesn't come true, and when I see you both again you'll tell me okay.

Speaker 1:

A month later, camp was over and I was eager to get home, eager to see my friends, my mother and Karen, and, with the rhyme still in my head, eager to tell my father his prediction had come true. For once, my mother was on time and within minutes our duffel bags were loaded into a checker cab and we were heading home to the Bronx, or so I thought. Provious to the unfamiliar scenery I chatted on into the, we'd actually turned off the highway. Majestic trees fronted expensive homes with sculpted lawns, each one was more luxurious than the next, and overhead a patchwork of leafy branches formed a green counterpane. This was surely not the Bronx.

Speaker 1:

Mom, where are we? I asked creosurously when the taxi had stopped in front of an apartment building with the words the summit, carved and polished silver metal over the front entrance and pink flowers bordered stone steps. Cora, help your sister while I pay the driver. Mommy, where are we? My mother was jingling a set of keys and I looked at her expectantly. This is the prize I wrote you about, she explained, staring at Sheeler, where, in far as tells Queens, this is our new home. Larry is helping with the rent and helped with the move too.

Speaker 1:

Your sister was supposed to tell you to expect a surprise when you got home, but she never told me. I screamed, bawling my fists up, wishing I could slap Sheeler across the face. Then I turned to my mother. Why didn't you write to me too? Don't I count? Sheeler stuck out her tongue. I forgot. Ok, brat, now help Mommy. Did you see that? Girls, please not here. It'sact refined, it's not the Bronx and you're in the street. Please stop fighting, cora. It was a mistake. There's no turning back and you're going to like it here, you'll see.

Speaker 1:

We dragged our belongings across the enormous marbled lobby, much larger, it seemed, than our entire Bronx apartment A leather couch and gilded furniture were placed before a mantle and mirror, overhead a golden chandelier dripped with crystals. Come on, girls. My mother said after everything was loaded in the elevator we're on the fourth floor, cora, why don't you press? Took by a second and then we were there. This is it, my mother said, pointing to the apartment door directly across the hall. Right there, apartment 4G. Come on, girls, just wait until you see it.

Speaker 1:

The piano and the portrait had made the move intact, but the brook-kate couch was hidden between a French's mustard yellow slip cover, just like a Coney Island hot dog, and its silky tassels were gone. There was a rectangular glass table in place of the leather inlaid one and on the opposite end of the living room, twin silver brocade chairs and the old-haired table, creating a conversation suite. My mother called it. Beyond that stood my writing place, my special writing place, the mahogany table. I crossed to the living room window more to keep from crying than from real curiosity, leaving tiny deer prints in the turquoise plush carpet, then pushed aside the waterfall curtain of white silk. There were no street vendors, no L train, just a couple walking down the street, quiet residential street. Below, from the hallway I could hear my mother opening and closing closet doors, like she was Loretta Young presents. Not only did she have her own room, but it had a half bathroom. She decorated the entire suite bathroom in all in tones of silver, gray, black and gold.

Speaker 1:

Schiller and I still shared a room, although it was much larger than our old room and there were no gravestones beyond the white ruffled augundy curtains. The twin beds were covered in white chenille, each with a red pillow like a drop of blood in the snow, and the black and white checkerboard floor seemed oddly suited to the Queen of Hearts mad croquet game. I spun around and caught sight of Schiller grinning like the Cheshire cat. You can't like this apartment. Everything is so shiny and new and fluffy. I asked. I hate it, I don't want to live here. Why didn't she ask us? And where are my books? And where will I see my friends? And what about Karen? Is she moving here with us? I hate this stupid room and I hate mommy for moving us here. I said, rattling on and on. And daddy, how's daddy gonna find us? The promise my father made still flickered brightly within me. My mother tried to console me that night and for many other nights. It's really nice here, you can walk to school and we'll go back and visit your friends How's that? And there's a room for Karen off the kitchen and I promise your daddy knows we've moved and he knows how to get here.

Speaker 1:

But a few months later Karen left for good after Schiller had threatened to fire her one time too many, and my mother's threats of punishment had been ineffectual. If Karen wouldn't let my sister go out before doing her homework, or if she told her to get off the phone or shut the radio off, anything really, schiller would say you're fired, and I mean it. The next time it happened, karen called her bluff and quit. I love you, sweetie pie, she said to me as she packed her things. But sometimes in life you have to make hard choices.

Speaker 1:

A week later my mother came home with yellow curtains a color I hate and immediately headed to Karen's old room. Standing tiptoed on the bed, barely able to reach the curtain rod, she hung the gauzy curtains that billowed around her like spun sugar. I punished your sister, but Karen wanted to leave. It was her decision. She explained to me as I glared up at her you didn't do enough and I don't care about the stupid curtains. What did you say to me, a voice was shrill with the threat of something more unpleasant behind it. At just five feet tall, I was already taller and I knew I could easily defend myself against her if she decided to take the strap to me, as she had in the past. But in the end my mother finally got to create the guest room she'd always wanted, in another vain attempt to be something she wasn't, and I never heard from Karen again.

Speaker 1:

On my father's first visit to our apartment, he arrived in a Cadillac convertible the color of a just minted copper penny. I had daydreams of driving to Jones Beach in his car with its soft white leather interior and white top that could be folded away like an accordion with the push of a button. But my dream never came true because after a month my father's visit stopped altogether, with only random explanations he was busy, he needed to spend time with his new wife and stepdaughter and vague answers from my mother. She eventually stopped answering my questions and talk of my father faded away. But every night I'd lay in the dark staring out the window at the ever-changing red and green traffic lights twinkling across Willow Lake. I'd stare at those faraway lights until my eyes grew tired and then in the twilight, before sleep, I'd fly out the window following the ribbon of cars along Grand Central Parkway to a long island to ask my father why.