The Sullivanians:Through a Blue Window ((c) 2019 shelley feinerman's Podcast
CULT! This podcast chronicles the rise and fall of the Sullivanian Institute and its members. The psycho-sexual therapy] and institute existed on Manhattan's Upper West Side from the 1970s through the 1990s. Directed to abandon family and friends, as we all were, after five years my life was inextricably altered. The podcast begins with my childhood, then goes on to my time in the Sullivanians, and 20 years later, its self-destruction when it was characterized as a cult. It is entitled Through a Blue Window: The Sullivanians and is dedicated to mother, Ruth.
The Sullivanians:Through a Blue Window ((c) 2019 shelley feinerman's Podcast
Officially a Sullivanian: A Burden Gone a Burden Begins
I was living in a group apartment but I wasn't officially in Sullivanian therapy. The next step in the process was to have a consultation with one of the four licensed therapists and as the day approached, my roommates were all a twitter.
Though I had previously eschewed joining anything, from the Brownies to Gamma Gamma in high school, I seemed to adapt, one could argue, that I blossomed amidst the Arlettians, at first. Never mind that it meant severing all contact with my mother. Never mind that I allowed my friendship with Rachel to disintegrate like the yellowed edges of an old book. Never mind that I was staying up late, falling asleep, stretched like sinew on a bow.
To cover all my additional group expenses I began to clean group apartments which led to a life-threatening emergency. After my recovery, I continued to clean and met a remarkable number of men in a matter of months and soon I was having sex with virtual strangers more men than I could count on the fingers of two hands.
Listen to the entire episode and hear more details about my early Sullivanian orientation and the expectations of group life.
The complete documentary Through a BlueWindow can be seen on my youtube channel shellfein1. I would love to hear your thoughts.
Thank you
My consultation with Herb Trachtenberg is scheduled for January 2, 1974, almost a month to the day of moving into the apartment, and as the day approaches, my roommates are all a Twitter. Herb was one of the five psychiatrists the puppet masters who helped Seth Lewin carry out his vision for a vanguard party. Herb lived with his young son on the top floor of the Institute's Gothic West 81st Street townhouse, while sessions were held in the dreary basement offices At the appointed hour and day. I'm sitting in the waiting room beginning to feel as though I'm meeting Moses on the mount. Moments pass and finally a rather heavy-set woman exits, leaving the double doors ajar, and suddenly, from within the room, a powerful voice rings out you can come in now.
Speaker 1:Herb is nestled in a black leather chair situated at the center of the small dark room. His feet barely reach the floor and a naked bulb hangs over his head, giving his features a ghoulish countenance. I take a seat opposite him on the pedestrian folding chair the only other chair in the room clasping my hands together like a schoolgirl. What can I do for you? He asks, his voice surprisingly seductive despite his elf-like appearance. I'm confused about my relationship with my mother. I say immediately, getting to the heart of the matter and I don't know what to do about it. He scribbles notes on a yellow legal pad and when he doesn't respond, I continue talking briefly, explaining about my father and the divorce. My mother and I had a fight three months ago. The last thing she said to me was that I was like my father. It was cruel because she hates him and, besides, I'm not. Then I told her I didn't want to see her for a while, that I needed a break. We just don't agree on what's best for me and I haven't spoken to her since and what is best for you. And why here? Herb has stopped writing and is observing me with vacant gray eyes as if I were a specimen in a tank. I don't know. I reply when I close my eyes against the clear of the bulb. I have been pushed by my therapist who, by the way, doesn't know that I've just moved into a group apartment or that I'm here today to call my mother. But if I do, if I go home again, it feels like I will never leave again. Do you believe that, that you won't be able to leave home? Is your mother that powerful? And why didn't you tell your therapist you were moving. You're being very secretive, he said without compassion. I will soon learn being secretive is a key concept of therapy.
Speaker 1:The next series of questions come in a ratatat barrage, hitting me broadside, and I lose my breath for a moment. When I try to explain, he interrupts me with more questions. Your mother is having a parataxic fantasy about you and you need to be in therapy. And here he finally said, looking at his watch, this is the best place for you to be. I'd like to work with you, cora, but I charge $50 a session, with a minimum of two sessions a week. If you can't manage that, I could refer you to one of the trainees. How do you feel about not seeing your current therapist? I'm not happy there anymore. He doesn't get what I mean about my mother. So that sounds fine. But there is one thing I would like to see a woman. If that's possible, I'll see what I can do, but I'm not making any promises, because you have to learn to be with men as well as women. Give me a week and I will call you. Please tell the next person in the waiting room that they can come in.
Speaker 1:Herb Trachtenberg was not one to party and I never saw him again after my consultation. For all I know he's still sitting on a toadstool playing a flute. He referred me to Ferederico Small, called Freddy, and I decided it was best to meet with her before terminating with Frank. The 15 trainees work from a suite of professional apartments located on the ground level of 362 West End Avenue, within walking distance of my apartment. She has the same double door set up as Herb and when I arrive for my first session, the outside door to her room is closed. After a few minutes, a skinny man with curly hair come out and says Freddy wants you to go in now. A young woman who looked like a teenage girl, dressed in her father's clothes, baggy jeans and a plaid shirt, was curled up in an oversized leather lazy boy, a matching chair faced opposite her, and when I sat she began talking without a preamble.
Speaker 1:We have to address several things before we can actually begin therapy. First of all, let me explain how the sessions work At first. Most of our time together will be focused on your history from as back far as you can remember, which I will record. I can't help you until I know about you. Secondly, we have to discuss your expenses In addition to your tuition, art supplies and rent. There will be your apartment expenses and your share of food, electric and telephone bills. You will be joining a summer house, so there's your share in that, and usually each house has a summer car and, of course, we will be seeing each other twice a week. Do you have an idea how you're going to cover all these additional expenses?
Speaker 1:For a moment I said nothing and then, finding my voice, I answered I'll figure something out. How much is therapy? $15 a week, twice a week, she said, running her fingers through a hair like a rake. I have students loans and I have a job after school and I can figure something else out in addition. Good, let me know next time what you've come up with. We also need to figure out what time is good for you.
Speaker 1:We settled on Tuesdays and Thursdays after school and just as I was about to leave, she asked are you a good cleaner? Cleaner, what do you mean? I was puzzled. Like sweeping, I was just thinking". She said that all the group apartments need to be clean, and that could be. You Put up a flyer in the raiding room and call around to the apartments, tell them who you are and what you want, and make the flyer colorful. Then she handed me a piece of paper. Here is my telephone number, just in case you need to talk. And then she smiled, a warm and caring smile that lit her face from within and said See you soon, cora.
Speaker 1:I left the session knowing I'd be back and, walking uptown along Weston Avenue, I stopped momentarily at a payphone to call Frank. I was planning to hang up if he answered but, as luck had had it, his machine clicked on. This is Cora, and I just wanted to let you know that I won't be coming back to therapy, I said quickly, thus ending our two-year relationship in one sentence without further explanation. Though I had previously eschewed joining anything from the brownies to gamma gamma in high school, I seemed to adapt. One could argue that I blossomed admisth the Arletians in the beginning, never mind that it meant severing myself from my mother. I'd followed Heidi's advice and had my new telephone number unlisted, never mind that I allowed my friendship with racial to disintegrate like the yellowed edges of an old book, never mind that I was staying up late, falling asleep later stretched like sinew on a bow. As for Jackson, I rarely saw him anymore. He seldom appeared at any of the group parties and with the beginning of the new semester at school we no longer had the same classes. We rarely, if ever, met on the train path form, but when we did, we nod politely as strangers do, closely pressed together on a crowded elevator and soon after receiving his graduate degree, he left the Sullivanians.
Speaker 1:Freddie had been right about one thing I needed more money. So, following her suggestion, I called around to the various group apartments asking if they needed someone to clean, and I was surprised to find out how many did. It seemed everyone was too busy to wash a dish or pick up their clothes. Sometimes I was the invisible cleaner who let herself in, did the job and left. My money was waiting in the sugar bowl. But other apartments were very curious about the new person in the group and it was in this way that I got to meet and date a remarkable amount of people in a matter of months. In my short time in the group I was having sex with more men, most of them virtual strangers, than I could count on the fingers of two hands. I had five apartments on my roster and cleaned most of the apartments once a week, but there were apartments that wanted full service shopping and laundry For those apartments. I went twice a week. In many kitchens food-encrusted dishes were piled high in the sink, while grease and dust gathered in the corners and clothes and underwear every which way. In every room I found that nobody picked up after themselves, with the women's apartments just as bad as the men's.
Speaker 1:Somewhere between girlhood and the group I had developed an allergy to cats. I discovered the condition when living with Rachel on her 19th street apartment. She'd had a kitten that reminded me of the angel, but within a month my body began to react. First came the inexplicable tightness in my chest, then the itchiness and hives, and then I couldn't breathe. The doctor said I'd be fine if the kitten left and so he needed a new home. But in my panic to find a place to live I'd forgotten about my allergies, and then it was too late. Kathy had adopted a Siamese after moving into the apartment and Doris already had a fat tabby.
Speaker 1:I'd been cleaning apartments, breathing in cat scurff for weeks when it started first as a hum in my chest, but before long the hum became a whistle. When I started the job I locked the cats in the bathroom, but it was cumulative, and soon it felt like someone was playing, kick the can in my lungs, thinking fresh air would clear my lungs. I managed to put the vacuum and cleaning supplies away, but I was wrong. The icy wind closed down my breathing like laces on a whale bone corset Wheezing. I held a cab to take me the three short blocks to the apartment. Once there, I was just able to make it to the elevator and upstairs.
Speaker 1:Slipping quietly into my room I could hear my roommate's laughter coming from the kitchen where I was supposed to be helping prepare food for a women's pajama party celebrating Heidi's birthday that night. Are you in there, cora? I was sitting as still as I could in the dark room, concentrating on my every breath. I hadn't heard Doris tapping on my door because we really started cooking and we could really use your help in the kitchen. Can you call Freddy? I whispered my voice barely audible At this point. Doris took a few steps into the room. What did you say? I can't hear you. Your breathing sounds weird. I'm having an asthma death. With each forced breath, the rattle in my chest echoed in the room like a broken muffler on a deserted country road. I didn't know you had asthma, jesus, I'll be right back, hold on.
Speaker 1:When Doris returned. She was holding my coat Listen, freddy's at a dude ranch. So I called Peggy, my therapist. I'm to take you to the Mount Sinai emergency room. When the taxi pulled to a stop in front of the emergency room entrance, I was doubled over, straining for air, and Doris had to help me inside.
Speaker 1:A ready-faced, orderly source coming and hurriedly met us with a wheelchair Try to relax. He said I'm taking you right in. And though it was standing room, only, that's exactly what he did. Doris helped me off with my coat and pushed up my sleeve. Then an intern with blotchy skin wearing a short white tunic with a shoulder button's undone, like Ben Casey, wrapped a rubber tube around my arm. You have good veins, miss, so here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to give you a shot of adrenaline. Hang on, you'll feel better in a few minutes. Then he slipped the needle into a vein and the clear liquid began to go through my arm. The first shot went straight to my head like breaking water after a long dive. The initial shot was followed by eight booster shots. Doris stayed with me for the entire course of five hours, holding my hand throughout.
Speaker 1:Many people were receiving the same treatment that night, including a weathered Latino woman, her face line like the bark of a tree. Kudo Canel Fío, the tiny woman, said, smiling and nodding knowledge in her eyes. Doris, who spoke fluent Spanish, translated Watch out for the cold, she said the old woman had warned. Minding the old woman's warning, I wrapped a scarf around my face as we headed out of the hospital at four in the morning. By the time we got back to the apartment, everyone was asleep. Doris helped me in dress and then I crawled into bed. The adrenaline had pumped me up, but I was exhausted and already feeling the effects of the valium the doctor had given me, and before long I was asleep. When I awoke again, it was three in the afternoon and Freddy was sitting on the edge of my bed smiling hey there.
Speaker 1:When Freddy called me last night, I decided to drive back to the city a little early. How do you feel? Scared, I said, my breathing a little shallow, but glad you're here. Your roommates are being told to find new homes for their cats. I've got the name of an allergist. I've left it on your desk. Have someone make an appointment for three days from now. Tell them it's an emergency and mention Seth's name. Someone is to go with you, make a cab. We'll see what he says, but you may have to stop cleaning or find apartments that don't have cats. Anyway, for now, rest and get better, and we'll talk more when you come in for a session. I'll call the apartment later to see how you're doing.
Speaker 1:Then she reached across the bed and pressed a small blue glass bead into my palm. This is for you. I rubbed my thumb over the smooth surface a talisman, I thought, and said Doris, I need to thank Doris. Later, freddie said she stood and, before leaving, gave me a valium with a glass of water. In moments, my body relaxed and my breathing became easier. My eyes closed and I fell asleep.
Speaker 1:At my first session, 10 days after the incident, freddie's usually animated face showed no sign of emotion as she spoke. How are you feeling, cora? Are you all right now? Are the cats gone? Yes, the cats are gone, although it was touch and go for a while as to whether Doris and Kathy were going to choose to live with me or their cats. There are many emergency sessions and I guess you know that. I think in the end, they were told to choose me.
Speaker 1:This is very serious, cora. Because of your secretiveness, you could have died and, as a result, your roommates would have been responsible. As it is, they had to give away their beloved pets. What did the allergists say? Dr Rosenblatt said that I'm good to go. I have an inhale of firm urgencies if I should ever have another attack. But I have to keep it away. But I have to keep away from cats. I can clean with a mask, but no cats. I've already called around and found several cat-free apartments.
Speaker 1:Good, now let's talk about why you lied. I didn't lie exactly. When I first called, I honestly didn't think to ask about cats. And then, when I went to Kathy's apartment, I didn't see her cat. When I realized she had one, I was already in the apartment. I wasn't talking to my mother and I had nowhere else to go. But I do know I fucked up.
Speaker 1:Well, that's the start. But your secretiveness is something we have to talk about. But right now I want to hear about who you're dating. Dating. I was so surprised by the sudden change of subject. Yes, dating, tell me. And she raised her pen to begin writing. Well, there's Holly and Lainey and Donna and Heidi and my roommates, except for Doris. She was amazing when I had the asthma attack, but now she's back to hating me. That's the women. Then how about the men? Well, there's Paul and Terry and John, and you can't have a meaningful relationship with a man before you establish meaningful relationships with women. So let's talk about you and Doris. I don't understand why she took such an instant dislike to me, but she did. At our first meeting in Kathy's apartment she acted like a real bitch. Oh, she let me join the apartment on New Year's Eve, but then immediately reverted and then, like I said, she was great at the hospital, but now she's furious about having to give her cat away. Doris is not reacting to you. She's experiencing what Lewin calls a paratactic reaction. She's reacting to you as if you were her mother and vice versa.
Speaker 1:Cora, by the way, freddie explained Tell me, were you and your mother close? Yes, as a child, I guess you'd say I adored her. As a little girl, I could hardly wait for her to come home from work. I'd hang out the window every night waiting. Sometimes I'd meet her at the subway. But as a teenager I began to feel suffocated. What change do you think? She didn't encourage my art for one thing. She said it was a waste of time and that I needed to have something to fall back on and she would always remind me how well-behaved I was at five years old. What kind of thing is that to say to your teenage daughter? I never heard her say that to Sheila. Then she'd ask me what happened. I used to be so sweet.
Speaker 1:Any other memories of your mother, cora? Freddie asked without commenting. Well, when we lived in the Bronx she was really angry about the kitten my Uncle Solly had given us. He hadn't asked for her permission and after a month she announced the kitten had to go. And even though I begged and begged and begged, my mother had made the rare telephone call to my father and on his next Sunday visit we were left to accompany him to the ASPCA with the kitten. So you weren't allergic to the kitten as a girl. It was because your mother didn't want the kitten. Yes, and after Blackie, our cock-a-spaniel got hit by a car. We had other pets, but eventually she'd find a reason to give them away. The new puppy ate one of her shoes, and then there was the canary, a parakeet and a rabbit All too messy, and then the last one was Angel. No wonder you were the asthma.
Speaker 1:Your mother wouldn't let you be close to another living creature, even an animal. How long has it been since you last spoke to her? Five months. But sometimes I feel like your mother is a vicious, envious bitch-cora. Freddie vehemently declared her words, exploding like hand grenades against the dark green walls, lifting me from my seat, and her vision for you was to stay at home, keep her company and not succeed. She didn't support your creativity because she was jealous, afraid that it would take you away from her. Your mother never cared about you. She's a psychopath. Look at how she kept your father away so you could be, so she could be in complete control. I want you to think about what I've said and I want you to keep a journal near your bed to write down all your dreams. Our time is up and I'll see you next Thursday. I was stunned by Freddie's words and after that session I began to think more and more of my mother as having the power of Medusa Unlook and I'd be paralyzed, zapped back to her world for good.