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
The Sullivanians: A group that went from Creativity to Cult
Today's episode begins Thanksgiving Day three years after I became entangled with the Sullivanians a seemingly benign group that supported creativity but would morph into the singular cult that remained undetected on Manhattan Upper West Side.
Annie was my roommate and friend, but I on that day I began to realize her ardent belief in the Sullivanians as the vanguard party that would would soon shape the world's future was all encompassing. On that frigid day we found our way to a Greenwich Village cafe where Annie also openly discussed wrestling with the presence of her mother in the group. I'd often thought of Maria as an older sister and Annie as the younger but going forward, her declaration left me in the murky waters of uncertainty.
The episode doesn't end at the café, though. Learn why I was referred to a fourth therapist in three years and how I wind up at Reliable Lists, Inc and how I'm guided by Stan Arnold, my new therapist, to become part of that office's union drive.
The episode culminates in an emotionally charged farewell,, as Maria Alena departs for Sierra Leone. This episode carries you little further along my intertwining personal path, that eventually carved a way for me out of the Sullivanian cult and towards a new beginning.
The complete documentary Through a BlueWindow can be seen on my youtube channel shellfein1. I would love to hear your thoughts.
Thank you
It was Thanksgiving Day and Annie and I were going to Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. Unlike the balmy weather that had carried me across the park three years before, the temperature this day was in the single digits. But even so, annie and I had decided to brave the cold and was scurrying around the apartment getting dressed. Hurry, we don't want to miss Bowenkel. I yelled, pulling on a scratchy pair of long johns. I'll be ready in a minute, annie screamed back. I'm looking for my heavy wool socks.
Speaker 1:The days, frigid, cold, made short drift of our multiple layers and took our breath away. And soon after underdog had slowly drifted by, we headed downtown to Greenwich Village in search of warmth and hot chocolate. We exited at West Forth and Waverly Placed, walked east and found a small cafe. Its windows fogged over with steam, just like the frothy cappuccino we were seeking. The cinnamon-laced air was a clear indication that we'd chosen well, and we sat at a round marble table near the window to people watch and began the task of undressing. With all this morestheed, I feel like I'm going to spawn. I said, removing my last sweater.
Speaker 1:We ordered and after a few minutes of silence I said to Annie it must have been grotesque to see your mother at the party on Saturday night. It's always creepy. I thought I was over her being around, but I guess I'm not. It's not knowing whether she's going to show up at a party or not. That's the problem. So I've always wondered why did you come back to Sullivanian therapy? I'd thought this. After hearing Annie's history, I think it would be the last place you'd want to be. I wanted to go to school in New York and I'd heard about the training program and thought it sounded very exciting. I believe in Lewin and Getty's theories and I believe we are the Vanguard party.
Speaker 1:I tried to tune my mother out. Unfortunately I don't always succeed. Annie was nervously folding a paper napkin, twisting the bottom into what looked like the stem of a flower. I never saw Ron for therapy again, but he did refer me to Beverly and for that I'm grateful. She told me about Lainey looking for roommates and I guess you know the rest.
Speaker 1:After the waiter brought our hot chocolate, I slipped the flask from my jacket and poured some of the amber liquid through the creamy folds of whipped cream. Mmm, drink up, it'll warm you up and take the bitter taste of your mother away. Impossible, annie said. Well, now that you asked. I said with some irony so sorry, sorry, I'll step out of whatever it is. This is what did you want to say?
Speaker 1:Annie responded For me, thanksgiving is hard enough day, but this year, with my mother's death, I'm having a doubly hard time. I just can't wrap my head around it. Honestly, it's difficult for me to relate to that. Annie said my mother is alive, but I wish she wasn't here. I get that. Do you ever think about not being in the group? No". Annie answered without hesitation. I believe what I said about us being the Vanguard Party and we are going to help shape the future. I think Seth is a visionary. And what about the future? Do you think about having children? Not really. My mother hasn't been the greatest role model. I took note of Annie's fanatical devotion to the group, remembering her attitude towards Serena's individualism, and tucked it away. But I think that was when I began to distrust her just a little. On that day I thought of Maria as an older sister and Annie as the youngest, and I loved her. On that day it would have been impossible for me to imagine Annie as my nemesis and perpetrator of my expulsion from the group.
Speaker 1:Howard finally got out that Seth had been slowly disbanding the original trainee program because the Institute had come under scrutiny by the New York State Office of Mental Health. Going forward, new trainees had to have at the very least a college degree. Seth's conspiracy theories and paranoia intensified, and the therapist reinforced the importance of safeguarding the Institute and the trainee program in each session. I continued to abide for a while. College and graduate school are times to build future alliances, but I made few friends at school or work because those relationships were tainted with distrust. What if word got out about the group to the wrong people? Debbie eventually left the Institute too, because she'd been both Maria and my therapist. We were both upset, but for different reasons. Debbie had been Maria's therapist for the five years she'd been in the group. She was leaving for Sierra Leone soon and didn't want to change therapist before she left. And as for me, this would be my fourth therapist in less than three years.
Speaker 1:Annie was the lucky one. Beverly had a college degree. Annie was the only one home in the apartment after I was given the news. She was at the kitchen table surrounded by textbooks. When I blasted in announcing the news, I'm so angry I could put my fist through the wall. I said you are hysterical.
Speaker 1:Annie responded, looking up. Listen, I have finals coming up and I can't deal with this right now. I'm getting moved around like a relative. Nobody wants, I said, ignoring her being a moment. She asked so who were you referred to?
Speaker 1:Fucking Stan Arnold. He's a history teacher, for God's sake. What did he become? When did he become a trainee? What does he know about being a therapist? He looks like a fucking corpse. Try and calm down, honey. I know it's upsetting, but he must have something. They wouldn't have asked him. Besides, you know, it doesn't really matter who we're in therapy with, as long as we continue. Oh, for a second I thought you were showing some sympathy, annie, but here comes the party line. Do you truly believe that it doesn't matter who we see? I think the connection with our therapist is important. Wouldn't you be upset if Beverly left? Sure, but I'd go on just like you should.
Speaker 1:My stomach ached and I suddenly began to cry, embarrassed. I turned away. It's stupid and irrational, I know, but Debbie was my therapist when my mother died and I still feel guilty. I didn't go to the funeral. Annie finally walked to my side and put her arms around my shoulders, and then we heard the front door slam, I bet that's Maria, I said. Looking up she had the session after mine. Debbie's been her therapist since she got here. A moment later, maria walked into the kitchen. Her eyes were red and her expression told it all. She'd been referred to Stan Arnold too. You know. This just makes leaving for Sierra Leone so much easier, she said, pouring herself a drink.
Speaker 1:A few months later, it was rumored that Debbie had left the Institute because she couldn't function as a therapist anymore and had had a psychotic break. Teams of men from the group were supposedly sent out to find her and they did, on the street soliciting, and she was placed in psychiatric care. If I picture my time in the group as a bell curve, with my mother's death at the apex, it was my referral to Stan Arnold, a man I didn't respect as the push towards the downward slope. I was 25 when my mother died. I never had the opportunity to develop an adult relationship with her, one where I could hold different ideas but still love her. Instead, the Syllevanians reinforced her perceived Medusa-like power over me. One look and I'd be turned to stone, and panic would walk across my chest like a cat each time I thought of her even after death. I waited three weeks to call, but in the end I succumbed. I wasn't ready to leave the Syllevanians, but my contempt for Stan continued unabated. There was his bald head, his parchment paper skin and his array of polyester short-sleeve shirts pistachio green, dentist blue and anemic yellow all with the two middle buttons inevitably undone In the session. As he continued talking, he was unaware that his words were drowning in a murky pool surrounding him. I separated my physical self, which continued to nod as he spoke, from my magical self, much as I had done as a child, and flew from his dark basement room to circle the stars.
Speaker 1:In June 1976 I graduated from college and that fall I would begin the MFA Evening Program at Brooklyn College. I'd found a great waitress job working the lunch shift at the Bullen Bayer on Rector Street. The tips alone would pay for my summer share in Amagansett, not to mention the additional money from my long-time cleaning jobs. But as I was racing back to the apartment to share the news, I took a wide berth around a passing taxi and missteps slipping off my high-wetched corkies. I'd heard a snap like the crack of a wishbone and crumpled to the ground. I'd broken the fifth martyre-tarsle of my right foot.
Speaker 1:I stayed in Amagansett for the summer, but I had to rely on others to get around, and since the summer was all about partying, I was shunted to the sidelines. When school started, I was still hobbling around on crutches. I'd lost the waitress job and when Stan told me I'd sabotaged the job to comply with my mother's jealousy and belief, I couldn't be self-sufficient. The words rang hollow. He suggested I call around and borrow money in advance of my student loans a common practice in the group but even that would only stretch so far and I would eventually have to pay the money back.
Speaker 1:I desperately needed a job. The orthopedist had vetoed cleaning and waitressing and since the MF program was in the evening, all that was left was an office job. In one interview after another, I was told either you're overqualified or underqualified. And then I came across the ad for a reliable list, incorporated the best, in direct mail. I was employed as an account assistant and instructed not to mention my $160 a week's income to any of the other 15 assistants. We were merely glorified clerks who never directly interacted with the clients. The account executives role was to oversee us Laborious tasks we completed for them from inside their glass-enclosed offices. The intense scrutiny by the sales managers was only made bearable by the camaraderie among the young assistants. We were drones in a glass hive and I gradually began to realize this paralleled my function in the group.
Speaker 1:When Ken Rosenzweig, one of the assistants, invited me to lunch, I accepted, hoping it wasn't an overture to a real date. But I soon found out the real reason. I'm a member of District 65, a union that represents colorical work, as he explained, and I've been asking the account assistants to sign this card. And then he slid a white index card face down across the tabletop. I picked it up and began to read the fine print. I can summarize it for you, he said in a nutshell it says you want to be represented at reliable by the union. Among other things, it will give us the power to bargain and set up a salary and promotional schedule. The reason I asked you to lunch is because we're not permitted to recruit on the premises except during breaks. You're keeping it under wraps until a majority have signed.
Speaker 1:You were told by management not to share your salami, am I right? He continued we all were, but that's to polarize us. Listen, I make one hundred and ten dollars and I know Diane makes one hundred and forty. Think about it. Do you see any legitimate reason for keeping your salary a secret, other than creating suspicion between us? I make one hundred and sixty dollars. I immediately responded You're right, we all do the same shit work. He laughed at that. Right, we all have the same responsibilities. You shouldn't work for less. None of us should. The union would ask for uniform salaries.
Speaker 1:He wasn't the baby-faced kid he appeared to be, with dark brown hand, intelligent eyes and cheeks smoother than mine. I was intrigued but ignorant. My first thought was that the union was illegal. But this was the one area where Stan proved himself to be invaluable. His knowledge of labor history was impressive. He explained how unions had formed the United States' democracy. He was in his element and urged me to sign and, to my surprise, I became involved with the union meetings, recruitment and strategy planning. Unfortunately, stan hadn't been prescient enough to realize that the conflict might arise between my loyalty to the group and my newfound interest in the union.
Speaker 1:I soon learned that there were only four valid, rigorously enforced reasons for an account assistant to get up from their desk during the workday. The first was checking on a list availability. Then there was the allotted ten-minute break at three o'clock, going to the bathroom and finally getting coffee, and at reliable lists. Its employees were supplied with unlimited amounts of free coffee. Maria Elena left for Sierra Leone in early March. It was still bitterly cold and Sandra and I stood in the wind-battered airline terminal with Maria and her other friends, icicles hanging from our air-tipped words. Annie had fought with Maria for weeks before her departure, paratastic rages of feeling abandoned, her therapist had said, and Annie wouldn't come to the airport. When they finally announced her flight, maria took off her heavy blue coat and handed it to me Keep warm. We hugged and she whispered I love you, quora. I think I'm going to miss you most of all. Then, louder, she said to everyone else please write, please write. To quick hugs all around. She was gone like a genie, summoned back into the bottle.