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
Embracing New Horizons: Chris and the Open Union - Liberation (part one) )
After being forced out of the apartment by Annie I was more convinced than ever that that I could no longer tow the party line.
In this episode and the next I will take a deeper dive into my relationship with Chris Crenshaw, first mentioned in episode four which covered Jonestown's and my realization the group was a cult and the group’s exodus to Florida after The Three Mile Island accident and partial nuclear meltdown ( it might be worth a re-listen) and the Open Union, an independent socialist, activist, and education center where we met.
The threads of love, and loss, were woven into the unyielding force of the Sullivanian's influence on me. Ollie briefly reenters my life and brings a flood of emotion and memories. We share a vulnerable conversation that navigates our shared history, the weight of regret, and love. As Ollie prepares to leave New York City, we grasp one more night together, and the promise of staying connected. This episode is more than a narrative; it's a testament to the resilience of the human heart and the profound impact of our choices—intertwined with the relentless pursuit of personal freedom and political conviction becoming a catalyst for leaving the group and therapy
As always thank you for listening and please share your thoughts if so inclined .
The complete documentary Through a BlueWindow can be seen on my youtube channel shellfein1. I would love to hear your thoughts.
Thank you
After being thrown out of the apartment by Annie. The move upstairs to my new apartment was a simple elevator-filled ride away, but emotionally I was more convinced than ever that there was no place for me in the group. I could no longer tow the party line line. A flyer taped to the college community bulletin board brought me to the Open Union and to Christopher Crenshaw, who became my way out of the group. I mentioned Chris in episode four, which covered Jonestown and the group's exodus to Florida, which might be worth a re-listen, but in this episode and the next I will take a deeper dive into that relationship and how it led me to leave the group and the Sullivanians. The Open Union was located on the second floor of a loft building just west of Fifth Avenue on 19th Street. A single dusty bulb lit the dim stairwell, barely illuminating the Open Union's mission statement that was hand-calligraphied on a large poster board. It read the Open Union is an independent socialist education Center that provides space for a variety of political and cultural active groups to meet. Our collective is open. For us, the content of political education is liberation. We actively support people's struggles to confront and contest common situations of oppression through collective study and action. We organized classes, lectures, workshops and study groups.
Speaker 1:It went on. I opened the heavy metal door and darkness gave way to an allonge of wondrous cooking aromas. Following my nose, I turned to see a middle-aged man, long hair in a ponytail, with a frilly white apron around his waist, looking more like Donna Reed than a political activist, busily shifting pots and pans from one hot plate to another. To my right there was a small auditorium with folding chairs stacked haphazardly against the wall. The casement windows were cranked open and the faded beige walls were covered with a penelope of political posters Don't mourn, organize, ban the bomb. Power to the people, black power which fluttered in the cool breeze. I followed the wall of posters to a small room where a bespeckled, dark-haired woman was reading a copy of the Nation. She introduced herself as Mary Shelton, whose green agate eyes shone bright behind heavy tortoise frames in an otherwise plain face. There's a collective meeting in an hour if you'd like to learn more, and you can wait. She said. That's Len out there. He's a great cook and it's free. Just donate what you can. I stayed for the meeting and the tofu vegetable stir fry with rice and joined the collective that night signing up to teach drawing from the model Members were responsible for generating revenue, teaching classes, fundraising and general upkeep.
Speaker 1:They also rotated weekend responsibilities opening the doors by 10 am, setting out chairs and making coffee. When my name came up in the rotation a month later, I woke early cruel and unusual punishment for someone who loves to sleep in as much as I do quickly dressed and leaving my roommates asleep in their beds. I arrived a little after 8 am and inserted the key into the deadbolt, but it wouldn't turn and became jammed in the lock, the rusty chain dangling like a snake playing possum. The Saturday morning regulars would be arriving soon, wanting their coffee and I needed to get the door open. I had the collective's telephone list in my knapsack and moments later I was smoothing the crumpled papers with my fingertips, scanning the names. Christopher Crenshaw was the first name on the list and I remembered him eyeing me during several meetings.
Speaker 1:A founding member of the collective. He was the one to call. I gathered my things and went in search of a payphone. He insisted he wasn't asleep, but I knew I'd awakened him. It's okay, really. He repeated in a husky, smoker's voice. I was planning on coming down anyway. I'll be there in an hour. Tops, I could see from the membership list that he lived on 213th Street in the Inwood section of Manhattan, but in the meantime he added see if you can find some WD-40 lubricating oil. Any hardware store will have it. I couldn't find a store. That area was dead on the weekends.
Speaker 1:But true to his word, chris arrived a little over an hour later and with a can of WD-40. Within minutes of spraying, the dangling key turned and the door opened. Listen, people are coming, come on, I'll help you set up. He said, taking my hand, hand giving me no choice but to follow him inside. I've always liked tall men maybe a throwback to my father, wrap around you twice. Broad-shouldered but not muscular, with dark, thick hair that he constantly pushed behind his wire-rimmed glasses, he'd mastered the bohemian intellectual style. That day he was wearing a rust sweater vest over a striped green and white shirt, a forest green corduroy jacket and a heavy dark brown twill pants. A long hand-knitted scarf encircled his neck.
Speaker 1:After the meeting, we flirted the afternoon away sipping espresso and eating crusty sfogatel at the Café Borgia. Chris was a chain smoker with a pack of camels always at the ready and his fingertips were stained yellow. I was due uptown for a house meeting. But I didn't hesitate when he suggested a movie and dinner. Great idea, I need to go inside for a minute and just make a call. I wasn't prepared to tell Chris about the group, or Ollie for that matter, at least not right away. I shifted the truth around when I called and told Cynthia, one of my roommates, that I was still waiting for the locksmith. The lie was easily accepted and I smiled to myself hearing Annie's reproach in my head to such a phone call. Once we were outside, chris took my hand and we made our way through the crowded streets to Washington Square Park and then to 6th Avenue to Arturo's Pizza Restaurant.
Speaker 1:Over dinner I explained about Reliable District 65, and the strike. I had to testify before the NLRB last week. It was very Twilight Zone-ish, I said. Then I took a hit from his cigarette. You smoke Sometimes when I'm nervous. Nothing to be nervous about, he said. You know I have a crush on you since that very first collective meeting. I smiled and asked what brought you to New York? You're from Vermont. Right Dimples magically appeared beneath his five o'clock shadow. Maine, actually, you'd like my family, he said with a straight face. My mother thinks canned ham and Wonder Bread are delicacies.
Speaker 1:Chris had left the University of Maine and the state five years before, but not before he confronted his father, an alcoholic whom he discovered had been physically abusing his mother. Chris threatened to expose him unless he moved out of the house and into the back room of their small family hardware store. With that in place, chris felt free to leave home. He moved to Manhattan with his friend Toby Schick and they began hanging out at the Marxist Center on Barrow Street. Within a month, cecile Barlow, his first love and lead singer for a local Burlington band, made it to New York CBGBs and a record contract made it to New York CBGBs and a record contract. He moved into her house in Long Beach where she was living with a group of musicians. After five tumultuous years together, cecile left him for the producer of the band's first album. The end of their relationship coincided with his disenchantment with Marxist dogma. He moved back to Manhattan and began the OU. And that's it, he said, tearing the wrapper off a fresh pack of camels. Anyway, my father has found redemption in the church and I've made peace with him.
Speaker 1:I make the nine-hour bus trip back to Maine twice a year, mostly to see my mother. She believes Richard Nixon was innocent. Goddard's Masculine Feminine is showing at Bleecker Street Cinema. That's what I was planning on doing when you called. Chris lit another cigarette you smoke too much I said. We headed over to the theater.
Speaker 1:Godard's grainy black-and-white film told the story of a young parisian woman and her unsettling relationship with a political radical played by jean-pierre layaud, a tall man with dark eyes who bore a striking resemblance to Chris. After the movie we shed a joint as we walked towards the subway. Hey, you want a beer, he said, pulling me into McNulty's Irish Pub on 6th Avenue. So what did you think of the movie? He asked after we'd settled into a back booth and were sipping Budweiser's. Léaud reminded me of you, but I'm sure you've been told that before. I lived in Paris during my junior year and people used to ask for my autograph, he said, laughing. This must be the tenth time I've seen Mascavine Feminin. The first time we made love was without foreplay, fast and furious. The second time was in slow motion and we finally fell asleep at daybreak. When we awoke it was late afternoon Over a huge meal of eggs and bacon and potatoes and juice and coffee.
Speaker 1:I told Chris about the group and, ollie, you should have left for good, when that Annie person forced you out and refused to talk about it. What is this group? Stalinist Russia? He asked. Move in with me, cora. You know I have a crush on you. I laugh. Well, that's sweet, but I can't change my life on a crush. You just said, and I quote, I don't plan on staying here forever, unquote. Now's your chance. Move in with me. It's more than a crush. I'm falling in love with you and I think we'll be great together. You're falling in love with you and I think we'll be great together. You're falling in love with me in one day. And what about Ollie? It's not one day. I've been watching you at all the collective meetings. You're beautiful and you're smart. You don't give yourself enough credit in that department and your politics are right. If you still want to see ollie and he's okay with you living with me, I think maybe I can handle it. An open relationship, dating other people, the freedom to if we want, but I don't see that happening for me for a long time. Anyway, I want to be with you and I can see that you're ready to leave the group. It's too soon for me to make a decision like that, chris, but ask me again sometime soon, okay.
Speaker 1:When I told Ollie about Chris, his response surprised me. Jesus, fucking Christ, cora, that guy. I could understand you fucking someone else, but not that guy Fucking you don't know. Fucking. Even know him I do. I have been to some of the collective meetings at the Open Union. He's a Marxist, an intellectual snob. I can't believe this shit. I thought you would have the good grace to accept this. I'm not asking for permission.
Speaker 1:You didn't consult me about Bernadette and you know what I would have told you. She was lonely and needy and saw you coming a mile away. That's not fair. What happened with Bernadette is different. I love her, but I'm in love with you. I don't even know what you mean by that Sounds like a bullshit excuse. They would say around here I will love you forever, whether it's a romantic or platonic relationship. You're a child, you ruined us and you should know.
Speaker 1:Chris has asked me to live with him and I'm thinking about it. He hates the group You're going to to live with him and I'm thinking about it. He hates the group. You're going to move in with him. If I'm going to leave the group, I need a place to go. I asked you to come with me to West Virginia, ollie said, standing moving slowly through his apartment collecting every painting and every present I'd ever given him and pushing them into my arms here. I don't want them and good luck. What the fuck Are you throwing me out? What happened to the great anarchist? You're going to erase our relationship because I fucked someone you don't approve of. Your age is showing Ollie. I can't deal with knowing you had sex with him in the bed we make love in. I fucked a lot of guys in that bed and it never bothered you before. There was nothing but noisy confusion in my head when I left, wondering if my mind would ever catch up with my emotions if my mind would ever catch up with my emotions.
Speaker 1:A few weeks later I heard from Ken, my old union buddy, that Ollie was leaving the city to organize in West Virginia. It had been three months since that day in his apartment and I couldn't let him leave New York without trying to speak to him one more time. The recording on his home phone informed me. The number was no longer in service and then I called the ILGWU offices and Ollie was there and he took my call. He'd come to cash his last paycheck. I'm leaving tomorrow, he said. Check, I'm leaving tomorrow, he said, and he agreed to meet me later that evening.
Speaker 1:It was raining lightly when I exited the subway and by the time Ollie opened the door to his apartment I was more than a little wet. He kissed me on the cheek and said let me see if I can find you a towel somewhere in all this mess. He returned a few moments later and handed me a ragged dish towel. Thanks for meeting me here. I left this last minute packing, but it shouldn't take me long, he explained, tossing books into a box. I'm going to drop this box off at the main post office on 34th Street in the morning, then head over to Port Authority.
Speaker 1:I sat on the chair near the stove drying my hair, watching him move around the tiny kitchen with the grace of a leathsome rodeo cowboy. As usual, he was dressed in jeans, a denim, work shirt and his dark blue cap. I closed my eyes and listened to the rain against the window and for an instant it was that wet summer's day in July when the picket line was washed out and we'd first made love, when, after so many passionless couplings, an erotic collision of mind and body had allowed me to see the group clearly for the first time. The emotional alchemy of that day had brought me to this moment and I'd been fighting that clarity ever since. The group had turned me against my mother and now she was dead. You look beautiful, cora.
Speaker 1:I wiped the tears away as he watched me from across the room. I was thinking of my mother, how I left her alone. I can't believe you were going to leave without calling me. I heard you were living with Chris Not yet. I've never stopped loving you, ollie but you wouldn't talk to me. And now you're leaving and I won't see you again. You could still come with me. I love you too, sweetheart.
Speaker 1:Before I could say anything more, I was crying again. Remember how we raced the rain and made love and in the process, pissing Annie off. You all have no idea what our relationship meant to me. I trusted you above all else, breaking the group's powerful hold on me. It felt like such a betrayal the way it played out before my eyes. I'm so sorry, Cora, terribly sorry. It was my fault, and with Chris I acted like a child, but I just couldn't get myself in check to call you. He was standing near me, taking my hand kissing my neck. Will you stay with me tonight? He whispered. I did, and in the morning we made love again and we both promised to write, and then he was gone.