Chapter 1
A Conference in England
We seldom have any clue that a life-changing event is waiting in the wings. The experience that was to forever change my life and career, the lives of three close colleagues, and, some would say, the entire field of psychology, began with a chance conversation. A year later, in the spring of 1968, that experience resumed with an unportentous transatlantic flight and the events that followed.
As a practicing psychologist, I have always looked forward with great anticipation to learning what is new in my field. To this end, I was on my way from my Denver home to a conference in England in early June. My wife, Norma, had stayed behind to treat herself and her mother to a music festival they had been looking forward to for months. Traveling with me were Dr. Tom Newman, who also practiced in Denver; Dr. Peter Richards, a long-time friend who worked in a clinic in New Jersey; and last, but not least, my very dear friend, Dr. Janet Maxwell, who worked mainly as a marriage counselor in Phoenix.
Janet, a slim, attractive woman in her late 20s, was a willowy 5'6". Probably her most striking feature was her gorgeous auburn hair, which tumbled in a shining cascade to her waist. Apart from her physical beauty, she was then, and still remains, something of a free spirit, blessed with a wonderful sense of humor and an IQ that appears to outshine those of most of her peers.
Tom, on the other hand, was definitely not a happy person. A man in his late 50s, medium height, starting to add a few extra pounds around the middle but still distinguished looking, Tom was rarely seen smiling in public and was considered to be as stubborn as a mule. This stubborn streak, along with his over-indulgence in alcohol, was perceived by his friends and colleagues as the main obstacle to his leading a successful, happy life.
Peter Richards was trim and fit, standing about 6'2" and, like Janet, in his late 20s. His long, fair hair hung down to his shoulders, framing an intelligent face with smiling blue eyes. Peter, a very enthusiastic young man with great pride in his profession, wanted nothing more than to help people.
Our flight was quite pleasant. We spent the first few hours catching up on each other's doings before the conversations turned to more general topics. The whole world appeared to be in turmoil. We debated the value of demonstrators trying to stop the war in Vietnam before it escalated beyond anyone's control and whether or not their efforts would have any significant effect. We discussed the sad news of presidential candidate Robert Kennedy's assassination, a topic weighing heavily on most everyone's mind. On a lighter note, we touched upon the latest shenanigans of The Animals, a rock music group that Peter particularly enjoyed. Then, after an unexpectedly good airline meal, Tom shuffled papers while Peter and Janet settled down to read and I absent-mindedly thumbed through a journal. In truth, I found myself musing on the unexpected turns my life had taken.
We arrived at Heathrow International Airport, cleared customs without event, and rented a car. Since I was the only one who had any experience piloting a car on the left side of the road, I was designated to drive. After a night's rest in London, we followed the motorway north and west towards the little town of Bourton-on-the-Water, and from there drove four miles south to the conference site. The trip went fairly smoothly, with a minimum number of hair-raising encounters with roundabouts and fast-moving British traffic.
Upon our arrival, my three colleagues were pleasantly surprised to see that the Old Swan Inn was a magnificent Tudor hotel surrounded by immaculate lawn and manicured gardens. It looked like something straight out of a Thackeray novel. The small-paned, leaded glass windows and the prolific, deep green ivy that covered the stonework were indicators of the hotel's age. It was in amazing condition for a building which I had been told was built in 1684.
Entering the small hotel lobby, we mingled with some old friends and introduced ourselves to others. After registering, we agreed to check out our assigned rooms and meet in the lobby about 20 minutes later.
My accommodations were just as I remembered them from my first visit, a little over a year earlier, when I had attended a similar conference and stayed in the very same room. I stretched out on the bed and thought back to that time. I started to recall the unusual chain of events that had occurred and how a chance encounter with a mystical gardener had enhanced my understanding of myself, and life in general, beyond my wildest dreams. As of yet, I hadn't told my colleagues about my new findings—or that those findings had nothing to do with the actual conference I had attended last year.
When I suggested to my friends that they should come with me to England, I didn't mention that it was not so much for the conference itself, but to speak with this uncommon gardener. I felt it would be better for them to meet the old gardener for themselves than for me try to tell them what little I remembered of my conversations with him. I felt quite inadequate to describe to my colleagues the fascinating and informative meetings that had taken place on my last visit to the Old Swan Inn.
As open-minded as I felt, little did I know just how profound and mystical an experience my second encounter with the gardener would be.
My colleagues and I met in the lobby as planned. We were eagerly looking forward to hearing some of the British and European doctors speak on their various new findings.
"They're opening the conference room," Janet announced. "We'd better move if we expect to get good seats."
The four of us made our way into the meeting room, where a Dr. Samuel Smith opened the conference and introduced the afternoon's speakers. Some presented various new techniques and theories that appeared to be positive and to show great promise. On a less hopeful note, the second speaker, a therapist from France, talked about the frustrations suffered by practitioners who see the same patients repeatedly readmitted to hospitals. Also on the agenda were discussions regarding the identification of a few new mental illnesses.
After the day's speakers had finished Tom, Janet, Peter and I went for coffee. Afterwards, we decided to stretch our legs with a stroll through the gardens. As we discussed the various topics that had been presented, I allowed that I had often thought that if this trend of constantly finding new mental illnesses didn't stop, there soon wouldn't be any "sane" people left—and that made me feel very insecure.
"It's interesting you should think that way, too," Janet said. "I often feel the same hopelessness you describe. At times I wonder if I shouldn't have taken my father's advice and joined him in his hardware business."
We all laughed when Tom quipped, "Perhaps we all should have gone into your father's hardware business."
Stifling a chuckle, I observed, "Human psychology has an aspect of intangibility, unlike physics or mathematics, which are pure sciences. The trouble is, we have no universal constants to work with."
"Depressing, isn't it?" Peter replied. "You would think with all the books available to us, there would be more answers. Between the wise pioneers of the past and the scholars and researchers of today, you'd think someone would have found the healing answers we seek."
Shrugging off such high-minded talk, Tom turned to me and said, "I hear through the grapevine that your clinic is doing very well and is expanding. What's your secret, Eric? What kind of techniques are you using these days to bring you all this success?"
Holding back a smile, I hesitated for a few seconds before answering Tom's question. "If I told you, I'm sure you wouldn't believe me," I said finally. "As for techniques such as role playing, I don't use them any more."
Tom was incredulous. "Why not?"
"Because, as far as I'm concerned, techniques are great for tennis and other physical activities, but in my workshops, I find they are seldom of any value whatsoever."