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 1960s Generational Divide and the Palette of Independence (from the HIstory tapes)
This episode delves into The 1960s generational divide and societal pressures, and how it impacted my relationship with my mother which led to an emotional confrontation revolving around her cliched disapproval of our then-unconventional choice to live together. Her concern for social optics clashed with my desire for personal identity and love and framed my future. Are you struggling with familial bonds in the pursuit of individuality and independence? This episode details the complexities of carving out one's path while honoring the roots from which we've grown.
It was true, Greg was young and unformed, as my mother had said, but he'd responded to me with a purpose others had never hinted at, and I'd fallen in love with him, loving me and the idea that we would leave home together
The complete documentary Through a BlueWindow can be seen on my youtube channel shellfein1. I would love to hear your thoughts.
Thank you
I loved my mother, but living together was like the two of us in a pocket, our only privacy, our secrets. She was dating again and there were nights I'd come home late to the stale smell of sex and alcohol. After Sheila's wedding, the living arrangements changed. My mother moved from the couch to Sheila's bed, not an arm's length away from mine, and the discordant sound of her snoring filled the room like the telltale heart. Sleep was impossible. After five years I was ready to move out, but my mother took my mention of this as rejection. And then I met Greg. I'd enrolled at Queens College.
Speaker 1:Their art program was considered the best in the CUNY system. Mr Bellafini's survey of 20th century art was a required class. It was one of those anonymous lecture classes where the slides whizzed by on a 20-foot high glowing screen accompanied by the professor's disembodied voice. When the last slide disappeared from view, most students were up and out of their seats before the lights came up, pushing through the doors of Auditorium like pent-up cattle. I was taking my time, however, deep in thought, when a decidedly husky voice interrupted my reverie. Excuse me, shit, you scared me. I said, turning around, you shouldn't sneak up on a girl like that. He smiled, setting off a dimple in his chin and I noticed his good looks. Sorry, I just wanted to ask you a favor. I missed the lecture last week and I was wondering if you could borrow my notes. I said finishing his question Well, close, I was hoping if you were free now we could go over to Bop's library and I could Xerox them. Right now he seemed overeager, but harmless. Well, okay, if we do it fast, I'm hungry. So what's your name? His name was Greg Hoffman, and after he reached for a fishing tackle box covered in as much paint as his clothes, I found out that he was a sophomore in the visual arts program.
Speaker 1:After xeroxing my notes, and with traces of summer still lingering in the deep shadows of the Bucala Queens campus, greg led the way toward the southern end of the great lawn where we ate our sandwiches in companionable silence. When he finished, he pulled a small sketch pad from his knapsack and asked do you mind? When he'd finished, I was relieved to see he wasn't playing at being an artist. This is very good, I said. I like your use of negative space. He grinned from ear to ear at that and I asked so how do your parents deal with you being an artist.
Speaker 1:My mother keeps telling me artists don't make any money and I need something else to fall back on. That's her favorite phrase. Fall back on like anyone wants to fall back from doing what they want to be doing in the first place. She says she doesn't know where I get the bug from to paint, as though I've been bitten by some exotic insect. He laughed at that.
Speaker 1:What does your father say? He asked making adjustments to the drawing. My parents divorced when I was two and he's been out of the picture for a very long time. I only have my mother to deal with and that's enough. Well, my father thinks all artists are faggots His words, not mine. He wants me to follow in his footsteps and be a butcher, and my mother thinks whatever my father tells her to think, he's a prick and a bully. I'm trying to save enough money driving a taxi to get an apartment share, but right now I stay in my room out of his way. I share a room with my mother and so I have nowhere to hide, and she acts like I'm going to be living there forever, and when she drinks I can't talk to her at all. I think she's never really recovered from my grandfather's death, but at least she's not a bigot.
Speaker 1:Greg and I remain friends, even though he continued to ask me out, giving me flowers and silly presents, like a tiny, puff-cheeked troll doll, with a note tucked into a shock of wild pink hair that read Won't you change your mind? I wanted to say yes. I hadn't dated anyone since Tommy. But I was like a little girl, stubbornly digging her toe in the dirt, unable to stop herself from saying no. But he was relentless and right before intercession and Christmas break, greg asked me one more time, giving me an ultimatum. I guess he'd had enough. There's a party and I want us to go together, and if you say no this time, I'm just going to have to take someone else. Look at it this way, he argued One less weekend to spend at home with your mother. I want to be with you, can't you see that? And I'll make nice to my father and get the Grand Prix. That time I gave no excuses, I just stood there voiceless. He smiled broadly Great, I'm going to take your silence as a yes, babe, you'll see. We'll have a great time. And we did. We danced and drank a lot of beer, and after the party we parked on the dead-end street near my old elementary school. I'm sorry it took me so long to say yes, but there was a guy in high school and he messed with my head. I explained and I told him about tommy. Thanks for trusting me. Greg said, and if I ever meet that guy I'm gonna beat the shit out of him. Then he leaned in and kissed me. Did I ever tell you about this car? He whispered as he fumbled with the zipper of my parker, slipping his cold fingers beneath my sweater, that your father promised to give it to you when you graduate. I said, barely managing to find the words, yes, and that the seats go down. Yes, and that the seats go down.
Speaker 1:My first meeting with the Hoffmans, ron and Eloise, wasn't so much a dinner invitation as it was a demand, one his father wouldn't let up on until we both agreed. The Hoffmans lived in a two-family attached house on the service road of the Long Island Expressway. Rumor had it that a woman's body had been found in the soft shoulder underneath the underbrush across the way. The Hoffman's apartment was a short flight of stairs up. The air was thick, with cooking smells a roast, I thought and the windows were covered in condensation. Mom, we're here. Greg yelled Okay, 20 minutes. His mother yelled back from the kitchen I'll see you then. I'm too busy now. Well, I guess that means I'll be introducing you a dinner, greg said as we walked past the living room a gaudy affair with plastic-encased white brocade couch and chairs. In the corner, porcelain tchotchkes filled, a golden hands display case, dancing ladies on point, men and women in Louis XIV dresses and little forest animals and a mirror with elaborate flower designs etched into the glass. Let's go to my room till someone says something. The table is set for four, so I guess that means Sonny is going out.
Speaker 1:Sonny was Greg's older sister and just as we made ourselves comfortable in his room, the door slammed open and a voluptuous blonde, having little success holding together the black dress she was falling out of, came storming into the room. Knock next time, will you? Sonny? Can I borrow your date for a minute? I need someone to sew me into this dress. Then she handed me a needle and black thread. Be a sweetheart, she said, rounding her back so I could begin sewing. Sunny's enormous blue eyes were fringed with false eyelashes and a curly blonde hairpiece was pinned to the top of her short blonde hair. I didn't want to bother Mom. She's in the kitchen sweating over the stove for the banquet she's preparing, and I'm sure you can do this right, hon. When I finished she looked like a life-size Kewpie doll. Moments later, the downstairs bell rang. Shit, gotta go. Thanks, hon.
Speaker 1:When we were called for dinner, ron Huffman was sitting at the head of the table. So this is who's been taking up all your time, he said, munching on a celery stalk. Cora, this is Dad. What do you think of my new suit? He asked, puffing out his massive chest. Greg had promised we could eat and leave quickly, catch a movie or something, but when his father began to speak I knew it was Ron who was in control of the situation. Size 46 jacket, just like Bob Mitchum, have to have them custom made. And then he screamed Eloise, where's the food?
Speaker 1:Greg's mother hurried in then, plump knees bulging over white patent leather boots, wearing a short red striped miniskirt. She placed a bladder of roast beef in front of Ron, who poked and sniffed at it like a wild boar. You always say the food is ready when it's not, eloise, and the meat's going to be overcooked. She hurried back to the kitchen and I was halfway off the chair. Let me help, mrs Hoffman. Ron put out his arm, sit, she can do it herself. So you're Greg's girlfriend. Are you wasting your education, learning to paint too?
Speaker 1:Before I could answer, eloise came rushing back to the table with a bottle of Budweiser. You burnt the carrots she hadn't, and there's not enough, earl on the salad. He said Just like that. He said it, earl. Do you know where I was born? Hoboken. Just like old blue eyes, eloise, I want another beer, this one's warm.
Speaker 1:And what the hell happened to your hair? I held my breath and looked up at Greg's mother. I could imagine her hair once had perfectly formed platinum curls, but the strands of her hair had become limp and were sticking to her forehead like albino leeches that needed to be wiped away. This is what I pay good money for. Ryan ranted, pointing his finger at her head. Eloise sank into her chair in tears, cowed like a whipped dog. Leave her alone, dad. Greg said, gripping me beneath the table, his anger, forging his fingertips into my thigh. You made her cry, isn't that enough? Eloise ran from the room and Ron turned to Greg, sucking his teeth like a snarling dog bearing his gums. You think you're a real man, but you'll never be the man I am. I'm fed up with you wasting money on art supplies. Get a job. I should have run and not turned back from that dinner, but of course I didn't.
Speaker 1:And soon Greg and I were talking about finding an apartment together. At the same time, the unthinkable was happening. Rachel and I were drifting apart. Outwardly. We fought about her drug use, but I was secretly envy of her lifestyle. She was living in Manhattan with her boyfriend, gianni, 10 years his senior, and was taking a semester off to live with him in Italy. Greg wasn't into experimenting with alternative lifestyles, wouldn't even smoke a joint and he was judgmental of those who did. But he seemed gentle and caring, always wanting to please me in and out of bed and with Rachel gone, I needed him even more when the arguments with his father intensified. Greg would spend weekends on our living room couch.
Speaker 1:Though my mother was flirtatious and inappropriate at times, walking around in a slip with a scarf tucked into her bra, something I'd seen her do with Uncle Solly she seemed to be fond of Greg and I thought leaving home with him would be acceptable to her. But I soon found out how wrong I'd been. What are you a hippie now? She asked when I told her Greg and I would be living together. What am I going to tell people? And what are you going to do about your grandmother? She's going to be put in the hospital. Tell them we're in love and we want to be together, because that's what two people who love each other do these days. They live together. It's not like when you were young. Mom, nobody cares, you live here, rent free, and you have the run of the place. I don't bother you.
Speaker 1:My mother's voice had climbed a few octaves. Do I? Well, do I, mom? You make it sound like I have an entire wing of a mansion. This is all besides the point. I want to be with Greg. Do I have to spell it out? And what does that mean? Spell it out Nice girls wait for their wedding day.
Speaker 1:I'm tired of hearing that old line from you. Everyone lives together these days. Marriage is so permanent. You know, she said marriage is so permanent. You know she said His parents hold the secret and the acorn doesn't fall far from the tree. She sounded as if she was gazing into a crystal ball. Please stop talking in cliches. I thought you liked him, stupid me. I thought you'd be thrilled that I found someone who loves me. I thought that that was what you wanted for me. I do. I do, just not Greg. He's still so immature. It was true, greg was young and unformed, as my mother had said, but he'd responded to me with a purpose others had never hinted at, and I'd fallen in love with him, loving me and the idea that we would leave home together.