Manny’s Legacy: Paying Forward My Personal Therapy

Arthur Freeman

Midwestern University

The lessons of childhood will often last a lifetime. Two lessons that I learned early in life were that loss

can occur quickly, unexpectedly, and have monumental consequences such as when my father died

when I was 9 years old. I also learned that losses can be assuaged or mitigated in many ways, not the

least of which would be the replacement of my father with a father figure, who filled the needs of an

adolescent and later an adult with a role model, keen insights, and emotional support. This article traces

my experiences with personal therapy and addresses how lessons learned can be used and passed on

to succeeding generations comprised of one’s children and, in my case, my patients and students for

the past 45 years. & 2011 Wiley Periodicals, Inc. J Clin Psychol: In Session 67:789–793, 2011.

Keywords: personal therapy; psychotherapy; cognitive-behavioral therapy; attachment; loss

When I was 9 years old, my father died. He and my mother went out on a Friday night inMay of

1951 to see Guys and Dolls on Broadway, and he never returned. According to Jewish tradition,

he was buried on the next day after the Sabbath, on Sunday. I don’t much recall my emotional

reactions at the time, though I can recall many images, events, and persons. The emotions elude

me. I can conjecture that I was sad, experienced loss, and likely pulled into myself.

About a month later, my classroom teacher sent a note home to my mother stating that she

was worried about me. She wrote that my former exuberance was gone. I now sat quietly at

my desk and said very little. (I should note that the exuberance that she now missed was

previously framed as, ‘‘Arthur just doesn’t stay in his seat, he is always talking and fooling

around. He is the class clown’’). I soon recovered and was up to my old tricks of being the class

clown, and nothing more was said.

When I went to high school, I was assigned to a guidance counselor, as we all were in those

days. His name was Mr. Sam Zimmerman. Sam was an old friend of my father’s and grew up

with him on the lower east side of Manhattan. Sam was to be my ‘‘Dutch uncle.’’ I didn’t work

very hard in school, realizing that if I paid a modicum of attention in class and read just a bit

of the text, I could easily get C’s and some B’s. Sam called me in on multiple occasions to tell

me that I was smart enough to get all A’s if I worked a bit harder. Working harder in high

school was not on my personal agenda or on the radar.

Finally, in 1956, Sam called my mother to school to see if she could get me to buckle down.

The discussion was not very useful. She said that I studied (or so she thought) and that my C’s

and B’s were more likely a product of my being an average student. Sam disagreed. In fact, he

recommended that I be tested by their school psychologist, Dr. Emanuel F. Hammer, to see

what my ‘‘true’’ potential was and what, if any, problems could be discerned. Manny Hammer

had completed his PhD in clinical psychology at NYU in 1951. He was building a practice and

was working as a school psychologist to pay the bills while he got his practice started. After

administering the Wechsler-Bellevue, the Rorschach, the House-Tree-Person figure drawings

(at which Manny was a world expert), and the ‘‘Blacky’’ test, he informed Sam that I had

superior intelligence, a number of unresolved issues of loss related to my father’s death, and a

significant sibling rivalry issue with my older brother. He recommended psychotherapy. My

mother was distressed. After all, no one in our family had ever needed therapy. As a good

Correspondence concerning this article should be addressed to: Arthur Freeman, Midwestern University,Department of Behavioral Medicine, 555 31st Street, Downers Grove, IL; e-mail: Artcbt@aol.com;Afreem@midwestern.edu

JOURNAL OF CLINICAL PSYCHOLOGY: IN SESSION, Vol. 67(8), 789--793 (2011) & 2011 Wiley Periodicals, Inc.Published online in Wiley Online Library (wileyonlinelibrary.com/journal/jclp). DOI : 10.1002/ jclp .20819

mother, she agreed. She told Manny that she was a widow with limited financial resources so

Manny agreed to see me on a weekly basis for $7.50 per session.

Manny was in training as a psychoanalyst at a training institute, the National Psychological

Association for Psychoanalysis (NPAP), set up by Theodore Reik, an early colleague of

Freud’s. (Psychologists were, at that time, personae non grata at the psychoanalytic institutes

run by psychiatrists). Manny’s office was on West End Avenue in Manhattan, along with a

large number of other psychoanalytic psychotherapists. His office was also his apartment. The

living room was the office. It was not a large room, and he didn’t have enough room in his

office for a desk, bookcases, and couch, so I sat in a large leather chair facing away from him

with the instruction to, ‘‘say whatever comes into my mind.’’ Of course, what came into my

mind was how I hated sitting there, wondering how much time I had left in the session, how

much longer was it going to take to see him, and so on.

Manny had a soft and gentle voice, much as I have heard from horse whisperers who can

tame even the wildest animal. Manny’s voice was that of the ‘‘adolescent whisperer.’’ No

matter how upset I might have felt (and not shared), he somehow knew of my upset and I

always left feeling calmer. Manny also named me. As an adolescent, my nickname was

‘‘Artie.’’ Manny referred to me as ‘‘Art’’ from the very beginning of our work. I never

corrected him and to this day, some 55 years later, I am known as Art.

I continued to see Manny though high school and into the first years of college. I had graduated

high school in 1958 at age 16 and was no more ready for college than I would have been for space

flight. As I got older, there was, in fact, more to discuss. Manny had finished his psychoanalytic

training, had built a large practice, and had a larger office, one that could accommodate a couch.

I now lay on the couch and discussed my dreams, fantasies, longings, and goals. I remember the

day that Manny put a new certificate on his office wall next to his doctorate. It was a diplomate in

clinical psychology from the American Board of Examiners in Professional Psychology (now

ABPP, having dropped the term examiners). I asked him about this, and he explained that ABEPP

was a group that certified his expertise as a clinical psychologist.

As a college student, I had already taken an introductory psychology course and really liked

it. The next term I took a child psychology course and found out all about myself. I was sold!

Psychology it would be for me.

I stopped seeing Manny in my second year of college. Things were going well, I dated, I was

in a fraternity, got along well with my older brother who was in dental school, and I had

several good friends. I was doing reasonably well in school (still not up to my potential, but

good enough.)

In 1964, I graduated with a BS from NYU and got my master’s degree from NYU in 1965.

In 1965, I called Manny for an appointment in the middle of my third year of marriage. I was

not happy. I felt tied down. I was in graduate school and there were so many attractive women

that expressed interest in me that I was overwhelmed. I saw Manny to see if he could help me

sort all of this out. Manny was against my divorcing my wife. He thought that this had to do

with my issues of attachment and loss. I stayed married and was in individual and group

therapy for another 3 years. The groups were co-led by Manny’s wife, Lila K. Hammer. She

was also trained as a psychoanalytic psychotherapist. Over the years, I saw Manny at various

times for short tune-ups for current stressors and problems.

The future that I saw for myself was to get my doctorate, open a psychodynamic

psychotherapy practice on West End Avenue in Manhattan, do individual and group therapy,

graduate from a psychoanalytic institute, and be very much in Manny’s image.

As a doctoral student in psychology at Teachers College-Columbia University, I completed

all of the required course work, passed the comprehensive examinations, and wrote and

defended the first three chapters of my dissertation (introduction, review of the literature, and

methods). I ran the study, got the data analysis back from the computer center on large

fanfold pages, and did nothing more. I was paralyzed. The fanfold from the computer center

sat on my desk at home. I averted my eyes when I passed the room. Were I Catholic, I would

probably have made the sign of the cross to keep me free from the horror of what was on my

desk. It sat untouched for months. My advisor kept giving me gentle encouragement. My wife

kept asking, ‘‘How is the writing going?’’ My mother would ask, ‘‘What’s happening with the

790 Journal of Clinical Psychology: In Session, August 2011

doctoral thing?’’ To all I would answer, ‘‘Fine, just fine. It’s coming along.’’ The pressure,

however, increased. It was time to call Manny again.

I called him and told him my dilemma. Manny was pleased to hear from me and told me

that my call was fortunate in that he was just starting a group of doctoral students in a variety

of disciplines who were having problems completing their dissertations. Well, that was just

what I needed. We met every Thursday morning from 8–10. Each of us told our story, and we

shared our insights. My story was simple. I had an older brother who was a dentist and

therefore had the title Dr. By not completing my dissertation, I could avoid becoming a

Dr. and avoid the feared sibling rivalry and ultimate castration that awaited me. The group

would nod sagely at this significant insight. Each of the members had his/her ‘‘story.’’ After

about 4 months of my story, the pressure to complete my dissertation was becoming very

intense. I spoke to Manny, and he gently told me what I already knew, that these things could

not be rushed. When I was ready, I would complete the work.

I was desperate and made a far-reaching decision. I had met Dr. Albert Ellis some years

before, and had heard him speak at several American Psychological Association (APA)

meetings. Maybe Ellis’s approach would work better. I broached this in group, and Manny

explained that although Ellis was very logical, he was not very psychological. I was determined,

however, to try this avenue. I called the Institute for Rational Living (now the Albert Ellis

Institute) and asked for an appointment to see a therapist. When I explained the problem, the

receptionist asked if I wanted to see Dr. Ellis. Yes, of course! The fee was $25.00 for a half-

hour session, cheap even in those days. I had 30 minutes to tell my story. I rehearsed several

times to make the best use of the time.

At the appointed time I was at the Institute, paid my $25.00 and was instructed to walk up

the stairs to Dr. Ellis’s office at the top of the stairs. I knocked and was told to enter and to

close the door. Ellis was reclining on a leather chaise. He invited me to sit and asked, ‘‘How

can I help you?’’ I was ready. I quickly explained that I had an older brother who was a dentist

and had the title Dr., and I was unable to complete my dissertation to avoid the conflict that

would ensue from my also being Dr. Freeman. Ellis shook his head and asked, ‘‘Why are you

here?’’ I assumed that he was hard of hearing and I repeated my story, but louder. He

interrupted me and stated, ‘‘Stop with the Freudian horseshit.’’ I was shocked. My analyst and

group did not deem my insights and discussion of this salient issue to be horseshit. Manny

rarely interrupted me in this way. Ellis continued, ‘‘I see that this is hard for you. You’re not

finishing your dissertation because you are too f---ing lazy.’’ Now I was shocked and angry.

I was not lazy. I was a hard worker. I had been working since I was 13 years old. How dare he

state with such certainty that I was lazy. I objected and Ellis said, ‘‘Prove to me you’re not

lazy.’’ In fact, Ellis said that he wouldn’t be surprised if I was waiting for the dissertation fairy

to come and write it for me while I slept. This also shocked me because I did have the fantasy

of some magical solution like having Rumplestilskin come in at night and spin my fanfold

straw into dissertation gold.

I proceeded to prove him wrong. I pointed out my multiple successes, the jobs that I had

done, my becoming an Assistant Professor at a college, and many other instances that I believed

proved him wrong. I was not lazy! (What Ellis had done was to initiate, what I later learned, the

Socratic Dialogue, a basic tool in cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT). He had me develop a

rational response to my irrational thoughts regarding my ability to complete a dissertation).

By the end of the session, we had set a homework goal of my turning the fanfold into tables

and charts. I would return in 2 weeks with the results section done. I finished the results section

that weekend and completed the dissertation in 3 months. I defended my dissertation on

Friday, May 11, 1974, coincidently, the 23rd anniversary of my father’s death.

I came to the dissertation therapy group the next Thursday and announced that I had

successfully defended my dissertation and I was now Dr. Freeman (pending some corrections

on the dissertation), and that I was leaving the group. The group and Manny were

congratulatory until someone asked, ‘‘What about the issues with your brother? Sure, you’re

Dr. Freeman, but there is lots more work to do.’’ I was furious. I did what I came to do,

I completed my doctoral work and yet I was told not to experience pride but shame because

I hadn’t done it properly.

791Manny’s Legacy

One of the group members then said that I owed it to the group to remain because, after all,

they helped me to complete my degree. I was furious and I then blurted out what I had never

told Manny or the group. That I had seen Ellis and that is what helped me. Manny was clearly

wounded. ‘‘How could you not tell us (or me) about this?’’ I said that my goal was to do what

was best for me. At the end of the group session, I said that because so many felt negatively

about what I had done, I would not return to the group. Manny shook my hand upon my

leaving and wished me good luck. I knew that I had hurt him.

Over the years I had the good fortune to meet and work with Dr. Kurt Adler, Alfred Adler’s

son, take psychodynamic courses with some of the best psychodynamic therapists in New

York, and take courses with Al Ellis through his Institute. In 1977, I moved to Philadelphia

and began working with Dr. Aaron T. Beck, the father of cognitive therapy, a collaboration

that continues to this day. I also had many contacts with Al over the years. He was supportive

of my work and was a major influence on what I have done. After all, I first learned CBT up

close and personal from him.

I had no contact with Manny until many years later. I was founder and chair of the PsyD.

clinical psychology program at Philadelphia College of Osteopathic Medicine. I contacted

Manny to see if he would travel from New York to Philadelphia to do a workshop on

projective drawings. I picked Manny and his wife Lila up at Philadelphia’s 30th Street Station

and took them to their hotel. My wife and I took them out for dinner at one of the best

restaurants in Philadelphia. I was trepidatious. What was he thinking? Had he ever forgiven

me, especially inasmuch as I had partially abandoned his psychoanalytic work in favor of CBT?

During dinner, Manny leaned toward me and said, ‘‘Art, I have followed your career very

closely. I am so proud of you.’’ Even as I write this, I am filled with the overwhelming love and

caring that he exhibited toward me, from the time that I was a teenager to that moment.

I choked out, ‘‘Thank you.’’ This in no way says all that I wanted to say. Even as I write this,

the positive emotions are very powerful.

Lasting Lessons

My career as a clinician, teacher, and psychologist are largely due to Manny’s influence. Yes,

like him, I have published. Yes, like him, I have earned an ABPP diploma in clinical

psychology. Yes, like him, I teach younger clinicians lessons on how to be an effective

psychotherapist. I carry Manny Hammer in my head.

Many of the lessons that I use with my students are those that he taught me. Use humor

when appropriate. Be honest. Invest not only time but also something of yourself in every

psychotherapy. Practice what you preach, and seek personal therapy or consultation, as

necessary.

Probably the most important lesson I learned from Manny was that it was essential to be a

mensch. Translated from the Yiddish a mensch is a real person. I was speaking with one of my

students who was having some interpersonal problems that, we (as a faculty) believed, would

impair his ability to be an effective therapist. I advised him to take a leave from his doctoral

work and to work and to spend a year in therapy. His goal in therapy, I said, was to come

back a mensch. ‘‘What is a mensch? he asked. A mensch, I explained is the person that when

they leave the room, they are sorely missed. Manny was a true mensch.

Manny died several years ago of complications of Parkinson’s. I have had many

conversations with him over the years. I have asked myself on dozens of occasions, WWMD

(What Would Manny Do/Say)?

I believe that my personal therapy helped me in many ways, both personally and

professionally. I believe that it is an important part of the education of a clinician. It forces the

clinician into the mindset of what it is like to sit across the desk. To be a patient, can, I am

convinced, help the therapist to be more aware and sensitive to the conflicts of the patient. My

therapies with both Manny and Al have contributed, in major ways, to who I am, how I

practice, and my success. At best, I stand on their shoulders.

I also learned that throughout his or her life the individual must integrate diverse views.

Divergent views from parents, teachers, religion, friends, or one’s culture. It is a similar task to

792 Journal of Clinical Psychology: In Session, August 2011

integrating the experiences and messages from diverse psychotherapies. My psychodynamic

therapy with Manny, my cognitive-behavioral work with Ellis, and my work with Adler, Beck,

and so many others have all taken a place in my life and helped me to become a more integrative

and complete therapist. I have learned from them all that the working bond, the relationship

between therapist and patient, is a key element in allowing the therapy to move forward.

My students have profited from my contacts with these two giants, Manny and Al. Al’s

voice and image are still familiar to many through his tapes and numerous books. My students

and supervisees have never heard of or met Manny Hammer nor do they know who he was.

Yet, he is with them as they move forward through their classes and supervision. He speaks to

them about their clinical work with their patients through me. They will extend the messages

that I learned and, in this way, what has been learned can carry forward through the years.

Selected References and Recommended Readings

Beck, A.T., Freeman, A., Davis, D.D., & Associates. (2004). Cognitive therapy of personality disorders.

New York: Guilford.

Freeman, A., & DeWolfe, R. (1990). Woulda, coulda, shoulda: Overcoming mistakes, regrets, and missed

opportunities. New York: HarperCollins.

Freeman, A., Pretzer, J., Fleming, B., & Simon, K. (2004). Clinical applications of cognitive therapy.

New York: Kluwer.

Freeman, A., & Reinecke, M. (Eds.). (2007). Personality disorders in children and adolescents. New York:

Wiley.

Hammer, E.F. (Ed.). (1958). Clinical applications of projective drawings. Springfield, IL: Charles C. Thomas.

Hammer, E.F. (Ed.). (1968). Use of interpretation in treatment: Technique and art. New York: Grune &

Stratton.

Hammer, E.F. (1990). Reaching the affect: Style in the psychodynamic therapies. New York: Aronson.

793Manny’s Legacy