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On the morning of the seminar’s second day, Tom’s group was conspicuously absent. The meeting was half over when the three of them crept in, very apologetic, with Vidje wearing cracked glasses. They explained that they had gone down to the waterfront the evening before and found a boat, in which they spent the night “celebrating.” That morning, getting out of the boat, Tom stepped on Vidje’s glasses. They were incredibly sorry. But Tom, even at his most apologetic, was clearly a star. He had gone up North to the “Red University” in Tromsoe after he got his medical degree, and was teaching there when I met him. He seemed to be much entangled in professional politics and complained about the antagonism shown him by the establishment psychiatrists in the South.
At the time, I was teaching at the Ackerman Institute. The Milan team had been invited to show their work to us the year before, and I had become an instant follower. So I formed my own team: it contained Peggy Penn, who was just coming out of her internship, plus the late John Patten and Jeff Ross, two neurolinguistic psychiatrists from Payne Whitney who had heard of us and came along just as we needed them. By this time, Boscolo and Cecchin had started a training center and were holding international summer workshops in the Italian lakes. The team organized by Peggy and myself went to the very first one, which (I think) was held on an island called Montisola in Lake Garda. Karl Tomm brought a team from Canada, and Tom’s Tromsoe team was there too, plus a scattering of people who were not in teams.
Throughout these meetings, Tom seemed to me like a person who was finding his true family. Peggy became a special object of adoration for him, and he clearly worshipped Boscolo and Cecchin - well, we all did. I will never forget the night Tom decided to carry a very heavy Luigi in his arms (I have a photograph of that) and sprained his back so badly that Vidje had to tie his shoes for a week. When he met Harry Goolishian, who joined the Milan Meetings at a later point, he became an instant son. Me he called his “little sister,” and would always take my arm in his when crossing icy patches of road.
On the morning of the seminar’s second day, Tom’s group was conspicuously absent. The meeting was half over when the three of them crept in, very apologetic, with Vidje wearing cracked glasses. They explained that they had gone down to the waterfront the evening before and found a boat, in which they spent the night “celebrating.” That morning, getting out of the boat, Tom stepped on Vidje’s glasses. They were incredibly sorry. But Tom, even at his most apologetic, was clearly a star. He had gone up North to the “Red University” in Tromsoe after he got his medical degree, and was teaching there when I met him. He seemed to be much entangled in professional politics and complained about the antagonism shown him by the establishment psychiatrists in the South.
At the time, I was teaching at the Ackerman Institute. The Milan team had been invited to show their work to us the year before, and I had become an instant follower. So I formed my own team: it contained Peggy Penn, who was just coming out of her internship, plus the late John Patten and Jeff Ross, two neurolinguistic psychiatrists from Payne Whitney who had heard of us and came along just as we needed them. By this time, Boscolo and Cecchin had started a training center and were holding international summer workshops in the Italian lakes. The team organized by Peggy and myself went to the very first one, which (I think) was held on an island called Montisola in Lake Garda. Karl Tomm brought a team from Canada, and Tom’s Tromsoe team was there too, plus a scattering of people who were not in teams.
Throughout these meetings, Tom seemed to me like a person who was finding his true family. Peggy became a special object of adoration for him, and he clearly worshipped Boscolo and Cecchin - well, we all did. I will never forget the night Tom decided to carry a very heavy Luigi in his arms (I have a photograph of that) and sprained his back so badly that Vidje had to tie his shoes for a week. When he met Harry Goolishian, who joined the Milan Meetings at a later point, he became an instant son. Me he called his “little sister,” and would always take my arm in his when crossing icy patches of road.