PART 3

Part Three

The Face That

Could Have Launched

1,000 Hips

Fantasies, Lies, and Decades Later…

the Internet

I have greeting cards which are pieces of a bittersweet memory

from 1971 to 1973, and the messages are quite romantic. I saved

the cards to always remember a man I loved named Lou. But this

was a dark and layered and mysterious “love” because Lou was

not just a man... he was my therapist. 

Lou looked like Al Pacino in Serpico. 

And he was married with several children. 

So here goes.

I began seeing a therapist in about 1970. His office was

in Greenwich Village, and after just a few sessions, I fell under

the seductive spell of “erotic transference.” I grew attached, and

I was dependent. I was in love, or thought I was in love. The

feelings were not yet mutual. There arrived the day when Lou

told me he was moving his practice to Staten Island. I was not

ready at all for the separation, and I was emotionally devastated.

So, I followed him to Staten Island and 

became a weekly ferry regular.

The longing for him until my session each week was un-

bearable. I was vaguely aware back then that transference was

a common feeling when in analysis. And I had fallen deeply in

love with my therapist. Lou sent a real mixed bag of messages:

he allowed me to believe the feelings were mutual, and at the

end of each session, he drove me back to the ferry. His behav-

ior was mercurial: by turns encouraging me with contact that

crossed a line, and then emotionally pushing me away, and then

he pulled me back in for more games.

He played with my desire. He sent me greeting cards for

Valentine’s Day and my birthday. He promised to meet me for

lunch in Manhattan, and then he told me to find another thera-

pist. I returned home filled with longing, and I was confused and

desperately unhappy. I was in anguish. I wrote him long love

letters filled with desperation. I was losing my mind.

The heartbreaking, bizarre saga continued for several

years, and well… as it goes with time, the hypnotic spell eventually broke, 

and I ended the “therapy.” One day, just like that.

About eight years later, in 1981, I called Lou’s old number. 

I needed closure. Lou was very excited and happy to hear

from me. He was divorced. He started manically calling me

twice a day. I had to tell him to calm down. Soon, we had dinner

at a Manhattan restaurant. He sat there all pompous and clueless,

smoking a cigar. He made me sick. I had perspective and was

more angry with myself and my own stupidity than with him.

Nevertheless, we went back to my apartment, and when he left,

I knew I would never see him again. He had not changed. He had

told me over dinner that his experience with me took him to a

place where he made a decision to never allow physical contact

with a patient in a session ever again. 

The man was a fast and quick study!

I look back on this episode of my life now, and it is totally

meaningless. I am not angry. I feel nothing. I know this goes

on. Lou was verbally unprofessional, unethical, and his behavior

was inconsistent. He did not know what to do about me, and he

could not handle or come to terms with his own feelings. Trans-

ference is serious and should be handled properly by those who

have fallen under its seductive spell. I think my experience with

Lou exacerbated my condition of limerence, and I actually never

knew I had that until a viewer in my broadcast was listening to

one of my many stories and gave it a name. I am happy I saved

all of Lou’s cards because I am reminded of a bittersweet 

chapter of my life.

A few years ago, I saw on the internet that Lou had passed

away. I called a number I believed could have been his (to of-

fer some form of condolences to whoever answered). A woman

picked up, and she told me she was his wife, allowing me to

conclude he remarried. After some quick back story to identify

myself, I asked her if Lou ever mentioned me. She said no... and

as my saga unfolded, she was riveted by my story and listened

intently. She actually seemed to enjoy hearing it. Damn, why

am I so sad that he is gone? Maybe because I really would have

liked to talk to him again.

As I advanced through the decades, did I experience great

romance? The love of my life, after the Lou insanity, melted

away into what was only a fantasy of what I believed him to be.

As I grew older, I grew into enjoying solitude. I did not enjoy

attachment, and some are just meant to “do alone.” I was not to

age as a “we,” and any significant other felt like I was passing

through time pulling a suitcase on wheels. Sad? Maybe.

Al Goldstein and Me

In the early 1990s, I would go to a New York City restaurant

(long closed) called Mulholland Drive Cafe on Sundays with

Angie, another teacher. It was on Third Avenue around 64th

Street, and it was owned by a well-known actor. The place was

not that big, and it was a weekly hangout for Al Goldstein and

his hangers-on... and plenty of adult film stars surrounded him. 

It was “Al this and Al that,” and even though it was 1:00 PM, they

dressed with a lot of sparkle and glitter like they were going to a

disco. Plus, I never saw heels so high.

He was the center of attention, and he sat on his throne

there at some long table at literally a higher level on a balcony at

the top of a few steps. Al Goldstein, creator of the very popular

sex magazine Screw and the host of Midnight Blue on public

access TV, was sort of famous back then in New York City. He

was considered a great pioneer within the world of porn.

After a few weeks, Al became more interested in me and

Angie than his regular crew. So he sat with us, and after we gave

him some back story and information about us, 

he said one of his ex-wives was a teacher. So then the conversation 

became all about the schools, a subject that always got me talking. 

It still does.

Years after that, Al was living near me... on 8th Avenue and

15th Street, and if he passed my building when I was outside, we

would stand on the sidewalk and talk for a while, always about

the schools. He seemed lonely, and he would talk about his son.

He was so proud of him.

In 2004, he started working at the old Second Avenue Deli.

He was almost broke and unrecognizable. 

Al passed away in 2013.

Later, in about 2014, I was sitting with Robin Byrd at a

comedy club holiday party. We talked about the old Channel

J, and even about Steve Gruberg, whom I also knew from the

neighborhood and whose cable TV show I would call from time

to time. Steve also passed away.