Author: docallegro

Consulting Psychologist
Specialties in: Cognitve-Behavioral Interventions, Conflict Resolution, Mediation, Stress Management, Relationship Expertise, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Fluent in Spanish

The Realization

When I wrote this composition in the first semester of my freshman year at college, I had such a keen recollection of its underlying theme that I kept it all these years. At that time, I did not write well so, readers, please consider this following essay the work of a rookie. When I started looking more closely to skilled writers that had published, my ability to express myself on paper improved markedly between my sophomore and junior year. Nevertheless, even today many years later, my writing any kind of prose very much remains a challenging task.

When I wrote this piece in my freshman English class, the underlying hurt I had experienced upon being rejected by whom I had considered close friends, was still very much on my mind. The Greek philosopher, Aristotle, observed: “Man is a social animal.” The strong need to have relationships with those around us can cause us to act in ways that can alienate us from those we wish to befriend or maintain as close companions. Because we do not choose who are classmates are in K through 12^th grade, the social pressure to fit in and be accepted as part of the group, during those years, is perhaps at its greatest. Many clients, in my practice as a clinical psychologist, have described the excruciating agony they went through, as children, in feeling left out and unwanted by their classmates. It simply is no fun to be the outsider spurned by those we are forced to be in contact with on a daily basis. My immense desire to be accepted by all, like some of my clients, made rejection a sorer point for me than for most of my peers.

When I wrote this on a Smith Corona typewriter, spell checks or suggested punctuation changes did not exist. Although I have corrected either omitted or unnecessary commas and words obviously spelled wrong, I have left the content of this composition intact.

People would rather create false images of themselves than admit to their imperfections of character. The tendency to believe that we are better than the next fellow is inherent in a great part of mankind. This illusion, prominent in so many human minds, prevents us from correcting the very wrongs that we breed. Mankind is a mulish race. We too often resent the criticism that others have to offer, thereby reducing any chance of improvement in the eyes of our fellow man. Instead of closing our minds to the remarks of others, we should judge all that is said to us, and then go on to discard or retain what has been said. An excellent way of doing this is direct conversation with our contemporaries.

Six years ago, during my first year in junior high school, I had a feeling of such discontent that gloom had reached a stage of dominance in my character. The year before seemed to be an antithesis of what was going on this year. My closest friends had been ignoring me for nearly a month. I could not understand what had happened. Had I changed that much, or was it my companions who had changed so radically? How could it be possible for me, who had been so popular, to be suddenly rejected by all? As I walked through the halls between classes, I pictured myself disowned by the human race, much like the Man Without a Country had probably imagined himself.

Throughout the month, I had tried to solve my problem without success. I had blamed everyone but myself for the present condition I was in. For how could it be my fault? It was my honest contention that no one, impartial to my situation, could have possibly thought that I was the guilty party.

But after a month had elapsed, it did not matter to me who was at fault. My mental state had reached its nadir. I realized that it would be extremely difficult to go on living in this manner. I decided to chance upon doing something that I ordinarily would reject without second thought. My idea was quite simple; it involved little if any strategy. What I had resolved on doing was to go right up to one of my ex-friends and ask him why I had been neglected this past month. To me this took a great deal of courage, but my determination, I was to find, would suppress any feeling of fear that I might have felt.

One day, outside of school, I put my plan into action. I saw one of my friends, who had once been very close to me, and I immediately approached him. “Marc,” I called out, “it’s me, Buzzy.” As he stared at me, a light perspiration was clearly visible on my face. Then he replied, “yes, what do you want?” I told him.

What came after my inquiry, concerning my relations with the fellows, and why they had been giving me the silent treatment for the past month, was smooth and gentle, in contrast to the tongue lashing I thought I would probably receive. I discovered that the solution to my problem was no longer to act as childish as I had had a month ago. And suddenly all of my previous actions came back to me. My infantile actions, as I recalled, were primarily done to get attention. Suddenly a feeling of disgust came over me, and Marc could notice it, for he told me to no longer feel bad. I understood though, that now was the time to show them that all of my babyish characteristics had vanished from me personality. I would act my age, as best I knew how, from this day on.

For one hour we talked to each other. But I would have to say that within this hour I recognized something that made growing up a lot easier for me. Besides learning where the trouble lay between my comrades and me, I had finally begun to understand that I was not always the right one. There were others besides myself. This bit of philosophy I have accepted and tried to follow ever since.

Tags Life Lessons

Literature Psychology

In Praise of Hamlet

It has been said that next to the Bible there have been more critiques and analyses about Hamlet than any other literary work. It is Shakespeare’s longest work consisting of more than 4000 lines and a favorite of many famous actors. I was lucky enough to see it in 1964 when Richard Burton played Hamlet on Broadway. The next time I saw this great play was in California with Nicole Williamson as the lead. Because I had not read the play when I saw Burton’s performance, I made sure to have read it prior to seeing it in California. My familiarity with the characters and plot made the production starring Williamson much more enjoyable to see. Without an understanding of the language with its many nuances, I found it difficult to follow all the action the first time I saw the play.

Since that time, I have reread it and seen different movie versions of it. Because the play was written over 400 years ago by a man who had a remarkable vocabulary, reading it on one’s own, with minimum explanation, is not advised. Most works of Shakespeare have available annotated interpretations of the lengthy soliloquies and dialogues that comprise the five acts. Some authorities on Shakespeare have speculated that the death of Shakespeare’s only son and his father, both occurring about the time he wrote Hamlet, may have influenced the saturnine pall that permeates the main character and play.

I will not give an exhaustive analysis of the play but rather sketch this essay around some of the points that I deem salient to life, itself, thereby, in my opinion, making it a work well worth reading. The play begins with Prince Hamlet back from his studies at the University of Wittenberg in Germany, appearing in black mourning clothes, still grieving his father, the late King of Denmark, who had died less than two months earlier. Hamlet, unlike prior Shakespearean protagonists, is a profound thinker, and as a scholar, might be considered a Renaissance Man.

In his first soliloquy, Hamlet says: “Frailty, thy name is woman!” The Prince is incensed at his mother’s rash decision to marry Claudius, his father’s brother, so soon after the death of his father. Hamlet is hurt by his mother’s lack of moral sensitivity in the abrupt manner by which she forgets his father. Meanwhile both Horatio and Marcellus, friends of Hamlet, have seen what they believe to be the Ghost of Hamlet’s father. Against their advice, Hamlet, feeling compelled, follows the beckoning Ghost of his father determined to comprehend its purpose. It is then that Marcellus utters that most famous line: “Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.” This statement symbolizes the decay that comes from the marriage of Claudius and his sister-in-law of which the Church would consider incestuous, and it foreshadows the tragic consequences to come.

When Hamlet sees the Ghost of his father, the latter reveals that he has been poisoned and murdered by his brother. Because Claudius is now the King of Denmark, a society that is not a democracy, Hamlet will need to act alone if he is to avenge the death of his father. Although he respects the divine spirit of his father, Hamlet’s strong conscience will not permit him to act until he can verify, independently, what he has just heard from the Ghost. In formulating a plan, Hamlet instructs his friend Horatio not to be alarmed when he will “put an antic disposition on” to conceal his intentions of trying to fathom whether indeed his uncle has poisoned his father.

Rather than allay his uncle’s suspicions, Hamlet’s odd behavior arouses the King’s attention, and he forms a spy network around the Prince to investigate the cause of his sudden madness. Polonius, the King’s Chamberlain, believes it might be related to Hamlet being lovesick over his beautiful daughter Ophelia. Hamlet now gives–what is perhaps the most famous lines in the English language–his soliloquy that starts:

To be, or not to be: That is the question.

Hamlet recognizes that the dilemma he faces in having to attain justice by committing the act of killing his uncle, King Claudius, is a terribly difficult one. Perhaps, he reasons, it is easier to face death than having to carry out this dreadful act. Toward the end of the soliloquy he says:

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all.

This sentiment that Hamlet holds is extremely important because Claudius, Gertrude, Hamlet’s mother, and Laertes, the son of Polonius, lack the conscience that Hamlet has. It is far easier to commit evil when one lacks a moral conscience. Hamlet ends his soliloquy with the following:

The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my sins remember’d.

Hamlet’s acute awareness of his plan to kill the King weighs heavily on his mind, perhaps causing guilt, and so he asks Ophelia to pray for him.

Up to this point in the play, my view of Hamlet had been distinctly positive. Not only is he well educated, but he also possesses integrity, that is the quality of being honest and having strong moral principles. But Shakespeare does not want us to be too comfortable in our view of Hamlet and, in so doing, we see Hamlet in a different light in the next scene when he encounters Ophelia. Perhaps the agony Hamlet feels is too much for him to bear or perhaps his view of women, and the world, are too much of a burden for him to accept. With an air of cruelty and uncaring, he tells Ophelia four different times:

Get thee to a nunnery.

Hamlet’s huge upset with his mother in conveniently dismissing his father, so quickly, to marry his uncle renders him incapable of feeling love for any female. In a nunnery, Ophelia cannot corrupt others with her beauty, but also, she cannot be maligned by the corruption of others. I remember being very much annoyed with Hamlet’s rough treatment of Ophelia, with whom in the past, he had shown signs of loving. Although Ophelia knows that the King and her father, Polonius, are spying on him, she is innocent and not complicit with what underlies the King’s intentions. She simply believes that they are concerned for Hamlet due to his suffering from lovesickness over her. When Hamlet lashes out at Ophelia, he is making an unfit generalization of all womankind. Queen Gertrude, and not Ophelia, would indeed be a much better candidate for a nunnery.

Soon after, when a band of theater players come to entertain the King and Queen, Hamlet sets a trap for the King by altering a scene to imitate exactly how his father’s murder may have occurred. The play comes from the Murder of Gonzago that Hamlet neatly renames the Mousetrap when he describes it to Claudius. The scene that Hamlet has the players interpose within the play accomplished precisely what the Prince had hoped for by “catching the conscience of the King” with the latter’s untoward reaction.

But Hamlet’s victory is short lived inasmuch as he misses the chance to slay the King when he believes the latter is praying and, soon after, mistakenly stabs Polonius. Because Polonius is spying on him from behind a curtain, Hamlet believes he is the King and thrusts his rapier into the body of Polonius. Now Hamlet has blood on his hands, and we sense that the plot he wove to verify the Ghost’s accusation has suddenly turned against him. But although he feels the guilt of killing the wrong person, he believes that he is to be the “scourge and minister” of a divine power, namely, heaven. Hamlet is far from insane, but in an environment where right and justice are turned upside down, he may appear that way to those who are part of the endemic so prevalent in Denmark.

Although Hamlet expresses upset about killing the wrong man, it is clear that he still very much has Claudius on his mind. Although Claudius does not know how Hamlet found out about the crime he has committed, he recognizes that Hamlet now knows the truth. Later, there is a funeral for Ophelia, the daughter of Polonius, who has been said to have drowned. The cause of death remains unknown but we know that she knew that Hamlet, the man she once loved, had killed her father, and so, we may surmise that her death may have resulted from her sorrow causing an “accidental” suicide.

Toward the end of the play, Claudius enlists Laertes, son of Polonius and brother of Ophelia, in a plot to kill Hamlet by having Laertes put poison on his dueling foil. Moreover, if Laertes fails in gaining a point in the duel, he will ensure the death of Hamlet by having him drink from a goblet of wine. Laertes wounds Hamlet, then somehow in scuffling, Laertes and Hamlet exchange swords with one another, and Hamlet promptly wounds Laertes. In the midst of this, the Queen drinks from the goblet, meant for Hamlet, and topples over. When Hamlet becomes aware of the widespread treachery, he immediately stabs the King with the poisoned foil giving birth to a chorus of treason from those present. But Laertes reveals that the treason belongs to the King and not Hamlet, when upon dying, he says:

He is justly served;

It is a poison temper’d by himself.

Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet;

Mine and my father’s death come not upon thee,

Nor thine on me.

Laertes, in dying, regains his conscience after committing the intentional act of murdering Hamlet. Hamlet’s conscience is clearly on a higher level than both Laertes and the King, the latter lacking any apparent moral conscience when he murders his brother, Hamlet’s father, to become the King of Denmark. Ironically, Hamlet, as a purveyor of death, allows Denmark to be purged of the rot that had so badly infected it. Throughout the reading of this play, I felt the untenable situation that Hamlet faced, and I very much wanted him to somehow conquer it as a hero might. But then the actions he took: First, angrily telling Ophelia to go to a nunnery, and then impulsively killing Polonius by mistake, made me think differently of him. Although Hamlet is fallen, he never sinks to the level of the King, and he believes that providence is behind his efforts to free Denmark from the evil that encompasses it. He achieves this by what he intuitively knows will be his end. So, perhaps it is best to see him as a tragic hero.

I have touched only on the highlights of this spectacular play but it should be obvious that there is much more than one can read into this work. From my own experience, I would recommend reading it before seeing it performed on the stage. It is a difficult work to digest because of the complexity of the language. Most versions come with notes explaining the passages so be patient with yourself as this is really a piece of great art that requires intensive study. Of course, it’s much easier to do this type of reading if you are a student studying with a professor that has a keen knowledge of it and can teach it with expertise. In any event, I would avoid reading translations or abridged versions that will make the task of comprehension much simpler but will lose both the beauty and nuances of the language. Like anything else we do in life, the more you put into the exercise, be it physical or mental, the more you will get out of it.

Mark Twain understood human nature when he said:

A classic is something everyone wants to have read and nobody wants to read.

Accordingly, I suggest that you all fight the instincts to never have read what you deep down really want to read. In the process, I believe you will gain an appreciation taking on the challenge of exposing yourself to one of the greatest gems of English literature.

Tags Classics

Life Lessons Mediation

A Successful Mediation

George Orwell once pointed out that the abstraction of the enemy without ever having met that person would keep him at odds with that person. However, once he met a man who thought differently than he did, the abstraction became human dissipating the dislike or negative feeling toward that person.

I believe that a root cause of the tumultuous times we find ourselves in currently is the refusal to listen to whatever is being said by the opposing group. Moreover, social media has exacerbated this polarity by spreading opinions, often with little factual basis, to those people that are predisposed to accept them as a priori truths. I have been doing pro bono mediations for Small Claims Court in Orange County, California for the past 5 years. What is most helpful in such cases is that the parties involved can seek legal advice but are not permitted to be represented by attorneys during the mediation. The elimination of legal baggage makes it much easier to work with the two sides: 1) Plaintiff and 2) Defendant. I would like to provide an example where high conflict situations can be resolved when the two opposing parties are willing and able to come together to mediate their differences.

The case I was assigned to mediate was between a young male and young female that had been former lovers. The plaintiff was the male suing his ex-girlfriend not only in Orange County, but also in another jurisdiction. In each case, he was suing the defendant for the maximum $10,000 allowed in small claims court.

Because most small claim cases do not involve any prior engagement or knowledge of the other party, this kind of case was not typical. When plaintiffs and defendants have never met, they share no history, thus, eliminating the entanglement and complications rendered by painful emotions. Consequently, this was not simply a matter of money, like most small claims’ cases tend to be, but rather it included the past relationship and the intense feelings that these two formerly had shared with each other. Unresolved anger between defendant and plaintiff in a voluntary mediation often does not bode well for a positive ending. Although their relationship had ended about two years ago, what was being manifested from the start was the anger and hostility they currently felt toward one another. As I began the process of mediation, I was not optimistic about how the outcome would look.

Because of their former relationship, I thought it best to let them bring up the emotions and hurt involved, but, with the implicit caution, not to let these same feelings between the two of them get out of hand. In brief, the plaintiff was suing the defendant for not having shared in paying the rent for a long period of time. When they had lived together, their names were on the lease and this arrangement continued when they moved out to another city. Thus, there were two leases in two separate jurisdictions. During the mediation, the defendant cried explaining that she had meant to pay the rent once she was able to become certified as a teacher. At that time, the plaintiff was completing medical school and, he had incurred some debt that may have factored in his deciding to sue the defendant. Currently, the plaintiff was completing his medical residency while the defendant was seeking employment as a teacher.

After both had expressed their feelings, I asked the defendant how much she was willing to pay her ex-boyfriend in the hopes it might put the issue to rest. In comparison to the amount he was asking, her offer was on the low side as she mentioned she was just beginning to work. At this point, I reinforced their good will in making a sincere effort to get beyond a situation that had brought pain to them both, by now sitting down to meet one another in mediation. I then pointed out to them that they were both quite young and were just really beginning their lives as professionals.

What then followed was quite surprising: There was a sudden shift in the plaintiff’s facial expression from anger to something much less severe. Now I sensed that in fact I might be able to arrive at an agreement between the two of them. Rather than intervene, by asking the plaintiff what kind of offer he was willing to accept from the defendant to bring the case to closure, I chose to let him speak. He said: “I don’t want to hurt you anymore so I don’t want anything from you.” Moreover, he wanted to drop the other case he had pending against the defendant in another county. In writing up the agreement, both parties agreed that the plaintiff would dismiss the case without receiving any money. I further had them sign a separate agreement that the pending case, out of the jurisdiction of Orange County, would be also dismissed. To conclude, i think the mediation worked because of the powerful impact that each had on the other when they were actually able to face one another and proceed in a civil and respectful way.

I realize that politics is very different from mediation. But wouldn’t if it be a much better world if our representatives in Washington D.C. listened to one another rather than hurl verbal stones at one another? Unfortunately, our president does not foster a climate where the democrats and republicans can sit down with one another, and in agreeing to disagree on several issues, go beyond their differences in creating a sense of unity and harmony among themselves and our people.

Tags Love

Teacher Crush

Out of pure curiosity and with a dim hope of connecting with her, I recently googled my 7^th grade mathematics teacher, Mrs. Josephine Both. I was saddened, though not too surprised, to discover that she had passed away, peacefully, a few years ago at the age of 88. According to the obituary, she had taught mathematics for 38 years prior to retiring from the West Orange public school system in 1991.

I was 12 years old when I entered junior high, a new school, while in the process of leaving childhood and, for me, slowly entering into adolescence. I now met new faces insofar as the kids from junior high (today often referred to as the intermediate grades) came from three or four different elementary schools. Rather than staying put in one classroom, our homeroom would go from class to class with the periods lasting about 50 minutes, and with each instructor teaching a different subject. When I walked into my math class with my peers, we were greeted by a beautiful blonde lady who had written her name on the blackboard. As I was usually the shortest in the class, I would often seat myself toward the front of each classroom. Upon seeing my new teacher, I remember a gushing nervousness along with an involuntary excitement taking over my body. I had little control over any of it.

Although I had barely entered pubescence, nevertheless, I could still sense a tingling sensation going through my body each time I went into Mrs. Both’s classroom. Although I neither loved nor detested mathematics, looking at Mrs. Both made it easier for me to study and do the work-related assignments she would give us. But let me make it clear that in addition to her beauty, she was an excellent teacher. If my memory serves me right, her lessons were all well planned, and she was organized to a T. She had the deft ability to elucidate the calculation of different word problems that employed numbers in various ways.

By sitting in the front of the classroom, I was extremely visible and, from time to time, I had the tendency to talk with my classmates. One day I was talking to Marilyn Charles, the girl sitting next to me, and before I could end chatting with her, Mrs. Both came over and told me I had to write fifty times the following: I will not talk during math class. Although I wasn’t the first to receive such treatment in our class, it was so sudden and unexpected that I clearly remember a feeling of embarrassment. No doubt, it felt lousy being criticized by my favorite teacher. I recall blushing in shame–when I was caught in the act of talking–but from that time on being especially careful not to talk while math class was in session. With a tired hand and an apologetic tone, I handed the fifty-line repetition in to Mrs. Both the next day; she thanked me saying she hoped I had learned a lesson. Needless to say, the punishment did not alter my feelings toward her.

I tended to start the year off slowly, persevere, catch up and then often exceed my classmates in performance. As the year progressed, my grades improved, and I was doing, especially well, in mathematics. Now the end of the year had come, all the grades were in, and Mrs. Both had given us a fun assignment in which we had to work out a group of word problems and compete as teams in our last class. I am quite sure much of my motivation in completing this task had as much to do with my feelings toward Mrs. Both as it did my interest in solving the problems. When I am determined to do something, I find myself able to handle tasks that I ordinarily might not venture to achieve. And so, I diligently solved all the word problems and came to class the next day pretty resolved that I had all the correct answers.

It was the last day of math class with my farewell, if it may be said, to Mrs. Both. Because it had no bearing on our grades, it was apparent that very few of my classmates had taken the time to solve the majority of the word problems. When Mrs. Both read each problem, I, confidently, would raise my hand and give the right answer until both teams were calling my name to score a point. Finally, Mrs. Both said: “Did anyone do any of the problems except Buzzy (my childhood nickname)?” Upon saying that, she looked at me with the most beautiful smile that I have kept with me to this day. I believe my performance in that class the last day of school might very well have represented a peak academic experience in my K through 12^th grade education. The irony of it was that it hardly mattered to me that I did not receive a grade for it.

In the summer, I was at camp and wrote Mrs. Both a letter as she had given me her personal address. Because my handwriting was never particularly neat, I made sure to print and, accordingly, it was a labor of love. When she responded, I remember I was thrilled. She said something to the effect that she enjoyed teaching at my school but was going to transfer to another school that offered her better job opportunities. For a moment I remember being a little sad but underneath it all I realized, after all, that she was not only my teacher but the teacher of many other children. Aside from that understanding, I was now beginning to gain an interest in girls my age. But my memory of her remains, and I was happy to read in Mrs. Both’s obituary that she had had a full life of contentment.

Crisis Management Leadership Life Lessons

Northridge Earthquake

After moving from New York City to Southern California, I did not look forward to being greeted by an earthquake. Back in 1981, I was living on the 18^th floor of a condominium in Long Beach with my cousin. On a clear day from my bedroom looking north, I could see the famous Hollywood sign. When the building suddenly started swaying and shaking, and I realized what was happening, I closed my eyes and hoped it would end as quickly as it had begun. The recognition of an earthquake in progress brings a complete sense of helplessness to whomever experiences it. Because the origin of the earthquake was not close to Long Beach and its magnitude was not great, Long Beach did not incur much damage.

Since living in California, by far the worst earthquake I have experienced came in January of 1994 where the center was in Northridge, California in the San Fernando Valley in the County of Los Angeles. It had a magnitude of 6.7 and, it occurred at 4:31 in the morning, Pacific Standard Time, with its duration approximately from 10 to 20 seconds. Suddenly awakened from a deep sleep, I remained breathless, as it seemed an eternity before the movement of my condominium building ceased (I was thankfully no longer living in a high rise). Without a doubt, much worse damage would have occurred if the earthquake had struck at a time when most people were up and around.

When the earthquake hit, I was employed as a psychologist in a bilingual mental health clinic, El Centro, located in East Los Angeles. Because there had been a fair amount of damage in downtown LA, temporary shelters were set up for people whose homes had been affected. El Centro sent a case worker and me to Belmont High School, the site of one of the shelters, with the task of helping families, impacted by the crisis, cope better.

When I arrived at the school early the next morning, I saw my colleague who pointed to a mass of people surrounding some Red Cross workers, who were carrying megaphones. Because she was already working with a family, I went over to see if I could help. Upon hearing one of the Red Cross workers asking if anyone could speak Spanish, I quickly went over and told him I did. He told me to tell the crowd to return to where their individual families were staying and water and food soon would be brought to them. When I translated what he had said in Spanish, all the families immediately dispersed, and, as they formed lines to return to their designated areas, I had this eerie feeling that I was like Moses in the Bible, casting a rod on the Red Sea, that allowed the Jews to cross over the water unharmed.

I was surprised to discover that the Red Cross workers had come from New York, and other areas quite far from California, with few, if any able to communicate in Spanish. Because the target population was first generation immigrants from Central America and Mexico, about 80% of the families could only speak Spanish. While the Red Cross workers were able to organize the food bank with helpers that spoke English, the case worker and I spent time with the families, many of whom had children that had some symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Because there were so many families in the makeshift shelter at the high school, I knew there would not be sufficient time to carry out an actual therapy session with each one. Upon meeting the family members, in order to expedite the process, I made a quick assessment of how badly they were all hurting from the disaster. I was able to do this by simply asking how they were doing, and afterwards, by observing their responses, with special attention given to how the children were doing.

I began by informing the family about the services offered by El Centro and, that they could be had at virtually no cost to them. Fortunately, there were some resources made available to each family such as paper and pencil. A typical intervention that I found to be quite effective was to have the child or children draw a picture of their apartment after the earthquake, and then afterwards, have them draw it the way they remembered it. I had the parents then reinforce to the children that their apartment would be repaired, and most importantly, they would have a place to return. Depending on the needs of each family, I spent anywhere from 10 to 30 minutes, but given the number of families there, I made it a point to budget the time spent with each one.

It was a long day as we were there for more than 10 hours with a very short break for lunch. But because the families expressed their appreciation for our efforts, the case worker and I both shared a sense of satisfaction at our accomplishments. At the end of the day, one of The Red Cross workers confided in me that he would have liked to have been more useful, but obviously could not, due to the fact that he did not speak Spanish.

I do not want my readers to think that I am saying The Red Cross is not a worthwhile organization. In fact, some years earlier I had taken a very beneficial training course in how to deal with natural disasters such as earthquakes, fires or floods. Nevertheless, it was evident that there was a lack of coordination vis-à-vis a need’s assessment with local agencies in Los Angeles that knew more precisely what type of services were required. In this case, it was not so much that there was a lack of assistance but rather that the wrong sort of aid had been sent.

Similarly, there has been many errors made in adequately managing the current coronavirus health crisis. In view of the fact that we are all living in the “shrinking” world of globalization, it is imperative that nations cooperate with one another. When China refused to accept the seriousness of the coronavirus by hiding the scope of the problem from the world, what started as an epidemic quickly turned into a pandemic. Once the medical profession understood the potential danger of what might happen here, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) in the United States, needed to lead in administering–as soon as possible–test kits to work on tracking the virus. Unfortunately, for a number of reasons that we now understand, this did not happen in any timely manner.

To conclude, the initial response by The Red Cross to the Northridge Earthquake showed a lack of coordination with the local agencies in California that were directly involved, an absolute necessity in the successful handling of any type of crisis. The most important lesson here is that leaders need to talk to local experts on whatever the emergency entails to develop a united initiative.

Tags Crisis Management, Disaster Response

Upon Reading Jorge Luis Borges

Post author By docallegro
Post date May 6, 2020
No Comments on Upon Reading Jorge Luis Borges

Although I had recently received a master’s degree in psychology in the early ‘70’s, I was still quite unsure of my future inasmuch as I had held hidden dreams of becoming a writer. I enrolled in a short story course at New York University, not for credit, but merely to investigate if and where my talents may lie in this area. The professor recommended that I read a short story by Jorge Luis Borges, titled Death and the Compass. Around that time, I began writing a novel that to this day remains with me, unpublished. I, like many other authors to be, recognized that the likelihood of making a living as a writer, certainly would be extremely difficult, if at all practical. This realization made it easier for me to choose a much more reliable means of sustenance and so, while working full time as a probation officer, I subsequently, pursued and received a doctorate in psychology.

Be that as it may, my reading Death and the Compass turned out to be an eye-opening experience. This was a detective story never encountered by me before. I discovered that Borges had been a fan of Edgar Allan Poe, regarded by many as the founder of the mystery story. The plot in Poe’s narratives is structured around the detective who, through penetrating analysis, successfully traces the clues of the murder to the killer. Insofar as Borges was an avid reader, he may have seen Eric Ambler’s novel, A Coffin for Dimitrius, that was published in 1939, three years before Death and the Compass appeared. Whereas in Ambler’s novel, the protagonist is a writer who is pursuing clues in better understanding the character of the evil Dimitrius, Borges’ story focuses on the detective, Erik Lonrot. Lonrot’s modus operandi is similar to that of Poe’s Auguste Dupin, who was Poe’s master at solving esoteric clues left by the villain at the scene of the crimes committed.

Borges invites me as the reader along with Lonrot who, with his sleuthing skills, perseveres in uncovering the riddles awaiting him at each crime site. What appears to be inscrutable to his subordinates at the local police department, only stimulates Lonrot to more assiduously study the bizarre manner by which the killer thinks. As he goes about dissecting so thoroughly the clues at each murder scene, I visualized him as a modern-day Sherlock, attending to his everyday business of solving crimes. I am entranced by his great analytical mind and, with each page read, I feel myself becoming more and more a part of the chase. My emotional attachment to Lonrot and his search for the bad guy brought me a sense of pleasure that, ironically, became that much greater when, both Lonrot and I, surprisingly stumbled over the story’s denouement. The unexpected and the unfamiliar ending made this story that much more pleasurable to me.

Although I have enjoyed many other stories by Borges, I will limit my comments to one other favorite story of mine: The Aleph. As I read this story, I sensed that I was stepping into two parallel universes: the classic and the contemporary. The story begins with the narrator, Borges himself, declaring that Beatriz Viterbo, a woman he respected and viewed with great awe, had suddenly passed away. Because her birthday was on April 30^th, he vowed to visit her home on that date every year and meet with her first cousin, Carlos Argentino Daneri.

I was immediately taken by the name Daneri and his cousin Beatriz. Was this a story of Dante, and his unquenchable love for the beautiful Beatrice Portinari? But Carlos was such a mundane character and in Borges’ eyes a dilettante “whose ideas seemed inept to me, their exposition so pompous and vast.” The magic and beauty of the diaphanous Beatriz in contrast to the vain glory of her cousin Carlos gave the story a comically absurd effect.

Danieri boasts to Borges about his writing skills. After looking at his poetry, Borges refrains from judgment and hopes not to hear from Daneri any time too soon. But a few weeks later Daneri calls Borges, and in an agitated voice, tells him that his house will be razed to make room for the expansion of a confectionary owed by two powerful men of the town. When Borges visits Danieri, he studies the portrait of Beatriz in wonderment and is told by Danieri that the ineffable Aleph is in the wine cellar. I descended with Borges into the cellar thinking like him that this may be a trap as it is dark, dank and eerie, a place that Edgar Allan Poe would so often visit in his brutal tales: I immediately thought of the Pit and the Pendulum.

Borges discovers the Aleph when the world opens up to him in all directions as he sees “the earth in the Aleph and in the earth the Aleph” and so much more. In fact, it has been conjectured by some that the infinite vastness of the Aleph is Dante himself. But Borges, in a playful manner, refuses to allow us to believe that he would write in such an abstruse way when he says: “Critics have detected Beatrice Portinari in Beatriz Viterbo, Dante in Daneri, and the descent into hell in the descent into the cellar. I am, of course, duly grateful for these unlooked-for gifts.”

In spite of the fact that I never became a writer, I am most thankful that my professor opened my mind to the many labyrinths so well imagined by Mr. Borges. I recommend that those of you, who have seen this essay, treat yourself and read Borges’ perhaps, like I, starting off with the Death and the Compass.

Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy Consulting Psychology Life Lessons Psychology Spirituality

The Serenity Prayer and Beyond

Post author By docallegro
Post date April 27, 2020
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The lines, now recognized as the Serenity Prayer, are rooted in a sermon that Reinhold Niebuhr, an American Reformed theologian, gave either in 1932 or 1933. They are the following:

Father, give us courage to change what must be altered, serenity to accept what cannot be helped and the insight to know the one from the other.

Alcoholics Anonymous and other Twelve-Step programs have adapted it in the following way:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
and Wisdom to know the difference.

Regardless of the wording, the basic meaning does not change and, I would maintain that these words have had a profound effect on the way people think about things. One of the difficulties I have found people to have is their belief that they are capable of changing situations that they simply cannot. Thus, employees are not likely to change their boss’s behavior just as spouses are not likely to change certain traits their partners may have. The distinction is that they can change the way they react to their bosses or their spouses much more easily than changing how these significant others behave toward them.

An important ingredient in cognitive-behavior therapy is implicitly stated in the Serenity Prayer: You can change the way you think about others but don’t expect others to change for you. This is not to say–you can’t ask your spouse to change a certain type of behavior that you might find bothersome or annoying–without ever arriving at the desired consequences. You may. But generally, I have found that in most situations it makes more sense for a married couple to be able to live with and accept each other’s ingrained differences. Frequently, couples enter marital counseling with each partner blaming the other without understanding how each one’s behavior impacts the marriage.

Another illustration of this could be a student, after studying long hours, performs poorly on an exam. That student may blame her/himself for not doing well. Let us look at this example more closely. If the student did the best he/she could, then perhaps she/he may come to the conclusion that he/she is not particularly skilled in the area that exam covers. But if this is the case, does she/he have to feel badly about himself? Given the above information, I would answer this question with a firm “no.” However, what if that same student did poorly because of intense test anxiety, but she/he would have achieved a much higher score if the experienced anxiety was under control. Because no one of us can perform equally well in all areas that we may partake in, in the first situation it may be preferable for the student to accept this fact and focus on another field. In the second case, however, in which the student is suffering from test anxiety, she/he can change this through techniques involving relaxation and/or meditation with the possible help of a therapist or expert in that subject.

Many people are upset not only by the current coronavirus, but also by the way our leaders are handling the state of the world. I don’t doubt that these people may have the best of all intentions but I consider it unhealthy if their anger is such that they are paralyzed, thereby, preventing them from moving forward. Certainly, if you want change be sure to vote inasmuch as that is an activity within your power. However, changing the state of society is a huge task well beyond the scope of any one individual. Rather than expending so much mental energy in thinking about the impossible, I would advise these people to choose something near and dear to their heart in which their involvement might affect some type of change, whether it be small or large. Here, once more, we see from the Serenity Prayer the importance and wisdom of delineating between what we can change and what we cannot.

Tags Acceptance, Mindfulness, Positive Psychology, Serenity Prayer

Three Men and Five Hats

Because most of you are enduring a social isolation never once imagined, perhaps you have time for a brain teaser requiring logical thinking to come up with the correct solution. Spend as much time as you wish but do not despair if you cannot figure it out insofar as you will be no different than the majority of humanity (that, in this case, includes me). My major professor in graduate school, most determined, took two months to solve it. But this may not be the case for you. A small minority of souls have solved it in a matter of minutes but, again keep in mind, that we are talking about a small minority.

Here it is:

There are three men, sitting next to each other in a room, all wearing blindfolds. With their blindfolds on, all three men are told that they are to choose from five hats in a container, three of which are black and two of which are white. Upon selecting their hats, both of the first two men are told to remove their blindfolds but not to look at their own hat. Therefore, both of these men can see the color of the hats that the other two men are wearing but not their own hat. Meanwhile, the third man is told that he must leave his blindfold on resulting in his not seeing his own or anyone else’s hat in the room.

The first man is then asked what color hat he has on. He replies: “I don’t know.” The second man is then asked the same question and he also says: “I don’t know.” Finally, the third man is asked the same question and he replies by saying: “I know.”

What color is the third man’s hat and, how do he and you know?

Jalopy

Some childhood memories still remain vivid in my mind. One happy one that I recall reminds me of that wonderful opening scene in the film, Citizen Kane. If you have never seen this movie and do not want to know how it concludes, then please do not go on reading this blog because it will be a spoiler. I am quite sure the movie is readily available inasmuch as it is a classic, directed by the young and talented Orson Welles, who also starred in it. My recommendation: If you haven’t seen it, see it and then come back and read this blog.

The opening scene shows Kane on his back, dying, with his last breath uttering the word, Rosebud. In an effort to decipher the origin of this word, a reporter interviews several of Kane’s close acquaintances in flashbacks that provide the picture’s material. The film portrays the development of Kane’s life from a young striving individual to a newspaper magnate who wields great power. Although a fictional work, many compared Citizen Kane to the real-life newspaper mogul Randolph Hearst. There is a scene showing Kane as a boy frolicking in the snow that connects us with that last word uttered by Kane, Rosebud. Although the reporter cannot solve the meaning of this word, at the end of the film the audience sees a sled in a fireplace with the word Rosebud, on it, slowly disintegrating into flames.

I grew up in northern New Jersey in the ‘50’s where there was plenty of snow. When the blizzards brought snow, it was like manna from heaven insofar as the schools had to be closed allowing us kids to have a day off. Two close friends of mine had the good fortune to live at the top of their streets that were both long and steep, and due to the snow, blocked off from traffic. It was one of the natural delights as a child to take my sled to either of those locations and enjoy the thrill of sleigh riding down to the bottom of those streets.

But it was not a sled that I longed for as an adult. As I child my brothers and I would go down to Beach Haven, a pristine shore in New Jersey, every summer to spend a few weeks visiting the family of an old college friend of my father. It was there that as a child of 6 or 7, I discovered miniature golf and pinball with my brothers. I still remember the place we would go to: Beacon’s Golf and Amusement Arcade. The latter consisted of pinball games with the price per game being a whopping five cents. I became fascinated with one game, called Jalopy, when one day my younger brother and I were watching this other kid, a few years older than both of us, play and win 25 free games with the Kid, the driver of Jalopy number 6. I think he appreciated the awe and amazement we expressed when the games started ringing up to 25 as he offered me the chance to play one of his free games. His generous gesture began my career as a pinball player and my early infatuation with Jalopy. Each summer when I went with my family down the Jersey shore, I spent many a nickel playing Jalopy.

Since then I played a variety of pinball games and became fairly adept, with an almost reflexive knack for manipulating the flippers, an intrinsic part of the game. As an undergraduate at college there was a breakfast place on campus that had five or six machines with the same group of guys always playing the same games. I made some friends playing pinball perhaps related to both my enthusiasm and skill at the game. One of the games I excelled at was called: World Series. Because I was an avid baseball fan, I, especially, enjoyed playing it. However, as the years went by, many features of pinball were changing, one of which reduced the number of balls in a game from five to three, in addition to the inevitable raising of the price per game. In essence, what had happened is that now you had to pay more to play less per game. These changes along with others diminished my interest in pinball. Moreover, as pinball had become less popular with the next generation due to their greater fascination with video games, there were fewer places left to visit that housed pinball machines.

As the years went by, I thought about the fun I had in playing Jalopy. It had been over 50 years since I had first played that game. After searching for it on the internet for about a year, I finally found an owner of it that actually lived in Southern California about 50 miles from me. Upon going to his home, I discovered that he was a collector of pinball machines. When I told him of my interest in buying the game Jalopy, he said he would paint it and get it looking like new and, when I returned to buy it, it did indeed appear to be in mint condition. After playing a number of times, I decided to buy it.

Jalopy became more than a memory for me than the sled had been to Citizen Kane. That is to say, the act of both finding and obtaining the pinball machine of my childhood, as a personal possession, reified the memory. What is most surprising is that when I currently play the game (of course for free though it does have the original nickel coin slot), I thoroughly enjoy it. I have thought about this. Jalopy, like practically all pinball machines, was hard to win free games simply because the proprietors wanted the customers to keep on pumping their money into them. Consequently, despite the fact that I have owned it for about fifteen years, and have played it countless times, I still find winning at Jalopy quite challenging. Winning at Jalopy is somewhat similar to winning at card games in which skilled players won’t always beat other players due to the fact that they may be unlucky in drawing poor hands. If Jalopy was a game of 100% skill, then eventually I would figure out ways of winning the game consistently. This does not happen due to the unpredictability of how the ball caroms off the side, what bumper it hits, where it will go in relation to the flippers and, then how I will react to all this uncertainty, some of which I can control, and some of which I cannot. In this sense, I would say that Jalopy is more like poker than say bridge, a much more complicated card game that involves some luck but a much greater degree of mastery and expertise than does poker.

The irony is that if the game no longer would demand attention to the prerequisite dexterity necessary to win free games, my enthusiasm for it would wane. That is what is fascinating about humans: Difficult situations stimulate us to work harder at the task that confronts us with the goal of improving our ability to overcome their challenge. When I invite friends and family to play, they are quite amazed at how hard it is to win a free game which makes sense inasmuch as they have not played it or practiced it as much as I have. Because of my familiarity with Jalopy, when I demonstrate my prowess at it, my friends and family can appreciate my performance even if I don’t win a free game on that attempt.

The perception of time differs during one’s childhood. As a child the time to play one game felt much longer than it is presently. When I enter my home office where I have Jalopy, I tell myself I will only play one game but before I know it, I may play three or four more times in no more than five minutes. Since I have owned Jalopy, I have been able to relax but still try to outmaneuver the machine in an effort to win free games. It remains a source of great fun.

Time Enough at Last

I am sitting at home, socially isolated like many Americans and people throughout the world, reading a thriller suspense novel, titled The Holdout by Graham Moore. The opportunity to do this almost feels luxurious. Life is cluttered with so many things to do that the chance to read a book for mere pleasure almost feels too good to be true. Before the coronavirus turned the world upside down, I had read Daniel Deronda, by George Eliot, my local book club’s choice of the month.

Those two fictional works differ, most conspicuously, by the length of the sentences of each book. The sentences in Eliot’s wonderful book were so long that every once in a while, I would have to reread it so as to not miss the underlying point. That is to say I had to focus and concentrate. Sentences in Moore’s book are short, concise and to the point allowing me to put my mind in neutral as I glide through what has been a page turner. As I read, my body quivers with an eerie sensation upon peering outside from my home and seeing the intense stillness surrounding me. The reality and the fiction appear so entangled that we are having difficulty disengaging from our beliefs that are rooted in our anxieties.

Fortunately, rather than having to go to my office, the internet has provided me with more available time than I normally would have by allowing me to see clients online. The idea of unlimited time sparks a memory from long ago when I was in my early teens. It is Friday evening, 1958, and I am visiting a friend when these stars appear on the tele screen and a very myopic man with whiskey shot lenses is pondering his difficult life with a wife that won’t let him enjoy the reading he loves and a demeaning boss at the bank where he works. After Rod Serling comes on, my friend, Marc, who is the youngest of 12 children, tells me that this is a new show. Because all of his siblings were older, he always seemed to know more about what was cool and groovy than the rest of us. As soon as the program starts, neither Marc nor I say a word. We sit entranced.

Burgess Meredith plays Henry Dimis a hen-pecked bank clerk who, following his boss’s demand, goes inside the vault to deposit money and is suddenly jarred by a sonic boom. Rubble and debris cover him from a nuclear explosion in which he is the sole survivor on earth. He does not know what or where to go and contemplates suicide until he discovers piles and piles of books, all of which are intact, in front of the dismantled library. His mundane life that necessitated his carrying out the chores and duties that his wife and boss commanded of him did not allow him the time to read the classics that he has so wanted to peruse all his life. As he joyously looks at these treasures, he is so happy that his glasses slip off from his face and in looking to retrieve them he steps on them cracking the lenses in several pieces. As if an arrow had pierced his heart, Henry, face torn, looks up and says: ‘That’s not fair, not fair at all. I had time at last.’ My friend and I nod with the silent understanding that we have seen something very rarely captured on a TV program.

The Twilight Zone episodes had a universal appeal inasmuch as they spoke to many of the characteristics–that make us humans–coming up against that vast unknown space. Who would have guessed that the whole world is experiencing something that no one really could have predicted only a few months ago? Surreal but very much real. It was always the pain and emotions that humans experienced throughout history that separated us from the immortal gods who never could have such sensations as pain or joy. We are in this together but the manner in which we use the time it affords us, though it may be unbearable to some, will make the difference in the way each and every one of us come out of it when it ends. Though it may feel that way, this is not the apocalypse. Although some of us may not make it to the finish line, the great majority of us will survive and, if we all work together, it will take many fewer lives than if we forget what it means to be human. In the meantime, at last there is time enough for me to go to my bookshelf, wipe off some of the dust that has accumulated on it and choose some books that I can enjoy.