Whittle away at an addict a little at a time and what do you have? Dean Hepper believed what existed in the absence of years of illness-driven behavior was an empty shell, a blank slate, a shapeless piece of clay that could be molded into anything. Under Dean’s careful tutelage, each resident was resculptured daily by each aspect of the program and then polished to perfection by going through the various stages of therapy. Yes, we all were diamonds in the rough who eventually became highly polished, almost flawless gems by Kinsman Hall’s standards. By the time a resident began their therapy, they had come to revere the process as a deeply spiritual experience. The sense of awe surrounding therapy was highly sensationalized by its mystery. Older residents were not allowed to talk about their therapy experiences with younger residents. The younger residents remained in the dark not knowing what to expect or when to expect it until their time arrived to become enlightened. By the time younger residents were called to the hallowed marathon room in the attic, they expected to return with some mystical afterglow and armed with all the tools to battle their addictions and bad behaviors.
In reality, therapy was the ultimate placebo which most every resident swallowed because they had nothing else to believe in or look forward to. We had been stripped of all our fantasies and had been placed to stare at the bitter, ugly truth as each of our bad behaviors was pointed out to us repeatedly. The ritual of receiving therapy was spoon fed to each person and although at the time I didn't fully understand the whole mechanism, the communion amongst the down-trodden was strong and very appealing for many reasons. Throughout our lives leading up to whatever led each of us to Kinsman Hall, each person became an expert in avoiding dealing with their problems. We were aloof, antisocial beings in our own right. At Kinsman Hall there was nowhere to hide and confrontation was the way of life. No one's story was more horrible or shocking than the next person's. Once sharing was initiated, trust followed. And sharing was always initiated because resistance was futile. Over time we all became familiar with the most intimate details of each others lives. We no longer felt like misfits because we all had bizarre stories to tell. Somehow we all fit together like a jigsaw puzzle.At certain stages of the program, intense therapy sessions were introduced to the residents. These therapy sessions were called marathons and took place in the confines of what once was the attic. A typical marathon lasted several days to a week or more depending upon the size of the group. Later a cabin was built away from the main house to hold marathons, so the participants wouldn't have contact with other residents in the house while the marathon was in session. When I think about how isolation played such an integral part of Kinsman Hall's whole program it makes me shutter. From isolating the entire house from the rest of the world to the bans put upon people for various reasons, isolation was a tool that forced the residents over time to become dependent upon the "family" as a unit and over time that unit became their reason for being.
My first exposure to any type of therapy was during the orientation phase of the program. Frank M. would take my peer group downstairs into the Red Room where we'd have simple confrontation groups to talk about our problems and to have others weigh in on each others problems as well. What I remember most about those times was how the Red Room reminded me more of a cave, a secretive place away from it all than a typical cellar. The Red Room spanned the large kitchen above it and had two entrances situated just outside both sides of the kitchen. Half of the Red Room was decorated with a mountain of "donated" clothing that went half way to the ceiling. Where these clothes came from or why they were there was something I don't believe I ever knew or really cared know. As far as I knew no one ever used any of the clothing. It just always sat there in a a huge heap. The mountain of donated clothing seemed weird to me because everyone at Kinsman Hall was allowed only a certain amount of clothing from an approved Clothing List and everyone seemed to have everything they needed, yet here was this mountain of clothes no one seemed to want or need.
The other half of the Red Room was arranged in a circle of chairs for our groups. When we had a group no one was assigned a seat. We just sat wherever we wanted to sit. As Frank M. conducted each group, Steve S. would wander around the Red Room always physically present, yet not 100% mentally present in the same way the rest of us were. Mitchell, an arrogant, unfriendly acid head from Long Island always seemed to aggravate Steve S. without even trying. All Mitchell had to do was start talking to get Steve S. on alert. Everyone assumed Steve S. was in his own little world while he dug furiously through the donations to come up with an appropriate costume for each group we had. While Steve S. was fast at work, he was also listening to every word that was said. I always loved the bright red and white Coca-Cola logo pants he'd wear with some equally loud, unmatching shirt. Eventually Steve would challenge Mitchell to get real while looming over him while the rest of us usually sat speechless over Steve's bursts of undaunting reality. Mitchell always seemed unphased by Steve's tirades, but then again Mitchell was unphased by anything anyone would say to him. For Mitchell, resistance was his way out of Kinsman Hall. He never made it past the orientation phase. For me, the groups in the Red Room during my orientation period were my first steps to being accepted into the Kinsman Hall family and to making friends with others in my peer group. Unfortunately, Mitchell never experienced that acceptance or belonging. He left the same way he entered.
Before actually attending a marathon, everyone developed a preconceived notion about marathons. Some even envisioned ascending the stairway into the attic thinking some magical force would heal them and make them suddenly whole. What most really thought was that it was time off from work, where they could eat candy, play cards and do basically anything they wanted to do. Being in the marathon room was like stepping into a neutral zone or better yet, it was like being on vacation. Yet each person knew that "something" happened during a marathon. For many, that "something" came in the form of physical contact and negative contracts.
When a person was called to the marathon room, their peer group usually accompanied them. A runner was given a list of names to notify. People were told to grab their pillow, blanket and a few clean clothes and report to the marathon room. My first impression of the room reminded me of a room that would have been great for a gigantic orgy. The large room was wall to wall mattresses. The dining area and bathrooms were separate from the area used for therapy and sleeping.
The actual marathon therapy is hard to describe. I believe it actually might have been several popular psychological concepts at the time combined into one, but I don't think it was ever given a name like Primal Scream Therapy. Upon arrival in the marathon room each participant was given forms to fill out. All the highly personal data on these forms would be used during that person's individual marathon experience. During that experience, each person was carefully guided into what was deemed a "feeling level" while everyone else sat/laid around the perimeter of the room on the mattresses. A therapist, Dean or Jack would lie next to the person face to face in order to talk the person through the "switches" that needed to be made. The therapy was supposed to allow a person to switch hatred, self-hatred and fear into grief. Once the switch was made, the negative feeling was dissipated by what was called "grieving it away". I liken grieving to deflating a balloon that's almost ready to burst. The common belief was that while a person is filled with negative feelings they are unable to heal. These negative feelings had steered our individual journeys and had caused each of us to act in ways that normal, well-adjusted people would not act. Confronting our demons would ultimately result in us being free to live a productive life.
How a "feeling level" is accomplished is something I cannot really explain or attest that, in fact, actually exists. All I know is that the physical sensations of hatred and fear caused a definite tightening in the body as Jack and Dean steered us through an emotional maze. At the appropriate time they would instruct the person to switch those negative feelings into grieving the feeling away. With a hand firmly placed on the back of the person lying on the mattress, Jack or Dean could feel the person's body tighten and then release as the switch was made. When the release or grieving process became stuck so to speak and a switch to grief was not being made, they would physically nudge the person to let it go. One by one, each incident on a person's list was addressed. The grief sensation felt like what crying would be like without the tears or noise. A trembling in the gut was present throughout the grieving process. During a person's time on the mat, the therapist would lead the person through a trip down memory lane by speaking softly to the person lying next to them. The therapist's words were emotionally charged aimed at certain responses. At the end of this process the person was supposed to feel emotionally naked and unworthy of acceptance, yet each person completed their therapy by asking someone in the group to accept them for the person they are. Kneeling on a mattress in the center of the room the person asked for acceptance from the person who would least likely accept them. The person would show acceptance by going to the person and embracing the person asking for acceptance. And then rest of the group followed suit. It was an enjoyable emotional climax after being prodded and probed and exposed for all to see.
When the marathon was over, the group then left the marathon room by descending the hallowed stairs to rejoin the rest of the house. The whole house welcomed the group by embracing each member. Again, this was a highly emotional event. One of the high points of the marathon process for most everyone was the physical contact they experienced with the opposite sex. For most, being affection starved had become a way of life so a simple hug was very stimulating and satisfying. Due to the intimate surroundings of the marathon room and the males and females not being separated for long periods, usually more physical contact happened than just the acceptance embracing during and after a marathon. Forming negative contracts were a favorite past time of any marathon along with card playing and falling asleep during the day next to the person of your choice. It was almost like being somewhere else...anywhere else but at Kinsman Hall!