To enjoy joie de vivre, you have to be comfortable in your own skin. You can’t allow your limitations to strangle you. Again, if your background was so prudish that it prevents you from experiencing sexual satisfaction, I would strongly urge you to go for professional help. But if you’re very conservative when it comes to sex but do have orgasms regularly, then don’t worry about it. You can expand your horizons in other ways, intellectually and physically.
At Planned Parenthood, I was only supposed to train the women going out into the field, but I wanted to see how my training was being used. So sometimes I’d accompany them when they went out to take surveys. The streets of East Harlem weren’t the safest place back in those days, and the insides of some buildings were in worse condition than the streets. Climbing all those stairs—remember, stairs are more of an obstacle for me than for most people—smelling the urine, and stepping around the garbage sometimes made me wonder if I had made the right decision not to stay back in the office. However, listening to these young women tell their tales opened my eyes. I’d known poverty, but because I had ten good years with my family, my foundation was solid. Most of the young women we interviewed were facing the world completely on their own. Even though they were sexually active, many didn’t have the slightest idea of the connection between what they were doing and the potential consequences.
The women I sent out were only supposed to ask questions, but often I couldn’t stop myself from adding some advice. I remember sitting in the living room of one young mother of three. The plaster at the corner of the ceiling was coming down in chunks, the table had to lean against the wall because it had only three legs, and the green couch we were sitting on was terribly stained. I asked her about the father of her children, and while she knew who two were, she wasn’t so sure about the third. And, of course, none of them were helping her in any way.
“Do you have a partner now?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Do you use contraceptives?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He says he doesn’t like condoms.”
“Do you want another child?” I asked her, looking into her eyes. Her only response was to look down at the floor.
I explained the options to her, though I could tell that having that fourth baby was probably inevitable without some intervention. It made me sad, but at least the program I was working on might help bring women like her some assistance.
My next job was as a professor at Lehman College in the Bronx. There my specialty became instructing teachers and prospective teachers how to conduct classes on sex education. Because of my “expertise,” I was suddenly being asked very specific questions about sex by both students and fellow faculty members. Students would take a long time packing up their books so they’d be the last one to leave the classroom, and they’d come up to me and ask questions such as, “Professor, does the pull-out method really work?” or, “My boyfriend and I have sex, but I’ve never had an orgasm.” I usually gave them an answer of sorts, but often it was based on common sense, not hard facts. I wanted to be able to help them more knowledgably, which led me to decide to become better educated.
When I first came to the States and needed to learn English quickly, I turned to reading the True Confessions-type of magazines. The language was simple enough for me to grasp and the stories entertaining enough to hold my attention. But while these magazines certainly covered sex—adventurous sex at that—now I needed something with more depth. My first foray into getting an academic background was a week’s worth of seminars given by Long Island Jewish Hospital. I learned a lot, but this wasn’t a long-term solution. I then read on a bulletin board that the famed sex therapist Dr. Helen Singer Kaplan was giving a lecture at the Ford Foundation. I bought a ticket and off I went.
The auditorium was packed, but I had arrived early because I knew that if I didn’t get a seat down toward the front, I wouldn’t be able to see a thing. After Dr. Kaplan spoke, she showed a couple of short films. Then there was a question-and-answer session. I was determined to ask a question, but the audience was composed mostly of other experts. My heart was racing as I tried to think of a question that wouldn’t make it obvious how little I knew but would still be interesting.
“Dr. Kaplan, do you believe that premature ejaculation is more readily treatable if the man has a partner?” That set off a discussion among the audience. After the lecture, I approached Dr. Kaplan while she was still at the podium. Dr. Kaplan complimented me on my question, which gave me the courage to ask her if I could visit her training program for sex therapists at Cornell Medical School. She gave me a smile and said, “Of course.” That was a Thursday, and on the next Tuesday I showed up. As you may have discovered, I’m a very impatient person!
Impatience may not be a virtue, but if you constantly procrastinate, that’s going to limit the amount of joie de vivre you experience. Each of us is given only a limited amount of time on this earth, and we don’t know when the ticker inside of us is going to stop, so wasting time is a big mistake. I understand that if you’re supposed to do something unpleasant, you might put it off—but you know what? Those types of chores somehow always manage to get done because there’s a need. But you don’t have to see the latest movie or feel the sun on your face that first warm spring day, so it’s all too easy to just sigh and miss out on these pleasures. But if you keep putting off everything that can bring pleasure, then your life becomes dull. So when it comes to joie de vivre, stop procrastinating and instead make enjoying life to the fullest a priority.
For the next three months, I was a regular visitor at Dr. Kaplan’s program. The more I learned auditing those classes, the more I realized that being a sex therapist was the right career choice for me. Sex therapy appealed to me because of my impatient nature. It’s a form of behavioral therapy in which the patient doesn’t have to spend a long time looking for the root cause of their problem but instead gets instruction on what to do right away to improve their situation.
Let me give you an example. Many men complain of not being able to last long enough during intercourse. The condition is called premature ejaculation, or PE. (You may remember it was the subject of the question I asked Dr. Kaplan during her lecture.) It’s not a physical ailment; it’s more of a learning disability. One theory behind the condition is that young men masturbating behind a locked bathroom or bedroom door train themselves to reach orgasm quickly, in the event that a family member comes a-knocking. As a result, they are then stuck in an instant-gratification mode, which is not so desirable when they begin to have sex with a partner. But as a sex therapist, you don’t care why your client has PE. You don’t undertake a psychological dig to find out when and how a client masturbated or whether or not he was attracted to his fourth-grade teacher. Your job as a sex therapist is to teach him how to gain the control he is seeking. And that can be done in a rather short time. You assign your client homework—and if he does it properly (even better is if he has a partner willing to work with him), he can gain control over his ejaculations in a few weeks’ time. Much of a sex therapist’s advice is of a similar nature. It’s short, moves quickly, and gets results. Just like me!
I made up my mind and enrolled in Dr. Kaplan’s program as a student. Remember I said I was old-fashioned and a square? Well, for me to conduct sexual-status examinations of those who came to the clinic, asking them every last detail about their sex lives, was not easy. With some clients (since we’re not medical doctors, we call them clients, not patients), all the details would spill out without much prompting, but others needed coaxing.
“So, you gave your husband oral sex last night. Did he ejaculate in your mouth?”
Just because you use a medical term like “ejaculate” rather than “come,” or as young people these days spell it, “cum,” doesn’t make it any easier. Especially as a good sex therapist has to picture in her mind exactly what a client is doing when having sex. (And that’s the reason tha
t I don’t treat people who are into bestiality or S&M.) But in time I learned to overcome my natural reticence to pry into people’s sex lives and could even smile when I thought of the “homework” my patients were doing in their bedrooms. After two years of training, I got a certificate from Cornell as a psychosexual therapist. That one went right up on my wall. And I quickly started to develop a private practice.
As a leading figure in the field of sex therapy, Dr. Kaplan was bombarded with speaking requests. Since she couldn’t accept most of them, other members of the faculty sometimes took her place. One day Dr. Kaplan received a letter saying that the managers of the community affairs departments of the New York radio stations were looking for someone to address them, and I volunteered. I often did, as I believed not only in the importance of what we sex therapists were doing, but also that by meeting lots of new people, other doors might open up for me.
I was more nervous than usual during the elevator ride up to the ballroom at the St. Moritz Hotel, but I can’t say that I had any premonition of where this fifteen-minute talk was going to lead.
While I had this group of radio station executives in my hot little hands, I decided to float a trial balloon, never actually imagining that it would soar to the heights it did. I told them that we need more sex education in this country and that radio stations, as significant others, had a duty to help spread correct sexual information to their listeners. One of the managers attending, Betty Elam of WYNY-FM, asked for my card, and a few days later called me with an offer to appear on one of her station’s community affairs programs. And so I was interviewed by Mitch Lebe. Poor Mitch, a longtime reporter on the New York airwaves, had to be forced by Betty to take on this assignment. His show was on at ten o’clock on Sunday morning, and the last topic he wanted to cover was sex. But somehow he managed to get through it, and as a result of that interview, on May 5, 1980, Betty offered me a fifteen-minute slot on Sunday nights at twelve fifteen a.m.
For my first show, which was taped on a Tuesday afternoon, I just spoke about my philosophy, but I asked listeners to write in their questions and they soon came pouring in. After that I would read the letters over the air and then answer the questions. When the station’s program director, Maurice Tunick, said to me, “You’re going to be the talk of the town,” not only did I not understand the reference to the New Yorker column, but I didn’t believe him. After all, my little show was airing at such a late hour on a Sunday night that I found it hard to believe many people were actually listening. One early indicator of how my show was catching on was from people who recognized my voice. The first time it happened was when I gave a coin to a blind man begging on the street while adding some comment, and he said, “Thank you, Dr. Ruth.” Then taxi drivers started to recognize me once I spoke up. Since I was on radio, nobody knew what I looked like, but my unique accent seemed easy to pick up.
(At this point, I have to jump ahead to tell you a story. When I first came to this country it was suggested that I get a voice coach to lose—or at least reduce—my accent, which is a rather unique mixture of the accents from places I’ve lived, including Germany, Israel, and France. While I didn’t think it was a bad idea, I couldn’t afford it, so it was out of the question. When Debra Jo Rupp, who starred as the mom in That ’70 s Show, was engaged to play me in the theater production Becoming Dr. Ruth, the first thing she did was hire a coach to teach her my accent! I get such a kick out of that.)
Most of WYNY’s programming wasn’t talk, but music, and the “stars” of the station were the DJs. The station had engaged an outside PR firm to make it better known, and the young man who was handling the account was looking for angles to generate stories in the press. When he was told there was a sex therapist hosting a show, he asked to see me.
That PR person was Pierre Lehu, whose name you can see on the front cover of this book. I later started to call him my minister of communications. In addition to handling my public relations, he also became my coauthor on many books, and he helps me keep my life together. When my children want to know where I am, they know the best way to find out is to call Pierre.
The firm he worked for was based in a converted apartment, and his office was what had once been the kitchen, so its walls were filled with shelves and cabinets.
“Dr. Westheimer, to generate press interest I need an angle, a hook. Is there anything you’ve done lately that’s a bit different than other sex therapists?”
I have to admit I was a bit surprised by his question. I told him about the class for disabled students that I had conducted at Brooklyn College.
“This class was so inspirational, and I learned as much from my students as they learned from me. It was so fabulous that I will never do it again.”
“Why not?” asked Pierre with a confused look on his face. (I have an obligation to Pierre, a promise I made to him, to make him laugh once a day, but over the years I’ve also often left him wondering what hit him!)
“Because by mixing the two groups, the able and the disabled, they both learn valuable lessons from one another. I don’t know that we could replicate the magic of that class again.”
He liked that angle, but my initial reaction to the result wasn’t so positive. When he called to say that a reporter from the New York Daily News wanted to interview me, I was horrified. I was a college professor, and the New York Times was my bible. How could I appear in a tabloid like the Daily News? It would ruin my reputation. As it turned out, the reporter was a Harvard graduate, which impressed me, and the article was just perfect.
Pierre got me some other local media, and my growing notoriety gave me the courage to ask Betty for more airtime with live callins. I made an appointment to meet with her after one of my Tuesday taping sessions at Rockefeller Center. We met in her office (which was on the small side, as community-affairs programming wasn’t much of a revenue producer).
“Betty, the letters are just pouring in, and you’ve seen all the press I’ve been getting.”
In her soft-spoken way, she replied, “Of course, Ruth, who hasn’t? I think the DJs are getting jealous.”
“I’d like to make them even more jealous. I’d like to have a longer show with live callins.”
Betty thought about that for a minute. It was one thing to have a sex therapist talking about sex late at night; at an earlier hour, younger people might be listening. And with live callins, now the public would be on the air, and they might say things that were inappropriate.
“I’ll have to ask Frank,” she finally replied, passing the buck to Frank Osborn, the station manager. And I later found out he had to go up the chain of command to various executives at NBC to clear the idea. But as I said, it was hard getting commercials for community-affairs shows, and if my show became popular, then the ad dollars would flow in—and so the powers that be gave their OK. Only now it was my turn to throw a monkey wrench into the negotiations. I asked for a meeting to speak with Frank in his big corner office. He asked me to sit down, but at my height, I prefer to stand. In fact, I circled around to his side of the desk where he was sitting and stood next to him, so that I was the one with the height advantage, though only barely—Frank is a tall guy.
“Frank,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder, “I know that my new show will have commercials. That’s great but I can’t have any abortion clinics taking ads.”
I believe that abortion must remain legal, but I understood that there would be those who would be upset about this little German professor talking openly about sex on radio, and I knew that if there were also ads for abortion clinics during my hour, the opposition might come down so hard that the show would soon be off the air.
“Ruth, I think you’re right about that. I’ll tell the sales department that they have to clear all ads through me, and if anything that I think you might not approve crosses my desk, I’ll check with you.”
And so in September 1981, Sexually Speaking started broadcasting live at ten p.m. on Sunday nights. I was given a p
roducer to screen the calls, Susan Brown, who was just perfect. She was a young Catholic who blushed very easily, exactly the type of person needed to run interference. I was going to be using very frank language that no one else on radio was using—words like penis, vagina, orgasm, and masturbation. Clearly that would give some people the wrong idea, and it would be up to Susan to spot callers who wanted to push the envelope too far. If someone used a banned four-letter word, my program was on a seven-second delay, and I had a big yellow kill button in front of me so that I could cut off anything inappropriate before it went out over the airwaves. Actually I almost never had to use it—which is a good thing, because I don’t have the fastest reflexes!
That I was able to break this new ground was the result of a combination of factors. First, there was my training. I wasn’t trying to shock but rather educate. Then, because of my conservative background, I was careful not to titillate. That I was an older woman also helped people accept this talk from me. I think too that my accent gave me a certain authority I might not have had otherwise. In part because of my accent, the New York Times dubbed me Grandma Freud. I wasn’t yet a grandma, nor ever a psychiatrist, but to some degree that description sums up well why my talking about sex on radio was acceptable.
Speaking of names, it seems that listeners couldn’t pronounce or remember Westheimer, so when they called in they started calling me simply Dr. Ruth. The media picked it up, and I lost the use of my last name.
With the live radio show, media coverage exploded. I graduated from print coverage to TV, first with appearances on local New York stations and then on national shows like The Late Show with David Letterman and The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson. Johnny even had a special chair built for me so that when I sat down, a footrest slid out for my feet. (Later he started a comedy bit where he pretended to be me and I was never on the show with him again, though I was when Joan Rivers hosted.) And then, as mentioned, I was on the cover of People Magazine and I became, literally, a household name.
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