The Doctor Is In

by Ruth K. Westheimer

  If there is anyone who can understand the feelings he expressed that morning, it’s me. When I was sixteen and the war ended, I too was at sea. I felt German, but as a Jew I could not go back to Frankfurt and all the terrible memories that lay around every corner. So my tradition as a German Jew had been yanked out from under me, along with everything else. I went to Palestine, soon to be Israel, but it never felt like I was going home. When I moved to Paris, I loved the city, but it wasn’t my city. New York is now my city, and I am at home there. Yet there will always be a part of me that longs for that original home, just like the Circassians long for their homeland. So while ostensibly I’m making a study of the Druze or the Bedouin or the Circassians, in actuality part of my reason for making these documentaries is that I’m looking for what I lost in 1938. And if the transition the Ethiopian Jews had to make was much broader than mine, at least they came as whole villages, family members, and neighbors. When the ship I was on landed in Palestine, I was jumping off into a new world by myself while still a teenager. No easy task, I can assure you. Especially as the British decided to put all of us on that boat in a camp behind barbed wire, just like the pictures I’d seen of concentration camps. Our group from Heiden had the proper papers, but rather than separate us out from those arriving illegally, we were all lumped together for a week. Let me tell you, this was quite a shock. We’d been singing and dancing on the boat all night waiting to get our first glimpse of Palestine, and then we found ourselves behind barbed wire. Luckily I was with friends, and after a week, we were sent off to the kibbutzim to which we’d been assigned.

  Maintaining culture requires other people from that culture. It’s not something you can do alone or you would quickly drown. But building your knowledge base doesn’t require anyone else, other than some good teachers. And as I said, learning doesn’t require a formal setting, and one of my favorite informal settings is what are known as Renaissance Weekends. Started by Linda and Philip Lader some thirty years ago, Renaissance Weekends are retreats geared toward bringing together a variety of different people from different fields—government, science, media, sports, the arts—who congregate to discuss a wide variety of topics. Everyone who attends is required to participate, so while you can just sit in on some discussions, you must lead others. Bill and Hillary Clinton were early attendees, though once Bill became president they had to end their participation. But I’ve met Supreme Court justices, one of whom I always make sure to dance with, and a host of other people. It’s a family affair, and I always lead one seminar for the teens on sex.

  Nobody stands on ceremony, and everyone wears a name tag. Or almost everyone. Though there are half a dozen of these weekends scattered throughout the year, I only go to the one at New Year’s held in Charleston, South Carolina. I’ve mentioned already several times that though I may be a part of US pop culture, I’m not all that familiar with the other club members. So I was at a reception at Renaissance when a woman came up and started speaking to me, saying how much she admired me—but she wasn’t wearing a name tag. I will admit that I was probably the only person there who would not have instantly recognized Barbra Streisand, but I didn’t. Maybe I’m bad at recognizing famous faces because I’m always looking up at everyone and when you see their pictures in the papers, the angle is straight on. In any case, I said to Barbra, “And what do you do?” I could tell that she was annoyed that I didn’t recognize her, but c’est la vie.

  Renaissance fits my ideal learning situation because while there is so much new information and insight to absorb every minute of the day, everyone also has the duty to pass on something about what they are experts in. And we’re at a hotel, not a school. Over the years, many of us become fast friends, so the social connectivity adds to the overall ambiance.

  Another way that I teach is by answering people’s questions, either in my syndicated newspaper column or online. On the one hand, it’s harder to learn from this form of teaching because the questions are very similar. A number of years ago, BookExpo America, the book convention, was in Chicago where Playboy had its headquarters, and since I’m friends with Hugh and Christie Hefner, I was naturally invited to a party they threw for convention goers. With the name Playboy attached to the invitation, lots of people wanted to be there, hoping to see a Bunny or two, so the lounge high up in the building was filled. Since I don’t drink very much alcohol—in fact, none at such parties—I was circulating with my glass of soda when a man stopped me.

  “Dr. Ruth, so glad to meet you. I write the Playboy “Advisor” column.”

  He was relatively young, dressed conservatively in a sports jacket and slacks, and he might have been your average college professor, though he—like me—made a living out of answering people’s questions about sex.

  “You’ve been doing this for years,” he said, “but I only recently replaced the old columnist and I have to ask you a question. How do you keep doing this week after week when really there are only ten questions that people ask?”

  To some extent, what he said was very true. Most of the questions I get are about premature ejaculation or women with difficulties reaching orgasm. It’s so very rare to get a question that surprises me, though it happens. You might think since I and other advice givers, like the gentleman at Playboy, have answered these questions over and over that everyone would know the answers and stop asking them. There are a number of reasons why that’s not true—one of them being that young people who begin having sex start out relatively clueless, and so there is a steady influx of new people looking for this information. And then you may know nothing about plumbing until your toilet backs up on a Sunday evening and you can’t get a plumber. Similarly, as long as someone’s sex life seems to be working OK, they don’t bother learning the finer points. But as soon as they run into a problem, since they’re embarrassed to ask anyone else, they’ll turn to someone like me.

  But the other reason that the public likes reading material such as this is that although the underlying problems may be similar, the stories that people offer are quite different. So while my answers may be similar and educational, the questions themselves are different and rather gossipy. And you know what—even I enjoy reading many of these in order to peek into other people’s lives. Because sex is almost always done in private, none of us know what is going on in other people’s bedrooms, and because of that hidden nature of sexual activity, we are all curious about it, even me, despite having answered so many questions either in my office or in the media. And I learn from these questions too, because different scenarios offer new insights into how people’s minds work and what is happening out there. For example, someone wrote in saying she is a professional GFE courtesan. Sorry—I didn’t know what that was when I received the letter, but I do now: a woman who pretends to be your girlfriend in bed rather than one who is just a prostitute.

  By the way, this professional GFE had become bored with sex. I wish I could have offered her a cure, but I’m afraid that if you’re having sex all day long with strangers, it’s going to affect your personal sex life, no doubt about it.

  One reason I’m sure this woman was bored with sex is that she told me that when she’s with a client, she fakes her reaction, possibly not finding any of it pleasurable, no matter how loudly she groans with pleasure. A woman can derive a lot of pleasure from sex even if she doesn’t have an orgasm, and putting pressure on herself, or having pressure put on her by her partner, to have an orgasm each and every time she has sex is going to reduce her joie de vivre.

  Obviously, I counseled the woman carefully, but I also felt there was an interesting experiment to pass on from that story. Why not try making love and not allowing oneself to go all the way. It would be similar to the experience that wine tasters have. They taste the wine and then spit it out so that they don’t consume too much alcohol. When they’re not tasting, they drink wine like everybody else and appreciate both the taste and the effects of the alcohol, but I’m sure that they would all tell you that jus
t tasting is a satisfying experience.

  Why try this? Because if you’re always waiting for that orgasm, you won’t enjoy the rest of the lovemaking as much. You risk being goal oriented, impatiently waiting for that orgasm. But if you tell yourself ahead of time that you’re not going to have an orgasm and instead will try to enjoy everything else to make up for it, I bet you’ll see the rest of what lovemaking can offer in a different light. And that pleasure will help you increase your joie de vivre.

  But really, I’ve heard it all! There was the woman whose husband would go to Goodwill to obtain used women’s panties in order to masturbate into them, and she was jealous of these other women. And the woman who complained that her vagina didn’t smell! Sometimes I laugh at these questions when I read them, but I always answer them seriously, because the people who are writing in are serious—and I also know that there are other people out there with similar problems who are looking for real answers.

  What do I learn from such questions? When you can honestly say, “I’ve heard it all,” it makes it much easier to do your job as a therapist. When an individual or couple comes to me for help with a problem, I can’t look surprised, even if I am. But I also can’t look bored. I need to have a fairly neutral expression, at least until I know the people sitting with me a little better. They’re expecting professional behavior on my part and that’s exactly what I want to provide. Now, most of the time the problems are of the so-called garden variety that I’ve seen hundreds of times. But when the problem is a little unusual, having this memory bank full of odd questions helps me maintain a straight face.

  No matter how much training a therapist has, he or she also needs a certain amount of creativity. If a therapist is giving the exact same ten answers over and over again, boredom will set in, and you can’t be an effective therapist while yawning because you’re hearing the same story for the hundredth time. So answering unusual questions keeps me on my toes and helps me hone my skills.

  Let me end this chapter with another question I was asked on radio. A young man called and said he was soon to be married. I congratulated him and asked him what his question was. “Dr. Ruth, we’re not virgins, and I want to find a way to make our first time having sex as newlyweds special. Do you have any suggestions?” I thought about it for a split second, which is all the time I had because when you’re on radio, the most important rule is not to allow any dead air (that’s to say, silence). Luckily I can think fast on my feet, and so I said to him, “When you come out of the bathroom, I want you to wear nothing else but a tie and a top hat.” He responded, “And where do I put the hat?”

  CHAPTER IX

  Take Risks

  I may be only four foot seven, but I think what you’ve read about my life proves that I’m tougher than my size indicates. Life has thrown some rather tough punches my way, yet I’ve managed to succeed beyond my wildest dreams, literally. When I was in Heiden, they used to show us movies once in a while, and the ones I loved best were those starring Shirley Temple. She was so cute, so talented; most of all, though, watching her sing and dance helped all of us forget where we were and raised our spirits, at least while the movie projector was turning. You couldn’t stare up at the screen and see one of her movies without feeling there was hope in the world, even living in an orphanage. And since as a little girl she was short and I was short, well, that made me love her all the more. But to imagine that I might one day be even a little bit famous was so unrealistic that such thoughts never entered my mind. In America, where, as they say, anyone can grow up to be president, boys dream of following in the footsteps of their sports heroes and girls dream of becoming a ballerina. But when you’re an orphan in a war, your dreams are much more modest. Did I fantasize about seeing my parents? All the time. But becoming a celebrity like Shirley Temple was unimaginable.

  For a child of ten to have gone through what I did could have left me traumatized. When I’d finally reached a certain level of safety, I could have parroted Voltaire in Candide and said, “Let me tend to my little garden.” I wouldn’t criticize anyone who goes through traumatic events such as I did for pulling back rather than taking risks. But if there’s one thing I’m not it is laid back, which is why I could never live in a place where the operative word is “mañana,” since my philosophy calls for everything right this very second! Not only did I bounce back, I ended up bouncing higher and higher. I didn’t allow myself to be cowed by the world; instead I was always willing to take on new challenges. Like a turtle, a creature that is meaningful to me for this very reason, I’m willing to stick my neck out and take risks. The trial balloon I floated in front of those managers of community affairs at radio stations was one risk I took that perhaps had the biggest payoff, but it wasn’t the only one.

  The Road to Television

  Fred Silverman had been the head of both ABC and NBC, and his track record of discovering hit shows was extensive. So when he approached me about doing a television show, I had to take it seriously. I know I’m famous for saying that size doesn’t matter, but that’s in the bedroom. In business, I think size—and by that I’m referring to a person’s track record, not their height or the size of their sexual equipment—is very important. Yet while I had a hit radio show, I still thought of myself as a college professor. That I still am teaching at college at the age of eighty-six proves that it’s the career goal for which I still have the most affinity. And while my notoriety on radio might have made some academic department heads shy away from me, radio wasn’t toxic to a career in education. But a television show was another matter. If I stepped in front of those cameras as the host rather than as a guest, I was certain I would say good-bye to academia. Which explains why when Fred called, I felt a little like Eve in front of that apple tree. The lure of the apple was great, but I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to feel that naked either.

  In the end, the deciding factor for me was that television would allow me to reach a bigger audience. I believed strongly that as a sex educator, I had important information to spread to the world. I’m not claiming to have done the research, and my passion wasn’t in poring over data, but I am very passionate about telling the world about the findings of researchers in my field. And while I could do a more thorough job in a classroom over the course of a semester, I could certainly reach a lot more people by going on television. So I agreed.

  We shot what is called a pilot, a concept I really don’t like because it’s too much like a first date. Just because one spills wine on a companion’s lap on the first date doesn’t mean that the relationship is doomed. But in television, you get it right the first time or you’re out. I think very highly of Fred, but I do have to wonder about his choice of the cohost he chose for me. Here I was a TV newbie, and he chose another radio person who had even less TV experience than I did—at least I’d been a guest on dozens of shows. In any case, we filmed the pilot at the studios of Channel 5 in New York, but despite Fred’s long list of credentials (or maybe because of it), the cost was too high, and he couldn’t get enough stations interested. It didn’t survive the pilot stage.

  Did I let that stop me? I know I said I was hesitant to do a TV show, but once I was committed to the idea, I hated the thought of failing. So I walked into the office of the general manager of Channel 5, Bob O’Connor, who I knew had wanted to air the show.

  “Bob, Fred just told me that he couldn’t get enough stations and so he’s pulling the plug.”

  “Yes, he called to tell me. Sorry, Ruth. I think it could have done quite well in this market.”

  “Don’t be sorry—let’s do it anyway. Fred said the problem was that the show cost too much money to produce but we could do a local version for a lot less money.”

  “You’d be willing to do it for less?” he asked incredulously. Bob wasn’t used to the people in front of the cameras willing to take a reduction in salary.

  “If the show is a success, we both know I’ll be compensated. But if it never gets on the air, I won’t make
a dime, so absolutely, make me an offer and the answer is yes.”

  They gave me a time slot on weekday mornings. I took phone calls like I did on radio, but I also interviewed celebrities and experts, and I interacted with the people in the studio audience. We were doing well in the ratings, and they moved us to another time slot, bumping another show which hadn’t been doing too well.

  Television series get approved in batches—usually either twenty-six for a full season or thirteen for half a season. At the end of our first thirteen-week run, I was told that we were renewed for another thirteen weeks. When there’s good news, I want to celebrate, so we had a party and I danced the night away. Then two days later I was called into a meeting. I thought it was to discuss the new season. But when I saw the faces on the men in that office and they told me to sit down, I knew what was coming, though I didn’t find out why for a couple of years.

  It turns out that the owner of the station was a devout Catholic and when he went to arrange to have his new baby baptized, he was told that for that to happen in church, he had to take that doctor who said it was OK to have an abortion off the air. He didn’t really care about my show so given that alternative, he gave the order to cancel. And I didn’t dance that night.