Sheehan Therapy as a Way of Life
by Marian Sheehan
from Washington, USA
My parents, Joseph and Vivian Sheehan, both grew up in Michigan and met
during World War II at Percy Jones Army Hospital in Battle Creek. My mother,
a speech-language pathologist in her own right, was setting up the first
brain injury rehabilitation program and my father became one of her
employees. My mother once quipped in an interview "I hired Joseph Sheehan on
the spot because he was a good speech pathologist. Then I married him to
keep him on the job." Of course, my father wasn't a legend then nor I am
certain when he became one.
In 1949 UCLA offered my father a teaching job in the Dept of Psychology, so
my parents moved from the Midwest to Southern California. My father founded
the Stuttering Clinic at UCLA shortly after arriving. I was born in 1950, my
sister Kathleen in 1952 and my brother Joe in 1954. Although my mother still
lives in the house they bought in Santa Monica in 1954, we traveled a great
deal. Summers and sabbaticals my father would teach as a visiting professor
so for brief stints we lived in Boston, Boulder, Vermont, Syracuse,
Portland, Berkeley, Michigan and Indiana. My parents always attended the
ASHA conventions, state conventions and various conferences often with all
three children in tow. By the time I was 15 years old, I had crossed the
Rockies thirty times and had been in 49 of the 50 states.
At home, my dad, a.k.a. "Big Joe", was the proverbial absent-minded
professor and often described himself as such. My mother kept him organized
and on-task as best she could. That had to have been a major challenge.
Whenever my brother or sister or I asked him, he was willing to drop what he
was doing to take a bike ride, hit a few tennis balls, help with homework or
play a game. It was fun to be with him. He had a large repertoire of jokes
but was witty as well. He never missed the opportunity to make a pun or to
spot the irony in a situation. He readily laughed at himself. Big Joe was
the pushover parent who rarely said no, always had a few dollars to slip you
and never told you to make your bed or clean your room.
As a child, I was aware of what my parents did for a living. They lived and
breathed it. At family dinners the topic of conversation was often
stuttering and/or psychology. There were frequently groups of stutterers
and/or UCLA graduate students at our home for meetings or parties or joining
us for a backyard barbecue. We three kids were available for stutterers to
introduce themselves to while practicing "sliding" on their names. We knew
to maintain eye contact and not to supply words, though I have no memory of
direct coaching on these points. I do remember being instructed that when we
answered the phone and no one said anything, it was very important not to
hang up. The caller might be someone working on his/her speech and we needed
to give that person time. Consequently, we listened to the occasional heavy
breathing, prank caller far longer than deserved. In fact, it became known
among my high school friends that the Sheehan household was a good bet for
prank calls because Sheehans did not hang up on you.
It has only been in retrospect that I realize I grew up in a 'therapeutic'
environment. From my vantage point as SLP, I now see how the Sheehan therapy
concepts permeated my dad's parenting style as well as the way he lived his
life and dealt with people. My dad practiced what he preached or perhaps he
preached what he practiced. It is impossible (at least for me) to separate
my dad's approach to life from his approach to helping those who stutter. He
was always liberal and tolerant of people and their individual differences
except when he perceived a viewpoint as an injustice or detrimental to
others. Then he was not at all shy about public confrontation. He challenged
those ranging from the pro-punishment behaviorists of the 1960's to those
including my more rigid, authoritarian high school teachers whom my dad
believed had the wrong demand-support ratio and told them so, that is,
making too many demands, not providing enough support.
My dad's parenting advice on problems always incorporated action-oriented
solutions. He would counsel that we must "do something to feel better about
the situation" and then he help us come up an appropriate action to take.
When one of us kids was nervous about an oral report or a performance, he
would reassure us that "it doesn't need to be perfect, just make eye
contact, resist time pressure and you will be fine." And I must have heard
"just be yourself" a million times. Big Joe generally felt that pressure of
any sort, but especially time pressure, was a negative and to be resisted
and not just when speaking. As I was learning to drive, he repeatedly
cautioned me to resist time pressure from other drivers. I have recently
found myself using those same words with my 16 year old daughter.
My parents always seemed little different from most other parents. They
remained Midwesterners living in Southern California, never going to the
beach to sunbathe nor understanding why people would. It was shocking to
some neighbors that my mother actually worked and my family did not attend
church regularly. My parents were bookish, intellectual
liberals--characteristics which raised suspicions during the McCarthy Era
and that lingered well beyond. My liberal father insisted our family boycott
products manufactured by companies who contributed to causes he protested.
No Welch's candies for us, because the owner of Welch Candy Company was also
the founder of the John Birch Society. Consequently, consumption of Sugar
Babies and Junior Mints became part of my adolescent rebellion.
My best friend and next door neighbor had a strict, traditional 1950s mother
who routinely criticized my father for being a "permissive" parent. My
friend's mother was convinced that my siblings and I would grow up to be
ne'er-do-wells because my father "didn't believe in punishment." My dad
would calmly respond "Life is punishing enough without inflicting
punishments of our own."
Big Joe was always loving, accepting and supportive. Whereas my friends'
parents would express disappointment or ground their child for a mediocre
report card, my dad put no such demands on performance. We knew he expected
us to do well and to try our best, but however it turned out was okay. There
were times he was clearly worried about us, but we never felt he was
disappointed in us. My dad could always find some element of success and
comment on it. At sixteen I was chagrined to barely pass my driving test by
a mere 2 points. I remember my dad's comment was that I had scored 2 points
more than I needed. That comment was typical of my father's attitude.
Unlike any other parent I knew, Big Joe loved to watch Saturday morning
cartoons and slapstick comedies with us kids, and sometimes without us.
Laurel and Hardy were his all-time favorites, but he was also an avid fan of
Dudley Doo-right, Charley Brown, George of the Jungle, and The Three Stooges
among others. This behavior is likely what led another relative to tell me
that my father was "just a big kid at heart." But looking back, I think it
was more than that. I think my father really admired and related to such
bumbling doofus characters. They represent the antithesis of my father's
"Giant in Chains" concept--the stutterer who feels held back from greatness
only because of his stuttering. These characters moved forward through life
with good humor and high expectations for success, undeterred and
unembarrassed by their inevitable, predictable, frequent stumbles and
foibles.
My view of my father shifted completely when I was an 18-year-old
undergraduate at UCLA. After months of my dad suggesting that I take his
class, I unofficially, anonymously, silently sat in the back corner of an
upper division psychology class he was teaching. I had always known he was
an absent-minded professor, but it was only the absent-minded side of the
equation with which I was familiar. As a typical teenager I had cast my
father in my mind as a Dagwood Bumstead-type character who knew little and
was an utter embarrassment. Observing his professorial side in that
classroom was a stunning revelation for me. I had had no idea my father was
a dynamic public speaker who commanded the respect and rapt attention of his
students. It was amazing to see all these bright college students hanging on
my dad's every word, seeking his opinions on a variety of topics and
enjoying his good humor and perspective. I remember feeling genuinely proud
of my dad and realizing that maybe he knew a thing or two after all.
Growing up with my father and then becoming an SLP has given me the
opportunity to appreciate both the professional and personal aspects of
Joseph Sheehan and to realize how integrated the professional and personal
were. I hadn't an inkling how well-respected and well-known he was in our
field until I was in graduate school. Sometimes I am still surprised by the
extent of his name recognition and by his reputation. To me, he will always
be my dad first, and a legend second.
Catharine Jane Hull Van Riper
by Jane Fraser
from Tennessee, USA
Although Katy Van Riper lived with a "legend," - her husband, Charles Van Riper - she could be considered a "legend" in her own right. I knew Katy, not as a family member, but as a close friend for over 30 years. We corresponded frequently. The following powerpoint about Katy Van Riper was adapted from a presentation, Duchan, J; Fraser, J, Kuster, J; Ratner, N; and Sheehan, M, Our Foremothers & Their Contributions to the Profession, ASHA, San Diego, CA, November. A few photos were added as well as information about Katy as a speech therapist from one of her former clients.
View the PowerPoint on Catharine Van Riper
-Discussion-
September 1, 2006