Although it was many years ago, I still remember it like it was yesterday. The old red brick office building was hardly pretentious. As I climbed the creaky, rickety stairs to the second floor, I couldn't help thinking that this structure was well past its prime. The door to the office was thin wood and was in dire need of a new coat of paint. The upper portion of the door sported an opaque glass window that would have been right at home in an old Humphrey Bogart detective movie. A shabby little business card affixed to the door displayed the words "The Stop Smoking With Hypnosis Center," scribbled with an unsharpened number 2 lead pencil told me I was in the right place. My heart began to beat a little faster as I anticipated that the key to my future was just behind the door.

I was certain that a professionally painted sign would be brimming from the door in short order. I knocked.
"Rosenthal, I presume. Hi, I'm Jed Wren. Have a seat and make yourself comfortable." Jed appeared to be in his early 50s. His white shirt had a yellowish tint and his hair looked a bit unkempt. Unlike my own tie that had been obsessively knotted to perfection, his had seen more than its share of coffee stains and hung at half-mast.

To say I was excited would be putting it mildly. This is what it was all about. Finally, my graduate sheepskins, replete with advanced courses and seminars in hypnosis and addiction studies, were going to pay off. From what I could fathom from the classified job ad in the newspaper, I'd be helping a slew of folks kick the nasty habit of smoking and all the while I'd be pumping up my bank account like an over-inflated tire. Life is beautiful, or so I thought for the moment!

Jed leaned forward across his 1940s vintage desk that had seen better days and lowered the decibel level of his voice like a trusted friend who was going to reveal a coveted secret. "What do you pull in a year Rosenthal?"

I instinctively mimicked his behavior moving in closer to him. "Pull in sir?"
"Yeah. You know, how much money do you make in a year?"
"About $14,000."
Jed's face was now contorted into a "holier-than-thou" smirk and he leaned over to such an extent he was now invading my space. "What if I told you, Rosenthal, that I have figured out a way that a hypnotherapist treating addictive smoking can rake in 30 grand a year?"

I must admit he had my attention. The prospect of helping people and all the while doubling my anemic, but somewhat typical salary at the time, was a very pleasant thought.

Jed whipped a worn sheet of yellow-lined notebook paper out of his pocket with mathematical calculations taking up the better part of the page. He began pointing at the paper, stabbing it again and again with his large right thumb. "Groups, Rosenthal, groups are the secret. Groups are the way to go." He donned a sinister smile. "Stick 30 or so chairs in a room and hit them all at the same time with the same hypnotic induction. And presto. Do the math. It's all in the numbers Rosenthal. You, my friend, are going to be pocketing some very serious money."

"Does it work sir? I mean is the research there to support the group hypnotic approach to smoking cessation?"
"Stay there Rosenthal, I'll be right back."

There was no denying that this was the strangest job interview I had ever encountered. Jed was coming across more like the proverbial used car salesman your father warned you about than the director of a smoking cessation and therapy center. In fact, it began to occur to me that although I was the interviewee, the job candidate, or the future member of Jed's mega-buck practice ... whatever I was ... the tables were now turned and I was conducting the interview.

Jed was gone for an extended period of time that seemed like an eternity in the context of a job interview. Perhaps he was securing a journal article or two to support his notion of one-induction-fits-all group hypnosis in the fight to ameliorate smoking. I periodically glanced at my watch.
The smoking gun was a cigarette!

Finally, the door swung open and Jed burst in huffing and puffing. His face was red as a beet. I looked up and, quite frankly, my mouth dropped open: Jed had a pack of cigarettes peeking out of the pocket in his faded dress shirt, and worse yet, a cancer stick was dangling from the right side of his mouth. He whipped out his aluminum lighter and I detected a sigh of relief as he took a hearty puff. A cloud of white billowy smoke began to displace the clean air that had occupied the office.

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "Don't look so shocked Rosenthal, this is a luxury I don't have during the day."
Quite frankly, I was at a loss for words. "But, but ..."
He cut me off. "Rosenthal, look, you don't really believe in this stuff do you?"
"Well sir," again he interrupted.
"You've heard of Dr. X, Rosenthal?"
"Of course, I've read a number of his hypnosis books. In fact, I'm reading one of his books now."
Jed continued, using the cigarette in his hand to drive home his conviction. "I've worked with Dr. X for two years and he doesn't believe in hypnosis either. He also smokes you know."
I attempted to interject my two cents when Jed cut me off again.
"Do you know how much Dr. X makes? With the books ? hell you're reading one of them now ? the seminars, the clients who come to see him from all over the nation; damn it Rosenthal, the guy darn near has a license to print money. We can do it here Rosenthal, the same thing. What do you say?"
What a sad comment on our field. Jed didn't believe in his product and he couldn't even manage his own tendency to smoke. I privately predicted that his "money-making city on a hill group hypnosis center" would be out of business in six months. Just for the record, my prediction was generous. The center folded with an elapsed time of less than six weeks under its belt.
Would you want to work for Jed Wren? Would you refer your client to this man?

And as far as Dr. X is concerned, despite the fact that this was years ago, I won't be combing all-night book stores or surfing amazon.com in hot pursuit of his works!
Perhaps the most important question that you as an addiction treatment specialist can ask yourself is: Do I really, truly believe in the treatment modality I am using?
Unless the answer is an unequivocal "yes," I can assure you that you will be a mediocre helper at best. Your clients will consciously or unconsciously pick up on the fact that you don't believe in your product.
Freudian analysis tangles with the tag team of behavior therapy and the 12 steps
The second most important question you can ever ask yourself is: Does the addicted client you are working with truly believe in the paradigm you are espousing? If the answer is "no," I want to warn you that you're in for a bumpy ride so fasten your seat belt!

Let me share an amazing little story. A friend of mine was seeing a 43-year-old woman who had a severe addiction to gambling as well as alcohol. My friend is a dyed-in-the-wool behavior therapist who is also a fervent believer in 12-step groups. You know the rationale: That's what helped me when I was recovering and, by golly, it's going to help everyone else too. He thus suggested to the client that he would utilize behavior therapy supplemented by the aforementioned support groups.

The client balked at the idea. She was convinced that only conventional Freudian Analysis could prove helpful. Anything else was merely a "watered-down version of the real thing."
My friend insisted that he had practiced analysis years ago and was adamant that it would not be the treatment of choice. The client was angry. Moreover, the sessions of behavior therapy and 12-step programs seemed futile.

Thus, out of pure frustration my friend told the client that, "just to prove to her that analysis is ineffective" he would psychoanalyze her for about six sessions. He then insisted that, "when it doesn't work, we do things my way." (This, needless to say, was a tad ridiculous since classical analysis lasts about 3 to 5 times a week for about 3 to 5 years!)

Nevertheless, the woman was eager to get started. For the next five sessions the woman lay on his couch and babbled on about her childhood and her dreams. My friend noted that he spent some time analyzing her verbalizations, but spent an equal amount glancing at his watch convinced that this was a waste of time. During the sixth session the woman stunned my friend by announcing that she didn't need to come back. Her desire for drinking and gambling was a thing of the past. Put that in your Freudian pipe and smoke it! Could it be that the customer . . . um, I mean the client . . . is always right? You decide.

Howard Rosenthal, EdD, MAC, is a frequent contributor and the author of the Encyclopedia of Counseling, Master Review and Tutorial for the National Counselor Examination and the Human Service Dictionary. His web site is www.howardrosenthal.com

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