The Psychodynamist

the world was not yet ready for his peculiar talents

I first met him when he snapped my photo near the Hammond Company downtown. You know where it is, that big department store where they have Pinkertons to shoo the fellows away from the door, even us intellectual types who work for Collegiate Magazine Subscription Distributors. "Here," he said, handing me the receipt, "send this together with fifty cents and receive a free image of you in action, where the spirit resides. One transformation on film is worth a thousand words. -- Henry Luce."

Compelled by such erudition, I asked, "What makes you use that quotation? The one you just said, sir?"

He handed me a card, on which I read:

F. Frederic von Carson, Psychodynamist

By Mail and By Appointment

"I'm a graduate of the von Carson School of Psychodynamics -- Success, Logic, Occult Science. Special degrees in Memory How To Build It. Did my dis-(continued on next page) sertation on Boomerang Thought, now published as an introductory bro-shoor. Had many a personal letter from ----"

"Well then," I said, "who's this von Carson?"

"That's me," he admitted, frowning as I brushed away a loose speck of raised lettering, the dot from the "F. Frederic."

"You graduated from your own school, Mr. von Carson?"

"Had to prove it on myself, didn't I? That's the method of modern science. Human guinea pig. I'm my own best advertisement. All the world's a stage. -- Shakespeare. What do you think, my boy? No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be. -- T. S. Eliot. I'm F. Frederic von Carson." He was a large solemn man with a face like an owl making its own living, and with deep thought-furrows between his eyes and dark hair tight as a stocking cap on his head and down his neck. He did a quick curtsey in order to snap a high school girl from a more advantageous angle.

"Why aren't you running your school someplace then?" I asked.

"The world is not yet ready for Psychodynamics," he said tersely, crouching to snap a plump lady with a load of boxes from the Sherwood Bakery and Nut House next door. He handed her the receipt with her number, which she let fall without thanking him. "Do you think people are ready for Magic Memory How To Build It? Rosicrucian Metaphysics Exposed? Hedonism and Voodoo: Invest In Your Future? No," he remarked sadly, regarding the fallen receipts like snow about our feet. "No, like all thinkers in the world of today, I have had to begin with the most elementary disciplines. Hold it! Hold it!" He snapped a man with a zipper briefcase. "The world is almost ready for sidewalk photography. Exposes the inner ego. You know, I never could figure why men are my best customers."

At the time I was selling magazine subscriptions door-to-door on weekdays, and downtown on Saturdays, and I found on his face a profound reflection of my own sorrow at the public's lack of piety and patriotism. Both of us were salesmen, me in fundamental religion and spicy books with plain wrappers, he in the short con. Neither of us was satisfied. I watched with him as he shook his head slowly at the man with the briefcase carefully tearing the coupon into smaller and smaller bits down the street.

From across the square a policeman approached. "How about some delicious coffee?" Mr. von Carson asked. "India's second greatest gift to mankind." We went into a cafeteria. In the confusion of taking two checks, in order to be in a position to avoid payment for the coffee, I forgot to ask him what was India's first greatest gift to mankind. I admired a man who could beat a check while on the difficult terrain of first acquaintanceship, and with a cop not fifty yards away.

"All right," he said when we were settled at a table near the rear exit, "let me give you the Psychodynamic Personality Explorer Test. What's the error in what I've been saying? They call it a fallacy. I don't mean in general. By the way, lad, tell me your name."

I told him. "The error?" I worked craftily back over our conversation. "You mean men aren't really your best customers in the practice of sidewalk photography?"

"Vanity, vanity, thy name is -- what did you say your name was? -- Song of Songs."

"Furlong, Harold Furlong, sir."

"Furlong, Furlong. Never forget a face, but I must remember to give myself a refresher course in Memory How To Revitalize Names. Knew a fellow once, name of Furlang, lang not long, had a count store. Always carried an electric iron, used to plug it in and iron out his dollar bills every night. Fine chap, but stingy? Stingy. Well, one look at you, Harold, and I can see you are a smart and intelligent young man. The lobal elevations, the insight spot, the logic-hairs in the ears. Who else would stop for a moment of friendly conversation amidst all the hurly-burly of making a living in this modern world of today? You don't see the fallacy? All right, I'll tell you. You know as well as I do, coffee comes from Brazil, not India. How did I convince you otherwise? Psychodynamics. Never fails."

He went on to explain some of the techniques of his philosophy of Effective Action, quoted from his introductory free brochure Are You Somebody's Slave in Everyday Life? and described some of the practical results of Concentrate Your Neurotic Power Now! For example, he was able to operate the street photography division of his enterprises without a license, by means of occult persuasion and an occasional taking it on the lam; and the spirit of Thomas Edison, contacted through Voodoo Arts and Sciences, he advised him to increase his profits by not using film in the camera, thereby cutting his costs to a minimum, as any efficiently-run business must always do.

"No film, no developing fluid, no postage for mailing," he pointed out. "Do you think these people care? Nothing will change them, not even my Yourself Revealed Inc. snapshots." He leaned toward me over his coffee while a piece of doughnut broke and went dangerously sailing on the surface of the cream. "They are fixated," he said with a stern glance at the other eaters. "Oh, I can see it all from the viewpoint of my camera."

With infinite pity he rescued the doughnut before it plunged to the bottom of the cup. He popped it into his mouth. He offered me the other half. I took it, and we were friends. He went on to explain how we could help each other, his brains supplementing my energy, willingness to work, and new clothes. "Business is business," he said, and then cited the source for this quotation: "Billboard on the way to Toledo."

First we make a quick survey of my talents. Could I stand on my head while holding a hat in my feet? No. Too bad; he could play the violin, and together we could have stopped music-lovers on street corners. He had once known a young lady who could forget .that she was on her hands and pad into a crowded elevator like that, charming creature she was, but she ran off with a carnival candy butcher, and people don't go much for violin plain unless the musician is crippled or blind. Imagine, she left him just for a steady living, a carnie with a little business in spoiled candy, condemned sugar, and wormy popcorn. A talent like hers! Well, you need brains, too. Could I cut paper? Do chalkwork on sidewalks? No. Just as well in a rainy climate. Could I break & enter, boost, or whimper? No, I didn't like heavy chances, shop-lifting, or begging.

Well, what could I do?

Wash dishes. Shill at bazaars and auctions. Peddle subscriptions to magazines both existent and non-existent. Do postcards in a twist-and-twirl, I'm-your-girl shop.

My career as a salesman gave him an idea. "There are several eternal truths," he said. "Where would Shakespeare have finished without a skilled agent? Would the Count of Monte Cristo ever have got sprung without arrangements on the outside? The question breeds its own answer. -- Clyde Beatty. Psychodynamics is the coming thing, but in the meantime there's a field for a more conservative type of enterprise ----"

"What?" I asked. "For example, I mean, sir."

"Pornography," he said vibrantly. "It's so simple it's genius. All I have to do is put some film in my camera, take the pictures, and then you merchandise, sell, or peddle them, my friend. We split the gain, first subtracting our investment, of course. Film, my commission, camera fees, and so forth." Our chief problem was to find a couple willing to pose for the photographs, which would be taken in the room which served as von Carson's apartment, his studio, and the bursar's office of his university. "That is, the chief problem," he said, "is to educate them in psychodynamic pornography, which is to ordinary pornography what phrenology is to palmistry, and then they have to work on a royalty basis, since I presume that you have no more funds at your disposal than I do, Harold. How much, my boy? I'm flat."

So was I.

We returned to his room for the morning mail and found enough fifty-cent pieces from his Reveal Yourself Inc. photographs to keep us alive while we set up our partnership. "They don't even realize," he said darkly, "that I am revealing themselves when I refuse to comply, reply, or waste my time with their demands for photographs."

That evening we visited a bar frequented by professional men and their ladies in the area of town known as "Little Hollywood." Mr. von Carson, who has a talent for conversation, struck up an acquaintanceship with a young man who seemed photogenic enough for (concluded on page 54) (continued from page 48) our purposes. He discussed Hedonism Simplified and gave a quick summary of his popular work, Is Pleasure a la Mode? and then asked if the young man, who said his name was Harry, knew a young lady with whom he could work.

"What sort of work, if I may be so bold?" Harry asked. He was a nice clean-cut young fellow, about my age.

"Surely, my lad," Mr. von Carson said. "One of the essential principles of Psychodynamics as a science is that you can't pose for pornographic pictures unless you have a good idea of what you're doing. Hence, let me explain."

He explained. Harry, who was looking for work, agreed. He telephoned one of his friends and discussed the assignment with her.

She also agreed.

"Halt, wait a minute," Mr. von Carson said, "not so fast. We're not a fly-by-night outfit, my boy. How can we be certain that she will suit us? I'm talking about her talent. Do you have a picture, which is worth ten thousand words? -- Henry Luce."

Our new employee submitted his regrets that he could not offer us a photograph at once, but promised to bring Carol Ann, the girl, to the studio on approval.

"Satisfaction Guaranteed is Worth More than Double Your Money Back," said Mr. von Carson. He pondered the source of this quotation, and then looked up in astonishment to say: "Anon."

The next day Harry appeared with Carol Ann. Mr. von Carson had put me on a couch, but as we had spent most of the night reading his pamphlets aloud to each other, we were hardly awake when they arrived. Harry performed the introductions. "Carol Ann, this is Mr. von Carson, F. Frederic von Carson, the psychodynamist. This is Mr. Furlong."

"Pleasure," she said.

She was a sweet young lady, very friendly, and an old friend of our friend Harry's. It seemed nice that they knew each other. Mr. von Carson applied some of his Psychodynamic Personality Explorers, and was satisfied after only a few riddles. "You are very lovely, my child," said Mr. von Carson, "and adequately stacked, too."

He put on the white gloves of a director. He had purchased the gloves, designed for shovelling coal, in the dime store. He set the camera on a tripod and covered it with a black cloth. "All right, prepare yourselves, please," he said through a megaphone. "The clothes, separate yourselves from them, please."

Carol Ann took something out of her purse. It was a badge. "Downtown Police Station, Vice Squad," she said. "I'm a policewoman."

"You're under arrest," said Harry. "Disturbing the peace, lewd and immoral proposals, professional photography without a license, attempted pornography. Sergeant! Secure the flagrant delicti."

"Don't forget running an illegal school and/or academy," she said.

Sergeant Carol Ann made a bundle of some of Mr. von Carson's documents, his camera, and other equipment. He stood with his arms folded on his chest. "Captain," he said, "you have no right to interfere with my professional researches under false pretenses. You claimed to be a pimp. An officer of the law should be acquainted with the fact that experimentation and on-the-spot investigation is the lifeblood of modern science." He paused and proceeded calmly. "Albert Einstein. Why don't you servants of the national will in plain clothes" -- and he bowed to the lovely sergeant -- "why don't you pursue the real criminal classes who are giving science a bad name, the vivisection ists? What about wanton cruelty? I bet you can't answer that one."

"Come along now," said Harry. F. Frederic von Carson defeated them in discourse, but we were in turn crushed by the forces of irrational power. The sergeant, in an adorable little blouse with ruffles at the throat, handcuffed us together.

"What's your favorite perfume?" Mr. von Carson asked her. "I'll give you my secret formula. Many women wear it all the time for that special occasion."

"Guilty," the judge said.

"How do you mean that?" Mr. von Carson asked. He was unable to convince the court that Pornography, like Crytography and Phrenology, is one of the psychodynamic sciences, not a crime. "Semantic analysis of the philological word itself shows," he pointed out. "Demonstrates and chresto-demonstrates," he argued, but to no avail.

I am here to tell you -- and I'm here for from six months to a fiscal year -- that the psychodynamism of F. Frederic von Carson is far ahead of its time. Last night, however, I received a new message transmitted by Neurotic Power. "Be firm, be stalwart," it said. "T. Theodore Roosevelt."