The West Point silencing was a terrible disappointment to the maternal side of the family. It was clear by this point that a pattern was emerging in Tim’s life. His career at Classical High School, Springfield, for example, initially showed great promise. He became editor of the school newspaper, The Recorder , and helped it win the interstate award for excellence. He was popular, concerned more with his extra-curricular activities than his academic work, and the girls voted him the ‘cutest boy’. But poor attendance and some controversial editorials in the paper led to a confrontation with the principal that soured his leaving. The principal, Dr William C. Hill, had adopted Kant’s Categorical Imperative as the school motto: No one has the right to do that which if everyone did would destroy society. Tim and Dr Hill clearly saw the world very differently. Leary’s reprimand for absenteeism ended with Dr Hill shouting, ‘I never want to talk to you again. Just stay away from me and this office.’ 8
Strings were then pulled to get Tim into the Holy Cross Jesuit College. This meant a great deal to his mother, since she dreamed that he would become a priest. Again he started promisingly, but the lack of girls became unbearable. He began gambling, skipping classes and indulging in general schoolboy mischief. It was around this time that Tim, previously a diligent choirboy, began to question Catholicism and rejected his faith. He dropped out during his second year. After entering West Point and being silenced he enrolled in the University of Alabama and, more by accident than design, started studying psychology 9 He was found spending the night in the girls’ dormitory, and expelled.
Aunt Mae worried that Tim was doomed to keep falling into trouble, letting himself down and distressing his family. In a pattern that he would repeat throughout his life, Tim would use his intelligence, drive and potential to raise himself into lofty situations that he then allowed the rebellious part of his nature to hijack and destroy. What could be done about his Leary blood? How could his behaviour be improved? It is ironic that these concerns were being raised about him, for his later professional career would be dedicated to trying to answer those very questions.
Being kicked out of university meant that he lost his draft deferment. Tim returned to the army in 1942 and enlisted into the anti-aircraft artillery. Here he learnt how to load metre-long artillery shells into enormous 90-millimetre cannons, only to have his hearing damaged by proximity to the artillery. He was forced to wear a hearing aid, and the disability prevented him from being sent into combat. He was given a clerical position in an army hospital, and took the opportunity to complete his psychology degree. He left the army with an honourable discharge shortly after the war, by which time he had been promoted to the rank of sergeant. He was awarded the standard certificate signed by President Truman, which extended to Tim the ‘heartfelt thanks of a grateful nation’ for answering the call of duty and bringing about the ‘total defeat of the enemy’. He does not appear to have treated this certificate with a great deal of respect or care, for it is now damaged and looks as if at some point a dog has tried to eat it. 10
Leary wasn’t cut out to be a soldier or a priest, but psychology did appeal to him. It was an intellectually adventurous pursuit, on the cutting edge of scientific knowledge. It seemed that great advances were being made in understanding the human mind. On this frontier he could hunt for answers to profound questions, such as why do people act in a destructive manner? How could a person’s behaviour be changed? How can a person be made ‘better’? Of course, he wasn’t searching for answers in order to improve himself. He didn’t think that his behavioural patterns were too bad at all. It was other people who had the problems, and it was them he wanted to help.
The stifling conformity of 1950s’ America was, intellectually at least, supported by contemporary psychological thought. There exists, the psychologists argued, such a thing as ‘normality’. This is how people’s minds, personalities and behaviour should be. But many people differed, by varying degrees, from this norm. They may have been unmotivated, homosexual, radical or mysteriously unhappy. These people were considered abnormal. It was the job of the psychologists to cure them and make them ‘normal’.
The psychologists were confident that they were up to the task. Wonderful new anti-anxiety drugs, such as Librium and Thorazine, had recently been invented, and they were being prescribed at a terrific rate. Therapy became fashionable. And if these methods were not sufficient to deal with severe deviancy, then whole sections of problematic brain tissue could be removed or neutralised through surgery or electric shock treatment.
Psychologists and psychiatrists took over the role in society once occupied by priests or shamans. It was their job to make sure that everything was all right. America couldn’t train psychologists quickly enough in those days, for it was believed that if only they had enough head doctors, then society could be made perfect. For a bright, ambitious young man like Timothy Leary the field of psychology allowed him to establish himself rapidly, achieve financial comfort and respectability, and settle down to just the sort of idealised life that psychologists and the American Dream were offering. After the war he returned to academia and embarked on the longest period of conformity in his life. He moved to California and, in September 1946, he became a doctoral student in psychology at Berkeley. He would consider himself a Californian, jail and legal status permitting, for the rest of his life.
Tim’s professional rise was quick and seemingly effortless. After finishing his studies he worked as a consultant, an instructor at the University of California’s Medical Center, and in private practice. In 1954 he became director of psychology research at the Kaiser Foundation Hospital, and published nearly 50 papers in psychology journals. His work culminated in the publication of a book called Interpersonal Diagnosis of Personality: A Functional Theory and Methodology for Personal Evaluation. A huge work, 518 pages long and stuffed with diagrams and charts, it created a big impression in the world of psychology. The Annual Review of Psychology named it their ‘Best Book on Psychotherapy of the Year’ in 1957 and called it a ‘must read’ for American psychologists. It was followed by a manual of diagnostic tests called Multi Level Measurement of Interpersonal Behaviour , which sold well to institutions such as the prison system. It was these tests that, 14 years later, labelled Tim as a model member of the Californian prison population.
Interpersonal Diagnosis was essentially a method of categorising patients based on their personality types. The system would be used for decades to come and was an important step towards the personality tests commonly used today, such as the Myers-Briggs assessment. It included many ideas that were radical at the time. It argued that the definition of normality in psychological therapies was nothing more than a reflection of the white, middle-class values of the vast majority of psychologists. 11 It claimed that the profession was too hung up on symptoms when it should have been analysing the patient’s environment and circumstances. Too often, what was considered abnormal, neurotic or psychotic behaviour was a ‘healthy, pro-survival adaptation’ of an individual to an unhealthy situation. And he argued that ultimately a patient is not a victim, and should not be encouraged to seek a source of blame for their problems, such as bad parents, the system or their background. Instead, they must accept responsibility for their lives and their own reactions to the situations in which they find themselves. This is an idea that is now a familiar concept in the twenty-first century personal development movement. Although many of Tim’s staff contributed to the work that went into the book, the ideas behind it and the overall philosophy were clearly his. It earned him a nickname: Theory Leary.
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