Remembering R.D. Laing (2024)

It was early July 1989, and my friends and I were driving through the scenic Austrian countryside to a lovely gasthaus where I had once stayed. Before dinner, friend and author Joyce Catlett ran up to the table looking excited, “You’re not going to believe this, but R. D. Laing lives about a mile from here!”

Ronnie and I had corresponded and exchanged a few long telephone calls and he had written a foreword to my book, The Fantasy Bond. We had even extended invitations to each other from various locations around the world, but our schedules had never coincided.

That evening, Ronnie and I engaged in dialogue for five solid hours. As the hours passed, we let our minds soar. Each of us was stimulated by the other, comparing ideas and sharing common experiences. The night was filled with animated and conversation punctuated by the exchange of comical anecdotes. By the time the evening was over, we liked one another immensely and had achieved a rare compatibility.

A few weeks later, Ronnie phoned my office. He had completed reading my manuscript Compassionate Childrearing and suggested that he help edit my manuscript. We made arrangements to meet in the south of France.

When I greeted Ronnie in Monaco, I felt sad to notice that his health had deteriorated considerably in the month since I had seen him. Nonetheless, he was anxious to begin our project. He and I joined forces and worked feverishly, completely editing the book in a matter of days.

In St. Tropez, less than two months after our chance meeting in Austria, following a set of tennis between us, the brilliant, extraordinary and lovable man suddenly collapsed and died. The experience had shifted from absolute joy to agony in less than twenty-four hours. I still haven’t been able to come to terms with the horrific event that deprived me of the unique and highly valued camaraderie that I had experienced for such a brief time. Later, I was honored to be asked to present my recollections of Ronnie Laing in a memorial service. I could not attend, so Carl Whitaker read my eulogy:

My Tribute to R.D. Laing
I met R. D. Laing face to face for the first time this summer, a chance meeting in Austria; perhaps it was magic. Before that, we were familiar only through our writings and viewing each other as we appeared in documentary films. I found a friend, the hours passed quickly, and I sailed on.

Later I received a call, "I read your book. It is a strong book, an important book, but it needs some work on literary style. I fear that without these stylistic changes, it will fall on even more deaf ears."

My response, "Join me for a sail. Come to Portofino or Nice and we'll talk."

He came and we worked on the book straight through many days and nights. There was a sense of urgency in the work. We shared ideas of all varieties and came to know and love each other.

When he first arrived, I noted his frailty and ill health, yet days of sun, and the companionship of other friends and loved ones seemed to help. A light came back into his eyes. He was truly happy at sea. He swam, he socialized, he embraced his children and he made new friends.

In St. Tropez, six days after coming aboard, he died suddenly. And I cried for the loss.

Let me tell you what I know of this man. He was a hurt man, angry in the best sense, strong and stubborn, with an uncanny brilliance. He cared deeply and passionately about people, human rights and psychological justice. He was uncompromising in his honesty. Tortured by what he saw, there was not much that he didn't see. He was pained by all that was phony, perverse, and cruel. He remained finely tuned to all that was contradictory and paradoxical, exhibiting a wonderful insight and humor about existential issues.

Lastly, he had enormous love and tender feelings for the plight of children. When commenting on Bettelheim's contribution to psychology at the Evolution of Psychotherapy Conference in Phoenix in 1985, tears filled his eyes as he suggested that Bettelheim deserved the Nobel Prize for his work with disturbed children.

Ronnie was a truly compassionate man.

From the book “Overcoming the Destructive Inner Voice: True Stories of Therapy and Transformation.”