Near the end of medical school, I applied to eight psychiatric residencies. I was surprised that the University of Rochester, where I attended my 4-year medical school, desired that I attend their residency. I had not even filled out an application form. I was surprised that they were interested in me, since I had suffered during medical school, especially during my first two years. I was tired of long cold winters, an unhappy city, and a painful medical school.
I had very good interviews at Columbia University, but there was too much of a difference between the kind psychoanalyst (who did not believe in medicine), and the aggressive medicine-oriented faculty member. Also, living and working in New York City did not appeal to me.
My only memory of Harvard involves being interviewed by a faculty member whose office was about nine by nine feet square. I believed that psychiatrists were not valued.
When I visited the University of Colorado (set in Denver), I loved the weather, and was impressed with the faculty: smart, kind, and good natured. Among others, I was interviewed by a female psychoanalyst. Within a half hour she immediately asked in detail about my father, who had died, or was dying, of alcoholism. She quickly had great insights about my experience of being raised by a brilliant and kind, but firm, alcoholic. Within minutes, I felt like a patient, and that my kind therapist was interested in me. She then wisely slipped into questions about my mother – no previous interviewer had ever shown interest in her. I had never had such an interview in my life. She was one of our great teachers during my residency.