After Ernest’s supervisory hour, Marshal Streider sat back in his chair and thought about victory cigars. Twenty years ago he had heard Dr. Roy Grinker, an eminent Chicago analyst, describe his year on Freud’s couch. That was in the twenties, in the days when analytic respectability required a pilgrimage to the master’s couch—sometimes for a couple of weeks, sometimes, if one dreamed of becoming an analytic mover and shaker, as long as a year. According to Grinker, Freud never concealed his glee when he made an incisive interpretation. And if Freud thought he had made a monumental
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