A Boulder psychologist and grief therapist was accused of malpractice Monday in a complaint filed by a faculty member from the university psychology department.
Professor Donald Waycroft, who holds the Lois Van Liere Distinguished Chair in Applied Behavior Analysis, alleged that therapist Cleopatra Sims manipulated his 35-year-old daughter into believing she experienced a false reunion with her deceased mother, according to a complaint filed with the Colorado Mental Health Section of the Department of Regulatory Agencies.
Dr. Waycroft, a prominent behavioral psychologist, has consulted on, researched and taught behavior analysis for over 40 years. The complaint he filed against Sims alleges she has engaged in fraudulent and unsafe practice that placed her clients’ safety and welfare in danger. He also charges that Sims is delusional and questions whether she is fit to practice as a psychologist.
According to the complaint, Waycroft’s daughter sought treatment from Sims for help in coping with grief over the death of her husband who perished in a fall at the Grand Canyon last April. Waycroft alleges that Sims enrolled his daughter in a program called the Contact Project, which purports to help people work through their grief by contacting dead persons.
Waycroft further alleges that Sims used hypnosis and other techniques to falsely convince his daughter she had contacted and had a conversation with her mother, who died over 30 years ago. “This experience has caused considerable distress for me, my daughter and my grandson,” Waycroft said, “and I think we need to protect other people who might become victims of this phony spiritualism project.”
Sims is a licensed psychologist in the state of Colorado. She could not be reached for comment Wednesday.
“That asshole! I’ll call you back later,” I screamed, closing my phone. Half way through re-reading the article I got a call from Bruce, the man who funds my project, saying we needed to meet. My anger made room for fear. Bruce didn’t sound terribly upset, but he didn’t sound happy either. Kind of unnerving. I worried he’d had some second thoughts about funding the Contact Project, but I resisted the impulse to ask him over the phone. We set a time to meet that afternoon.
As soon as I hung up, a couple of clients called to cancel. By then, I’d had about all the phone calls I could handle without screaming at someone. So I turned off my phone and walked downtown to my office. Somehow, I managed to meet with two clients there—one who hadn’t seen the story and one who had—but I’ll admit I had a hard time focusing on their concerns.
When I had some free time, I warily started playing my phone messages. To my relief, there were no more cancellations. First was Sharon, very apologetic, then other friends offering support. But two unexpected messages got most of my attention. One was from Joel, and the other from Narmada—the former Natalie, Adam’s first wife. Each of them said they needed to talk to me urgently. I returned their calls and arranged times to meet each of them.
Joel offered to pick up some take-out from Wild Oats and bring it by for a quick picnic lunch. He showed up with a southwestern tofu salad made with fresh tomatoes and cilantro, feta cheese, focaccia bread, peaches, strawberries and organic lemonade. We took the feast over to a park next to Boulder Creek, where we found a picnic table near the busy playground area. I was in a fog, kind of staring blankly around at the people around me who were going on with their lives as if this was a perfectly normal day. I watched a woman holding a baby on her hip with one hand push a bigger child on a swing with her other hand, while she kept watch over a toddler marching back and forth with a huge ring of keys like a tiny jailer on his coffee break. The mother looked like she could use a grande caffe latte espresso.
Looking for anything to focus on but my own anxiety, I noticed Joel’s face had its usual two-day dark beard growth. I wondered how he maintained it at that level. Did he only shave every few days and I happened to catch him on the off days—or did he have some trick of mowing it to a high level like grass in the heat of summer? But his smile was as engaging as ever, and I could see why Sharon might want to reconnect.
Then he pulled me back to reality, his dark eyes drawing me in as he spoke. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Donald’s complaint,” he said, “and to encourage you not to give up trying to help Sharon contact Adam. It’s important that she find out as much as she can about what happened to him. Otherwise she’s never going to be able to move on with her life.”
I rose to the challenge. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s up to Sharon whether we continue. I’m not going to let Waycroft scare me off, but Sharon may have some limits on how much she wants to cross him.”
“I know Donald. I worked with him for years, and I got fed up a lot. He can be bossy and rude, and he believes his methods of shaping behavior are supreme. But underneath he’s basically good-hearted. I doubt if he’ll really go through with the complaint. He’s just trying to scare you off because he doesn’t believe in your methods.”
This made no sense to me. It was like Joel was talking about someone else. There was no way I could see Waycroft as good-hearted. I couldn’t even come up with a response.
I drifted off again, watching a stocky middle-aged man dressed for the board room in dark blue dress pants, a long-sleeved blue shirt and a red tie. He helped a toddler in a pink hat climb up to the top of the slide. He coaxed her and carefully stood by the side of the slide as a safety cushion. She deliberated, then chose to back down the steps to the ground. Invigorated by her accomplishment, the toddler headed back up the steps. The man followed behind, squatting at the top of the slide, holding her, arms extended, slowly releasing her to slide down into the waiting arms of a woman wearing a straw hat. Independence triumphs over fear every day I thought to myself.
Joel drummed his fingers on the table and brought me back to the conversation. “Hey, Cleo. If you like, I could try talking to Donald in your behalf. Basically, Donald likes to get his own way and will fight for that, but he draws the line at hurting anyone,”
This finally snapped me out of my reverie. My anger at Waycroft came flooding back, but I kept it in check as I spoke slowly and resolutely. “You don’t think he’s trying to hurt me? In fact he’s already hurt me with slander and loss of income. Joel, I appreciate your support, but Waycroft’s gone over the line and I plan to see that he regrets it. No, don’t talk to him for me. Thanks for the offer. I really do appreciate it. But I intend to fight this complaint through channels and I intend to win.”
I helped Joel clean up the remains of our lunch and thanked him for the delicious food. He decided to stay at the park for a while, so I left him there and walked back to my office to meet Narmada. On the way I, wondered what she could have to say to me that was so urgent, and whether I could believe anything she did say, given what Sharon had told me about her. She showed up promptly at 2:00, bounding into my waiting room with outstretched arms that enveloped me in an I-know-what-you’ve been-though hug. “Cleo, I’m here to support your work against the narrow-minded establishment.” She stepped back far enough to gaze intently into my eyes.
No quick response came to mind, but I did take the opportunity to move toward my counseling room, motioning her to follow me. Once we were seated with several feet of space between us, I took a better look at her. Narmada looked to be about 35, medium height and built like a dancer, a combination of muscles and grace. A massive mop of brown curly hair hung below her shoulders and stuck out in every direction around her head. She wore a black tank top with a long slim black skirt splattered with pink roses. And she positively radiated energy.
“I know who that Waycroft guy and his daughter are, and I’m here to tell you they are both bad news, and you should stay away from them. But you probably already know that by now.”
“The article only told part of the story,” I said. “I think it’s mostly a misunderstanding that I can clear up.”
Narmada looked at me as though I were speaking a foreign language. Which, given her views, I suppose I was. “Don’t be naïve, my
dear. This is no misunderstanding. Those academic psychologists salivate at any opportunity to trash us.”
I was pretty sure I didn’t want to be part of the ‘us’ Narmada included me in, but I decided that to be fair I should hear more of her story. “So, what sort of practice do you have exactly?” I asked.
She handed me a business card. It read: Narmada—Intuitive Psychic, Massage & Healing, Aura Reader, Past Life Regression, Chakra Balancing, Soul Surgery. Hmm… soul surgery—could that help Waycroft?
“Wow, you must stay busy with all those services. How long have you been doing all this?”
“About ten years. When I was married to that cynical loser, Adam, I thought something was wrong with me. I had premonitions of things that were going to happen to people, but he told me I was crazy. So I learned not to listen to myself, not to trust my intuitions. I wasn’t in touch with my abilities. I didn’t know I was psychic. I thought I was imagining things.”
“So how did you get in touch with your abilities?”
“My inner self wisely knew I needed to get away from Adam. So I ended up unconsciously doing things that split us up. Then after I got off all the drugs they had me on, I went to India to get clear. I had to learn to listen, to find out who I was, to be open to my dreams, feelings, whatever came to me in a nonlinear way. I had some profound experiences. Like I discovered that the voices I sometimes hear inside my head talking to me are people who have left the physical realm.”
Hmm…voices in her head talking to her. Is this how I sound to Pablo? I nodded a couple of times and said, “That does sound profound.”
“For sure. And once I knew I had the gift of seeing between the worlds, I went to Sedona and set up a practice at the New Age Center. I’ve only been back in Boulder a couple of years. I came back because it was made known to me that I should be here. But it hasn’t been easy with Adam going around telling people I’m a fake. Confidentially, once I learned to read auras, I could see that he was rotten to the core. I’m pretty sure he was a brutal slave owner in a past life. And he didn’t do much to redeem himself in this one.”
“So you were upset with Adam in the last couple of years?”
“You got that right! He spread lies about me all over town. Said I had no powers, was just after people’s money—that I had used him for money. Sure, I had some negative patterns years ago, but I’ve moved though those. Some were blocks from past lives that I had to release. I tried to tell Adam about this, but he refused to listen. He made ruining my reputation a personal crusade. Life will be much better for me here with him gone, I can tell you that.”
“You may be better off, but Sharon and Nathan miss Adam a lot.”
“I can not imagine why Sharon wants to contact him now that he’s crossed over, but I can tell you it’s not going to work. He’s not the type who would cooperate with someone trying to connect with him from this side. He wasn’t in tune with himself, no self-awareness, no clue about how his mental attitudes were causing him emotional and physical stress. We know people’s beliefs will cause them to create or attract the situations and events they experience. No wonder Adam fell into a big hole.”
“So you think Adam caused his own death?”
“For sure. Not in the sense that he physically jumped. But spiritually he was so empty, the canyon just sucked him up.”
I was too dumbfound to go on. “Interesting, Narmada. But I actually have an appointment out in Longmont in a bit, so I’m going to need to leave soon.”
“Sure. I really came to offer support for your work, to stand up against Waycroft’s attack. I’m active in the local psychic community, and we want you to know we’ll be there for you. We’d love for you to participate in our Fall Equinox Fair in September. And some of us are planning to organize a rally protesting Waycroft’s complaint.
I didn’t think her rally would help my reputation much. After all, I was a licensed therapist—at least I was so long as Waycroft didn’t get his way—and I try to maintain a respectable image, even though my methods may be a teeny bit unorthodox. So I tried to discourage her without being rude. “That’s so thoughtful. I appreciate the support. But I’m hoping I can work through the regulatory board and get the complaint dropped. Maybe you could check back with me in a couple of weeks and see where it stands.”
“The thing is, I’m pretty sure that organizing against this attack on you is what I’m meant to do here in Boulder. It may be hard for you to accept the love we’re offering, but you need to take it in. If you can’t swallow the powerful love that’s out there for you and your work, you’ll choke.”
I could feel myself choking already and I was unquestionably in touch with a powerful need to get Narmada out of my office. “Look, I really have to go,” I said, standing and moving toward the door.
“No worries.” Narmada jumped up, hugged me, and headed toward the door. “Just do what you have to do and know we’re there for you.” And she was gone.
I had to rush out to my appointment with Bruce, the donor who funds my Contact Project. I felt nervous about the meeting. Plus, thanks to Narmada, I was a little late. As I sped along the highway between Boulder and Longmont to Bruce’s office in a Longmont business park, I noticed a truck that looked a lot like Erik’s very close behind me. Even when I slowed down, the truck stayed in back of me. I didn’t want him or anyone following me to Bruce’s office, so I turned off at Niwot.
Downtown Niwot is a tiny unincorporated village dating back to 1875. Today it’s mostly an old-fashioned main street lined with antique stores and art galleries, which has been declared a national historic district. The truck turned off behind me, so I stopped in front of Niwot Antiques on Second Avenue, thinking if someone were following me, it would be hard for them to hide in such a small town. The truck sped on by and turned the corner before I could make out the driver or identify the truck. I waited about ten minutes to see if it would reappear. When it didn’t, I went back to the highway and continued on to Longmont.
By then I was definitely late. It’s easy to get confused in the winding streets of the office parks out there, which added to my anxiety. After a couple of wrong turns, I was about to get out my cell phone and call Bruce, when I finally spotted the place. I wasn’t as cool and composed as I would have liked when I rushed in. I also felt I had somehow let him down, and was worried he would lose trust in me.
When I got to his office, I found Bruce working on one of the four computers in the room. The other three machines plugged away on their own, perhaps testing some high-level formulas. Bruce didn’t smile when he saw me, but I didn’t take that to mean anything, because he’s normally reserved.
As usual, he got straight to the point. His mind works so fast you feel like you’re on speed just talking to him. He wanted to know all the facts, but was several steps ahead of me all the way along. Like many techies, Bruce is brilliant, but a bit lacking in the social skills department. He’s not much for listening—just slaps the facts into a pattern he can scan, and proposes solutions.
“Okay Cleo, you need to respond through the appropriate channels and process, and see if the complaint will go away.”
“I agree. That’s exactly what I’m planning to do.”
“We need to put a stop to this newspaper hype. Don’t give them any comments. In fact, don’t talk to them at all.”
“That’s fine with me.”
“Can you get Waycroft’s daughter to stay away from the press too? And tell her to keep her Contact Project experiences to herself. We don’t want to attract more publicity.”
“I’ll talk to her. But I can’t make her keep quiet. It’s her experience, after all. So it’s her choice.”
“If she doesn’t understand the importance of not sensationalizing this project, maybe she’s not right for it.”
Whoa—that was unexpected! But I didn’t just shoot back. I took a few moments to think about how to respond. I was torn between my loyalty to Sharon and my desire to live up to Bruce’s e
xpectations. As my client, Sharon deserved and was entitled to my support. As my benefactor, Bruce could certainly expect his opinions to carry some weight. But bottom line, I couldn’t let him dictate who I accepted as my clients.
“I think this will blow over,” I said. “How about we give it a week or so and see where we are?” I decided to try to keep it vague so I wasn’t locked into any promises.
“Okay, today’s Thursday. The complaint was filed Monday. Have you written your response yet?”
“I was planning to work on it this weekend. I have 20 days to respond.”
“The sooner, the better, I’d say. Could you email or fax me a copy when you get it done?”
I agreed, mostly to buy myself some time. While I wished he hadn’t asked for it, I couldn’t think of a good reason not to give him a copy. He’s discreet, and I trust him completely not to share the information with anyone. Nevertheless, I felt strangely anxious about agreeing to send it to him.
Chapter 22
Sharon was scheduled Friday afternoon for another try at contacting Adam. I called her Friday morning to see if it was still a go. While I had no intentions of being bullied out of working with her, I wanted to make sure she hadn’t changed her mind. But despite Waycroft’s brouhaha, she wanted to keep on.
We skipped looking through Adam’s stuff this time. Like before, I had Sharon bring a picture of him as well as his favorite tee shirt from the annual Bolder-Boulder 10K race. Before getting her set in the apparition chamber, we walked over to the creek again to relax, talk about Adam, and explore her motivations for trying to contact him.
“I miss him so much. It’s like this huge cloud of sadness that hangs over my head,” Sharon said as we strolled along the creek path among joggers, mothers pushing strollers, and dogs pulling their guardians by leashes. “Look—all these people enjoying their lives. But in here inside my cloud everything is dimmer and grayer than out there. I find myself wondering how the world can go on as if nothing had changed—when Adam is gone from it forever.”
Too Near the Edge Page 13
