In Memory of Carl A. Hammerschlag
Carl A. Hammerschlag, MD
(4/18/1939—1/21/2022)
By Joyce C. Mills, PhD
“Come to every day with joy!”—Carl Hammerschlag
It was Saturday, January 22, 2022, when I received the call letting me know Carl Hammerschlag had passed peacefully in his home. I sat quietly, reflecting on this news, letting my mind and heart wrap itself around the enormity of this loss. I then replayed his last phone message to me from the evening before: Sweet sister love, Shabbat Shalom! This is the last Shabbos call before I leave my office …I love you. I send you my blessings always, Carl.
When invited to write this tribute for the newsletter, I was both honored and overwhelmed. Where do I begin?
Personally, Carl was my dear friend, mentor, and spiritual brother for more than 35 years. Throughout those years, we spent time sharing stories, which included his love of fly fishing, his adventurous encounters, participating in sacred Native American ceremonies, and developing visions for, and embarking upon community healing projects. While sitting by the Verde River that runs through the Fort McDowell Yavapai Nation, Carl taught me how to tie a Native drum, and create ceremonies and rituals to be used in my personal life, as well as with clients and in my community. Both being Jewish, we talked about our family history, and sang Hebrew songs, along with those from our indigenous spiritual family. Holidays and family occasions were a combination of laughter, tears, storytelling, celebration, grief, dance, rituals, and prayers—all threaded together with love.
Professionally, Carl was a master storyteller, skilled physician, and healer. He was an award-winning speaker, internationally recognized author of six books, and world-renowned humanitarian clown. Dressed as a bright pink flamingo, Carl brought humor and the soul of healing to the darkest of situations. Primary for Carl was building relationships with patients in whatever time they had together—to touch their hearts and make a difference. He often said that every encounter enriched his life more than he could have possibly imagined. They reminded him of an essential element for sustaining a happy life: “To find a way to come to every day with joy!” He didn’t just spout that line as a platitude; it was how he lived his life.
A Yale-trained psychiatrist, Carl spent almost 20 years as chief of psychiatry at the Phoenix Indian Medical Center where he learned much from Native American medicine men. With conviction, he often spoke about the difference between being a doctor and a healer, something he learned in Indian country, not in medical school. I’m taking the liberty to paraphrase an essential message I would often hear Carl say: “Healing takes place when the mouth speaks what the mind thinks and the heart feels.” All three need to be in alignment for peace. The Navajo (Dine’) word is Hózhó, meaning beauty, balance, harmony, and health.
Carl was an expert on community-based health care. He worked to create environments that welcome the process of healing, and he assisted others in how to survive in rapidly changing cultures. He was a leading authority in the practical applications of psychoneuroimmunology (mind-body-spirit) medicine. Carl was a respected faculty member at the University of Arizona Medical School and chief of community mental health, Gesundheit! Institute. He was also the founder of the Turtle Island Project, a non-profit, multidisciplinary organization whose programs integrate the principles of mind-body-spirit medicine with Native American rituals and ceremonies. In 2016, Carl founded The Healing Corps (THC), an innovative preventative health initiative that is a continuation of his life’s work in promoting health in communities. His dedication to this mission was unwavering and continues with his invincible spirit at the helm.
Equal to, if not more important than his professional accomplishments, Carl would be called a “mensch” in Yiddish, meaning someone with high integrity and honor—a valiant soul who stands up for human rights at every turn. Carl had a driving mission to hear the unheard. Young and old alike, he would cradle those souls who most people wouldn’t touch. He traveled to places where people live in dire conditions, and where they are at risk of serious harm. Perhaps this soulful mission stemmed from being born to parents who left Nazi Germany in 1936 in hopes of establishing a safe life in America. Carl was not an observer; he was a full participant in life’s challenges as well as its joys. He would often say, “If you’re gonna be there, be there!”
The roots and branches that sustained Carl’s life were his beloved wife Elaine of 61 years, his three beautiful daughters, and his grandchildren. Together they embraced the adventures of life’s mysteries that continued to show the resounding love they had for one another.
People who knew Carl could tell you a story about the first time they met him, the first time they heard him speak. His 6-foot 6-inch towering stature, along with his resounding voice, were unforgettable.
For me, the story began at the 1986 Erickson congress. Knowing that my work and the subject of my new book were focused on metaphors and storytelling, especially the storytelling gifts of Erickson and Native Americans, Jeff Zeig suggested I attend the workshop being presented by Carl Hammerschlag. I had no idea who he was, but I was about to find out!
The chairs in the room were arranged in a large circle, different from any other workshop I had attended. After welcoming everyone with his deeply resonant voice, Carl took out a large feather and a braid of sweetgrass, which he explained was a sacred indigenous plant, braided together” just as we are in mind, body, and spirit.” He passed the feather and sweetgrass to the participant next to him and it went around our circle. A connection beyond intellect was made!
Throughout this profound workshop, Carl continued to entrance us by weaving together personal and professional stories. One story was about Santiago, an old man from the Santo Domingo Pueblo, who was admitted to the Santa Fe Indian Hospital with congestive heart failure. Not knowing Santiago was a clan chief and a pueblo priest, Carl said he saw Santiago as just an old man lying in a hospital bed with tubes in his nose.
Carl continued his story and said the old man asked him, “Where did you learn to heal?” Thinking Santiago was asking about his academic education, Carl rattled off Yale and several other places.
Then the old man asked: “Do you know how to dance?” Carl was touched by the question and began to shuffle a bit by Santiago’s bedside. Santiago chuckled, got out of bed, and began to show Carl his dance.
Santiago told him, “You have to be able to dance if you are going to heal people.”
Carl asked, “Will you teach me your steps?”
Santiago nodded and said, “Yes, I can teach you my steps, but you will have to hear your own music.”
Chronicled in Carl’s critically acclaimed book, The Dancing Healers, this story became a central theme of his life-long legacy. While he taught people from around the world in his unique, creative, heartfelt, and sometimes controversial ways, Carl always encouraged people “to hear your own music.” Clearly, this is a message that Erickson shared.
One of Carl’s favorite stories to tell was when he first met Erickson. While many of you reading this tribute may know the story, I feel as if Carl is whispering it in my ear as I am writing. If you knew Carl, you may even hear his voice.
Sitting in a wheelchair dressed in purple, Erickson appeared to be struggling to pick up a heavy rock. Finally, he lifted it into his lap, then threw it at Carl’s crotch. Instinctively, Carl covered himself … but then realized the rock was made of foam. He said Dr. Erickson had a twinkle in his eye, smiled and said, “Not everything you see is what you see it as. It is only how you see it at the moment.” Carl said he felt like he was with a medicine man in his hogan.
Throughout Carl’s life, he continued to weave the strands of similarities between Native American healing practices and those he learned from Erickson. They were intwined in his life’s work, ethics, and beliefs.
I couldn’t think of a better way to end this tribute than with a quote Carl used to end an article he wrote that was published in Caring Magazine in 2004, entitled: “Six Things to Do When You’re Dying.” It is an excerpt from the poem written by Henry Scott Holland:
“Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped into the next room…. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by my old familiar name. Speak to me in that easy way which you always used…. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.”
Looking at the last line in this quote, one of the many things Carl was known to say was, “Find a way to come to every day with joy!” His hope was for us to gather around the world fireplace and keep telling our stories … to touch the heart of others.
He learned in Indian country that once you shared time together, you became like a relative. There is no doubt in my mind Carl Hammerschlag is still dancing. and he continues to encourage us to hear our own music.
Mi takuye oyacin (to all my relations)
Joyce C. Mills, PhD, is a licensed Marriage and Family Therapist, a Registered Play Therapy Supervisor and founder of the StoryPlay® Global Certification Training Program. She is also co-director at the Phoenix Institute of Ericksonian Therapy, and an award-winning speaker, presenter, and author of seven books, including Therapeutic Metaphors for Children and the Child Within—2nd Ed. (2014).
For more information about Carl A. Hammerschlag, MD, go to www.healingdoc.com.
Reference books include:
C.A., Hammerschlag, (1988). The dancing healers. Harper/Collins.
C.A., Hammerschlag (1993). The theft of the spirit. Simon and Schuster.
C.A., Hammerschlag & Silverman, B.D. (1997). Healing ceremonies. Putnam.
C.A., Hammerschlag (1998). The go-away doll. Turtle Island Press.
C. A., Hammerschlag (1999). Sika and the raven. Turtle Island Press.
C.A., Hammerschlag (2012). Kindling spirit: healing from within. Turtle Island Press.
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