Who S Betty Fuller

Who’s Betty Fuller?
Christie James and I had just finished our Intermediate Level Training at Sheila
Merle Johnson’s home in Mill Valley, California. Christie had arranged for each
of us to have a session following the training with Deane Juhan. We were both
new to the Trager world but knew of him from his book. We traveled on over to
Deane’s, but once there, he informed us that he only had time for one session.
Something had come up for him. We agreed that Christie would take the session.
Deane excused himself for a minute or two, came back and said that someone named
Betty Fuller was in town and would be happy to give me a session later that
afternoon. “Who’s Betty Fuller?”
I remember waiting in the parking lot of a small office building with Christie.
Leaning up against our rental car some three thousand miles from home somehow began

to feel strange and foreign to me. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes. This Betty woman was late. Finally, an old blue station wagon pulled up and parked on the other side of the lot. A rather large woman with big, black, bushy eyebrows and a very full white afro got out and started waving
her hand and yoo-hooing in our direction. I said, “Betty?” “Yes. Are you
what’s-his-name?” “Yes. I’m Dan.” I approached her at the car and before
another word she loaded me up with boxes and houseplants. She then directed me
up the stairs to her studio. “Put that plant over there. Does it look okay
there? I think that’s where it goes?” Most of her jabbering was to herself
though. Her wagon was quite full when she got there and empty when I was
finished. It took us about thirty minutes or so to get everything where she
wanted it. In retrospect, I suppose this was my Ment astics. Christie and I
just kept looking at each other and kind of laughing silently. “Who is this
woman?”
this day I still call on that feeling of that first session back in August of 1993.
My body moved, but I never felt her hands. I recall vividly watching this
little oval disc deep inside my neck somewhere just under the back of my skull.
It was one of those internal views of my actual tissue--a moving MRI of sorts.
Rolling my head a little this way and a little that way. Slow. Gentle. No
hurry. Drifting back and forth from here to there. Wherever there was. I
certainly had never been there before. Then my feet began to jiggle. Oh now
she’s at my feet. So easy to just let go and float. My belly, my shoulders, my
neck and back to that little disc. Roll my head this way. Let it rest.
Floating off again. A bit of this and that. Out to places I had only glimpsed
in my dreams. “Roll onto your back again” “Who said that?” “Does that mean
me?” Back to the little disc. Move it this way a bit and pause. Gentle.
Slow. Loving and respectful. Just a little bit each time. Finally it just
slipped ever so liquid-like, click. I was home. A deep breath from both Betty and I. I
spent four and one half hours with Betty in her studio that afternoon. I did
not realize then, as I do now, that Betty entering my life was of profound and
magical importance. She influenced me in ways like no other could have. This
was Betty. She was and will forever be my mentor. To
Out to the car and begin our drive to Seattle from Marin County. What a trip!
I was awake for the next seventy-two hours. I had no idea what or where, who or
why! All sorts of feelings that I could never fully describe. At times it was
like vomiting, sobbing, screaming. The nervous laughter and long periods of
distanced silence- naked and scared. Thank God for Christie.
Flying back to Boston from Seattle I said to Christie. Wouldn’t it be great to
just follow Betty around wherever she went? Just attach myself to her and
absorb her. I only thought of that as one of those dreams that you keep as a
beacon, without any possibility of it ever manifesting. The session at that moment seemed to be enough by itself.
Deane years later would tell me that he felt that, “Betty is the preeminent,
female, bodymind worker on the planet!” Right? Of course she is.
Thank you Betty.
Hooking Up With Betty
Six months after meeting Betty and having that session, I noticed that she was
scheduled in Europe for several trainings in April.& nbsp; Without thinking about it,
which is not at all like me, I called her. “Betty this is Dan McGovern. You
gave me a session about six months ago. Do you remember me?” “Yes of course I
do. How are you?” I told her about my post-session experience. She said she
had wished I had called her.
“Well, Betty I see that you’re scheduled to go to Europe in April and I was
wondering if I could go along and carry your bags for you.” There was a long
silence on the other end of the phone--really long. Finally I said
uncomfortably, “Well if that isn’t such a good idea it’s okay. It was just a
thought.” Betty burst into tears and told me that was the best offer she had ever had. We made plans
immediately.
She came to my home in Massachusetts a day or so before we were to fly to Paris.
The next morning my daughter Maura came down for breakfast and whispered, “Dad.
That lad y upstairs?” “You mean Betty?” “Dad she’s talking to herself!” I
laughed, “I know she seems to have that habit.” Yeah, but Dad you don’t
understand.” “What” “She answers in another voice.” Over the years both Maura
and I became quite acquainted with both Betty and her alter ego Boo. Maura
always addressed her many letters to both Betty and Boo. And Betty always
signed off from the both of them as well. It tickled Betty so much to finally
have Boo out of the closet and to be accepted so lovingly.
The next day we flew overnight to Paris--on a 747, I believe. It’s the plane
with the upper deck to it. Betty and I, with maybe a dozen or so other
passengers, sound asleep up in that smaller section. Well into the flight she
woke me in order to use the facilities. I stood up and as she passed me in the aisle she
mumbled something about maybe doing some Mentastics whi le she was up.
There were four or five flight attendants just hanging around and talking
quietly. Betty upon returning from the ladies room stopped in the isle near the
emergency exits giving her ample room. She stood there and paused for a moment
with her back to the gathering of attendants. Then all of a sudden she slowly
began bouncing, vibrating, shimmying, rolling her head, swinging her arms with
eyes closed. She was having one helluva time for herself. This went on for
just a few minutes. What a sight. I couldn’t believe the sheer entertainment
of that which was unfolding before me. I could barely contain myself. The
flight attendants immediately stiffened to attention, manically looking at Betty
and then back at each other. “What do we do?” They froze. They had never seen
anything like that before. I know they thought she was having a seizure or
something.
Now some of the other passengers were waking each other up and watching with
both concern and amusement. Mouths wide open at this large woman vibrating all
over the place. Their faces were priceless. Before anyone could actually
respond and check in with Betty she just stopped, paused and calmly walked back
to her seat. She was back to sleep in an instant. Betty was oblivious to her
performance. I pretended to be asleep while choking back laughter under my
blanket.
I held my story from Betty until we arrived at the home of Fabienne and Maurice
Hirsch. I was still enjoying so much the view from the “catbird” seat. Then
when it was my turn to introduce myself at the opening circle the next day at
the training, I told my story. We could not stop laughing. Betty laughed
loudest and longest. I will forever remember each second of those few minutes
flying over the Atlantic.
Thank you Betty. I love you Betty.
“Opening Day” with Betty
Having spent a most wonderful week training in Bavaria with Martin, Hedi, Astrid and Hans along with many others, we decided to go
out, celebrate and drink beer our last evening together. We drove around in a
caravan of cars for a while but couldn’t find a pub that was open. Hans, ever
the facilitator, led the group of about twenty or twenty five of us into the
parking lot of an obviously closed pub. “Hans”, I asked, “What are you doing?
They are obviously closed.” He said sly smile, “I’ll be right back!” He went
to the front door of the home that was attached to this pub out in the middle of
nowhere. A man came to the door and they spoke back and forth for a moment.
The pub owner looked out at all of us as if to count the passengers in all of
the cars and then disappeared into the house. In a flash all of the lights went
on, music began to play and we were all drinking beer while sitting at one big
table.
All of those wonderful people we had just spent the week with began a
sing-along. Those German Folk Songs were so much fun . It was like being in a foreign film only much, much better. Hedi put on one memorable
performance as a lounge singer while standing on the table top. And then a
standing ovation as she slid dramatically under the table to end her song.
Then it was my turn. I was asked by someone to teach them an American Folk
Song. Quickly I acknowledged that I only knew all the words to one song. “Take
Me Out To The Ball Game.” It did seem appropriate as it was opening day for
baseball back in Boston. During the planning stages of the trip I told Betty
that I would be missing my very first opening day to the Boston baseb all season
in order to go with her. She told me she was honored knowing how important the
Red Sox and baseball were to me.
Anyway, I taught them the song and we sang it with passion quite a few times
consecutively. By now we had had a few glasses of beer and there was lots of
laughter and atmosphere building. Betty made the request that we sing it one
final time, but, that we should sing it slowly and wait for her cue. She walked over to the corner of the room turned dramatically
toward back towards all of us. The room was now silently waiting. Betty, ever
the entertainer, gave us her signal and BANG! We broke into song while she
danced slowly towards us. It was a strip tease act. The song’s tempo and
inflection were adjusted immediately to Betty’s movement. She unbuttoned her top
slowly readying to reveal herself. Everyone kept singing and not quite
believing what w e were seeing. She spun around, tossed her top to the
floor--and there she was in her brand new Boston Red Sox uniform! I still don’t
know how she pulled it off. My consecutive “Opening Day” streak is still
intact.

Being With Betty
We were at Holly Chaplin and Dick Dunbar’s home in Key West with a full “Being
With Betty” class. Betty had lost her verbal languaging, but somehow made the
trip from California to Florida by herself. She lived to teach us this work. So those of us who knew her so well, Holly, Martin Anderson and I spoke her
words. We had spent so much time with her that we knew what she wanted to do.
She knew that too.
At one point, she motioned for me to get on the table. She needn’t ask twice.
Jealous dagger-like looks from Holly. Maybe a bit of cursin g as well. A neck
demo and Holly was jealous. This banter between Holly and I over who would be
the demo body always pleased Betty. Twenty or thirty minutes of pure
heaven-like awareness. I had not been with Betty for a while and something in
her and her work had changed. Maybe I could describe it as greater ease, deeper
hook-up possibly and somehow softer, if that was possible. All within me,
seemingly my whole self was connected to her with complete trust and knowing.
My body responding as one entity while letting go to her unquestionably. She
was the puppeteer, the maestro. I was, “Being with Betty” again. How very
thirsty I was for her touch.
When I got off the table I experienced something I had never felt before. It was as if a marine buoy had been
inflated in my chest and a smaller one inside my head. They were pulling me
towards the c eiling in defiance of gravity. I kept floating up onto my toes as
if submerged in water. The effort, was to remain flat on my feet on the floor.
It seemed as if I would levitate at any moment. This went on for some time
while the class just watched and Betty quietly smiled. Maybe I’ve had a hundred
sessions and demos with Betty over the years. This was so very different.
Thank you Betty. I love you Betty. I’ll never forget you Betty. I can still
feel you Betty. – Dan McGovern