Back in the Day with Penny Vieregge

At age 95, this beloved Gazebo/Park School teacher remembers her big adventures during Esalen’s earliest years: “I may not have been a leader, but I was always me, accepted for who I was, and that, in its own way, saved my life.” True original Penny Vieregge recalls the early ’60s with tales of Dick Price, Michael Murphy, John Lilly, Gregory Bateson, dirty nursery rhymes, and how she became the “community's wise Oracle.”

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I've been trying to define Penny. Like, Who am I? But I haven't come up with any answers. I'm miserable and I'm happy. Simultaneously, they exist. 

It wasn't until the psychedelic era that it became "okay" to be different. Then people just assumed I was on drugs, but I never needed them. My earliest memories are steeped in a unique perception of the world. I grew up believing I was a controlled schizophrenic, highly psychic in an era when such things were not openly discussed. I recall a moment as a child, walking down the street, when suddenly I experienced what I called "color talk." It shocked the kids I was with and taught me to keep my abilities hidden. 

My journey to what would become Esalen began through my husband, Paul, who grew up in the Big Sur hills. We were living in San Francisco, and he wanted to show me the area. It was the early ’60s, and there was no "Esalen" then, just Big Sur Hot Springs, or Slates, as locals still called it. It was there I first met Dick Price. I saw him digging a plumbing line, and when he straightened up, the sun hit him just right. I thought, “My goodness, that profile belongs on a Macedonian coin." This struck me as hilarious later, as Dick's primary psychotic break involved him believing he was Alexander the Great.

Anyway, I was never officially "part of Esalen.” People know me through the Gazebo school, where I worked for decades, but in the early days, I was always on the periphery. I didn't take any workshops or programs. I just enjoyed the baths, Dick, and Mike [Murphy]. Dick and I became very close; he even started calling me "Twin." He completely accepted me. I was a faithful wife to my husband, Paul, though he was a pandering alcoholic. I'd often be hit on by his friends, who assumed I'd want retribution, but I wasn't interested. I was Catholic and took my vows seriously. 

I saw a lot during those years. When John Lilly and Tim Leary were comparing the number of mics of acid they've dropped, and how they've handled their pain. I was never close to Fritz [Perls]. I mean, we got along, and he was brilliant, but the man had a hole in his heart.  I steered clear of wannabe gurus. Richard Alpert [Ram Dass] was just another wannabe. On one Christmas Eve, I saw Alan Watts try to hold a midnight mass. To me, it was some fallen-away Catholic who was trying to build something his Catholicism could focus on. Esalen was an amazing community, but it had its complexities.

Eventually, Paul and I separated. My first lover after Paul was actually John Lilly. We’d had an instant intellectual connection when we first met. I met him again in a workshop at Esalen after my separation. It was an incredible physical experience. The morning after, a stream of high-powered visitors came to check on me, concerned because they liked me and knew I didn't "play around." Jack Downing, my psychiatrist, remarked, "Penny, when you decide to kick over the traces, you pick a doozer." 

I forged many meaningful friendships at Esalen. Dennis Murphy, for instance. I'll never forget the night he showed up at my door in Sausalito doing his "most Irish charm," saying my husband had "passed out at the no-name bar." He asked for a toothbrush because he wanted to "make love” to me and didn't want me "tasting whiskey." I told him I wasn't available but offered him coffee and eggs. He looked at me and said, "You are real, aren't you?"

I was also close with Gregory Bateson, who bonded with me over our shared experience of growing up as controlled schizophrenics. I played Mozart duets and sang obscene Bobby Burns songs with [jazz saxophonist] Ronnie Lang. I never wanted to be a leader or on staff. I was having more fun being on the periphery. I was just accepted for me. 

My contributions were perhaps less formal but equally impactful. As a Gestalt practitioner, my job was simply to shut up and listen, to mirror, and offer tools. Dick Price taught me Gestalt in three sentences: "What's going on with you right now?", "Notice their body, what they're doing. Pick on something and say, exaggerate that. Give it a voice," and the principle that "only the patient knows." Meaning, the client is in charge. I coasted for a couple of years on those three sentences.

I also worked with Dick on Spiritism, training under Luis Sata. I remember one session where I experienced a woman seeing her husband hanging. I screamed, even spoke Yiddish fluently, a language I didn't know. That was when I thought, “Oh shit! There is something to this Spiritism thing." I also taught CPR and First Aid to the Gazebo (preschool) staff and children, learning from them how to teach these things to kids. I even contributed to marine biology research by suggesting slanting the point of a needle to avoid killing cells — an idea that came to me through an analogy about a penis. It was that sort of thing; I just asked questions. 

My naughty nursery rhymes were heard far and wide. Kids loved ‘em. There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, had so many hangups, she didn't know what to do. She attended a seminar, blew out her head, and worked through the rest of her problems in bed.” They were sung by the kids running through the dining hall, shocking a few seminarians. 

I still miss Dick Price terribly. Looking back — I am 95 now — I've witnessed a lot. I am a performer and some call me the "community's wise Oracle." My curiosity is not innocent; it is embracing and open. I still live in the Lincoln Log house I've been in since 1972. I may not have been a leader, but I was always me, accepted for who I was, and that, in its own way, saved my life.

What’s my most enduring source of joy? Me. Because it comes through me.