I
One morning in Zurich, Switzerland, in 1924, I opened a letter that I had been awaiting impatiently. It read something like this:Dear Roy,I have received your communication regarding your interest in psychoanalysis and request for permission to stay in Zurich and be analyzed. I can only say briefly, and to the point, if you have no better way to spend my money, come home at once.Your loving father, JuliusThis was not an unexpected response, since I had long since considered my father to be a neurologist who was only tangentially interested in psychiatry, and my specific mission abroad was to study neurology in order to return home as his assistant. I also knew that he wanted me to emulate my bête noire at the time, his favorite pupil, Percival Bailey.I had first gone to Vienna to study neuroanatomy with Marburg