Word: bradshaw
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None of this bothers the thousands who attend Bradshaw's workshops. They are there, hankies in hand, for an orchestrated, emotion-laden family reunion with their inner selves. The dramatic set piece is an exercise that Bradshaw has recently started to call a collective grief ritual. "Now if any of you have a stuffed animal, you may want to hold it," he advises listeners just before the lights in the auditorium dim and a schmaltzy recording of Sibelius' Going Home begins its familiar strains. Many of his followers -- casually dressed, of all ages -- clutch teddy bears or plush puppies...
...admitted ham, Bradshaw has a high-octane style that is too big for the TV screen. On stage he is commanding and works a room like a pro. Cordless mike in hand, he is a stand-up psychologist, slinging one-liners or deepening his voice to repeat self-pitying monologues from his drinking days: "There's nothing wrong with me. I'm a philosopher. I see the woundedness of life...
...Bradshaw is a family tell-all in the public arena -- you're only as sick as your secrets is the rule -- but is reticent in private. Sipping a diet soda in a hotel room a few hours after the arduous Manhattan workshop, he acknowledges that his omnipresent smile sometimes hides more desperate feelings. His father's death at 62 haunts him ("That's just four years from now in my own life"), and he has lingering regrets about himself as a young father. He was married in 1969; he and ex-wife Nancy had a son and he helped raise...
Being a father figure for millions is a lonely business. Last year all but six of Bradshaw's weekends were spent on the road. He plays golf with Houston cronies when he can and tries to schedule some seminars in Las Vegas and Reno so he can play the slot machines: he craves the excitement, not the winnings. For nine years he has been involved with a small men's support group in Houston, where he can unburden himself for his own sake, not that of others. "I need a place where I can be real," he says, but adds...
...conclusion of a workshop, when Bradshaw's interior odyssey has come to an end, he sends the crowd back out into the world on a tide of goodwill. The audience stands and sways. Everyone sings a repeated refrain, "We're going home -- nothing can stop us now." The cheers and applause build, and from somewhere in the crowd, a loud voice calls out, "We love you, John Bradshaw!" The preacher-salesman smiles. His blue eyes light up for a moment, his inner child stirs, and he tells them, "Little John likes that...