Dave is Betty Alice Erickson’s ex-husband. A 77 year old gentleman, who, by the way he’s driving his Infinity, doesn’t show his age. It all began with the book we’re translating: Milton H. Erickson. An American Healer, which will soon be out in Italian. In this book, Betty Alice, with the help of the legendary Bradford Keeney, carefully collects many never before published stories and pictures of the great Milton. The book also presents the journal of the famous canoe trip that Milton took when he was 19, and didn’t even have the strength to walk. But I’ll talk about that when we’re ready.

This book was what brought me to meet Betty Alice, who immediately put us in touch with Dave. Dave is a man of other times, with dozens of stories to tell. Many of these are about Milton, his father-in-law for over 25 years.

Dave was an air-force pilot and, amongst many other stories, he tells one about leaving for Vietnam just after marrying Betty Alice. He remembers the day when Milton brought him to his studio and talked to his subconscious to prepare him for what he would have to do in the war, building in his mind the path which would get him back home safe and sound. Dave tells me of how he fixed his gaze on the corner of Milton’s desk to sink into a pleasant sleep where his mind learned that just this focus on the small tasks which make up the most complex procedures was the path that would bring him back to the place where that conversation was taking place. Each task, well-performed with the greatest attention, would be one step on the way back to his home and family. Each task, one step. And that’s how it was.

Dave tells how Milton could have been the harshest, most menacing man in the world, if only he had wanted to. One look was enough to express all his strength to you. And that’s an ex Air Force officer talking.

Dave takes us to Cypress Street, where at number 32 the house in which Milton lived until the early Seventies used to be. Today, it’s a quiet, sunny parking lot in the center of Phoenix. Dave tells us how that road used to be filled with pleasant little houses with gardens, just like Milton’s. Then along came an upstart entrepreneur who bought all the houses and the surrounding land, except Milton’s. He had no intention of leaving. All the houses were pulled down and, awaiting future constructions, a huge parking lot was built around Milton’s home. It’s still there today.

I take a couple of steps on the searing hot cement, right where Dave tells me that Erickson’s house used to be: I wander through the kitchen, into the living room, into the bedrooms. Without passing through one single door – just with my imagination. I imagine Milton’s home in the middle of an immense parking in a shopping center, and the dozens of patients who came to visit him here daily. This hypnosis is more surreal that the others.

After a draining negotiation, Milton, who was by then 70, agreed to move into a small house with a real studio where he could receive his patients – not that they had ever actually minded the living room in Cypress Street.

To give me an idea of Milton’s stubbornness, Dave tells us of the time when in Corea, during the war, he was looking for a gift which would do for his father-in-law, Milton. He searched for days, to no avail. And then he found the one thing which at first glance felt right, purchased it, wrapped it up and sent it off to Dr. Erickson, 32 Cypress Street, Phoenix AZ USA. Inside, with the gift, he slipped a note saying: “Dear Pappa, I don’t know why but this reminds me of you so much. Merry Christmas. David.”

It was a stone crab the size of a hand. Dave tells us how a few weeks later he got a letter from Milton, just a short message saying: “I tried to fry it, boil it and stew it, but it is the hardest crab I’ve ever met.” We smile with Dave at Milton’s sense of humor and at his natural capacity for play.

Then it’s time for our ritual visit to the Milton Erickson Foundation, a cramped space which holds many treasures. While we’re inside, Dave wears a strange expression, as though he can’t wait to get out quickly and take us to his favorite Mexican restaurant.

More stories and anecdotes come one after the other, and continue to make me smile. When we come out of the restaurant, a nice man is sitting with his deck chair on the sidewalk in front of a service station. The sign he holds says: “This guy ruined my car, stay away!” It looks as though he’s planning to stay a while. I ask Dave for some explanation and he answers that the man has the right to do so. It seems right, even though a dozen shops in my hometown come to mind where it would be wiser not to do so. But Arizona is big, and luckily has room for this too. Thank you Dave, you are truly a special person. I think Milton knew it too.