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It was a chilly drizzling evening in early October 1951, when I, after some difficulty, located the address of Dr. Norman Kelman in uptown New York and approached the high building where his apartment was. I had been invited by him for dinner that evening through an introduction from Dr. Antonia Wenkart. My encounter with her and her kindness, even now, I will never forget, for she was the very person who picked me up in her class in the New School of Social Research and recommended me to study at the American Institute for Psychoanalysis. As I came closer to the entrance of the building, I noticed an elderly lady with silvery hair standing in front of the door. She was wearing a fur coat that was wet and looked very heavy. I could not help but ask her if I might take her coat. As she turned around and looked at me, her blue, bright and serene eyes were quite impressive for me. I felt a natural, congenial flow of communed feeling suddenly run between us. She responded with a big smile and allowed me to take care of her coat.
In the elevator I asked the number of the floor she wanted and, as it happened, hers coincided with the floor I wanted. When we got to the floor she took her coat and left me with a word of thanks and a smile. After some searching, I managed to find Dr. Kelman's apartment and pushed the button. When he opened the door and ushered me into the room, to my great surprise, I found the elderly lady standing behind him, and just as he began to introduce me, she said in a cordial tone, “Norman, we have introduced each other already.” The lady was Dr. Horney herself!
It was the most unforgettable moment of encounter with her that was not only fulfilling by itself but also decisively determined my life course together