Beth wrote:
>So I recommend that Stephen Black tell the library to keep the
>order for Slater's book. I think it's going to be an interesting read
>and not the piece of trash we've been led to expect.

Hey, Beth, I don�t recall anyone saying Slater�s book is a piece of trash,
only that it evidently contains errors and that one should read it with
considerable caution, a view I came to on the basis of reading/hearing
extensive extracts from the book before I�d read a single word of
criticism of it. (See my previous message on this.)

I can�t recall if the whole of Deborah Skinner Buzan�s piece in the
Guardian on 12 March has been posted on TIPS, so I append it below.
Deborah is clearly judging by a review of Slater�s book, and not the book
itself, but the friends who called her for confirmation of dubious aspects
of the story had heard the extracts read on BBC Radio 4. They could, of
course, have been misinterpreting what Slater wrote about Skinner, so
Beth�s answer to the question I pose below is important.

Beth wrote: 
> Okay, I just quickly scanned the entire chapter on Skinner, and I'm 
> absolutely convinced this whole hullabaloo over her misinterpretation of
> Skinner is entirely overblown, and her words taken out of context.
> 
> The death of Skinner's daughter in the bowling alley, the lawsuit, etc.,
> she describes as what most people think and remember (inaccurately) 
> about Skinner.  Here are her actual words:
> 
> "Say the name "Skinner" to twenty college-educated people, and fifteen 
> of them will respond with an adjective like "evil."  This I know to be 
> true, as I have done it as an experiment.  Of those fifteen who 
> responded, ten brought up the baby in the box - what was her name they 
> ask, Julia, Kimberly, Annie May? - who was so traumatized by her 
> father's protocols throughout her infancy that she wound up killing 
> herself in a hotel room, with rope and a pistol - the details are clear.
> This much we presume we know:  Her name was Deborah.  He wanted to 
> train her, so he kept her caged for two full years, placing with her 
> cramped square space bells and food trays and all manner of mean 
> punishments and bright rewards, and he tracked her progress on a grid. 
> And then, when she was thirty-one and frankly psychotic, she sued him 
> for abuse in a genuine court of law, lost the case, and shot herself in
> a bowling alley in Billings, Montana.  Boom-boom went the gun.  Its 
> resonating sound signaled the end of behaviorism's heyday and the 
> beginning of the dark suspicions that have clouded it ever since."
> 
> Slater does indeed interview Julie Vargas, Skinner's other daughter, and
> reports that Julie told her that her sister is alive and well, living in
> London, is an artist, etc.  Julie even took Lauren Slater to Skinner's 
> home and Slater reports their reverent conversation.  She also discusses
> the famous Ladies Home Journal article, decrying its obvious lack of 
> academic impressively.  This whole thing has gotten woefully out of 
> hand.
> 
> So, I say we stop jumping to conclusions about whether of not Slater 
> slandered Skinner.

Beth, you quote Slater�s writing, �This much we presume we know:�[�]�, but
I don�t see any specific disowning of the account she presented (above).
Can you confirm that she did so?  (�This whole thing has gotten woefully
out of hand� is obviously completely inadequate for that purpose.)

Allen Esterson
Former lecturer, Science Department
Southwark College, London
[EMAIL PROTECTED]

http://www.human-nature.com/esterson/index.html
http://www.butterfliesandwheels.com/articleprint.php?num=10
----------

I was not a lab rat 

A new book has rekindled old rumours that renowned psychologist BF Skinner
used his baby daughter in his experiments. Stop this rubbish about me and
my dad, says Deborah Skinner Buzan

Friday March 12, 2004 The Guardian 

'Heir conditioner' ... Deborah Skinner as a child
        
By the time I had finished reading the Observer this week, I was shaking.
There was a review of Lauren Slater's new book about my father, BF
Skinner. According to Opening Skinner's Box: Great Psychological
Experiments of the Twentieth Century, my father, who was a psychologist
based at Harvard from the 1950s to the 90s, "used his infant daughter,
Deborah, to prove his theories by putting her for a few hours a day in a
laboratory box . . . in which all her needs were controlled and shaped".
But it's not true. My father did nothing of the sort.
I have heard the lies before, but seeing them in black and white in a
respected Sunday newspaper felt as if somebody had punched me hard in the
stomach. Admittedly, the facts of my unusual upbringing sound dodgy:
esteemed psychologist BF Skinner, who puts rats and pigeons in
experimental boxes to study their behaviour, also puts his baby daughter
in a box. This is good fodder for any newspaper. There was a prominent
Harvard psychologist whose daughter was psychotic and had to be
institutionalised; but it wasn't my father.

The early rumours were simple, unembellished: I had gone crazy, sued my
father, committed suicide. My father would come home from lecture tours to
report that three people had asked him how his poor daughter was getting
on. I remember family friends returning from Europe to relate that
somebody they had met there had told them I had died the year before. The
tale, I later learned, did the rounds of psychology classes across
America. One shy schoolmate told me years later that she had shocked her
college psychology professor, who was retelling the rumour about me, by
banging her fist on her desk, standing up and shouting, "She's not crazy!"

Slater's sensationalist book rehashes some of the old stuff, but offers
some rumours that are entirely new to me. For my first two years, she
reports, my father kept me in a cramped square cage that was equipped with
bells and food trays, and arranged for experiments that delivered rewards
and punishments. Then there's the story that after my father "let me out",
I became psychotic. Well, I didn't. That I sued him in a court of law is
also untrue. And, contrary to hearsay, I didn't shoot myself in a bowling
alley in Billings, Montana. I have never even been to Billings, Montana.

My early childhood, it's true, was certainly unusual - but I was far from
unloved. I was a much cuddled baby. Call it what you will, the "aircrib"
,"baby box", "heir conditioner" (not my father's term) was a wonderful
alternative to the cage-like cot. My father's intentions were simple, and
based on removing what he and my mother saw as the worst aspects of a
baby's typical sleeping arrangements: clothes, sheets and blankets. These
not only have to be washed, but they restrict arm and leg movement and are
a highly imperfect method of keeping a baby comfortable. My mother was
happy. She had to give me fewer baths and of course had fewer clothes and
blankets to wash, so allowing her more time to enjoy her baby.

I was very happy, too, though I must report at this stage that I remember
nothing of those first two and a half years. I am told that I never once
objected to being put back inside. I had a clear view through the glass
front and, instead of being semi-swaddled and covered with blankets, I
luxuriated semi-naked in warm, humidified air. The air was filtered but
not germ-free, and when the glass front was lowered into place, the noise
from me and from my parents and sister was dampened, not silenced.

I loved my father dearly. He was fantastically devoted and affectionate.
But perhaps the stories about me would never have started if he had done a
better job with his public image. He believed that, although our genes
determine who we are, it is mostly our environment that shapes our
personality. A Time Magazine cover story ran the headline "BF Skinner says
we can't afford freedom". All he had said was that controls are an
everyday reality - traffic lights and a police force, for instance - and
that we need to organise our social structures in ways that create more
positive controls and fewer aversive ones. As is clear from his utopian
novel, Walden Two, the furthest thing from his mind was a totalitarian or
fascist state.

His careless descriptions of the aircrib might have contributed to the
public's common misconception as well. He was too much the scientist and
too little the self-publicist - especially hazardous when you are already
a controversial figure. He used the word "apparatus" to describe the
aircrib, the same word he used to refer to his experimental "Skinner"
boxes for rats and pigeons.

The effect on me? Who knows? I was a remarkably healthy child, and after
the first few months of life only cried when injured or inoculated. I
didn't have a cold until I was six. I've enjoyed good health since then,
too, though that may be my genes. Frankly, I'm surprised the contraption
never took off. A few aircribs were built during the late 50s and 60s, and
somebody also produced plans for DIY versions, but the traditional cot was
always going to be a smaller and cheaper option. My sister used one for
her two daughters, as did hundreds of other couples, mostly with some
connection to psychology.

My father's opponents must have been gratified to hear - and maybe keen to
pass on - the tales about his child-rearing contraption and crazy
daughter. Friends who heard an abridged chapter of Slater's book on Radio
4, or read the reviews, have been phoning to ask if I had really sued my
father or had a psychotic episode. I wonder how many friends or colleagues
have been afraid to ask, and how many now think about me in a different
light.

Why shouldn't the reviews give the rumours as facts, since that's what the
book did itself? The plain reality is that Lauren Slater never bothered to
check the truth of them (although she claims to have tried to track me
down). Instead, she chose to do me and my family a disservice and, at the
same time, to debase the intellectual history of psychology.

In his Observer review, Tim Adams at least suspected something was amiss
with Slater's research. He realised she could have contacted me to confirm
or verify what she suspected, but plainly hadn't. His conclusion? I had
gone into hiding. Well, here I am, telling it like it is. I'm not crazy or
dead, but I'm very angry.

---
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