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THE WALL 1950 




THESE ARE BofZOi Books, 





A Novel in the Form of Hearings 
before the Standing Committee on Education, 

Welfare, ir Public Morality of a certain 

State Senate, Investigating the conspiracy 

of Mr. Wissey Jones, with others, 

to Purchase a Male Child 

by John Hersey 

ALFRED -A-KNOPF J^ew Tort I960 

L. C. catalog card number: 60-13850 


Copyright 1960 by JOHN HERSEY. All rights reserved. 
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form with- 
out permission in writing from the publisher, except by a 
reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be 
printed in a magazine or newspaper. Manufactured in the 
United States of America. Published simultaneously in 
Canada by McClelland & Stewart, Ltd. 

First and second printings before publication 

r o 

Grace Baird Hersey: 

"Cheerfulness keeps up a kind of daylight 

in the mind, and fills it with a steady 

and perpetual serenity" 

The Spectator, May 17, 1712 



Purchase of BOY CHILD, 







(The committee met, pursuant to call, at 4:20 p.m., in Room 
429, Capitol Offices, Senator Aaron Mansfield presiding. Pres- 
ent: Senators Mansfield, Skypack, and Voyolko; also present, 
Mr. Donald R. Broadbent, committee counsel.) 

Senator MANSFIELD. The committee will come to order in 
Executive Session. Mr. Broadbent, will you please explain the 
purpose and intent of the hearings we will begin tomorrow 

Mr. BROADBENT. Gladly, Mr. Chairman. Tomorrow we will 
begin to look into a situation that has developed in the last few 
days in the township of Pequot. It is alleged that on October 
sixteenth, that is, one week ago yesterday, a certain Mr. Wisscy 
Jones entered the town of Pequot from out of State, and that 


he did conspire with persons in the town in an attempt to pur- 
chase a male white child, ten years of age, named Barry Rudd, 
advancing unspecified educational and patriotic purposes for 
the proposed transaction. 

Senator SKYPACK. Was the deal completed? 

Mr. BROADBENT. If you'd let me finish my 

Senator SKYPACK. All right. All right. 

Mr. BROADBENT. This matter falls within the competence and 
purview of this committee on three accounts. First, a State law 
of 1829, still on the books, prohibits the purchase or sale of per- 
sons. The Pequot case now raises the question whether this 
committee should recommend that the law be repealed, or mod- 
ified in any way, or let stand and be strictly enforced. I should 
warn you, the Federal people may get into the act, on a Thir- 
teenth Amendment involvement; I advert to a possible allega- 
tion of 'involuntary servitude/ as it is put. Second, there is a 
possible morals angle, though we aren't quite untangled about 
this part of it; our investigator is trying to run it down today. 
Third, we have the responsibility of this committee for the field 
of education, and we are confronted by these assertions by the 
man Wissey Jones that he has quote educational unquote rea- 
sons for the proposed transaction. The exact nature of these rea- 
sons, together with the quote patriotic unquote purposes of the 
deal we're not clear on them. The man Wissey Jones repre- 
sents himself as an executive of the United Lymphomilloid 
Company, based, as you may know, in the southwestern part of 
the United States, and his claim is that the boy child is being 
bought for a highly classified defense project. However, we are 
not entirely satisfied with the man Wissey Jones's veracity or 
credibility; he is a very unusual type of individual. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Don't get it. What's this all about? 

Senator MANSFIELD. Jack, would you mind translating for 
Senator Voyolko? 

Thursday, October 24 

Senator SKYPACK. Look, Senator, this guy tries to buy this 
kid. We want to know how come. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Why'n't he say so? I wish you'd talk in 
good plain American, Mr. Broadback. Three quarters what you 
say, it's Greek. 

Senator MANSFIELD. I think it would help not only the Senator 
from Winfield County but all of us, Mr. Broadbent, if you 
would try throughout these upcoming hearings to keep things 
orderly. You've heard me say before, the best way to get to the 
end in a hurry is to begin at the beginning. If you have a 
Mr. BROADBENT. You have to realize, sir, that with people con- 
stantly interrupting, bringing in new questions 

Senator MANSFIELD. The word I used was 'try.' 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Wissey Jones was first seen entering the 
town of Pequot on the sixteenth instant on a collapsible motor- 
cycle. He was wearing some golf knickerbockers, or plus fours, 
of a vintage so old 

Senator SKYPACK. Now just one minute, young fellow. What 
kind of a motorcycle was that? 

Mr. BROADBENT. You see, Mr. Chairman. It's not easy 

Senator MANSFIELD. I was wondering about that motorcycle 

Mr. BROADBENT. This is a European-type machine, as I under- 
stand it, rather light-weight, which unlocks in the middle, so to 
speak, in such a way that the two wheels fold against each other. 
Makes a compact bundle. The wheels are light, the tires 
scarcely more than bicycle tires, and the motor a tiny one- 
lunger, so a man can easily lift the whole thing up, especially 
when it's folded. Then when you want to ride, you unfold it, 
open it out, and it locks with the two wheels in line the regular 
way. Several persons in the lobby of the Mulhausen Hotel in 
Pequot witnessed a sharp altercation, Mr. Wissey Jones's bap- 


tism of fire in the town, one might say, when after registering he 
attempted to carry his machine, folded, under his arm into the 
passenger elevator. As I was trying to tell you, this gentleman 
had some mighty old-fashioned pants on. Also a pork-pic hat. 
Turtle-neck sweater, black. His luggage was a haversack, or hik- 
ing bag, strapped to his shoulders, and a pair of saddlebags that 
rode over the rear wheel of this machine. I think you can al- 
ready see why we've got a little trouble about credibility here. 
Anyway, he lit into the elevator boy 

Senator SKYPACK. They have elevator girls in the Mulhausen 
down there. In fact, all the Mulhausen chain, they wear these 
black satin slacks, or pedal pushers. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I'm going on preliminary information the 
investigator shot up to me last night, Senator. Tin doing the 
best I can. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Lay off, Jack. 

Senator SKYPACK. All right. All right. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Jones belabored the elevator boy, or girl, 
verbally, and was then heard shouting and seen gesticulating 
with his free hand at the desk. As you may know, the hotel 
down there, formerly the Depot Hotel, has been modernized 
Mulhausenizcd, I think they call it, and the desk has this long 
slab of black pink-veined soapstone supported on interlacing 
aluminum M's, and overhead a neon sign, Guest Representa- 
tive, which is what they call the room clerk, and here's this 
stranger, with the neon sign throwing a trembling violet light 
on his pearl-gray pork-pie, and his folded motorcycle under his 
arm, shouting at the fellow behind the desk that vice-presidents 
of United Lymphomilloid don't ride in service elevators. Mr. 
Salamcnko, the duty clerk at the desk at that time, informed our 
investigator that the man Wissey Jones does not look you in the 
eye, but fixes his stare above your eyes, at about the level of 
the hairline, and keeps 

Thursday, October 24 

Senator SKYPACK. If you're lucky enough to have a hair- 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Chairman, I appeal to 

Senator SKYPACK. All right, Broadbent. Can't you take a rib? 

Mr. BROADBENT. The man Wissey Jones, if he is what he 
represents himself to be, is something rather unusual in the line 
of a businessman intellectually keen, said to be bright as a 
new penny. I guess all kinds of people have been going into 
business since the war. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Mr. Broadback, sir, you mind telling me 
what you're leading up to? 

Senator MANSFIELD. I'm afraid I can't see, myself 

Mr. BROADBENT. If the Chairman will indulge me ... Gen- 
tlemen, I'm not a crystal ball on this picture. I'm going along on 
sparse details, because our investigator has only had a few hours, 
two working days, to be exact, in Pequot, and I'm trying to pick 
up the threads. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Shouldn't we be a lot clearer on our 
facts before rocketing along and holding hearings? 

Mr. BROADBENT. I'm convinced, sir, that the case deserves the 
committee's prompt attention. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Surely a few days. 

Mr. BROADBENT. There has been violence in the town there, 
stemming straight from these matters. That's why 

Senator SKYPACK. Now you're talking, Broadbent. What sort 
of trouble? 

Mr. BROADBENT. I don't want to go too fast, here. The infor- 

Senator SKYPACK. Give, Broadbent. Let's not get coy. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I've told you I'm hazy on the details. It 
seems anyway a bomb was thrown. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Who at? 

Mr. BROADBENT. I really would rather wait for fuller material, 


Mr. Chairman. ... I understand this was not the only inci- 
dent, there was other trouble as well, but I'll have better infor- 
mation by tomorrow. At any rate, what I have in hand is 
enough, I can assure you, to warrant an urgent inquiry by our 

Senator SKYPACK. All this rhubarb, why nothing in the papers? 

Mr. BROADBENT. There's only a weekly down there in Pequot, 
the Pequot Drummer, and I guess 

Senator MANSFIELD. Are you absolutely sure, Mr. Broadbent, 
that you're not indulging your proclivity for building things up? 
Just a little? You remember the Hendport hearings. 

Mr. BROADBENT. On the Bible, Mr. Chairman, you have a 
duty and a responsibility to get into this situation. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Who's going to put us straight on the 

Mr. BROADBENT. The main witnesses, as things are shaping up, 
will be the man Wissey Jones himself, of course; the boy he's 
trying to purchase, Rudd's the name; and the boy's parents; 
then there's the Superintendent of Schools and possibly some 
other school people on the alleged educational angle; a certain 
young boy who is said to be a close associate or accomplice 
of the Rudd youngster; and perhaps two or three others. 

Senator MANSFIELD. You can produce these witnesses tomor- 
row morning? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Oh, yes, sir, some of them, enough to make a 
good start. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Where will we sit? 

Mr. BROADBENT. We better be in Committee Chamber 202, 
there's liable to be some interest as we go along. 

Senator MANSFIELD. I hate that room. Curving row of thrones 
we have to sit in, and the amphitheater effect for the spectators. 
Makes me feel like a proconsul at a hand-to-hand between mar- 
tyrs and lions. 


Thursday, October 24 

Senator SKYPACK. Thin skin, Aaron. Why don't you relax and 
enjoy it? 

Mr. BROADBENT. I've already reserved the room, Mr. Chair- 
man. After tomorrow's papers . . . 

Senator MANSFIELD. You mean to say you've given out an- 
other of your releases? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Senator, a man who goes around buying 

Senator MANSFIELD. I hope that for once we can proceed with 
order and decorum. In an orderly way, Mr. Broadbent. Keep 
things in order. And I would hope that there would be no brow- 
beating of witnesses. 

Senator SKYPACK. All right, Aaron, let's don't forget you can 
do a lot of harm by being namby-pamby, too. We can sec what 

Senator MANSFIELD. But I would hope 

Senator SKYPACK. And don't forget, Aaron, those headlines 
don't do Senator Mansfield any harm back in the hustings. 

Senator MANSFIELD. I suppose there's a measure of truth 

Senator VOYOLKO. So what's the picture? Room 202 what 

Mr. BROADBENT. I have the room for ten. 

Senator MANSFIELD. I guess we can recess, gentlemen. 

(Whereupon, at 4:50 p.m., Thursday, October 24, the hear- 
ing was recessed, subject to the announced recall of the Chair.) 


(The committee met, pursuant to call, at 10:10 a.m., in Com- 
mittee Chamber 202, Capitol Offices, Senator Aaron Mansfield 

Senator MANSFIELD. The committee will be in session. I will 
have to remind the spectators that you are guests of the com- 
mittee, and ask you to remain orderly at all times. We're very 
crowded in here, and we're going to go along with good order 
and decorum. Thank you. 

Mrs. Rudd, will you stand to be sworn? 

Do you solemnly swear the testimony you are about to give 
in the matter now pending before this committee shall be the 
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you 

Mrs. RUDD. I swear it. 


Mr. BROADBENT. Will you kindly identify yourself for the rec- 
ord, Mrs. Rudd? 

Mrs. RUDD. Fin Maud Purcells Rudd, and I'm married twelve 
years to Paul Rudd. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Of Pequot? Your address? 


Friday, October 25 

Mrs. RUDD. We live in the Slatkowski block on River Street. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And that's in Pequot? 

Mrs. RUDD. That is correct. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please answer fully, Mrs. Rudd. Complete 
your thought each time. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Don't be afraid, ma'am. Speak your 
mind. We try to be fair and square here. 

Mrs. RUDD. Thank you. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Your occupation? 

Mrs. RUDD. I work in Stillman's. 

Senator SKYPACK. Stillman's, Stillman's. It's very difficult, 
Mrs. Rudd, if witnesses come in here and don't answer fully 
and honestly. We're not from Pequot, how are we supposed to 
know what Stillman's is, what you do, all that? 

Senator MANSFIELD. I believe she was about to tell her 
actual work, Jack. Let's not rush the witness. 

Senator SKYPACK. All right. 

Mrs. RUDD. I sell in the women's underthings. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Will you kindly tell us, Mrs. Rudd, in your 
own way, about the events of the past week in Pequot? 

Mrs. RUDD. It's about my boy, my Barry. They want to take 
him away. This man came to me, he talked so fast I couldn't 
understand what he was getting at. And Mr. Cleary, at first he 
was against it, and then he was pushing me to give in. The boy's 
father wants to sell, he says 

Mr. BROADBENT. One moment, Mrs. Rudd. You say 'this 
man.' Which man is that? 

Mrs. RUDD. The buyer. The child buyer. He came there to 
the house, after Paul and I were home from work. Mr. Cleary 
had been to see us first. They talk about the boy's own good! 
A boy should be with his mother. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please, Mrs. Rudd. Would you, for the rec- 
ord, identify the Mr. Cleary of whom you spoke? 



Mrs. RUDD. Barry calls him the G-Man. G is for Guidance. 

Mr. BROADBENT. He is the Guidance Director of the Pequot 
public schools, is that right? And he came to you first? 

Mrs. RUDD. He was against it, body and soul. Then, after, he 
tried to sell us like everyone else. When they come at you a mile 
a minute 

Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Broadbent, this is the usual muddle. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Sir, you'll recognize that this is a highly emo- 
tional witness. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Elicit information, Mr. Broadbent. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I'm trying 

Senator SKYPACK. Excuse me, Mrs., but I wonder if you know 
what's at stake in this situation. You realize the national defense 
is involved here. 

Mrs. RUDD. This is my boy. This is my beautiful boy they 
want to take away from me. My home is ruined; the windows 
are all smashed. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Cleary came to you 

Mrs. RUDD. What are you trying to do to me? Why do you 
drag me up here? Are you trying to take my boy away from 
me, like all the rest of them? 

Senator SKYPACK. All right, all right, Mrs. 

Mr. BROADBENT. and Mr. Cleary's position was 

Senator MANSFIELD. Could we 

Senator SKYPACK. Let her stand down, Aaron. Let's get her 
out of here. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please, Mrs. Rudd. 

Senator MANSFIELD. You're excused, Mrs. Rudd. Yes. Thank 
you. Would you help her out to the corridor, Mr. Broadbent? 

Senator SKYPACK. I can't stand a woman sobbing like that. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Seems to me you took your part in bring- 
ing it on, Jack. 

Senator SKYPACK. Now come on, Aaron, you're not going to 


Friday, October 25 

try to play politics with these hearings, in front of the press, an 
audience, all that? 

Senator VOYOLKO. What was the matter that lady? So upset. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Is she all right now, Mr. Broadbent? 
Whom did you intend to call next? 

Mr. BROADBENT. I will ask for Mr. Luke Wairy. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Bring in Mr. Wairy. . . . Please be 
sworn, Mr. Wairy. 

Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you are about 
to give before the Standing Committee on Education, Welfare, 
and Public Morality of the State Senate will be the truth, the 
whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God? 

Mr. WAIRY. I do. 


Mr. BROADBENT. Kindly identify yourself, sir, if you please, by 
name, residence, and occupation. 

Mr. WAIRY. Luke S. Wairy, 414 Silver Hill Street, Pequot. 
I'm in the clock business by trade, but I suppose what is relevant 
here is that I'm Chairman of our School Board. That's practi- 
cally an occupation in itself, gentlemen. 

Mr. BROADBENT. If our information is correct, Mr. Wairy, you 
seem to be a man with some half-dozen occupations. Besides 
your own manufactory that's the Early Bird Alarm Clock 
Works of Pequot, isn't it? 

Mr. WAIRY. It is, sir. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Besides that concern, and the Board of Ed- 
ucation, you may confirm to the committee, if you will, sir, that 
you are also a member of the vestry of the Silver Hill First 
Church, chairman of the Helping Hand Committee of the Lions' 
Club, immediate past chairman of the Red Feather Drive, past 



chairman of the Town Planning and Zoning Commission I 
won't begin to go into the entire record, sir. 

Mr. WAIRY. Well, now, that's all right, we're all citizens and 

Senator MANSFIELD. I would like to say, sir, that it's an honor 
for us representatives of the people to have appear before us a 
man of such evident probity and public spirit, and such a good 
sound businessman, sir, as yourself. I gather you are also cur- 
rently top scorer in the Treehampstead Thursday Duplicate 
Bridge Club. 

Mr. WAIRY. I may say, Senator, that your investigators have 
some reputation, upstate in our area, for rigorous thoroughness, 
and I fear they've put their tape on me. I'm impressed. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Would you fill the committee in, sir, on the 
basic facts about the town of Pequot population, tax capa- 
bilities, so on? 

Mr. WAIRY. We have at the last census we had a popula- 
tion of twenty-seven thousand five hundred. We have two high 
schools, three junior highs, and eight elementary schools; we 
run a K-six, seven-nine, ten-twelve school system, if you want to 
be technical. At the present time our tax rate is thirty-two point 
six mils. Frankly I believe our assessments are some years be- 
hind the times, and by and large the evaluations run only 
around forty per cent of true value. Personally I am deeply con- 
cerned about the trend of the town, because where you used to 
have a pretty fair balance of industry and real estate for your 
tax base, you now have these developers going ahead any old 
way and putting up a lot of cardboard ranchers for the young 
people, young breeders, and we're getting to be a bedroom 
town for Treehampstead, rather than keeping the growth of 
the grand list on an even keel all along the line. I don't like it. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Thank you, sir, I believe that will do for now 
about the community you so ably represent. We were wonder- 


Friday, October 25 

ing, sir, if you would mind giving us a coherent account of the 
recent happenings in Pequot. 

Mr. WAIRY. I will not burden your record unduly, gentlemen. 
I am not up on all the details. I'm not a great hand at inventing 

Mr. BROADBENT. Since the man Wissey Jones has alleged cer- 
tain so-called educational purposes, among others, for his ac- 
tivities, we thought 

Mr. WAIRY. Sir, we concern ourselves at Board meetings with 
bursted boilers. Whether the custodian can be asked to use the 
gang mower on the football field, that kind of thing. We don't 
get into educational matters near as much as some people think. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Who would have the basic facts? Mr. Owing? 

Mr. WAIRY. You won't get anything out of the Superintend- 
ent. We have the devil's own time at Board meetings getting 
him to give a dry description of anything, because he changes 
things around right in front of your eyes while he's picturing 
them. I have a standing joke about his mcmos being riddled 
with what I call his 'nearest exits.' 

Senator MANSFIELD. I wonder, Mr. Walry, if you wouldn't 
just begin at the beginning, tell us what you know of the events 
of the past week. 

Mr. WAIRY. Know of my own firsthand knowledge? 

Senator MANSFIELD. Or what you've heard. It doesn't par- 
ticularly matter, at this stage, just so as you begin at the be- 

Mr. WAIRY. As it happens, I did see Mr. Jones arrive in Pe- 
quot the other afternoon, let's see, my gracious, has a week 
flown? I was just coming out of John Ellithorp's drugstore, with 
John, he's a portly figure, we were chatting there on the side- 
walk you see, Pequot's laid out along the river, the Pohadnock 
River, which is really only about thirty foot across, though it's 
capable of a severe rise in the backlash of these autumnal hur- 



ricanes we've been getting, recent years; the business street, 
River Street, with most of the stores and also a number of tene- 
ment blocks, backs right onto it. Ellithorp's store is next to the 
crossing of River Street and the Treehampstead Road Bridge. 
There's a stop light. First thing I heard was this funny hollow 
popping, like a baby outboard motor being run inside an oil 
drum, and I looked over, and there was this Mr. Jones, as I 
later knew him, on his folding machine with one foot down on 
the street waiting for the light to change. That's a long light 
there. We had a bad accident two years ago, this out-of-town 
Caddy, personally I think intoxication was involved, Mrs. Bur- 
ritt, seventy-one, gentle as a geranium, she was killed on the 
spot. The light finally changed, and the popping started up I 
had my eyes on him all the way; he pulled up right alongside 
John Ellithorp and myself, and 

Mr. BROADBENT. We understand he made a very peculiar ap- 

Mr. WAIRY. Young fellow, I come from a long line of men 
who thought nothing of New England winters liked 'em. We 
aren't intimidated by originals. We're used to originals up our 
way, believe my word. My grandfather was a knife sharpener, six 
foot nine inches, he could lift a telephone pole, played the 
flute nice as ever, summer evenings he'd have a big crowd of 
children in the street in front of his shop, playing tunes. No, 
sir, don't try to put me off. I like Mr. Jones. I admire him. He 
came to the plant and paid me a courteous call, and he was 
dressed like you and me, Mr. Counsel, in a regular store suit, 
and I commented on his previous costume upon arrival, and he 
said he's outspoken, one of the qualities I value in a man 
he said he's a corporation vice-president, and he owns thirty-two 
tailor-made suits, eighteen pairs of shoes, but he has this one 
moderate-priced ready-made brown suit that he wears to call on 
school people. Rotary wheel in the lapel buttonhole. The point 


Friday, October 25 

is, he understands how to sell an idea. The motorcycle clothes 
he's not afraid of being spattered by raindrops, that's all. I 
don't need to be told what I think, Mr. Counsel. 

Senator MANSFIELD. You were telling about the street corner. 

Mr. WAIRY. Yes. He stopped his machine and tipped this hat 
he was wearing, to John and myself, and I must admit, Mr. 
Counsel, it was a funny-looking flattish hat, and he said, 'Day, 
gentlemen,' he said, and then he looked straight at me, and he 
said, 'Sir,' he said, 'you look like you might be Chairman of the 
Board of Education around here.' Well, that hit me right be- 
tween the lungs, you know. Later turned out it wasn't any 
guess, he'd done his work in advance, he knew perfectly well 
who I was. Here's a businessman who isn't afraid to do his 
homework. I admire this fellow. He's first-rate. Well, we're 
standing there, he wants to know about the hotel, and he's mak- 
ing an appointment to see me, and here comes Dr. Gozar 
down the sidewalk. 

Mr. BROADBENT. This Dr. Gozar 

Mr. WAIRY. This Dr. Gozar is principal of Lincoln Elemen- 
tary. A woman. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Yes, sir, we have called Dr. Gozar to testify, 
the Rudd boy being in her school, and I was wondering if, for 
the committee's benefit, you would give us your assessment of 
Dr. Gozar. It would be a help. 

Mr. WAIRY. Assessment? 

Mr. BROADBENT. If you would tell us a bit in confidence about 
the people we're going to have to question on this case. 

Mr. WAIRY. You mean you have the prosecutor's itch, young 
man, you'd like to know a few weak points you can work on? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Not at all, I 

Mr. WAIRY. I don't know whether your investigators hap- 
pened on this fact for my dossier or not, Mr. Counsel, but I 
once went to law school myself, and we had an expression for 



the glint I see in your eye the warmth of your cheeks: 'D.A. 
fever/ we called it. Right? 

Mr. BROADBENT. I don't know what you mean, sir. You were 
about to say, on Dr. Gozar. 

Mr. WAIRY. She's a great big man of a woman, and I'd say 
she's contented with her lot. She gives an impression she has 
a constant, barking, bass laugh that she's mighty glad to be so 
overwhelmingly a doctor. She's a Ph.D., that's where the 'doc- 
tor' comes from, and her doctorate is backed up by half a 
dozen other post-graduate degrees, because, my heavens, she 
takes a laborer's job in a factory every summer and goes to sum- 
mer school to boot. When she talks about social adjustment, 
you can take one look at her and sec that she doesn't mean the 
pale, wishy-washy conformism that so often seems to be in- 
tended by school psychologists who use that phrase. She's what 
we call an old-timer; I mean a real New Englander. She's got a 
traprock forehead and a granite jaw; stone ribs, too but there's 
a passionate optimist living behind all that masonry. Let's see, 
grew up on a farm, a survivor of Elton's Seminary for Women, 
sixty-seven years old, been principal of Lincoln Elementary for 
thirty-eight years, and she's grown younger ever since I've 
known her, which has been most of the time she's had that job. 
She started out kind of hidebound, but she's wound up wise, 
freedom-loving, self-reliant, tolerant, and daring. And flexible. 
For about the last half of her tenure at Lincoln, she's demon- 
strated that she feels there's not any single mandatory school 
program for which there could be no substitute. She's a talker: 
she'll bend your ear! But verbum sap., Mr. Counsel. I would 
not press her too hard. I wouldn't try to take her skin off, be- 
cause the first thing you know, young man, she'll have broken 
your whipper off from your snapper. 

Senator SKYPACK. What about the G-man? What's his name? 
Where does he fit in? What was that name, Broadbent? 


Friday, October 25 

Mr. BROADBENT. Cleary. 

Mr. WAIRY. Mr. Cleary? He's an ambitious young man. I 
understand he grew up in Watermont, and that he's descended 
from an Irish immigrant who came to America in the fourth 
decade of the nineteenth century and spent the vigorous years 
of his life laying railroad tracks up the Connecticut Valley and 
across Massachusetts to Boston; the old boy may well have been 
in the gang that Thoreau mentions as putting down the road- 
bed along the far side of Walden Pond from his cabin. In the 
rare moments when Mr. Cleary alludes to his background, he's 
inclined to say that he didn't come from the wrong side of the 
railroad tracks, he came from between them. That picture 
pleases him, I'd imagine, because it strengthens his idea he's 
going someplace. The feelings of his immigrant forebears about 
being Irish in anti-Irish times were evidently handed down to 
him; I mean he seems to have a firm conviction that the world 
is hostile. I don't know whether he sets any store by Our Lord, 
but he surely believes in the Devil, whose big job, Cleary'd say, 
is to snatch the hindmost. Survival of the fittest, that's him to 
be fit and out front is the works with him: 'in shape,' he calls it. 
Know what he wants? He wants recognition; he thinks mere 
happiness isn't worth a candle. All this makes him very useful to 
us as Director of Guidance in Pequot for the time being 
because at the moment we're useful to him. He'll go far far 
away from guidance and Pequot, I'd guess. 

Mr. BROADBENT. This is all most helpful, sir. Now, there's 
one other person I understand this lady has been rather recal- 
citrant, been fighting the proposition the man Wissey Jones has 
put forward. I mean the Rudd boy's teacher, Miss Perrin. Could 
you tell us 

Mr. WAIRY. I know Miss Perrin a bit, I ought to, she's one 
of the old hands around home. She was teaching when I was in 
school; she taught me. Right now she's a delicate, white-haired 



woman in her middle sixties. She's kindhearted, homey, rather 
old-fashioned; she seems she's always seemed tired and puz- 
zled by life. She's docile, on the surface, and she'll appear to 
follow any policy the Super or the Board puts out, but she holds 
to the familiar ways of doing things, and she's leery of a lot of 
the newfangled educational notions. And she's got a steel back- 
bone, believe me, fragile as she looks and acts. 

Mr. BROADBENT. We understand she was in some trouble, 
radical activity 

Mr. WAIRY. That's all gone and forgotten, my boy. Thirty 
years ago! There was a depression then, people got emotional, 
and weVe discounted what she did. I wouldn't go into that, if 
I were you. 

Senator VOYOLKO. What about this kid? Some guy wants to 
buy some kid, right? What's with the kid? 

Senator SKYPACK. Aaron, sometimes we sit here and we think 
our distinguished colleague from Winfield County isn't listen- 
ing to the proceedings, and then he comes up with a question 
that's right in the bull's-eye. You'd think we'd forgotten what 
we were here to investigate, but not our enlightened friend from 
Winfield County! 

Senator VOYOLKO. This kid. This guy wants to buy this kid. 

Mr. BROADBENT. The boy, sir, Barry Rudd. 

Mr. WAIRY. Well, I've heard he was pretty clever. Struck me 
as a mouth breather the one time I saw him close up. His upper 
lip is rather short, his large upper teeth are tilted slightly for- 
ward, and the mouth tends to sag open. It's a habit that de- 
tracts a little from the reputation for quickness. Personally I 
wouldn't hire 

Mr. BROADBENT. Do you know, then, why Mr. Wissey Jones, 
whom you have pictured as an outstanding businessman, 
wanted to buy him? 

Mr. WAIRY. We have only Mr. Jones's word and look here, 


Friday, October 25 

young fellow, don't try to sneak thoughts into my head that 
aren't there. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Broadbent, you're way off the track 
again. This is extremely frustrating. Mr. Wairy was trying to put 
together a straight account. We left him on the corner there 
with Mr. Jones and Dr. Gozar and that druggist, and you come 

Senator SKYPACK. Wait a minute, Aaron. I'd like to hear 
some more about the proposition myself; you can't have your 
ducks in a row for every shot, Aaron. Now, sir, just what was 
this purchase supposed to be about? 

Mr. WAIRY. Well, it was most extraordinary, Senator, a dar- 
ing innovation in human engineering, as I understand it. I just 
got a sniff or two of it. I think I should leave the details to the 
man himself. I really don't know much about it. He's been 
secretive, you know. 

Senator VOYOLKO. About this bomb. 

Mr. WAIRY. I beg your pardon? 

Senator SKYPACK. We understood there was a bombing down 

Mr. WAIRY. You must mean the little stink bomb at the lec- 

Senator MANSFIELD. For shame, Mr. Broadbent! 

Senator VOYOLKO. Who they fling it at? 

Mr. WAIRY. It was at a clarifying lecture by the State Super- 
visor for 

Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Broadbent, you really must curb 

Mr. BROADBENT. We'll develop this aspect a little later, Mr. 
Chairman, and we'll 

Senator SKYPACK. There was mention of other incidents, 

Mr. BROADBENT. The compromising situation of the boy, 
Barry Rudd, with the young lady, the mortician's daughter, 



Miss Renzulli, sir, would you tell us ? 

Mr. WAIRY. These are ten-year-old children, young fellow. 
You make it sound . . . You'd better ask Dr. Gozar and Miss 
Perrin about all that. 

Mr. BROADBENT. About the assault on the Rudd home. Here 
are these decent working people sitting quietly in their home at 
night, and out of nowhere 

Mr. WAIRY. I'm not the man to ask about such things. Ask 
the proper authorities. We have law-enforcement officers in 
Pequot, sir. We may be off the main throughways, but we don't 
live in the Middle Ages, you know. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Sir, I think you rather shrugged off the 
question of the man Wissey Jones's motive for making this and 
similar purchases. There's a possibility of a morals line here, and 
we can't afford to dodge it. 

Mr. WAIRY. Morals? I thought it was a matter of dollars and 

Senator SKYPACK. Look, Wairy, you heard the committee 
counsel warn you not to duck this just because it smells bad. 

Mr. BROADBKNT. Do you seriously and sincerely believe, Mr. 
Wairy, that the purpose of Mr. Jones's transaction was quote 
educational unquote? I mean when a man in his late thirties 
goes around buying ten-year-old boys. 

Mr. WAIRY. We have what the man says. I have no reason, in 
the way of firsthand knowledge, to question his word, nor have 
I any reason to believe it of my own sure knowledge, that is. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Thank you, Mr. Wairy, you may step aside. 

Senator MANSFIELD. The committee wants to express its grati- 
tude for you coming up here, a busy, successful man, and testi- 
fying for us, and we assuredly thank you, sir. And I certainly 
hope you won't have taken any offense over 

Mr. BROADBENT. I will call Mr. Wissey Jones. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Please stand for your oath, Mr. Jones. 


Friday, October 25 

Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you will give here 
before us will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but 
the truth, so help you God? 

Mr. JONES. Yes, I swear it will be so. 


Mr. BROADBENT. Please identify yourself for our record, sir. 

Mr. JONES. Wissey Jones. Vice-President, United Lymphomil- 
loid of America, Incorporated, in charge of materials procure- 

Mr. BROADBENT. You regard small boys as 'materials? 

Mr. JONES. Yes, sir. Indeed we do, sir. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Sir, I will put it to you directly. Have you 
ever been booked on a morals charge? 

Mr. JONES. I beg your pardon? 

Senator SKYPACK. I think you heard him, mister. 

Mr. JONES. Mr. Chairman, I think these subordinates of yours 
ought to know that my duties have an extremely high national- 
defense rating. I agreed to come up here 

Senator MANSFIELD. What a way to start, Mr. Broadbent! I 
really would suggest that you begin at the beginning for once. 

Mr. BROADBENT. We have a responsibility 

Senator MANSFIELD. You heard Mr. Wairy's endorsement of 
Mr. Jones as a top businessman in the country, whom he ad- 
mires. There's such a thing as common courtesy, Mr. Counsel. 

Senator SKYPACK. All right, Broadbent, us 'subordinates' can 
come back to that stuff later. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Senator Skypack is no subordinate but a 
co-equal colleague of mine, Mr. Jones, an able elected State 
Senator from Sudbury County. Only by virtue of a modicum of 


Mr. JONES. I humbly beg your pardon, Senator. 

Senator SKYPACK. All right. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Our Chairman, sir, desires that you begin 
at the beginning. Would you tell us what your first act was on 
your arrival in Pequot? 

Mr. JONES. I requested and obtained an interview with the 
Superintendent of Schools, Willard Owing. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You didn't bathe and change first? 

Senator MANSFIELD. Now, Mr. Broadbent. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Well, Mr. Chairman, you put me on a spot. 
Exactly where is the beginning of things? 

Senator MANSFIELD. Spare your sarcasm, Mr. Counsel. Please 
proceed, Mr. Jones, as you were going. We invite as much de- 
tail as you care to give. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Where did this meeting with Mr. Owing take 
place, sir? 

Mr. JONES. The school administration offices in Pequot are in 
a former private house, or mansion, on, I believe, Second Street, 
a big Victorian affair with a widow's walk on an octagonal tower 
above the roof. I am told Mr. Owing can be seen up there on 
the widow's walk some evenings after closing time, pacing back 
and forth in the fresh air and trying to think up ways of avoid- 
ing decisions. That's his reputation, anyway. In the rooms of 
the house there are ornate fireplaces of pink Vermont marble, 
and the floors creak so loudly that I judge very little deep think- 
ing can be done in there. There's a smell all through the house 
of mimeograph ink, and the rattle of the buzzer and the clicking 
of the jacks of the telephone switchboard in the foyer can be 
heard upstairs and down. I want to give you a picture of a school 
system informed with rectitude, paper progress, safe activity, 
hesitation. The roofs of all the school buildings in Pequot are 
pitched; no modernistic chicken coops 

Mr. BROADBENT. Your interview with Mr. Owing, when was 


Friday, October 25 

Mr. JONES. Thursday morning, October seventeenth, of this 
year, at nine oh four ante meridian. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I take it the appointment was for nine 

Mr. JONES. I am always punctual. I may say I have been kept 
cooling my heels by certain other superintendents for far more 
than the four minutes Mr. Owing made me wait. I was ushered 
in by the receptionist-telephonist. 

Senator SKYPACK. Listen, Jones, do you always buy ten-year- 
old boys? 

Mr. JONES. Not at all, sir. Within the past month I have 
bought two excellent female specimens, eleven and thirteen 
years of age, respectively. It is true that the majority are males. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Please, Jack. We were just getting onto 
a straight line for once. Kindly go on, sir; you were admitted to 
the Superintendent's office, and 

Mr. BROADBENT. What took place, Mr. Jones? 

Mr. JONES. I was led in there, and I would say he looked satis- 
fied. He was sitting behind his desk in a white-paneled room, 
a cheerful place, with his back to two big French windows, 
floor-to-ceiling almost, and their metal Venetian blinds sliced 
the morning sunlight into layers. Did I say he looked satisfied? 
Seemed he might bust. Everything about him was too tight: his 
collar, armpits of his coat, his vest the buttons and buttonholes 
on it made a trail of parentheses down his chest and belly. 
Veins stood inflated on the backs of his hands, on his neck, and 
in the middle of his forehead. He gave an impression of a 
man containing a superabundance of oxygen, or maybe helium. 
He wasn't fat; he was just too well filled, and I vouch that what 
he was stuffed with was uncertainty. He looks like a naturally 
healthy animal, but I understand that people around town call 
him a politician. He's elusive, that's the point. Mr. Cleary, the 
Guidance Director, told me one of his colleagues once com- 
plained to him, after an interview with Mr. Owing, that he 


couldn't make out just what the Superintendent had been driv- 
ing at, and Mr. Clcary told me he said, 'Nobody ever can. He's 
never what you think he is. Just when you think you have him 
pinned down as a worm he flies away as a moth/ It's apparently 
impossible to hold him to anything he says, because he cither 
denies having said it or declares on a stack of Bibles that that 
wasn't what he had meant, i don't intend to cast doubt on his 
integrity. No, I'm told he brings to everything he does a prodi- 
gious sincerity and decency which are crippling. A man just 
can't put that much cncigy into wanting to do the right thing 
and do it, too. His indccisivencss shows itself not only on school 
issues but also in trifles. I took him to lunch the other day, and 
you should have seen him trying to decide what to cat. He 
wrestled with the menu as if it had been a two-hundrcd-pound 

Mr. RROADBF.NT. On the occasion of your first interview 
Mr. JONES. Yes. I began by asking Mr. Owing what sort of 
provisions are made in the Pequot schools for children of the 
particular kind I buy. He was, at first, very cautious. Tin afraid 
of anything too special for these clever children,' he said to me. 
Tin afraid of it for our community. We don't like anything 
that smacks of privilege. But don't worry/ he said, 'we'll reach 
these children. We'll take care of 'em with enrichment.' Phoocy! 
Enrichment! He made it sound as if schools were bakeries and 
children were loaves. I may as well tell you at the outset, gentle- 
men, I have nothing but contempt for the wordy soft-hearted- 
ness, or maybe I should say -hcadedness, of the educational 
world, in which a simple spade is commonly called an Instru- 
ment for Soil Development. Mr. Owing was leaning back in 
his swivel chair, and he was toying with a pair of binoculars. 
Through the Venetian blinds behind him I could see, beyond 
a stretch of lawn, the backs of three white houses, and at first I 
assumed that Mr. Owing was an office-hour voyeur, but a little 


Friday, October 25 

later in our conversation I saw in the yard a feeding station 
around which a number of birds were playing who had a curious 
way of clinging to the wood, heads downward, looking out 
nervously at the dangerous world. He was a Watcher. I asked 
him what the birds were. 'Nuthatches/ he said. 'White-breasted. 
I think so anyway. I'm not positive. We have a child/ he said, 
'of the kind that interests you. He can tell you the family, 
genus, species, and subspecies of every bird every living thing 
you could imagine. In Latin/ And that was the first I heard of 
the Rudd boy. But of course the moment I expressed interest in 
him, Mr. Owing backed off. Began giving me the on-thc-other- 
hand treatment. Afraid he'd gone too far. Mr. Owing never 
asked why I was interested, or what my errand was. I guess he 
assumed I was just another teacher working on a doctoral thesis 
so as to get ahead. lie said he thought he'd better turn me over 
to the Guidance Director a likable young man, he said, cer- 
tainly a useful man, he said, on what he calls, with a character- 
istic parsimoniousncss of imagination, his 'educational team.' 

Mr. BROADBENT. You mean to say he at no time asked you the 
actual purpose of your visit? 

Mr. JONES. Not at that interview. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And it did not occur to you to force this 
information on him? 

Mr. JONKS. Indeed it did. At the end of our talk I expressed 
interest in buying one or more of a certain category of children. 
I didn't tell him the whole story then. I had measured Mr. 
Owing as a matter of fact, I had had some briefing informa- 
tion beforehand, tabbing him as a vacillator. He was liable to 
turn to all sides for help if a difficult problem was thrown at 
him, and to talk indiscriminately. And what I wanted least of all 
was talk, until I'd had time to look around and be ready to 
jump. Later, of course, I gave Mr. Owing the full picture, but 
by then complications had set in. 



Senator MANSFIELD. When you say 'buy/ I suppose you mean 
that you actually buy the child from its parents? 

Mr. JONES. It's not quite that simple, sir. Everyone who has 
the slightest hold on a child that I begin to dicker for asks and 
usually gets a price. 

Mr. BROADBENT. So Mr. Owing sent you down the line to 
Mr. Cleary. 

Mr. JONES. What I needed most at that starting point was an 
ally, and Mr. Cleary 

Senator SKYPACK. Was willing to do your dirty work for you? 

Mr. JONES. At the beginning Mr. Cleary was rather interfer- 
ing. He took it upon himself, without my knowledge, to meddle 
with the Rudd family. Later he was more co-operative. Much 

Mr. BROADBENT. You told Mr. Cleary your whole story? 

Mr. JONES. I saw in Mr. Cleary a man more interested in ad- 
vancement than in ideas. He's the sort of man you can trust. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You saw this right away? 

Mr. JONES. My business is sizing people up. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And Mr. Cleary? 

Mr. JONES. Is a realist. He distrusts emotion of any kind. 
Explains exuberance in himself by the keenness of the weather, 
the lack of humidity in the air; depression or a feeling of shame 
he can attribute to a pork chop he ate for lunch. He wants to 
get ahead to be boss. Once he got the idea that I, too, am a 
pretty hardheaded fellow, he opened up to me all the way 
told me all about how to 'get along' in Pequot, about his 'sys- 
tem/ He does people great favors; he's solicitous; he helps people 
plan their futures; he drags confessions out of them; he terrifies 
them with psychiatric 'insights'; he lends them money, serves 
them cocktails, tells them secrets, flatters them with intellectual 
argument. He also knows how to manage people by getting 
the goods on them. 


Friday, October 25 

Senator MANSFIELD. Dear me! This was to be your ally, Mr. 

Mr. JONES. Absolutely dependable, Senator. No idealism 

Senator SKYPACK. Listen, Jones. We understand you arrived 
in Pequot on a foreign motorcycle. Is that right? 

Mr. JONES. That's correct. Yes, sir. I ride it everywhere. 

Senator SKYPACK. Why? 

Mr. JONES. Why? Because it gives me extreme pleasure. I have 
a sensation of flying, skimming along over the highways on 
those thin whirling wire spokes. 

Senator SKYPACK. Sir, Mr. Broadbent tells me that our in- 
vestigator down in Pequot reports that three motorcycles were 
involved in the gang attack on the Rudd home. Was yours one 
of them? 

Mr. JONES. I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, 

Senator SKYPACK. You say that like somebody who knows ex- 
actly what I'm talking about. I want to know 

Senator VOYOLKO. This kid, now. You the guy's buying the 

Mr. JONES. I am, sir, if I am successful in 

Senator VOYOLKO. O.K. So you're the guy's buying the kid. 
Now we're getting someplace. What's with the kid? This boy. 

Mr. JONES. What about him, sir? 

Senator VOYOLKO. You tell me, mister. How about him? 

Mr. JONES. Barry Rudd is fifty-six and three eighths inches 
tall, medium height for his age. Weighs ninety-eight pounds, 
nine ounces, compared with a norm for the age of seventy-seven 
pounds. Twenty-two pounds overweight, other words. Lung ca- 
pacity one hundred twenty-eight inches, where the standard is 
one twenty-five. Shoulders twelve and one half inches across, 
average for the age. Strength of grip thirty-six point four pounds 


compared with a norm of fifty point four. Right shoulder slightly 
lower than the left. 

Senator MANSFIELD. You make him sound like a cut of veal, 
Mr. Jones. 

Mr. JONES. Not at all. There's a flame. . . . Let me tell you: 
The face belongs to a beardless old man. It is round, ruddy, and 
impassive, and when words that stand for strong feelings pass 
the short, tight lips, only a flicker of expression, like distant 
heat lightning, can be seen around the eyes, which are star- 
tlingly clear, direct, and alert. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Is this boy of the kind and caliber that you 

Mr. JONES. He definitely is. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Can you tell us why you want him? 

Mr. JONES. One of his former teachers put it better than I 
could. Or I think perhaps it was Dr. Gozar, his principal, you 
know. 'Why is he outstanding?' she said. 'Because he has this 
mood of intensity. That you don't teach. You don't say, "Flex. 
Tighten your mind. Have desire." Barry,' she said, 'makes this 
mood about science more than any child I've ever seen. He cre- 
ates a certain tension out of nothing a sense of excitement. 
That comes from within and the funny thing is, you can't 
really see it on the surface.' That's what she said, and that's 
why I want him. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What do you think of his misbehavior with 
the Renzulli girl? Would you 

Mr. JONES. That has nothing to do with me. 

Mr. BROADBENT. To the contrary, Mr. Jones. Barry Rudd, 
when asked by our investigator what had caused him to get in 
that particular pickle, said, and these were his words, 'I did it 
on account of Mr. Jones.' And that is all he would say. How do 
you explain . . . ? 

Senator SKYPACK. Broadbent, let's us subordinates hold back 
on that angle till the proper time. 


Friday, October 25 

Mr. BROADBENT. Very good, Senator. I withdraw the ques- 
tion. On another point, Mr. Jones, you think very highly of 
Miss Perrin, the Rudd boy's teacher, don't you? 

Mr. JONES. She's a perfectly adequate old-fashioned teacher; 
she has the knack to a fair degree. I'd say that. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You're sure you wouldn't go farther? 

Mr. JONES. Not much. Miss Perrin teaches not by the book 
but by an instinctive anecdotal method. She's warm and loving, 
and mostly she's loved by the children, though dark and danger- 
ous images keep creeping into her stories in class. She tends to 
buck at newfangled pedagoguery, but she's always mild and 
never sure. She seems to have a lot of the vagueness, the un- 
certainty as to exactly what's going on around her, of Nikolai 
Dmitrievitch Levin in Anna Karenina. Do you have time to 
read, Mr. Counsel? 

Mr. BROADBENT. In college 

Mr. JONES. She's not hideously ugly, but she's not very good- 
looking, either. During my visits I noted a number of mistakes, 
slips, some absent-mindedness. I must say she treats her pupils 
as adults, though she speaks in a sing-song syllabic voice, as if 
she's reading out of a primer. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You speak of her pretty coolly, sir, but I put 
it to you, sir, did you not buy her an expensive gift last week? 

Mr. JONES. Mr. Chairman, is this sort of question 

Senator MANSFIELD. It may be. It may not be. What are you 
developing, Mr. Broadbent? 

Mr. BROADBENT. I am going to step over there by you, Mr. 
Jones, and I am going to ask you to identify this booklet. I lay 
before you now this notebook, or booklet, and ask you to iden- 
tify it. What is it? 

Mr. JONES. Where did you get that? 

Mr. BROADBENT. It is a small notebook, of thin blue paper, 
navy-blue leatherette cover with gold impressed markings. Please 
simply identify it. 


Mr. JONES. You know perfectly well what that is: It's my 
expense-account book. It says Expense Account right there on 
the front, with my initials. When did you steal that off me? 

Mr. BROADBENT. I would point out, Mr. Jones, that there is an 
item entered here 'Gift, Miss Perrin, $125.' That's a substan- 
tial gift, sir. 

Senator MANSFIELD. What are you trying to suggest, Mr. 
Counsel? Miss Perrin's getting on. Mr. Wairy pointed that out. 
She's a gray-haired lady. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I'm suggesting that that's a rather large gift, 
Mr. Jones. 

Mr. JONES. I needed her on my side. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I see here that on last Friday's date you en- 
tered in your expense account an item of six dollars for an office 
visit to a doctor. 

Mr. JONES. I had a headache after my conversation with the 
Guidance Director. I think you would have, too. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What doctor did you visit? 

Mr. JONES. I didn't actually see a doctor. 

Mr. BROADBENT. But you entered an item in your expense ac- 

Mr. JONES. As a lawyer, sir, and a rather young one, if I may be 
forgiven for saying so, you might not realize that with tax laws 
the way they are, the corporation executive 

Mr. BROADBENT. I get it. Did your headache clear up all right? 

Mr. JONES. Thank you, it did. Immediately after making the 
entry in my expense-account book. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Fiscal therapy? 

Mr. JONES. Never knew it to do any harm. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I jfee here another item. 'Entertaining parents 
$78.93.' Can you spend that much out on the town in Pequot, 

Mr. JONES. Again, it was a matter of wanting 

Friday, October 25 

Mr. BROADBENT. Of bribery, sir? 

Mr. JONES. Mr. Chairman, I submit to you that this young 

Senator SKYPACK. Is no gentleman? No, sir, nor is this a tea- 
and-ladyfingers party, sir. Just what was to be the purpose of 
your buying this boy, Mr. Jones? I think it's time you came 

Mr. BROADBENT. Excuse me, Senator Skypack, before you get 
into that. I respectfully suggest to the Chairman that this docu- 
ment, or book, which I have laid before Mr. Jones, which he has 
identified, be admitted into the record. 

Senator MANSFIELD. It will be entered into the record. 

(The document referred to was marked 'Jones Exhibit No. i* 
and filed.) 

Senator SKYPACK. And now, Mr. Jones, 

Mr. JONES. My purpose? I buy brains. When a commodity 
that you need falls in short supply, you have to get out and 
hustle. I buy brains. About eighteen months ago my company, 
United Lymphomilloid of America, Incorporated, was faced 
with an extremely difficult problem, a project, a long-range 
government contract, fifty years, highly specialized and top 
secret, and we needed some of the best minds in the country, 
and we looked around, and we found some minds that had 
certainly been excellent at one time, but they'd been spoiled by 
education. By what passes for education. Our schools, particu- 
larly at the elementary and secondary levels, speak with great 
confidence of their 'solutions' for what they call the 'gifted' 
though there seems to be little or no agreement as to the exact 
nature of this category. There's a great deal of time spent on 
these so-called solutions, which are for tht most part based on 
psychological and sociological theories and data between twenty 
and fifty years old, but no one seems to know what really works. 
One school says special classes, another says acceleration, an- 



other says enrichment. No one knows. They argue back and 
forth. Well, we have the answer at United Lymphomilloid. 

Senator SKYPACK. And it is? 

Mr. JONES. Do you think I'm insane, Senator? In front of this 
gallery? And the press? 

Senator MANSFIELD. We will go into Executive Session. We 
will reconvene in my inner office, Room 4iyA, in five minutes, 

(The committee retired to the designated room and came to 
order, in Executive Session, at 1 1 : 18 a.m. ) 

Senator MANSFIELD. We will be in order. Now, Mr. Jones, 
perhaps you will feel able 

Mr. JONES. I will say this much. The reason U. Lympho 
that's what we who work there call the company for short the 
reason U. Lympho wants to get brains early is connected with a 
basic difficulty a brilliant youngster has in this country. At an 
astonishingly early age he goes through a quest for meaning, for 
values, for the significance of life, and this quest turns, also 
early, into a struggle to make a place in society and to find 
values in it that will meet his particular needs. I hardly have to 
tell you that the culture in which we live is riddled with in- 
consistencies, from the point of view of a child with a quick 
mind, who sees that he is punished more than he is rewarded 
for his brilliance. A bitter inner inharmony results. The indi- 
vidual expends so much emotional energy trying to resolve this 
inharmony that, having started out in primary and elementary 
school years the most normal and well adjusted of all his 
peers, he winds up, before very long, the least so. Our system at 
United Lymphomilloid is to get the brains early and eliminate 
this conflict altogether. 

Senator SKYPACK. And how is that done, sir? 

Mr. JONES. I'm sorry, Senator, but this is a matter of security. 
With a stenographer 


Friday, October 25 

Senator MANSFIELD. Off the record. You may step outside a 
few minutes, Miss Bean. 

(Discussion off the record.) 

Senator MANSFIELD. All right, Miss Bean, you may resume. 
On the record. 

Senator SKYPACK. I want, personally and on behalf of my 
constituents in Sudbury County, to thank you, Mr. Jones. 
You've been a most co-operative witness. It's a thoroughly 
patriotic scheme. I'm sure my colleagues 

Senator MANSFIELD. We all understand that this is in con- 
fidence. I mean, so much as a whisper outside this room. 

Senator SKYPACK. Impressive, Mr. Jones. Great business. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Senator Voyolko, you clearly under- 

Senator VOYOLKO. Huh? 

Senator SKYPACK. Keep the big mouth shut. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Sure, sure, sure. 

Senator MANSFIELD. We will stand recessed until after lunch. 

(Whereupon, at 12:10 p.m., Friday, October 25, 19 , the 
hearing was recessed.) 



(The hearing was resumed in Committee Chamber 202 at 
2 130 p.m.) 

Senator MANSFIELD. We will have order now. Proceed, Mr. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I will ask for Mr. Willard Owing. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Please stand to be sworn, Mr. Owing. 

Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you will give in the 
matter pending before the Standing Committee on Education, 
Welfare, and Public Morality of the State Senate will be the 
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you 

Mr. OWING. I do. 


Mr. BROADBENT. Please identify yourself, sir. 

Mr. OWING. It is a pleasure to be here, gentlemen. It is rare 
enough for the educator and the legislator to sit face to face. 

Mr. BROADBENT. The record will show that you are Mr. Wil- 
lard Owing, Superintendent of Schools in the township of 
Pequot, if you have no objection. 

Mr. OWING. Glad to be here. Eager to help. 


Friday, October 25 

Mr. BROADBENT. We understand that you were the first person 
the man Wissey Jones came to see in Pequot. 

Mr. OWING. Gentlemen, I hope you lawmakers will come 
down and visit us, come back to school, teach us about democ- 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Jones put his proposition to you? 

Mr. OWING. He was most congenial, sir. We had a pleasant 
talk about provisions for the gifted. 

Mr. BROADBENT. He outlined the deal he wanted to make? 

Mr. OWING. Under most circumstances, I told him, enrich- 
ment in the ordinary classroom, in the heterogeneous group- 
Mr. BROADBENT. I put this question to you: Did he tell you 
what he wanted? 

Mr. OWING. He seemed rather ill-informed on our recent 
thinking about the developmental process. On the other hand, 
he was friendly, distinctly friendly. A constructive approach. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Chairman, I 

Senator MANSFIELD. Please try to answer the questions, Mr. 

Mr. OWING. Of course. Willingly, Senator. Anything. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Did Mr. Wissey Jones tell you he wanted to 
buy a young boy? 

Mr. OWING. I want to help in any way I can. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Owing, sir, would you kindly tell us 
your understanding of the man Wissey Jones's plan? 

Mr. OWING. He seems bitterly opposed to enrichment. I 
couldn't get at the reason. It seemed to be a matter of emotion, 
like so many parents we have coming in. Mind you, we have an 
exceptionally fine type of parent in my little bailiwick. 


Senator SKYPACK. Listen, Owing, answer the man! 

Mr. OWING. My dear Senator, I am most eager to help. 

Mr. BROADBENT. The man Wissey Jones, under oath before 



this committee, testified that you were the first person he saw in 
Pequot, and that he outlined to you his plan to buy a child, and 
that you turned him over to Mr. Cleary. Is this ? 

Mr. OWING. Mr. Cleary is a strong believer in enrichment, if 
I'm not mistaken; dead set against acceleration. . . . 

Senator SKYPACK. Look here, Owing, we understand Cleary's 
a schemer. 

Mr. OWING. He's a planner, if that's what you mean, sir. No 
one in the town school system, including me, can take on a 
complex problem of curriculum or budget or transportation 
and effect a tidier schedule of operations, combining practical 
foresight with an unerring avoidance of criticism from tax- 
payers. He can see pitfalls from a year's distance. Oh, I bank 
on him. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You talked to Cleary shortly after your 
interview with Mr. Jones? You made a special trip to Lincoln 
Elementary for this purpose. Is that correct? You hurried over 

Mr. OWING. I'd like to ask my Board to promote Mr. Cleary 
to Assistant Superintendent; he has the qualities agressive, 
superlative organizer, respected by the teachers. On the other 
hand, of course, what holds me back is that I sometimes feel a 
slight undertow there, a troublemaking tendency. 

Senator SKYPACK. You mean he's one of the hotheads that 
are stirring the whole thing up? He might be responsible for 
the violence? 

Mr. OWING. I didn't mean quite that. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I think you did. That's what you suggested. 

Mr. OWING. No, really, that's your implication. Or do I mean 
inference? Goodness, sometimes I wonder. 

Senator SKYPACK. You called him a troublemaker. 

Mr. OWING. Not exactly. 

Senator SKYPACK. Did you or didn't you call him a trouble- 


Friday, October 25 

Mr. OWING. The point is, the violence, as you call it, is quite 
outside the authority of the school system. If we asked our 
schools to take on matters that properly belong in the home, 
the church, the town hall 

Mr. BROADBENT. Do you have any idea who was behind the 
assault on the Rudd home? 

Mr. OWING. I will say this to you: I think Mr. Cleary may 
have caused some trouble by short-cutting things, by going 
directly to the Rudd family after my briefing without waiting to 
talk with the child buyer. I mean, on the basis of the infor- 
mation I was able to give him 

Mr. BROADBENT. And that this may have had some connection 
with the night attack by a gang of hoodlums on the Rudd 
family home? 

Mr. OWING. No, no, I didn't say that. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Can you give us an account of the attack? 

Mr. OWING. All I meant was that Mr. Cleary was hasty. Or 
may have been. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You don't believe he was behind the assault? 

Mr. OWING. As I understand it, all or most of the windows 
were broken. Some sort of ordure or slop was poured down the 
chimney. I was telephoned by the police at nigh onto midnight, 
I was dead to the world, I thank God for the talent for sound 
sleep even after a parlous day. Let's see, it must have taken 
place at about eight, nine. The police had succeeded in cap- 
turing only one person running away down the street; and 
you'll never guess who that was. 

Mr. BROADBENT. We know, sir, who it was. 

Mr. OWING. Barry Rudd. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Yes, we knew that. On another point: We 
understand that Miss Perrin, the Rudd boy's teacher, has been 
strongly opposed to Mr. Jones's purchase of this boy. Why 
would that be, sir? 

Mr. OWING. Imagine my astonishment when I heard that that 



young genius, with his enigmatic face, was in jail like a common 
criminal! But I thought, you never can tell with these precocious 
Mr. BROADBENT. Why are some people fighting this excellent 


Mr. OWING. She's a fine, patriotic lady. She has the Decla- 
ration of Independence and the Bill of Rights tacked on the 
underside of every desk top in her room. 

Senator SKYPACK. That second thing you mentioned there, 
Bill of Rights, isn't that where they have all those amendments? 
The Fifth Amendment's in that, isn't it, Broadbent? 
Mr. BROADBENT. The first ten amendments, I believe 
Senator SKYPACK. You call that patriotic, Owing? Holding 
up the Fifth Amendment to every kid? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Owing, do you call what she is alleged to 
have done in fomenting and leading a teachers' strike, some 
years back a strike, in effect, against taxpayers and little 
children you call that patriotic, sir? But on another point, Mr. 
Owing, about this bomb that was thrown 
Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Broadbent! 

Mr. BROADBENT. About this stink bomb that was thrown, 
could you tell us 

Mr. OWING. Miss Perrin has always 
Senator MANSFIELD. I must say, Mr. Owing- 
Mr. OWING. It came in a window. As near as we can make out, 
it was lobbed in one of the auditorium windows from the 
asphalt playground outside. It landed about four feet in front of 
the apron of the stage, and it made a yellow cloud. Phui! I 

Mr. BROADBENT. Have you any theory as to who might have 
Mr. OWING. You were asking about Mr. Wissey Jones and 


Friday, October 25 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Chairman, I give up. Uncle. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Thank you, Mr. Owing, you may be 
excused. We appreciate your coming up here to testify. 

Mr. OWING. Enrichment 

Senator SKYPACK. Is there a bailiff? Could we have a bailiff? 

Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Broadbent, kindly escort Mr. Owing 
. . . Yes. That's it. Thank you. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Who was that fella? 

Senator MANSFIELD. Thank you, Mr. Broadbent. And now. 

Mr. BROADBENT. We will hear Mr. Sean Cleary. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Please be sworn, Mr. Cleary. 

Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you will offer will 
be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so 
help you God? 

Mr. CLEARY. Yes, I do. 


Mr. BROADBENT. Please identify yourself for the record as to 
name, residence, and occupation, sir. 

Mr. CLEARY. I'm Sean Cleary, 221 Second Street, Pequot, 
and I'm Director of Guidance for the public schools of that 

Mr. BROADBENT. You call yourself Director of Guidance. 
Exactly what does that mean, sir? 

Mr. CLEARY. Well, I was trained as a vocational-guidance 
counsellor, I got my M.A. in education at Perkins State Teach- 
ers, studied under Professor Sender, head of the vocational- 
guidance department, and I met the State requirements in 
vocational guidance by holding a job as a stamp-press oper- 
ator in the Northeastern States Bottle Cap Corporation in 


Treehampstead for six months. In other words, I was an expert 
in how to help high-school students decide what career to fol- 
low, how to train for it, how to get a job. So then I was hired 
into the Pcquot system, and I was assigned not only vocational 
guidance but also psychological guidance for the high school, 
as well as psychological guidance at Lincoln Elementary, where 
my office is situated, in a former coat closet. I have seven hun- 
dred twenty students. I am also in charge of audio-visual and 
driver training. I coach basketball. I monitor the library study 

hall. I 

Mr. BROADBENT. What exactly do you do in what you call 
psychological guidance? 

Mr. CLEARY. I give psychological tests, I.Q. tests, so on. Then 
I also have to do a great deal of nursemaiding of both children 
and mothers, and I give parents what we call parent-teacher 
therapy. Among students I am supposed to solve and cure in- 
subordination, gold-bricking, dullness of mind, smoking, drink- 
ing, sexual promiscuity, law fracture, money madness, suicidal 
selfishness, aggression, contempt for property, want of moral 
anchorage, fear of failure and of fear. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Have you had psychological training? 

Mr. CLEARY. There hasn't been time for that as yet. Or 
money the taxpayers are rather hostile to the idea of guidance. 
... I hope to get an in-service credit in play therapy this 
next semester, and after that, who knows? Of course I have 
tried to read whatever I could. I have had to become an un- 
willing student of abnormal psychology, and I may say, Mr. 
Chairman, I am constantly on the alert for signs of lunacy in 
everyone with whom I come into contact. This very min- 
ute ... 

Senator MANSFIELD. I see. Yes. Very interesting. Are you 

Mr. CLEARY. Sometimes, I must confess, I feel a sort of whirl 
of vertigo, and I have a thrust of suspicion that I myself am bats 

Friday, October 25 

and that what seems to be madness in the people with whom I 
am conversing 

Senator MANSFIELD. Yes, yes, fascinating, yes. 

Mr. CLEARY. is only my own insanity which I project onto 

Senator MANSFIELD. I see. Yes. Surely. Dear me. Senator 
Voyolko, do you have any questions? 

Senator VOYOLKO. Huh? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Now, Mr. Cleary. 

Senator MANSFIELD. There was something I wanted to say. 
. . . Oh, yes. Mr. Broadbent, I suppose that after our last 
witness even you will welcome some consecutive testimony. I 
mean, something in a straight line. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I was just going . . . Now, Mr. Cleary, 
would you search your memory and begin with the very first 
thing that happened on the morning of the day you met the 
man Wissey Jones? 

Mr. CLEARY. Hmm. Dr. Gozar. Yes. Before school I had a 
talk with Dr. Gozar, our principal at Lincoln. We were standing 
out on the grounds, waiting for the first bell. It was one of those 
October days we have around here when the sky's like a thin 
plastic balloon; the maple trees were turning to gold and the 
dogwoods were already bronze. We were lounging against the 
jungle gym on the playlot, and we had to speak up to hear each 
other, because some of the older boys' voices over next the 
blank auditorium wall were like bugles. Dr. Gozar stood with 
her back to the steel-pipe frame, her arms raised and spread, 
gripping two high pipes with her hands. She's in her late sixties, 
but she made a picture of health and confidence, I tell you. She 
has the shape of a thirty-year-old woman, and with her arms 
pulled back that way . . . She has an oval head set on a strong 
neck. White teeth her own, I believe. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And you and she were having a discussion. 



Mr. CLEARY. We were talking about the talent search I had 
been conducting, which had in fact been my idea to begin with. 
Now, to give you the background on my own point of view, I 
think I should tell you I flatter myself that I'm a realist. I think 
the worst I can call anyone is 'na'ive' or 'emotional.' This is a 
tough world, and I've come to regard all gentle and soft feelings, 
my own more than anyone else's, as slop, bushwa, naivete, 
sentimentality, and what confounds people who don't agree 
with me, like Dr. Gozar, is that I'm so often right. I won't say 
always. It's a jungle world, and I'm dedicated to being as 
tough as I can, or seeming so, anyway. I'm not afraid of any- 
thing except blushing. Quite frankly, the decisive things in this 
world are position and money, and of these two the former is by 
far the more important, because money, though it may help with 
appearances, can never buy prestige or a real power to manipu- 
late. Money power is bogus; that's why so many rich people are 
unhappy, Command is the only really satisfying wealth. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You mentioned that you were discussing the 
talent search with Dr. Gozar. 

Mr. CLEARY. I assume that you want me to be frank with you, 
so I'll simply say that Dr. Gozar was getting nosey about it. 
She wanted to know how I ever got the School Board to fall 
for it, and I explained that I had, on my own initiative, dug 
up support for the project from a foundation, so it wouldn't cost 
the taxpayers a cent; that appealed to Mr. Wairy, the chairman 
of our Board, in a big way. My original idea was to identify the 
neurotic youngsters, so we could open a parent-child clinic, but 
the Foundation for National Superiority in Education, which 
sponsors the project, felt that there should be a slightly dif- 
ferent emphasis, and since it was providing the cash 

Mr. BROADBENT. How do you actually carry out the talent 

Mr. CLEARY. Well, the Pequot Talent Search is hunting for 


Friday, October 2$ 

the top one per cent of the gifted and the bottom twenty per 
cent of the retarded in our community. 

Senator MANSFIELD. And you still call it a talent search? 

Mr. CLEARY. Mr. Owing persuaded the Foundation to in- 
clude the retarded because he knew we'd never get it by the 
School Board and the community if we didn't take the hard- 
ship cases into account. Undemocratic. 

Mr. BROADBENT. How are you finding your talented children? 

Mr. CLEARY. We have tests for intellectual gifts, as well as 
subjective screening for talents in music, painting, dramatics, 
dance, pottery 

Senator SKYPACK. Pottery! 

Mr. CLEARY. We have a Talent Commission of leading 
citizens. Mrs. Ferrenhigh happens to have a pottery wheel. 
Mr. BROADBENT. Go on, please. 

Mr. CLEARY. We also have tests for creativity, leadership, 
aggressive maladjustment, and potential alcoholism. The Foun- 
dation left these last two in, from my original apparatus, as 
recognition of my contribution. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What was your disagreement with Dr. Go- 

Mr. CLEARY. We had several differences, but mainly she ob- 
jected to one of the tests in the battery we use to ferret out 
intellectual abilities. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What was that? 

Mr. CLEARY. It's something called the Olmstead-Diffendorff 

Senator SKYPACK. Game? 

Mr. CLEARY. It's called that in order to decrease the subject's 
tension. The Olmstead-Diffendorff Game, called by its authors 
"A Test of General Intelligence,' was designed to answer a 
criticism frequently made of the Stanford-Binet, Wechsler, and 



other intelligence scales that, stressing verbal skills, they are 
loaded in favor of children from upper-class social and eco- 
nomic backgrounds, where books and word facility have te- 
naciously hung on from nineteenth-century mores. The Game, 
consisting entirely of problems developed by cartoons in comic- 
book style, and drawing heavily for content on the child's world 
of television, sports, toys, and gadgets, is culture-free and with- 
out social bias. It's fun, too. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And you 

Mr. CI.EARY. I pointed out to Dr. Gozar that we are living in 
the Space Age, and and just then the first bell rang. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What happened? 

Mr. CLEARY. We went toward the main entrance, where we 
encountered Miss Charity Perrin. She addressed me in a quite 
unfriendly and critical fashion. 

Mr. BROADBENT. She is Barry Rudd's teacher, right? Is she 
a good teacher? 

Mr. CLEARY. Her pedagogical methodology is unorthodox. 
Her techniques of encouraging wholesome motivation for mas- 
tery of critical skills, habits, understandings, knowledges, and 
attitudes, and of achieving dynamic personality adjustment of 
the whole child to both the learning situation and the life situ- 
ation are, though soundly rooted in the developmental tra- 
dition, rather eccentric, and indeed they defy exact categori- 

Senator MANSFIELD. But can she teach, Mr. deary? 

Mr. CLEARY. We don't know. The children won't tell us. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You said she criticized you. What for? 

Mr. CLEARY. She said my talent search was a phony because 
teacher's pet, Barry Rudd, wasn't on it not for intellectual 
gifts, anyway. He is on it in another category. 

Mr. BROADBENT. But I thought he was the brightest child in 
the history of the Pequot system. 


Friday, October 25 

Mr. CLEARY. He was only in the sixty-fourth percentile in the 
Olmstead-Diff endorff Game. 

Senator SKYPACK. Why won't the children tell you? About 
that teacher, I mean. 

Mr. CLEARY. I have a theory, and it runs this way: Miss Perrin 
manifests a curious combination of maternal and infantile 
drives, so that the children love her on two levels, as if she were 
both a mother figure and a peer. Loving and being loved 
that's all she lives for. You see, she's one of your kind that be- 
lieves everyone is nice. She loves the world. 'People can sec 
something good in people if people look for it in people.' She 
gives more than lip service to bromides like that; she lives them 
and the result is that admiration and pity are often synony- 
mous for her, and when she feels repugnance for another person 
she turns it against herself. Evidence that people are not in- 
variably nice, of which there seems to be plenty in Pcqnot, she 
uses as occasion for forgiveness, and this gives her a comforting 
feeling that she's nice. We psychologists have a term for her 
difficulties: she suffers from the Nice Mouse Syndrome. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Jeest, Mr. Broadback, the minute you get 
talking about the boy you have to go off on a long tackle about 
some old maid. 

Senator MANSFIELD. I agree, Mr. Broadbent. Let's hew 

Mr. BROADBENT. And after you talked with Miss Perrin, sir? 

Mr. CLEARY. I entered the school and walked quickly across 
the dark front hall, which reverberated with children's shouts 
and struck my nostrils, as it always does, with the smells of floor 
oil, chalk, hanging clothes, and the queer, pungent dust that 
seems to lurk wherever knowledge is. Do you know what I 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please carry on. 

Mr. CLEARY. You're interested in the Rudd boy, so I'll tell 
you that I saw him in the hall as I passed. I don't mind telling 



you I have a negative reaction to that boy. lie stood woodenly, 
his legs slightly parted, arms stiff at his sides, and he gave a 
whole effect of having been pampered by his mother. His 
clothes, and the boy himself, seemed to have just come out of 
the washing machine. Out from the starched tubes of the shirt 
sleeves came soft, reddish, round, clean arms, with tiny veins 
mottling the surface; his flesh looked like a certain kind of pink 
tourmaline. The torso was chunky and waistlcss; the hips ran 
straight up to the shoulders. I wondered: Could the boy have 
combed his hair that fussy way himself? 

Mr. BROADBENT. And then? 

Mr. CLEARY. I sat clown to some case-history work in my 
cubbyhole, and before long Dr. Gozar came in, saying that Mr. 
Owing was in her office, he'd walked she said he was puffing 
like a choo-choo all the way from the administration build- 
ing to see me. I'm not in the habit of getting social calls from 
the Super every day, so I presented myself toot sweet. Dr. Gozar 
left us alone. I managed to get Dr. Gozar's desk chair, so I had 
an odd feeling it almost made me chuckle out loud that I 
was the Superintendent and he was the Guidance Director; 
and this feeling was reinforced by the fact that Mr. Owing had 
begun to perspire. He blurted right out that he was in a quan- 
dary. Mr. Owing saying he's in a quandary is like anybody else 
saying good-morning-how-are-you. You just come to expect it. 
But this time, I must say, the fix was an interesting one. He said 
he'd just talked with a man who wanted to buy a brilliant child 
if we could provide just the right one. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And he wanted you to name the right one? 

Mr. CLEARY. It's never quite that direct with the Super. You 
have to wait him out, till he asks your advice. 

Mr. BROADBENT. How do you mean? 

Mr. CLEARY. He said it was sort of hard to know what to do, 
and I said we really didn't know enough, and he agreed with 


Friday, October 25 

me, but I didn't quite catch what he said so I begged his 
pardon, and he said he was thinking, so I offered him a penny 
for his thoughts, and he said he wasn't really thinking, he was 
just wondering, and I said sometimes I wondered myself, and 
he seemed relieved to hear that, and I said that, oh, yes, some- 
times I lay awake nights, and he said he was a good sleeper, he 
thanked God, but it was the daytime that bothered him, and 
I asked what he meant by 'bothered/ and he said, 'Well, you 
know/ and I said, Tes, I know/ and he said he often had to stop 
and then start all over again, and I said the same went for me, 
and he asked me if I really felt that way, too, and I said some of 
the time, and he asked me when, mostly, and I said it wasn't 
easy to say exactly, and he said he supposed I was right, and I 
said I could see his point, though, and he said he was glad of 
that, and I said, 'I know, but . . . / and he said, 'That's the 
trouble/ and I knew he was about to explode, and I said 'Well?' 
and he was pretty near the end of his rope, and I said, 'Well?' 
again, and then it came out. He said, 'What do you think, 

Mr. BROADBENT. By that time you'd had plenty of time to 
make up your mind. 

Mr. CLEARY. I said that of course the Rudd boy was the only 

Mr. BROADBENT. But he wasn't even on your talent-search 
chart for being brainy. 

Mr. CLEARY. That's exactly what Mr. Owing pointed out. I 
said, bushwa, everyone knew Barry Rudd was the brightest boy 
we'd ever had in Pequot. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You proposed selling him? 

Mr. CLEARY. No. I've found it doesn't pay to move that fast 
with Mr. Owing, because he'll find doubts enough to wipe out 
a quick move. You let him stew, and stew, and stew, then 
what you tell him gives him such relief that you're in. Besides, 



I saw some advantage at first in playing against a sale, and I 
went straight to the family to get their backs up I admit now 
it was a miscalculation. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What made you realize that was a mis- 

Mr. CLEARY. The child buyer. Mr. Jones. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please explain. 

Mr. CLEARY. I counted at first on strong resistance, both in 
the community and the school system, to his proposition, and I 
think it would have developed, but by the end of my first con- 
versation with him I realized that he was the shrewdest thing 
Td ever seen on two legs. He's a devil. He's first and foremost a 
corrupter. His job is to find the irresistible temptation for each 
person who controls the destiny of the boy, and satisfy it, and, 
by golly, he's doing it; I believe he's doing it. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I take it he found yours, Mr. Cleary. 

Mr. CLEARY. You don't corrupt a man like me. It's the 

Mr. BROADBENT. That sounds like an evasion, sir. 

Mr. CLEARY. Why should I evade? Haven't I co-operated 
with you gentlemen? ... All I can say is, the child buyer has 
eyes that look right into your brain. He looks at your forehead, 
and the look goes right through, like an X ray, and he reads 
what's in there. I swear, I believe he does. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Thank you, Mr. Cleary, you may stand 
down. Thank you. Edifying witness. Thank you. . . . Mr. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Dr. Frcderika Gozar. Show her in, please. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Dr. Gozar, will you rise to be sworn, 

Do you solemnly swear that your testimony in this matter now 
before us will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but 
the truth, so help you God? 

Dr. GOZAR. I do. 


Friday, October 25 


Mr. BROADBENT. Your name is Dr. Frcderika Gozar, and you 
hold the post of principal of Lincoln Elementary School in 
Pequot. Is that correct, madam? 

Dr. GOZAR. I'm not married. Just call me 'Doctor/ The 
answer is yes. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Your residential address? 

Dr. GOZAR. Number 17 Sycamore Street, Pequot. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Mr. Chairman, thirty seconds. All I ask. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Proceed, Senator. 

Senator VOYOLKO. This kid, Dr. Gozall. What's he look like? 

Dr. GOZAR. He's fat. 

Senator VOYOLKO. I'm glad somebody told me that. It's time 
somebody around here told me that. Talk, talk, talk. The kid's 
fat. I'm glad you come here today, Dr. Gozall. Your floor, Mr. 

Senator MANSFIELD. I would urge, Mr. Broadbent 

Mr. BROADBENT. I know, sir. ... Dr. Gozar, we have heard 
testimony from Mr. Wairy, during the course of which he told 
us of the first arrival of the child buyer in Pequot, on last 
Wednesday, October sixteenth. He told us that while he and a 
certain Mr. Ellithorp were talking with the man Wissey Jones 
on the corner of River Street and Treehampstead Road, Mr. 
Jones being on his folding motorcycle that you approached, 

Dr. GOZAR. That's right. I did. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Could you tell us what took place 

Dr. GOZAR. The first thing my eye fell on, gentlemen, when 
Mr. Wairy stopped me on the sidewalk with a greeting, was that 



motorcycle. It had the look of an everlasting child's toy about it. 
It sparkled. There was a chrome muffler with red cut-glass studs, 
like rubies, in a ring around its collar, and there was a black- 
carded airplane compass on the handlebars, and the speed- 
ometer had a blue face with luminescent numbers, and there 
were English-type bicycle hand brakes whose control wires ran 
down to the wheels through chrome-plated flexible insulation, 
and there were squirrel tails on the tips of the handlebars, and a 
Mr. BROADBENT. Did Mr. Jones speak to you? 
Dr. GOZAR. Mr. Jones tipped his hat to me, and it was flat as a 
pancake, his gesture was like lifting the hinged lid of a tank- 
ard. An apt thought, by the way, the tankard. That man looks 
to me like a drinker, under that lid he's probably full of booze. 
He's got one of those puffy, spongy noses looks as if you could 
squeeze a half-pint of Old Crow out of it. 
Mr. BROADBENT. Anything else strike you about Mr. Jones? 
Dr. GOZAR. The man's eyes seemed to me odd. Negligible, 
reddish whites. Large brown irises, small pod-like openings. He 
aimed them at my forehead, and he said, 'Gozar? That wouldn't 
be Dr. Frcderika Gozar, one of the school principals, would it?' 
I got my mental dukes up at that. A New Englander born-and- 
bred doesn't like a stranger coming into the township and 
knowing too much about its affairs. Mr. Wairy said to me that 
Mr. Jones was interested in talented youngsters, and he said he'd 
just been telling Mr. Jones about Pequot's talent search. I 
groaned inside at that. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Doctor, Mr. Cleary testified here concerning 
a conversation with you early on Thursday morning last the 
day after the child buyer arrived about this talent search. He 
claims it was his idea. 

Senator MANSFIELD. There you go again, Mr. Broadbent, sud- 
denly shifting your line of questioning. 


Friday, October 25 

Mr. BROADBENT. We have a lot of ground to cover, sir 

Senator MANSFIELD. I don't want to get left on that street 
corner again. Was there anything else there on the street corner, 

Dr. GOZAR. Mr. Wairy was ill at ease I tower over him and 
he said the talent-search charts were in my office, and Mr. Jones 
smiled it's the first and last time I've seen him smile the 
smile was like mud drying up and cracking in the sun and the 
child buyer (of course I didn't know that that was what he 
was) said he'd like to visit me, and that displeased me so much 
that I turned my back and strode away. In a full skirt I can 
make forty-five inches to the stride. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Thank you. Carry along, Mr. Broadbent. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Concerning your conversation with Mr. 
Clcary on the talent search 

Dr. GOZAR. This boy Cleary is a shifty one; I'll bet he spun 
you a yarn. We were there by the jungle gym he told you? and 
I ragged him on his silly tests, and he agreed that some of 
them were meaningless, so I asked him why he gave them. He 
said because people want talent searches; the public wants them. 
'It comes down to a question of what your aim is in life,' he 
said. Tou have to be a realist. The only way to get ahead is to 
operate. A man can't get to be Superintendent of Schools who 
doesn't politick and look at the angles.' I said I didn't want to 
be Superintendent: Who wants to be Willard Owing? I said, 'I 
just want to stir some of these kids up. I believe in the infinite 
potentiality of young people, and I think I can do something 
about it. Maybe I'm dreaming but if I am, let's not wake me 
up.' 'That's all slop and sentiment,' he said. He half lifted him- 
self on the bars of the jungle gym, stretching and tensing as if 
limbering up his powers. 'You've got to face facts,' he said; 'look 
at things as they are.' I said I thought there was such a thing as 
being too practical. He swung down off the frame like a chim- 



panzee and pushed his face right into mine and said, 'You'll 
pay for that belief someday* as if he meant that he personally 
was going to get even with me for being idealistic. Pah! He's no 
match for a battle-scarred old bitch like me! I tell you, further- 
more, I looked right back at him, and his big hypnotic stare sort 
of wavered and turned aside, and he changed the subject. 'Gad, 
what lovely weather/ he said, or shouted, letting go the bars, 
extending his arms overhead, and filling his lungs with the dry 
air that was already, so early in the morning, scented with leaf 
smoke. 'Don't these autumn days make you feel twice man- 
size?' He asked me that Why, the little snot! He knew I could 
wrestle him to a fall without being an inch bigger than I am. So 
I said, 'What do you want in life, Cleary?' And he said, 'I want 
to get out of this dump. I want to get to a nice rich suburban 
community station wagons and swimming pools. Some 
place alive. This place . . . That dingy Intervale section!' I 
said, 'No, seriously: What do you really want? What keeps you 
going?' 'What do I want?' he said. 'I want a high salary, and a 
wife and house and kids, and a Mercedes igoSL, and ' I said, 
'Hell, that's anybody. I mean you/ Then he said, 'I want to 
help people/ and I said, 'Don't make me laugh/ He got red 
and said, 'I want to be the best damn guidance man in the 
State/ That's more like it/ I said, 'but is that all?' He took one 
look at me, and then he had the sense to grin, which was a way 
of saying O.K., I give up. 'You're so full of questions/ he said, 
'what makes you tick?' And I told him: 'Curiosity/ 

Mr. BROADBENT. What happened then, Doctor? 

Dr. GOZAR. We looked up at a high tower of the schoolhouse, 
because up there the alarm bell fastened against the bricks had 
started a loud clatter. On the playground the noise of the bell 
ran through the shouting of the children like a cold blast of 
wind, and the crowd of pupils swayed and moved toward the 
building, and Cleary and I strolled toward the front entrance. 


Friday, October 25 

The school is an old, dark, brick, two-story contraption, a Nor- 
man fortress, built as if learning and virtue need a stronghold, 
one defended by old-fashioned weapons, a place of turrets and 
parapets, with narrow slits in the bricks through which scholars 
with crossbows can peep out at an atomic world. The building 
makes education itself seem archaic, monastic shabby, too. The 
paint on its blinds and trim is cracking; its double front door, 
with its rattling push bars, is of a dirty tawny color. Above the 
entranceway, over an arch in relief that doesn't bear any struc- 
tural weight, our State motto's written in parched and spalled 
cement letters, 'Land of Steady Habits/ The children hustled 
past us. A few ran, but the crowd as a whole didn't press, because 
this was the daily moment of anticipation of excitement, re- 
gret, and fear in the face of another day in school. 

Senator MANSFIELD. I remember that feeling. I used to get the 

Dr. GOZAR. On the sidewalk by the street some distance be- 
hind us there was a cracking sound of high heels, and I heard a 
voice call Cleary, and I turned and saw Charity Perrin running 
along the concrete walkway trying to catch up to us. She's a 
woman past sixty, you know, very shy in her demeanor, a nar- 
row person, having hardly more beam than one span of my 
hand of course, my hand's as big as a big man's hand and 
tiny shoulders, and pelvic bones no heavier, I'd guess, than the 
outspread wings of a sparrow; a delicate, homely woman, but 
that morning she was wearing the bold colors of autumn, and 
as she ran the colors turned and flew, so she was like a flurry 
of October leaves blown along the ground. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And she spoke to Mr. Cleary about his talent 

Dr. GOZAR. I'll say she did! She gave him what-for because 
Barry Rudd's name wasn't on the talent charts. He said it 
was so. She asked where. He said on the chart for leadership. 

//) 6 



Tab!' she said. 'Leadership, my foot/ 

Mr. BROADBENT. We thought she was more of a timid 

Dr. GOZAR. It's true, this was a surprisingly spirited retort for 
her. She's usually much more humble than that. She's so modest 
that sometimes, I swear, she herself must see the absurdity of her 
protestations of inferiority. But now and then she'll amaze you. 
She'll stand up and fight like a cat. 

Mr. BROADBENT. After this conversation? 

Dr. GOZAR. I was doing some work in my office, when in comes 
the Super, puffing like a steam engine, wanting to talk with 
Clcary. So I went to fetch him. deary's office is a dark narrow 
cavity with a high slit of a window, formerly a coat closet that 
had a long rack down the middle; you can still see the rack's 
screw-holed round footprints marching down the center of the 
floor. Clcary's desk, at the window end, is a still-life portrait of 
an overburdened man with a procrastinating nature: it's a heap: 
things have been thrown on it not so much in disorder as in 
despair. I told him Mr. Owing was in my office and wanted to 
talk with him. Clcary was reading in some child's folder, and he 
carefully closed it, tossed it onto the mess on his desk, and stood 
up, brushing the front of his suit with his hands, as if he'd 
been having a little feast out of that folder and some gobbets 
and crumbs had fallen on his lap and chest. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And did you sit in on this conference be- 
tween the Superintendent and Mr. deary? 

Dr. GOZAR. Certainly not. I can't stand the Super when he 
has a head of steam. Quandaries! I vacated. 

Mr. BROADBENT. So you didn't know that Mr. Jones was trying 
to purchase a child until later? 

Dr. GOZAR. That's right, but it wasn't much later. The Super 
hadn't been out of my office five minutes when this Mr. Jones 
came to call on me in person. 


Friday, October 25 

Mr. BROADBENT. What was your impression of him at the time 
of this visit? 

Dr. GOZAR. High and mighty! The way he stares at the wrin- 
kles on your forehead, as if your eyes are beneath him. He thinks 
he's a brave hunter. Soldat manque, that's my estimate. 

Senator VOYOLKO. What kind of monkey you call him, miss? 

Senator MANSFIELD. That was French. She was using French, 

Senator VOYOLKO. See what I mean? It's getting like the 
United Nations around here. Some people don't even know 
what country they live in. 

Mr. BROADBENT. This conversation was in your office? 

Dr. GOZAR. Excuse me. You asked my impression of the child 
buyer, and I want to say just one more thing about him. The 
man has a terrifying ruthlessness. That bourbon-soaked nose is 
misleading, the child's-toy motorbike is misleading, the stuff he 
wears, the fake patience. Even what I was saying about him 
the brave front. It doesn't hide what you'd expect. Underneath 
there's just one slogan: We Must All Obey! He's the devil him- 

Senator SKYPACK. I don't think I have to sit here and listen to 
that kind of libelous criticism of an outstanding businessman. 
Wisscy Jones, the concern he represents is making a contribution 
to the defense I mean, you just don't know what you're talking 
about, Doctor. 

Dr. GOZAR. This young man of yours asked me a question 

Senator MANSFIELD. That's all right now, Doctor. Mr. Broad- 
bent, go on with your interrogation. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Jones came to talk with you in your 

Dr. GOZAR. You remember my saying that Mr. Wairy told the 
child buyer about the talent-search charts in my office? 

Mr. BROADBENT. That's right. 



Dr. GOZAR. He said he'd come to see them. My office is a big, 
square, dark room, with mahogany-stained wainscoting as high 
as your shoulder, and half a dozen bookcases with glass fronts, 
leather chairs, map globe and deary's crazy charts plastered all 
over one wall. I said to him, 'Mister, I'm going to be blunt. 
I've made a lecture on the usefulness of literature, I've appeared 
at several English groups and reading circles giving that. On the 
nice way of saying things as opposed to the blunt way. For ex- 
ample, Victor Hugo said, "No army is as powerful as an idea 
whose time has come." Billy Whizbang said, "Cain't oppose bull- 
plop with buckshot." ' You'll have to excuse me, gentlemen. 
This is a man's world, and I've gotten used to talking like a man 
to make my way in it. So I said to Jones, To be blunt: Phooey 
on the talent search/ I told him there was only one child in 
Pcquot worth bothering about for brains, that everyone knew 
who it was but his name wasn't even on the brain end of the 
talent-search chart. Jones asked who it was, and I told him, and he 
asked me if this was the boy who knew all the species of birds 
and animals, and I said that wasn't all he knew by a long shot. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And this was the Rudd boy? 

Dr. GOZAR. This was the Rudd boy, all right. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Did Mr. Jones tell you his proposition? 

Dr. GOZAR. Not just then. He asked me if Barry Rudd had a 
really extraordinary intelligence, and I said, 'I have a kind of 
contempt for intelligence all by itself. Coupled with energy and 
willingness, it'll go. Alone it winds up riding the rails/ So Jones 
got sarcastic on me and asked if I was one of your educators who 
believes in concentrating on the retarded. That's not educators/ 
I told him, 'that's missionaries. That's the missionary spirit. 
Leaving the ninety-nine sheep and going out for the lamb that's 
lost may be good theology, but it's mighty poor sheepery and 
mighty poor schoolery, too/ 

Mr. BROADBENT. What is it that the Rudd boy has, then? 


Friday, October 25 

Dr. GOZAR. Enthusiasm! Quite early with children you en- 
counter a certain enthusiasm. You work on that, and in some 
cases you find there's interest with only a small amount of un- 
derstanding. You feel badly about that. But I've always found 
you can do more with that, you can play on that. I can think of 
some very successful professional men, former pupils of mine at 
Lincoln, who I don't think are very bright, but they're living up 
very close to their capacities. Bright ones sometimes get stuck 
along the route in some little byway of research and stay there 
all their lives. But when you get the one in a million with both 
mind as clear as a window and incurable enthusiasm, too! 
That's Barry. That's Barry. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please go back to your talk with Mr. Jones. 

Dr. GOZAR. He asked me Barry's I.Q. It's the highest I've ever 
seen in forty-six years in the school business, and it's the highest 
I'll ever see in my whole life. But who cares? Do you know what 
an I.Q. is, my boy? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Why it ... it tells how bright a person is. 

Dr. GOZAR. It does? Are you sure? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Intelligence Quotient. I once sneaked a look 
in my high-school data folder in the principal's office and saw 
that I have an I.Q. of one hundred twenty-six. Is that 

Dr. GOZAR. Meaningless. Means nothing, unless you can tell 
me more. What test was it based on? There are fifty different 
tests, some good, some poor. You don't know. You don't even 
know the difference between an individual test and a group test. 

Mr. BROADBENT. No, Doctor, I 

Dr. GOZAR. Yet you talk about I.Q. as if it were a thing. 

Mr. BROADBENT. In school 

Dr. GOZAR. Personally, after forty-six years in this racket, I 
have more respect for the P.Q. than I have for the I.Q. I mean 
the Perspiration Quotient. I told Jones that. I told him that 
character is all that really matters. You take and give high in- 



telligence to a person with poor character, a person who uses 
his brains to further, rather than adjust, his natural selfish de- 
sires, then you're going to wind up with a dangerous enemy to 
the security of all of us. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Could we get back to your conversation 
with the child buyer, please, Doctor? 

Dr. GOZAR. I haven't gotten away from it. This is all what I 
told him. He began a lot of pompous talk then about national 
security I guess he was leading up to his proposition about a 
crisis in national defense. I told him crisis is the essence of de- 
mocracy. The only way you can get forward motion is crisis. Ideal 
democracy is crisis, individual people gritting their teeth and 
doing their darnedest to overcome bad situations cheating, 
chiseling, unfairness, discrimination, stupidity in high places. So 
what was he so excited about? Crisis! Well, he said he was wor- 
ried about what was happening to the younger generation. And 
I told him, I said, 'I have a firm belief in the infinite potential of 
people; especially of young people. I suppose you think the 
younger generation is soft/ I said, 'that it doesn't have spunk, 
it's made up of loafers and beatniks who can't put their nose to 
the grindstone the way the older generation did. I belong to the 
older generation/ I said, 'and I think the younger generation is 
a distinct notch up. At times these young people don't thrill 
to the idea of work for work's sake, and in that they're the spit 
and image of people of our generation. You'll find kids break 
the law sometimes, but they don't break it anything like as hor- 
ribly as grown people do. They can act silly in a meeting but not 
near as silly as some of your grown men in a fraternal-order in- 
itiation or even in the august halls of this State Capitol, Sena- 
tors, excuse me. I've seen a high-school boy whooping with a 
couple of beers under his belt, but there's a dive called The 
Beach down our way, and it's so-called grownups who go there. 
For every juvenile delinquent, for every Sonny Wisecarver and 


Friday, October 25 

Alfred E. Newman, you have half a dozen Al Capones and Lucky 
Lucianos and Tommy Manvilles. Sure there's a lot of leeway 
in the ideals of the younger generation, but I'll stake my career 
on the fact that idealism is on a higher plane among school 
kids than it is among their parents. Right today, if it was up to 
me to sell a program of idealism, hard work, and sacrifice for 
the sake of a distant goal, and if I had to choose between selling 
this program to youngsters or middle-aged people, I wouldn't 
hesitate a minute to pick on the young ones. All right, people 
can say I'm a starry-eyed visionary, an ivory-tower character, who 
doesn't know what life really is. I doubt that. I was born on a 
Western Connecticut milk farm that went broke when I was 
ten years of age. I missed a few meals from time to time. After 
high school I attended college through various means, chiefly 
by working at night in a cotton mill. I've worked summers and 
spare times, in shops, in cotton mills, as a dishwasher, in dairies, 
driving trucks, and even, once, in a foundry. I've run crews for 
the State agriculture service. I've worked as a member of C.I.O. 
unions, and I've been out on strike. And I've slaved at the 
books. Oh, yes, I've worked. I've got a B.A. and a B.S. and four 
master's degrees and a Ph.D. During the Depression I couldn't 
get summer jobs, so I took nine straight summer quarters at 
Silvcrbury College; everything they offered came up on rotation, 
and I took it all, not for degrees but to learn it, to know it. And 
listen, I've been a teacher for nearly half a century: that's where 
if you've been in an ivory tower, you come out. I don't think 
I qualify as an ivory-tower person. I've seen characters that 
would make your hair stand on end. I reject any ivory-tower 
classification for myself. If I'm an educational visionary it's not 
from having been shut in an ivory tower but from rubbing el- 
bows with people who've succeeded through educational en- 
deavor. I'm not soft. Don't think I'm a softy, just because I 
believe in people. I can be rough and tough when it's needed: 



listen: I'm not at all averse to having a little humor going in 
my school, but I don't have the slightest intention of having a 
noisy school, and one tap of my pencil on my desk in my office 
will bring a hush to the whole building/ 

Mr. BROADBENT. You told Mr. Jones all this? 

Dr. GOZAR. I did! 

Senator VOYOLKO. What about the kid? 

Dr. GOZAR. Yes, I talked to the child buyer about Barry, too. 
I asked him, did he want to know how I got interested in Barry 
Rudd? Well, here's how. I work in the biology lab at Wairy 
High two hours before breakfast every morning. You see, when 
I first got to college, at Silverbury, I got the idea of being a 
biologist, to work for the U.S. conservation service. I took two 
bachelor's degrees, one in biology and one in history, because 
I figured I wanted to know what I was conserving a B.S. 
and a B.A. I worked extra on it and got both degrees in one 
year; not combined but double. All the time I worked nights 
in a cotton mill. My shift got off at two in the morning, so I 
could do some studying before I turned in. I only had eight 
a.m. classes three times a week. I could get a solid four hours' 
sleep and be blessed with ordinary good health, and I have 
maintained that average ever since, to the present time. Four 
hours of sleep a night. This means I save four hours per night 
over the usual individual, and when you calculate that I've been 
doing that for half a century, it works out that I've enjoyed some 
seventy-five thousand hours of life most people miss. I could 
sleep longer quite readily, but I've set myself. And I thrive on it. 
I've been out from work exactly six days in all these years I 
had an operation for piles in my late forties. 

Senator MANSFIELD. About the child, if you please, Doctor. 

Dr. GOZAR. Yes. I've kept up the habit of doing research work 
in biology. I like the search in research; a research person is a 
person looking for something intelligently but it's fun, too. 


Friday, October 25 

Did you know, my dear Mr. Chairman, that 'research* and 
'circus' are related etymologically? Know who told me that? 
Barry! Words are his daily bread. Anyway, one morning two years 
ago, it'll be two years ago in February, I was working at five a.m. 
in the biology lab at Wairy High, on a project on the caste system 
of termites how a soldier termite can develop from a nymph 
that wouldn't normally become a soldier; in other words, the 
caste system isn't hereditary. Very instructive for us mortals. I 
usually work under a single hooded lamp in that big room, with 
slate tops on the big lab tables, and a sink at each end, and I 
concentrate pretty hard. It's as silent as King Tut's tomb in 
there; you could practically hear the queen termites laying their 
eggs. Well, that morning I heard a gentle stirring, and the edge 
of my mind thought, 'My God, I'm going to have to set me a 
mouse trap in here,' and a couple minutes later I looked up, and 
here was this pale circle of paste at the edge of the light with 
two of the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen in it, not looking 
at me but staring at my termites. I don't know to this day how 
that boy knew about my early-morning work, or how he con- 
trived to get away from home at that hour. His home is in a 
tenement block on River Street, a quarter-mile from the school, 
and it was dead-o'-winter, and five in the morning. Anyway, he 
was just there, and he said, 'Mind if I watch, Dr. Gozar?' He 
came the next morning, and he had a piece of paper with a list 
of questions he wanted to ask me. Mind you, the child was 
only eight fourth grade. He's been coming ever since. How I 
love that boy! 

Mr. BROADBENT. You think the man Wissey Jones was right, 
then, in selecting him for purchase? 

Dr. GOZAR. There's no child better. Barry combines drive and 
a keen, keen mind. He calls me Dr. Gozar, and I call him Mr. 
Rudd. I always call my high-school students 'Mr.' and 'Miss' 
you see, besides being principal at Lincoln, I teach biology 



courses in both of the Pequot high schools and so I call Barry 
'Mr./ too. He learns from me, and I learn from him. He 
doesn't mind showing his ignorance to me why should I mind 
showing mine to him? 

Mr. BROADBENT. What else did you tell Mr. Jones? 

Dr. GOZAR. I told him the real reason Barry had been passed 
over in deary's stupid wizard hunt was that Barry isn't a stereo- 
typic Brain. lie's fat 

Senator VOYOLKO. You told me that. The kid's fat. 

Dr. GOZAR. but he doesn't have an enlarged head, or a 
pigeon chest, or spindly legs and floppy wrists, or crybaby eyes, 
lie doesn't even wear horn-rimmed glasses, or any glasses at 

Senator SKYPACK. You mean this little twerp is a boy's boy? 

Dr. GOZAR. Are you a man's man, Senator? 

Senator SKYPACK. You damn right. 

Dr. GOZAR. Well, these categories are beyond me, sir. All I'm 
saying is that Barry isn't the commonplace bespectacled Brain. 
He has a marvelous diffidence about him: 

'Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much; 
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more/ 

Mr. BROADBENT. And did Mr. Jones get around to his proposi- 

Dr. GOZAR. Yes, he came to it, sir. Roundabout. 

Mr. BROADBENT. How do you mean, roundabout? 

Dr. GOZAR. He began by saying that what we need to re- 
lieve our talent shortage in this country is a crash program, and 
I told him I thought that was the worst possible thing you could 
do. The way they spent hundreds of millions of dollars on the 
Manhattan Project to work up the atom bomb has a lot of peo- 
ple thinking that all you need to do to unlock supreme mysteries 
is to have an act of Congress, and empty Fort Knox, and start 
up a vast Federal agency that money solves everything. We'll 
be having a crash program to locate God one of these days, pin 


Friday, October 25 

down a definite location for His throne. But I told Jones you 
can't free talent with dollars. You can't package talent, you 
can't put it in uniform bottles and boxes with labels. Ability 
slips through the cogs of a machine; machines are only as bright 
as the men who feed them data. I don't want an IBM machine 
telling me which of my kids'll be a doctor, which a lawyer, which 
a beggarman, which a thief. I don't want these government and 
industry scholarships for my youngsters, because a scholarship 
is a moral loan; there's quid pro quo in scholarships handed 
out under something called a National Defense Education Act. 
The only real defense for a democracy is improvement. Crisis 
and triumph over crisis. It's a failure of national vision when 
you regard children as weapons, and talents as materials you can 
mine, assay, and fabricate for profit and defense. I tell you, I 
can sound off on that subject! And you should have seen friend 
Jones when I got going that way. He got red as a Mclntosh 
apple. The red spread from his nose outward. He began to 
sputter and wheeze. So I asked him, straight out, what he 
wanted of me, and he told me about wanting to buy a young- 
ster. Perhaps Barry Rudd, if the boy lived up to his billing. 


Dr. GOZAR. I threw him out. 

Senator MANSFIELD. With your bare hands, Doctor? Nape of 
the neck and seat of the pants? 

Dr. GOZAR. No, sir. My tongue's my bouncer. 

Senator SKYPACK. Did he tell you what he has told this com- 
mittee in confidence, in Executive Session, about what his com- 
pany does with these brains he buys? 

Dr. GOZAR. No, thank you, Senator, I wouldn't be interested 
in any of that. The idea of the purchase of talent was enough 
for me. 

Senator SKYPACK. Mr. Chairman, I submit that if the public 
knew about the fine patriotic work that company is doing down 
there, a witness like this 



Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Jones has put us on our honor, Jack. 
I don't see how we can change that without his permission. 

Dr. GOZAR. 'We Must All Obey!' 

Senator MANSFIELD. That's not fair, Doctor. There's such a 
thing as honor, you know. 

Dr. GOZAR. I believe in it, but I see very little of it as I wander 

Senator MANSFIELD. Did you have any further questions, Mr. 

Mr. BROADBENT. That's all, sir. You may be excused, Doctor. 
I will call Miss Charity Perrin. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Thank you, Dr. Gozar. . . . Please stand 
right there, miss and well swear you in. 

Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you are about to 
give this committee will be the truth, the whole truth, and 
nothing but the truth, so help you God? 

Miss PERRIN. I do. 


Mr. BROADBENT. Kindly identify yourself for the record, miss, 
as to name, address, occupation. 

Miss PERRIN. The record? 

Senator MANSFIELD. Matter of form, Miss Perrin. We're only 
trying to do our duty. 

Miss PERRIN. Charity M. Perrin. 94 Second Street, Pequot. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Miss Perrin, were you present, either in the 
auditorium of Lincoln School in Pequot, or immediately outside 
the auditorium windows on the black-top playground, at the 
instant on Tuesday afternoon last when a bomb a stink bomb 
was exploded in front of the stage of the 


Friday, October 25 

MissPERRiN. I . . . Gracious, I . . . 

Senator MANSFIELD. No need to be agitated, my dear Miss 
Pcrrin. Don't be fearful. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Exactly where were you during the lecture 

Miss PERRIN. If ... I wasn't . . . 

Senator MANSFIELD. Please, Mr. Broadbent, you are aware 

Mr. BROADBENT. Very well, miss, let's go back to the begin- 

Miss PERRIN. The beginning! Oh, dear . . . What do you 
want me to say? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Begin at the beginning. How you were hired, 
and all that. 

Miss PERRIN. Sir, I was hired into the Pequot system as a sixth- 
grade teacher, let me see, it was January, 19 . That was a queer 
time of year to be hired; you'll say it was a suspicious time of 
year to be taken on. Here's how it happened. . . . But let 
me say, first off, you have to remember that those were different 
times. We teachers were poor. I mean, there was a depression, 
hot-lunch money was not provided for teachers unless they were 
extreme hardship cases, multiple dependency 

Senator MANSFIELD. Broadbent, I don't see why we have to 
go back that far. 

Mr. BROADBENT. If you wouldn't mind holding your horses 
just a moment, Senator, I think we've just had a rather remark- 
able statement from this lady. Do you mean to suggest, miss, 
that a teacher ought to be supplied, gratis, with all the ameni- 
ties hot soup, medical insurance, fringe benefits of all kinds? 
Is that what you mean? 

Miss PERRIN. Oh no, sir, I didn't mean ... I don't hold 
with . . . 

Mr. BROADBENT. Do you mean to suggest that teaching is not 
a service career, a calling I mean, that people go into teaching 
for the material ends of life? Do you mean that, Miss Perrin? 



Miss PERRIN. Oh, no, sir. I believe a teacher is a servant of 
society. I have a real sense of vocation about my teaching. I like 
to take second place. 

Mr. BROADBENT. That's more like it, ma'am. 

Miss PERRIN. The only thing is 

Mr. BROADBENT. Don't forget you're under oath, miss. 

Miss PERRIN. When it comes to being treated like a servant 
well, I get uncomfortable under the collar. I hasten to tell you, 
sir, it's very hard for me to be angry at anyone: I usually just 
get hives or the sniffles or a bad case of the scares. But all the 
same, for a teacher 

Senator SKYPACK. I assume, miss, since they've kept you on in 
Pequot all these years 

Miss PERRIN. I was born a few blocks east of Lincoln School. 
I never taught west of it. I've been twenty-four years in the one 
classroom. I guess I'm sort of provincial, sir, you'd have to call 
me that. 

Senator MANSFIELD. That's neither here nor there, Miss Per- 
rin. Mr. Broadbent, please. 

Mr. BROADBENT. The day you first were contacted by the child 
buyer, ma'am. Tell us. 

Miss PERRIN. Actually, Mr. Jones visited my class last Friday, 
but he came in after the second bell and left before the morning 
was over, and no one ever told me who he was; he didn't even 
speak to me himself. I assumed he was some professor of educa- 
tion or State evaluator or I-don't-know-what. They're always 
barging in. 

Mr. BROADBENT. So when did you find out what he wanted? 

Miss PERRIN. The first approach was by Mr. Cleary, in the 
form of a sort of pitchman's talk. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Where was this, please? 

Miss PERRIN. He came to my classroom, during the Show-and- 
Tell Period. He just sneaked into the room and sat down at 


Friday, October 25 

the back and observed for the longest time made me very 
nervous. A man from your own school administration snooping 
in your room is different from an outsider. Do you know in the 
old days on streetcars they used to have these company inspec- 
tors, in ordinary clothes, would just ride as passengers and watch 
the conductor to see he wasn't slipping any pennies in his 
own pocket? That's what Mr. Cleary made me feel like he 

Mr. BROADBENT. When did he speak to you? 

Miss PERRIN. He couldn't break right into the class. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Was the class busy when he came in? 

Miss PERRIN. I have thirty-nine children, and you have to keep 
that big a room busy every minute. I have four with very low 
I.Q.'s; one of them can't read yet, and he's thirteen. I'm trying 
to bring him along, but it's like molasses in January. Another 
one who's shrewd as a crow came to me last month fresh from 
the detention home. We call him Flattop from his haircut. His 
mother doesn't care where he is as long as he's not at home. 
The boy feels the prejudice of the other children you can 
smell it in the room, it's strong as store cheese. He uses filthy 
language, and he refuses to do anything I ask, and he's aggres- 
sive, but he's unabusive to Barry. It's strange. They're bosom 
friends. Barry's the only one can manage him. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What was the class doing when Mr. Cleary 
came in? 

Miss PERRIN. It was supposed to be the Show-and-Tell Period, 
but in actual fact we were rearranging one corner of the room. 
We were dismantling the Humor Nook. You see, our whole 
room is built around Barry. He brings these interests in, and he's 
so forceful about them, so irresistible I don't mean to suggest 
he's a forceful person, as let's say Flattop is. Barry's more on 
the gentle side, but he can be extremely infectious. I remember 
back: before Barry came in, my room was unappetizing in the 



extreme. There are these forty old hinge-top desks, with lots of 
initials and designs carved in them, and their steel bases bolted 
to the floor. We're on a corner of the building, and in the very 
tall sash windows on the two sides there are these frayed and 
worn black roller shades; a globe on a bookcase; pictures on the 
wall of Sir Galahad in black armor staring at the glow of the 
Grail as if it were the Firestone Hour, and Balboa looking at the 
Pacific for the first time, and President William Howard Taft in 
a chair that's a squeeze for him. That was all we had till Barry 
came in. Since then we've had a geology museum full of quartzes 
and micas and schists, and a tank of guppies they carry their 
eggs within and seem to give birth as mammals do, pushing out 
these tiny foklccl-up babies; the children loved that and a bench 
of cacti, and a display of bugs and beetles with their scientific 
names, and pressed leaves, and a word-game bank, and 

Mr. BROADBENT. How do you handle a boy like this Rudd 
boy, ma'am? Do you give him what you people call enrichment? 

Miss PERRIN. Oh, yes, with a boy like that you have to. For 
example, the other day the health officer was coming to the 
school, and I sent Barry down to the office to straighten out the 
dentistry record before the health man came, and Barry did a 
good job, these cards had to be arranged in alphabetical order, a 
better job than us grownups would do, orderly and neat and ac- 
curate, and I asked him afterward if he'd want to be a doctor 
or dentist, but no; he was definite about that. 

Senator MANSFIELD. You're wandering again, Mr. Broadbent. 
Could we get back on the subject? About Mr. Cleary. About the 
child buyer. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Yes, sir. Miss Perrin, about Mr. Cleary? 

Miss PERRIN. As I say, Mr. Cleary was sitting in the back of 
the room, and we were taking down the Humor Nook. The 
thing is, last summer Barry's mother thought he was too serious, 
and Barry, he adores his mother, and he sensed she thought he 


Friday, October 25 

should be more humorous. So he went in the humor business. 
He got these anthologies of wit, these Bennett Cerf books, and 
joke, joke, joke! It was such a silly mistake. How could he do 
that? Well, it was easy for him, and the next thing, John Sano, 
he's a doctor's son, a very able sober boy, he caught the humor 
bug from Barry, and the first you know we had a Humor Nook 
on popular demand. It got too much, and I realized I was going 
to have to stop it. The last thing to do with a joke is put it on 
display, because it's like hanging a side of beef: it gets high 
pretty fast. So we agreed to dismantle the Humor Nook, and in 
its place we were going to set up a Word Market. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Exactly what is that? 

Miss PERRIN. Barry and his friends have been swapping long 
words lately, like stamps. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Antidisestablishmentarianism? 

Miss PERRIN. Oh, that's old hat in the long-word trade, and its 
meaning is fairly obvious on the surface. John Sano brings in 
these medical words, like haematospectrophotometer. Barry's 
found the longest one so far pneumonoultromicroscopicsili- 
covolcanokoniosis. It's uncanny the way Barry can decipher these 
marathon words. John Sano brought one in the other day and 
asked Barry what it meant eccentroostcochondrodysplasia, and 
Barry didn't bat an eye. 'Let's sec/ he says. 'Eccentro- means off 
center, out of line; -osteo-, bone; -chondro-, cartilage; -c/ys-, wrong 
or bad; -plasia, connection. Guess that gives you the main idea, 
John,' he says. He's very offhand but not at all superior about it. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And you were setting up a market for these 

Miss PERRIN. Some people do think he acts superior. Several 
of the teachers. I think it's because he's expressionless. When he 
gets excited there's only a flicker of facial expression. Some of 
the teachers ask me about him physically. 'He walks funny. 
Does he have club feet?' 'Isn't that a strange thick waist for a 


ten-year-old?' It's curious how jealous teachers can be. 

Senator MANSFIELD. About your 'market/ Miss Perrin. And 
Mr. Clcary. 

Miss PERRIN. At the end of the period Mr. Cleary came up to 
me, and he told me Barry was being considered for sale, and all 
about it. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Was he for it, or against it? 

Miss PERRIN. He was strong for it, he was pushing me to the 
wall about it. Let's see, this was on the Monday. I heard later 
that on the previous Thursday he'd been running around to the 
family and all, arguing against it. But the child buyer must have 
clone a selling job on him before the Monday. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And what was your reaction? 

Miss PERRIN. Mr. Cleary rubs me the wrong way: I don't be- 
lieve in all that newfangled psychiatry and mental curing in 
schoolrooms. Sociometrics! Social adjustment like it was a 
cream that you applied it thickly morning and evening, then 
massage it gently till it's penetrated deeply into the pores, wipe 
it off with tissue. I told him I didn't want any part of it. 

Senator SKYPACK. I trust Mr. Cleary explained to you this is 
part of a national-defense project. 

Miss PERRIN. How can you defend a country by taking a boy 
out of school and away from his mother? 

Senator SKYPACK. Are you to judge your nation's defense, 

Miss PERRIN. I just feel in my bones it's wrong. 

Senator SKYPACK. As a citizen you have certain 

Miss PERRIN. Sometimes when people in authority shout at a 
teacher, she begins to feel like a second-class citizen. 

Senator SKYPACK. i WASN'T SHOUTING! . . . Are we going to 
have to go into the trouble this person got herself into when 
was that strike twenty, twenty-five years ago? 

Miss PERRIN. I'm sorry, sir. I ... I lost my head. I know I 


Friday, October 25 

shouldn't talk that way. The trouble with being a teacher is 
that people expect you to be more than human. I think I know 
what a teacher ought to be like, and I try to be like that, but a 
hundred times a day I feel I'm falling short. I try to be sensitive 
to other people's feelings, and I'm willing to give sympathy even 
where it isn't needed. I want to help. I defer to you, sir; you 
surely know more than I do about these things. But as a teacher 
I can't help resenting being stepped on, yet it makes me feel 
dizzy and sick when I think about getting back at the people 
who step on me. I'm determined to be a good person. 

Senator SKYPACK. Mr. Chairman, we're being treated to a dis- 
gusting display of self-pity here. I submit 

Senator MANSFIELD. Thank you, Miss Perrin. That will do for 
now. You may step down. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I will call Barry Rudd. Bring him in, please. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Present yourself to take your oath, sonny. 

Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you will give before 
the Standing Committee on Education, Welfare, and Public 
Morality of the State Senate will be the truth, the whole truth, 
and nothing but the truth, so help you God? 

BARRY RUDD. I'm not sure I believe in God. Can lie help a 
skeptic to tell the truth? 

Senator MANSFIELD. If you want my advice, sonny, you'd bet- 
ter swear this oath. 

BARRY RUDD. O.K. I do. I just wanted to make sure. 


Mr. BROADBENT. Your name? 

BARRY RUDD. Barry Rudd. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And you are? 

BARRY RUDD. Ten years of age. Is that what you meant? 



Senator VOYOLKO. So you're the kid. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I put it to you directly, Master Rudd. Where 
were you at approximately three o'clock last Tuesday afternoon? 

BARRY RUDD. Three o'clock, Tuesday. I was in the biology 
lab of Wairy High School. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Wouldn't that be an ideal place to make a 
contrivance which, upon being burst, would produce a very bad 
smell? Commonly called a stink bomb? 

BARRY RUDD. A chem lab would be a better place than a 
biology lab. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Does Wairy High School have separate chem- 
istry and biology laboratories? 

BARRY RUDD. No, sir, The same room is used for both. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I warn you, young man, not to be slippery 

BARRY RUDD. I didn't mean to be. ... I was doing a biology 

Mr. BROADBENT. Who was with you? 

BARRY RUDD. A friend of mine, Charles Perkonian. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Isn't he the one you call Flattop? 

BARRY RUDD. Yes, we call him that. 

Mr. BROADBENT. A juvenile delinquent, recently returned from 
Clarkdalc Reformatory? Isn't that right? 

BARRY RUDD. He's gone square. He really has. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Tell me, Master Rudd, do you know the State 
Supervisor for Exceptional Children, who was lecturing in Lin- 
coln School auditorium at that hour? Do you have anything 
against that lady? 

BARRY RUDD. I know her. Miss Millicent P. Henley. I seem to 
be one of her wards, as Flattop is one of Clarkdale's though I 
realize the analogy isn't too tidy. Miss Henley reminds me of the 
word 'bipinnatifid.' I'm not sure exactly why, unless it's that Miss 
Henley uses the first-personal singular pronoun so much, and 


Friday, October 25 

there are four i's in bipinnatifid. By the way, do you know a 
common eight-letter word, we all use it every day, with only one 
vowel in it? 

Senator MANSFIELD. We better not take time now 

BARRY RUDD. It's an easy word. Anyway, to get back to 'bi- 
pinnatifid.' When I was in second grade, I saw a brown thrasher 
for the first time, Towstoma rufum, and heard it sing its mock- 
ing song, like a mockingbird's, only funnier, truly humorous, 
and I didn't know what it was, so I described it to Miss Songe- 
vine, my teacher at that time, and she showed me the color 
plate, Common Birds of America, in the big Webster, and I re- 
member that 'bipinnatifid' was at the top of the opposing page, 
and I looked up its meaning, and that got me interested in 
leaves and their comparative forms. I pressed them for a while. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Wairy High School is only one block and a 
half from Lincoln Elementary, where the State Supervisor was 
lecturing last Tuesday afternoon, isn't that so? 

BARRY RUDD. Yes, sir, that is so. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Broadbent, I should think with this 
witness of all witnesses! . . . Begin at the beginning, sonny. 

BARRY RUDD. I suppose you mean the beginning of ... of 
this. For me it began on Thursday a week ago yesterday. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Very good. Start right in. Tell us every- 
thing. Don't leave anything out. 

BARRY RUDD. When school let out, I walked with my social- 
studies textbook in my hand up away from the Flats, where 
Lincoln is ; into the hills on the west side of the river. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Were you going home? 

BARRY RUDD. No, my house is right in the town, in the Inter- 
vale section, the poorer part of Pequot, we have the ground 
floor of the Slatkowski tenement block on River Street; no, I 
was just going for what I call a field ramble, a zoological hobby 
of mine, observation but I'll get to that. For a while I followed 



the Trechampstead Road; it climbs in a series of curves onto the 
ridge where the woods are, and I wasn't long getting out of the 
town. The town is narrow because it clings to the river; if 
Pequot were a strip of adhesive plaster you could yank it up off 
the ground and nothing would be left but the river, no dams or 
anything, just the river and its valley. As you know, the first part 
of October this year was mild, almost shy, what I'd call frugal, 
and then we had that tail end of Hurricane Ella, and then that 
was followed, remember, by two clear nights with north winds 
and frosts, light, nibbling frosts, you know, and that sequence 
had brought the explosive change that every leaf on every tree 
had been waiting for. The hills beyond the first step of the ridge 
are round, and they're easy, not too steep, so they'd had farms 
on them in former years, and I went along their shoulders and 
eventually left the tarred road and walked down the unmain- 
taincd dirt track that leads to the abandoned knife-and-scissors 
works on Chestnut Burr Creek through patches of woods of 
various stages of growth, depending on when the farmers who'd 
been there had given up and quit, past newly grown-up sprout 
land of sumacs and hardback and meadow cedars and young 
wild cherries, and past other sections of course you had stone 
walls dividing these growths, right through the woods other 
sections with middle-sized popples and sapling elms and dirty 
birches, and then past adult forests, great maples, hickories, 
ashes, oaks, and I tell you, all these woods were dressed in colors 
you simply couldn't imagine. That afternoon was a climax. I 
don't know if there'll be but two or three more such days this 
year, and maybe none that bright, and I guess there won't ever 
be another one in my whole lifetime exactly like that one, be- 
cause October around here, as you know, is just a mass of 
colors in constant motion; the colors arc fugitive, you can't stop 
them from changing and running away. Even every minute 
that afternoon they changed. There was a blue haze hanging on 


Friday, October 25 

the hills, and above that there were some small soft gray 
clouds, and when one of them blew across the sun, all the colors 
in the woods changed their tones, and the yellows took charge 
over the softer reds which, just a few seconds before, in the full 
sunlight, had had the intensity of the center of fireplace 
flames. I've read in books about the sadness of autumn, the way 
time turns down toward death in the fall, but I was happy 
through and through; I saw the colors, and they made me happy. 
I don't know what's happened these last few days; I'm utterly 
bewildered. I only know I'll never be as happy again as I was 
the other afternoon in the woods. The white oaks made a kind 
of backdrop, because, you know, they hold their leaves the long- 
est, like small leather gloves, still solid green; while the elms and 
hickories had gone brown early in the dry August we had this 
year, and in the wind on Ella's train the week before they'd 
been almost stripped, and their skeletons made a blackish mesh, 
so the displays of the other trees seemed even more prodigal: 
deep coppers of the sumac and dogwood, pure yellow of 
birches and, here and there, ironwood and sassafras, and, best of 
all, the incredible orange glow of hard maples like the inside 
of a Halloween pumpkin when the candle's lit. There was a dry 
breeze blowing, and leaves of all colors were falling slantwise 
across the old track where I was walking. On the stone walls 
there were some white lichens that stood out sharply because 
of all the color around. Once in a while I passed an old cellar 
hole, with a big lilac bush or overgrown privet bush standing 
in front of it, incongruous in the woods, remnants of civilization 
you know? I came to the ruin of the knife works and walked 
along the bank of the millpond, and there it was as if I saw two 
autumns one real and the other reflected, until for a second 
a breeze sort of stepped on the water and moved both the mir- 
rored and the floating leaves on the surface a little. I walked to a 
big dead trunk of a fallen tree lying on the ground at the upper 



end of the pond, and I put my social-studies book down on it, 
and it seems as if putting my book down was the beginning of 
my troubles. Anyway I just sat on the log and watched and 

Mr. BROADBENT. What were you waiting for? 

BARRY RUDD. There's a weasel, a long-tailed weasel, Mustela 
frenata, that has a burrow through a hole in the stonework of the 
old mill. I've wanted to see if it would be gathering new dry 
leaves for its nest. . . . 

Mr. BROADBENT. What happened? 

BARRY RUDD. Nothing. There were some Penthestes atri- 
capillus atricapillus flitting from branch to branch. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Some who? 

BARRY RUDD. Some chickadees. That's a curious name, matter 
of fact. One of those annoying mixed names, the first past 
Greek, the rest Latin. I hate mixtures. Ouija. Taurosaurus. Mac- 
aronic double-talk gives me the heebie-jeebies. Anyway, this 
cheerful little bird is 'the black-haired black-haired mourner' 
Penthestes, from the Greek, pentheesin, to mourn, and esthes, 
garment, while atricapillus is from the Latin, ater, black, and 
capillus, hair. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Why do you have to have that black- 
haired part twice? 

BARRY RUDD. That takes you down through genus, species, and 

Senator SKYPACK. By Christopher, if the taxpayers of this State 
knew what was going on here! 

Senator MANSFIELD. Now, Jack, in fairness, we've got to find 
out all we can about 

Senator VOYOLKO. That's right, Senator, we got to take this 
kid apart. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Now, sonny, let's get back on the track. 

Senator SKYPACK. If it was my taxes, by gorry. 


Friday, October 25 

Senator MANSFIELD. You were waiting for the weasel. 

BARRY RUDD. Mustela frenata. Besides the chickadees, there 
was a praying mantis, Mantis religiosa, 'the religious prophet/ 
on a branch of a bush not a foot from my face. Its wings had 
gone from green to brown with the coming of autumn. It re- 
volved its head to look at me and then took off, like a heli- 
copter, very much like a helicopter. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And then? 

BARRY RUDD. I got up at last and started off through the woods 
toward home, and I left the book behind on the trunk of the 
fallen tree. As I say, I date my troubles from the moment I left 
my book on that tree trunk. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You went home? 

BARRY RUDD. I remember I touched every other telephone pole 
on the way down the Treehampstead Road, because I wanted an 
A-plus in the oral report I was going to have to give the next 
morning: I'd chosen the Linnaean System of Binomial Nomen- 
clature as my topic. In town I had to take a detour around off 
Sycamore Street, because a very unpleasant incident occurred to 
me last year in front of the shopping center on Sycamore, and 
I'd rather go out of my way . . . 

Mr. BROADBENT. And when you got home? 

BARRY RUDD. I didn't go directly home. Along the way I was 
thinking about nomenclature in general. Names. I once believed 
the sun, the sky, the mountains, the rivers were all made by 
hand by the first men. The names of those things sort of radiated 
from the things themselves, and we knew the names simply by 
looking at the objects. We needed only to look at a river to know 
that it was called 'river/ Why? Because it was wet, it ran along 
between banks. Yes, but how did we know? Because it was a 
band of water, it was cool; we knew it was called 'river/ But 
how did we know? Because it was moving water, of course it 
was a river. How did the first men know it was 'river'? They 



made it with their hands. But how did they know the name? 
Well, because it was water, it was dark water, moving along the 
ground in a regular place. It was a river, and it was called 'river/ 

Mr. BROADBENT. What are you trying to tell us? 

BARRY RUDD. I'm trying to say ... I understand about insect 
processes how termites digest wood with the help of protozoa 
that live in their digestive tracts, and how the protozoa them- 
selves digest food in their tiny vacuoles; what effect the gas pro- 
duced by the flour beetle has on other insects; how many lady- 
birds it takes to keep the cottony-cushion scale in check in an 
acre of orange trees. It's easy enough to observe but to identify, 
name, classify! To know that termites are of the order Isoptera, 
that the gas-producing flour beetle is Tribolium confusum, the 
cottony-cushion scale is Iserya purchasi, and the ladybird that 
eats it is Novius cardinally sometimes called Vedalia to bring 
order out of chaos! Senator Mansfield, I noticed early in our talk 
that you love order you like to have things begin at the begin- 
ning and take their courses, as rivers do. 

Senator MANSFIELD. I do, sonny, I do. 

BARRY RUDD. I do, too. Most of what we encounter is so sloppy. 
I've just finished reading Twenty Thousand Leagues under the 
Sea, by Jules Verne. It was wonderful, having all kinds of scien- 
tific names exempla gratia: Clupanodon, Stenorynchus, et 
cetera. It was almost entirely different, from the movie, comic- 
book, and other versions. For instance, in the movie, 20,000 
Leagues, the crew fought a giant squid (genus LoKgo), in the 
View-Master Slides version it was a giant octopus (genus Oc- 
topus) , but in the book it was a different cephalopod, the cuttle- 
fish (genus Sepia). Throughout the chapter, with two or three 
exceptions, Verne kept calling them poulps, which in my 
French-English Dictionary is French for 'octopus,' though Verne 
seems to use it for 'any cephalopod.' In those two or three ex- 
ceptions, however, he did call them cuttlefishes. I say them, be- 
cause Verne said there were seven. 


Friday, October 25 

Senator MANSFIELD. Do you mean to say you read this book in 

BARRY RUDD. Not really. I read the original and a translation 
side by side. I like to compare. 

Senator MANSFIELD. What languages do you speak? 

BARRY RUDD. I don't really speak any but ours. I just collect 
words. My address on my French notebook is in Chinese char- 
acters. The Chinese for America, mei kuo, means 'beautiful 

Senator SKYPACK. Can you speak Russian, young fellow? 

BARRY RUDD. A little. YnpaBJieMe KB.IC. H BojjKa #PJI ! 

Senator SKYPACK. I thought so! What the hell docs that mean? 
Damn communist slogan? 

BARRY RUDD. It means: 'Administration of Beer and Vodka 

Senator MANSFIELD. In other words, sonny, you pick up your 
languages where you can. 

BARRY RUDD. I do, sir. My own keeps me busy enough. I love 
anomalies, exceptions. Vein, vane, vain. Through, dough, bough, 
rough, cough. Senator Skypack, do you know how to spell 'fish'? 

Senator SKYPACK. What, what, what? What is this? I got out 
of school second year high school. I don't have to be taught les- 
sons by a doggone little fairy like this. . . . F~i-S'h. 

BARRY RUDD. Wrong, Senator. You spell it g-h-o-t-i. You take 
the gh as pronounced in 'rough/ the o as pronounced in 
'women/ and the ti as pronounced in 'nation/ and g-h-o-t-i 
spells 'fish/ I think it was G. B. Shaw who first pointed that out. 
He wanted to simplify our absurd spelling. 

Senator MANSFIELD. You really love words, don't you? 

BARRY RUDD. Oh, yes! Kismet, hieratic, mcllific, nuncupative, 
sempiternal, mansuetudc, jeremiad, austral, diaphanous, hegem- 
ony, exculpatory, homunculus, melanistic, cenobite, prolepsis, 
platykurtic, mephitic, ceraceous, inspissation, lanate 

Senator MANSFIELD. By the way, what was that common 



eight-letter word you were talking about that only has one 

BARRY RUDD. Do you give up? Do you all give up, Senators? 
Do you give up, Senator Voyolko? 

Senator VOYOLKO. Me? Huh? Yeah, I give up, 

BARRY RUDD. Strength. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Senator Mansfield, sir, if you'll forgive my 
saying so, it was you who wanted things kept in a straight 

Senator MANSFIELD. You're quite right, Mr. Broadbent. I for- 
got myself. Please carry on. ... Strength. One, two, three- 
Mr. BROADBENT. You were on your way home, Master Rudd. 

BARRY RUDD. Yes, but I stopped off at the Perkonians' on the 
way to see if Flattop was there, but he's never home. His moth- 
er's a laundress, she spends every day of the week in somebody's 
dark creepy cellar, doing the wash, and she has a morbid dread 
of rodents, and she drinks. She avoids Flattop and he avoids her; 
there's a mutual repulsion. But I knew where to find him at 
the bowling alleys. We have this twelve-lane bowling center on 
River Street, with automatic pin spotters, and Flattop hangs 
around there quite a lot, picks up some change running the 
house balls through the ball cleaner, sweeping the approaches, 
so on. I told you he's gone all the way square even to earning 

Mr. BROADBENT. He's a pretty tough little character, is he? 

BARRY RUDD. Not at all. His haircut sets him apart, and some- 
times his behavior does, too. That's all he wants to be set 

Mr. BROADBENT. This haircut. 

BARRY RUDD. His head is round, he has a moon face. The 
hair's blond. The upper surface has been leveled off absolutely 
flat, a bristling squared-off effect. The hair at the sides has been 
left rather long, and with the help of some gelatinous hair tonic 


Friday, October 25 

most of this is combed straight upward and it swoops inward 
a half-inch or so over the flat area from either side. Then there's 
a kind of part on each side, just above the ears between the up- 
swept longer hair and the rest that's just combed downwards. 
There's more to it than that, but that gives you the general im- 

Mr. BROADBENT. What did you two do? 

BARRY RUDD. We sat in the spectators' seats and discussed the 

Senator SYKPACK. My God! Taxpayers' good money. 

BARRY RUDD. Gasterosteus aculeatus, the three-spined stickle- 
back. It has a most interesting reproductive ritual. 

Senator SKYPACK. In other words, you boys were discussing 
smut. Right? 

BARRY RUDD. After a few minutes I went home and looked 

Senator SKYPACK. Answer my question. 

BARRY RUDD. I don't regard sex play as dirty, Senator. It's a 
natural reproductive drive. . . . 

Senator SKYPACK. By God, now he's going to give a lecture 

Mr. BROADBENT. Go on, Master Rudd. You went home. 

BARRY RUDD. And right away I broke Mother's hand mirror. I 
looked in it, in a purely speculative way, to see what I'd look 
like with a flattop haircut, and I dropped it, and it smashed, and 
I was horror-struck, because I have a strong superstitious bent. 
A mirror looks beyond you to your background and into your 
future. If one breaks, then that means that it doesn't want you 
to see beyond. Once when Napoleon was in the field, the mir- 
ror above Josephine's portrait broke, and he couldn't rest until 
he got home and found that she was all right. ... In any case, 
I have reason to dislike mirrors. My physical make-up has been 
... My fatness has been , . . When I was four, I developed a 
granulated eyelid, and Mother took me to a pediatrician, and 



in the course of the examination she suggested to the doctor 
that perhaps the trouble was eyestrain from reading. I was four, 
you realize. This seemed to the pediatrician a good joke, until 
he put one of his own office cards in front of me, and I read off 
the name, office hours, and address. Tve never seen anything 
like this in sixteen years of pediatrics/ the doctor said, and he 
took me down the hall to show me off to a nose-and-throat man. 
I began to have nosebleeds from my adenoids a few months 
later, and during a visit this same nose-and-throat man gave me 
a medical journal to read, and was amazed to hear me deal 
easily with words like maxillary. Of course I was over five by then. 
I don't mean to be boasting, the point is that two years ago I 
went back to the pediatrician who had first noticed my reading. 
My mother took me in for a thing on my face. Well, the doctor 
I don't want to name him stripped me and stood me in a 
corner. He pointed out to my mother my knock knees, pendant 
breasts, fat rolls, underdeveloped genitals. He prodded me and 
kneaded me. 'Look at him!' he said. 'An endocrine case. When 
he goes to high school and gets in the locker room, the boys'll 
take one look at him and say, "What's this?" ' He said, right in 
front of me, that he suspected a tumor of the pituitary. He 
showed my mother some photographs of what I would grow up 
to be like, and she nearly fainted. He sent me to another doctor 
who was supposed to be an endocrinologist, and I was in the 
hospital two days and a night, and five doctors checked all over 
me and said not a thing was wrong except that I was older 
than the other boys mentally and this tended to make me 
sedentary. My father got me a baseball mitt. The hospital bill 
was a hundred dollars. The same thing happened last year. I 
had flu, and my mother called in a strange doctor, and he was 
amazed at the excess fat. I was seventeen pounds overweight. 
He said I needed hormones. So my mother took me to the top 
endocrinologist here in the capital and she paid sixty-five dollars 
to learn that I was still sedentary. My father got me a second- 


Friday, October 25 

hand bike and shouted at me quite a lot. The doctor said he 
could make some drastic changes by dosing me up, but that he 
didn't want to. He said to wait and see if puberty wouldn't iron 
everything out. 

Mr. BROADBENT. After the mirror. 

BARRY RUDD. I've always been extremely self-conscious about 
my physical make-up. Once at the museum I saw the transparent 
woman, and I offered myself to one of the museum guards as a 
transparent boy. You see, I have this network of tiny veins on 
the surface of my skin, so I seem to have waxlike flesh. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Now, sonny, after the mirror broke. 

BARRY RUDD. Just while I was on my hands and knees picking 
up the pieces we only have these two rooms, Mother and 
Father sleep on a convertible in the main room, my sister and I 
sleep in the kitchen on a rollaway this was in the main room 
by the chiffonier, and, as I say, I was on my hands and knees 
grubbing around when Susan came in. She's my sister, she's 
seven. She's known as the beauty of the family: Mother says her 
hair's like silk, and Momma braids it for her, and then Susan 
has these enormous black lashes around big pale-blue eyes, so 
when she looks at you, it's this look of perfect surprise and in- 
nocence completely misleading. She's very shrewd. She took in 
what happened, and she began to rub one forefinger against 
the other at me, and teased me, and I called her a brat and got 
after her, but she's too fast for me. 


BARRY RUDD. I settled down in the kitchen to a problem I'd 
been thinking about, and I guess I was there about a half-hour, 
anyway my mother came in and asked what I was doing there 
moping. 'Always alone!' she said. I didn't say anything, but I 
thought of a quotation Dr. Gozar gave me one time. Emerson. 
'Solitude, the safeguard of mediocrity, is to genius the stern 

Senator SKYPACK. By God, now he's an all-fired little genius. 



BARRY RUDD. Please don't mistake me, I don't think I'm a 
genius. Only in the sense that I would like to be worthy of Dr. 
Gozar's . . . that I would like to work as hard as I can. ... I 
thought of solitary ones of the boy Newton playing alone with 
his machines, Edison with his chemicals. As a child Darwin 
loved long walks by himself, and once he became so absorbed 
in thought he walked off the end of a wall. Samuel Johnson, not 
joining in the sports at school, perhaps because of his defective 
sight and repulsively large size. Shelley, reading alone. Byron, 
loving to wander at night in the dark, lonely cloisters of the 
abbey . . . 

Mr. BROADBENT. What was the problem you spoke of? 

BARRY RUDD. It was out of my field, which is taxonomy. I was 
just daydreaming about the possibility of four-dimensional tic- 
tac-toe. I've played the game in three dimensions. The image I 
had was of a three-dimensional game moving through space at 
the speed of light. How would you represent X's and O's and 
their interplay in the fluid terms of that game? You see, I've 
been able since an early age to think of sizes and shapes and 
relationships in completely abstract terms, not as concepts re- 
lated to my body, as is the case with most people. Perhaps I could 
get away from my body as a basis for si/c comparisons because 
it's unsatisfactory to me. I'm plain clumsy. When I try to do 
something with my hands, I just get mad. My grandfather carved 
violins; my father can use the tiniest tools. I can't even write: I 
get so impatient with my fingers when ideas are racing through 
my head! 

Mr. BROADBENT. Master Rudd, how is all this connected 

BARRY RUDD. Senator Mansfield asked me to begin at the be- 
ginning and not leave anything out, and I've been trying to 
tell you everything that happened, everything that went through 
my mind, on the afternoon when all this began. I suppose the 


Friday, October 25 

actual beginning was what came next, just after Momma bawled 
me out for being a hermit a knock on the kitchen door. This 
is on the street side, and the door's stuck, so I went to the win- 
dow and saw it was the G-man, and I rapped on the window 
and pointed to the alleyway alongisde the house, and he went 
around to the back. I heard Momma open the door there, and I 
shut the door between the kitchen and the back room, and I 
began to hear murmuring in there my name once in a while. 
I didn't go in, because I assumed the G-man was talking to 
Momma about my being maladjusted. I'm sort of famous for 
being what I think is known as one-sided. 

Mr. BROADBENT. They were in fact discussing the child buyer? 

BARRY RUDD. That's right. But, Mr. Broadbent, I really think 
Momma ought to be the one to tell you that part. I could give 
you what she and Father reported to me later about it, but I 
should think 

Senator MANSFIELD. All right. Let the boy stand down for the 
time being, and we'll question his mother about this interview. 
We'll have him back afterward. 

Senator SKYPACK. Agreed! We sure better let this freak step 
down and let another witness take over, Mr. Chairman. My 
gaskets can only take so much pressure. 

Senator MANSFIELD. All right, sonny. Thank you. You wait 
out there. . . . Call Mrs. Rudd. 

You've been sworn, Mrs. Rudd, just take your seat there, 


Mr. BROADBENT. We've called you back, Mrs. Rudd, to tell us 
about Mr. Cleary's visit to your home last Thursday. 



Mrs. RUDD. I'm sorry about this morning. It's very hard, when 
they want to take your boy away, and when you get a lot of 
officials . . . swearing your word of honor . . . 

Senator MANSFIELD. We understand, ma'am. 

Mrs. RUDD. When they've ruined your house and home. They 
came there, it was after dark, only Barry and Sue and I were 
home, my husband was off bowling, and we knew they were 
coming, because Barry had had a warning from his friend, that 
naughty boy, the Perkonian boy knew all about it, so we man- 
aged to barricade the doors, and we were waiting it was like a 
bad dream and first we heard some motorcycles 

Senator MANSFIELD. If you don't mind, ma'am, we'll come to 
that incident a little later. Right now we'd like to hear about 
Mr. Cleary. 

Mrs. RUDD. It's nothing to you when a person's home 

Senator MANSFIELD. Yes, ma'am, we're very interested in your 
home, and we want to ask you all about it, but right now . . . 
Mr. Broadbent, would you ? 

Mr. BROADBENT. If you please, Mrs. Rudd, take your mind 
back to last Thursday afternoon. You had come home from 
work and found Barry woolgathering at the kitchen table. Mr. 
Cleary came to call. Please tell us all about that visit. 

Mrs. RUDD. It was a kind of warning. He said he wanted to 
warn us. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please try to remember everything that was 
said. Exactly what did Mr. Cleary tell you? 

Mrs. RUDD. He told me this man, this big businessman, had 
come to Pequot, and he wanted to buy Barry. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Did he say why? 

Mrs. RUDD. He said this man the child buyer was buying 
kids for a defense project, that was all he knew. It was a science 
project of some kind. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Did Mr. Cleary say how much the buyer 
would pay for Barry? 


Friday, October 25 

Mrs. RUDD. No, he only said it would be a terrible temptation, 
a terrible lot of money. You see, on that occasion he was trying 
to warn us, he was against the deal. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Why was he against it? 

Mrs. RUDD. He said Barry was too young. Too young to be 
nailed to science/ the way he put it. I asked what would happen 
to Barry if we sold him, and the G-man said he didn't know 
exactly, he said there was going to be some kind of experiment 
on him. The G-man was kind and sympathetic that day, he 
was like a doctor or minister at a sickbed, and I opened up to 
him, I told him how my whole life was poured into Barry. The 
girl's a sweet thing, but she's just a dividend. Barry's everything 
everything I wanted to overcome and accomplish. I grew up 
in rural villages, I told Mr. Cleary, in Sparta and Hastings Cen- 
ter, and the thing I had to fight against was coarseness. It wasn't 
just the pigs wallowing in the mud and pushing each other 
aside in the trough; it was in me . . . my family. Coarseness, 
ignorance. And on top of that there was boredom nothing to 
do but work. So I took up reading, both in magazines they had 
at the community center, Farmer's Journal, Country Gentleman, 
Wallace's, and these novels I remember them so clear! Cran- 
ford. The Vicar of Wakefield. Our Village. Mary Barton. Old 
Christmas. Northanger Abbey. The opposite of pig shove pig, 
the very opposite. I made myself into the brightest one in my 
class, I happen to have a fantastic memory, so I could get high 
marks easily, and I was going to be a surgeon you see, I even 
wanted to use knives to cut out the crudity, filth, sickness and 
I got as far as an osteopathy course at Budkin State, but that was 
all. My father was taken with a shock, and he couldn't farm any 
more, and the Depression came, and with financial worries I 
never even finished up on osteopathy preparation. Later on I 
married Paul Rudd. He'd graduated from high school, and his 
four sisters were all on their way to becoming nurses; I liked that. 
And we settled in Treehampstead, where Paul took work as a 



machinest for Trucco, and we had the two children, Barry and 
Sue, When Barry was five Trucco moved us to their branch plant 
in Pequot. We didn't prosper, so after a while I took the job in 
Stillman's but that was later. All this time Barry was my whole 
life. He was going to be my victory over coarseness. Before he 
went to school, way back when he was two or three years old, in 
the afternoons trying to settle him down for his naps I'd read to 
him The Three Bears, Raggedy Ann, Sixty-five Bedtime Sto- 
ries, Black Beauty, Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates, and some 
of the books were way too old for him, but it was so surprising, 
he'd pay close mind, and the second time I'd read a book, if I 
skipped any, he'd make a fuss and wouldn't allow it. And there 
was once, long before that, Barry was still creeping, he walked 
alone at thirteen months, so it was before that (we could tell 
from the beginning he was marked to be special: he was born 
with a caul), anyway, one day we had a visit from Mr. Szerenyi, 
he lived upstairs from us, a Hungarian, very popular, he was 
president of the Rakosi Society because Treehampstead has a 
substantial Hungarian population, but he's crazy on the subject 
of diets. He had this book, its thesis was that the way to eternal 
life was through eating seafood and vegetables grown within 
fifty miles of the sea, and Barry was crawling on the floor, and 
Mr. Szerenyi started reading in a kind of fierce singsong, right 
from his breastbone and out through his nose, very emotional. 
I remember it so well! 'Ingestion of these phlogisticatcd fibers 
causes a knotting action of the stomach muscles. . . / 

Senator MANSFIELD. It seems that you, madam, like your son, 
are blessed with total recall. You surprise a person. 

Mrs. RUDD. Blessed? It's a curse, Senator, a curse, when you 
can't forget any of it! You try to shake it out of your mind, and 
it sticks there like damp salt. Anyway, he was reading, '. . . This 
irritation spreads in time through the peritoneal cavities and in- 


Friday, October 25 

vests in particular the gastrohcpatic omentum with . . .' And 
then was when it happened. Barry crept to me, and pulled him- 
self up at my knee, and I lifted him in my lap, and where he'd 
been crashing around with this violent energy, now he suddenly 
went limp on his back, with an ecstatic expression, watching 
Mr. Szerenyi's face as he read. Do you see? I mean, words. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You told Mr. Cleary all this? 

Mrs. RUDD. Yes, sir. Am I saying too much? 

Mr. BROADBENT. No, please go on. What else? 

Mrs. RUDD. About when Barry began to read. I was lying on 
my bed in my slip reading a magazine, it was hot summer, and 
the people in the next building, the Lutri block, they lived by 
screaming, and I had to rest. 

Mr. BROADBENT. This was before you worked at Stillman's? 

Mrs. RUDD. Yes, sir, it was. It was before we even moved to 
Pequot. Barry was four. Four years, one month, eighteen days, 
and six hours of age. You'll see in a minute why I figured that 
out. I was lying in my slip reading a news magazine, Barry was 
beside me, I remember it was about Lord Mountbatten giving 
freedom to Pakistan, to Mohammed Ali Jinnah as if you could 
give it, from one man's hand into another's. I was reading, al- 
most dozing, and Barry said, 'O.K. I'm ready/ and I said what 
for, and he said for me to turn the page, he'd finished. I laughed 
because he was always playing tricks on me, but he said no fool- 
ing, he'd finished reading the bottom of the page. So I made 
him read out loud, and he could. He did. '. . . autonomous na- 
tion within the British commonwealth/ Hard words. I've sworn 
an oath, I wouldn't lie to you. He really did. 

Mr. BROADBENT. How had he accomplished this? 

Mrs. RUDD. The nearest I can figure it, he'd always watched 
the page when I read aloud to him, and he was always telling me 
to go slow. Slower! Slower! And I admit I'd dinned the sounds 


of letters into him for a long time. And he just put it all together, 
I guess. It scared me. I thought I'd done something wrong. Then 
I told Mr. Cleary about another scare how something you're 
proud about can scare you. There was this Martha Massiello, 
lived in the Buffum block, she's a bad drinker, she used to call 
around at everyone's house every morning, she looked like a tire 
that was due for recapping, she'd visit hoping you'd pour her a 
shot, and her main way of keeping contact with humanity was to 
tell you bad news. So that morning, a few weeks after that first 
time Barry read to me, she came in and she said, 'Julia burnt her 
hand,' and I said I hoped it wasn't serious, and she said Julia was 
'gonta live/ Martha was already wobbly, and we looked around, 
there was Barry sitting on the floor with his legs spread and a 
book between them and he was reading out loud. I guess I 
looked proud, and I looked at Martha's face, and there was a 
look of horror, as if the monster Godzilla had come up at her 
out of the Bay of Tokyo, and she said, 'Holy God, look at little 
Einstein!' and she coughed and had a hard time breathing, like 
she had asthma. And I could tell. That was a warning. It was 
like a finger pointing at what's happened this week. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You say that was a warning, and you were 
scared did you do anything about it? 

Mrs. RUDD. No, on the contrary, I kept right on the same way. 
I couldn't help myself. I'm still a reader myself, and I guess I 
pushed Barry hard as I could. I told Mr. Cleary to look around 
he could see the mess, and one of the reasons our rooms are so 
disorderly is that I read when I ought to be cleaning. I don't 
have a very broad back for housework, I get up at five thirty in 
the morning, I get my husband's and children's breakfasts, and 
then I sit down and read till it's time for me to go to Stillman's. 
I used to read nothing but good books, but now it's McCall's, 
the Companion, the Post, Ladies 9 Home Journal, Reader's Di- 
ver to cover. When I was a girl I never could get 


Friday, October 25 

enough maple syrup. It's the same thing in my reading. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And Barry? 

Mrs. RUDD. Every time I go to the supermarket I drop him off 
at the library. I want him to read. I want him to work. I want 
him to be what I wanted to be. 

Senator MANSFIELD. With any luck he'll be that, ma'am, and 
much more. 

Mrs. RUDD. If there's one thing I've done for Barry, it's to 
make him know that luck doesn't help you, you can't count on 
luck. The only things that help are to plan and to work. 

Senator MANSFIELD. You've certainly given him every oppor- 
tunity, ma'am. 

Mrs. RUDD. I've always immersed myself in what Barry was do- 
ing and thinking but you know something? I feel he lacks a 
natural affection, filial affection, a son for his mother. 

Senator MANSFIELD. We received testimony that he dotes on 
you, ma'am. 

Mrs. RUDD. Appearances aren't always what they seem. It's 
hard for him to show any feelings; sometimes I wonder if he has 
any. Except he shows them to Sue: that's one place where he's 
natural, all right. Brat! Crybaby! Stinker! I hate you! All day 

Mr. BROADBENT. From what you've said, it sounds as if you got 
along very well with Mr. Cleary that afternoon. Had you liked 
him in the past? 

Mrs. RUDD. I don't like any school people. 

Senator MANSFIELD. That's a rather extreme statement, Mrs. 
Rudd. What do you mean? 

Mrs. RUDD. The things they've done to Barry. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Such as. 

Mrs. RUDD. You want a 'such as'? I'll give you one! I told you 
we lived in Treehampstead first, Barry was in kindergarten 
there. All right, we move to Pequot, and in the fall I call up the 



principal at Lincoln, Dr. Gozar, and I say, hello, I want to en- 
ter my boy, but she tells me the legal age for entering first grade 
is different in Pequot than in Treehampstcad a child has to be 
six before the following New Year's Day, and Barry's sixth birth- 
day isn't till January nineteenth. He misses by three weeks 
nineteen days. So I tell her Barry's already had a year in kinder- 
garten. He can read. That's too bad, Dr. Gozar says, makes no 
difference; Lincoln doesn't have a kindergarten. No, she says, no 
exceptions can be made. 

Senator MANSFIELD, What happened? 

Mrs. RUDD. I got mad, you can imagine. I said I wanted to 
talk to somebody higher up. She said I could go see Mr. Owing 
for all the good it would do me. I did; I made an appointment, 
and I took Barry, and Dr. Gozar was sitting there, with her arms 
folded and her jaw sticking out like a snow plow. I guess she'd 
jacked Mr. Owing up with gumption, and he started in about 
the way children develop well-rounded impossible to make 
special provisions because of lack of funds overcrowded condi- 
tions child who's younger than the peer group. . . . 'Give him 
exercise/ he said. 'Get him outdoors.' I asked if there was anyone 
else I could sec, and Mr. Owing, he went the color of bacon 
grease, nearly passed out, but Dr. Gozar growled at me: I could 
see the State Supervisor for Exceptional Children, Miss Hen- 
ley. She put a heavy emphasis, sarcastic, of course, on 'excep- 
tional/ She must have figured I had the usual exaggerated mater- 
nal pride. I came up here to the capital to see Miss Henley, and 
she lectured me for an hour and a half about what happens 
when you push a child I couldn't understand one word in ten. 
But I've always thought that teachers know everything, so I 
swallowed it all. No school for Barry; we waited out the year. 
Barry's father got him a basketball and nailed up a backboard 
and net out on the porch roof; it's still there, the string's all rot- 
ted. Barry never touched the ball. All he wanted was to stay in 


Friday, October 25 

the house, pencil and paper, a book. He spent half his time 
with Miss Cloud in the library, she's the librarian, she's a hunch- 

Senator MANSFIELD. So he was six and a half when he finally 
entered first grade? 

Mrs. RUDD. Six years, eight months. With a twelve-year-old 
mind, they tell me. Turned out he had a good year. Miss Bagas 
was his teacher; at home nights Barry used to write Miss Bagas 
love notes. I didn't mind that, I was actually glad. One time 
Miss Bagas had a nice talk with me about Barry's excellent fol- 
lowership. Specially fine, she said, considering he was so much 
more intelligent than the other kids that it would have been 
easy for him to be overbearing. She said he was popular; she said 
good followers are always loved. 

Senator MANSFIELD. So things came out all right after all. 

Mrs. RUDD. Wait a minute, I haven't told you the end of the 
story yet. Listen. In June of his first-grade year, Barry was dou- 
ble-promoted. It wasn't at my request, you understand. They 
skipped him over second grade and put him in the third just 
where he'd have been if they'd let him in a year early, only now 
he'd missed the experiences of second grade and he had to make 
a whole new set of friends. At that time Dr. Gozar begged me 
not to talk to other mothers about Barry's good fortune it 
would cause envy and dissatisfaction. 

Mr. BROADBENT. How were things left with Mr. Cleary the 
other day when he came to warn you? 

Mrs. RUDD. He said not to decide anything without talking to 
him, as if he was our lawyer, or like that. I was all mixed up, 
nervy, the way I get if something new happens. All I wanted was 
what would be good for Barry. Paul came in from work a few 
minutes after the G-man left, and he was hungry and kind of 
edgy, wanted to know why supper wasn't ready. So I told him 
about the visit, the G-man, the child buyer. Right off the bat 



Paul was crazy to sell, he wanted to go right out and find the 
buyer and close the deal. He saw all this big money, saw how 
we could start and do favors for people. Said we wouldn't ever 
have to crawl again. I had an awful heavy feeling, as if some 
force I could dimly remember was going to interfere again in 
my life. I wanted to go slow. But then Barry came in the room 
while we were talking, and we told him. We told him exactly 
what was what. 

Mr. BROADBENT. How did he take it? 

Mrs. RUDD. As I say, it isn't easy to tell with him. But if any- 
thing, I wouldVe said he was delighted. It gave me the shivers, 
and that heavy feeling got worse. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Broadbent, have you brought Mr. 
Rudd up here today? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Yes, sir, he's available, sir. 

Senator MANSFIELD. I'd like to question him. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Call Mr. Paul Rudd. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Thank you, Mrs. Rudd, we'll excuse you 
for now. Very helpful . . . Mr. Rudd? Please stand to be sworn. 

Do you solemnly swear that you will tell this committee on its 
present business the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the 
truth, so help you God? 

Mr. RUDD. I do. 


Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Rudd, we've taken testimony from 
your wife about Mr. Cleary coming to your home, last Thurs- 
day, and how he broke the news to her about the child buyer, 
and she informed us under oath that on being told about this 
visit, you were eager to take up the deal. What I want to know, 
sir, is, what possessed you? How would a father want to sell his 


Friday, October 25 

Senator SKYPACK. Don't you suppose it's possible, Mr. Chair- 
man, that this gentleman was influenced by patriotic motives? 
Just the way, in time of war, a man is proud to see his son sign 
up with the service, the colors? The nature of this deal was 

Mr. RUDD. Yes, sir, that's the way I felt. I felt that way. Proud. 
I did. 

Senator MANSFIELD. But, Mr. Rudd, your wife said you wanted 
the money. 

Mr. RUDD. A son's supposed to earn his keep, he takes over and 
supports the parents. Is that unnatural? I mean on the other 
side, my father came from Czechoslovakia, and the thing you 
tried to do was to give birth to sons, so as they would grow up 
and support you. Girl children weren't worth anything, ex- 
cept they could have sons. You put in your sweat and earnings 
for a boy, food, schooling, getting him ready, and then the time 
comes, and it's his turn. Is that so unnatural? 

Senator MANSFIELD. At ten years of age? 

Mr. RUDD. They keep telling me he's got the mind of a eight- 
een-, twenty-year-old. A young fellow works with his body when 
he's grown into it, the same should go for working with his head. 
I don't see that that's so unnatural. My father went to work 
when he was eleven, in a tannery, he put me to work when I was 
thirteen. I send him money, room-and-board money, right today. 
Here's this boy, he's got a perfectly tremendious working capac- 
ity with his brain. I can't see it's so unnatural to want to make 
some use of it. Except the schools of today, they say nobody 
should work, just be happy, just goldbrick along and the world 
owes you a living. The older generation owes you the works, 
that's the attitude. My father, after he came to this country, he 
got to be a butcher, worked in this chain store, and he was a 
pretty good butcher, but what he liked to do, he liked to cruise 
around out-of-the-way lumberyards, and find these pieces of 



strange wood, fancy-grained, that would have a sounding-board 
quality, resonance, he could tell by just looking at them, and he 
would carve violins. In the cellar. A fiddler in his village on the 
other side taught him, and he made creditable instruments, I 
mean this big instrument company would buy them off my fa- 
ther, a hundred bucks, two hundred a throw. He has this knack 
with his hands, and he always liked it better than the butchering. 
So now he's retired, and his wife's with him, and right today I 
send half the money, my brother sends half, and it cats into my 
own living. This last summer Fred Zimmer and I, he lives across 
the street, we decided to make this skiff and buy us an outboard 
for picnics down the Pehadnock, at Sandy Point and above the 
light-company dam, and I tell you, I had to scrimp and dig up 
the cash from nowheres, and yet I'm still sending my old man 
fancy-wood money even though he can't really woodwork worth 
a darn any more, it's just to keep him from getting ill-tempered. 
We built the skiff all right, and got the outboard but it was darn 
hard. So why shouldn't I want my son to bring something in? 
Here's this offer, a tremendious sum of money right on a silver 

Senator MANSFIELD. Then you put your son's talents in a class 
with a knack for repairing machinery or trimming cuts of meat 
or so on? 

Mr. RUDD. I've been rougher on the boy than his mother, I'll 
have to admit it. I spent years trying to make a regular kid of 
him, didn't realize how hopeless it was. I'm mechanical-minded, 
I like to tinker, and I never read a thing unless if it's the sports 
news in the papers. I don't understand a boy like Barry, I never 
have. I like to go bowling, I'm in the Tuesday-night league, and 
I take the whole family to the lanes Tuesday nights, and the boy 
sits there either reading a book or lately he's taken up writing 
mystery stories, then he tears them up afterwards, it's only for 
his own amusement. I've always tried to get him outdoors, catch 

Friday, October 25 

a ball, get tousled and dirty, but it's just made him keep away 
from me. He hasn't got enough spunk to show resentment, he 
just keeps his distance, slinks off. He prefers his grandfather 
my old man to his own father. Oh, he dotes on Grandfather 
Rudd. It's because the old man tells him these legends, folk 
tales, from the other side. But I show up the tail between the 
legs and out of sight. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Then it's your view you have a perfect 
right to exploit this boy's talents in any way you want? 

Mr. RUDD. Why not? I slaved for him for years. I been sitting 
at a machine over at Trucco eight hours, seven hours a day for 
years. I fed him, put shoes on him. Why shouldn't he do some- 
thing for me? Before this deal came along, I was after his mother 
to put him on TV, get him on a quiz program, exhibit the mas- 
ter mind. Bring in some dough. God knows I tried first to make 
him regular. I spent months at a time balancing him on a two- 
wheeler, but the minute I let go, whammo! Off he falls. I'm 
good with my hands, I'm keeping a one-seventy-two average in 
my league in the bowling, it gives me the creeps to see him take 
aholt of a piece of bread at the table. 

Senator SKYPACK. I just wanted to say, Mr. Rudd, you've been 
taking some rather hostile questioning here, but I feel you should 
know that some of us applaud your position, your patriotism. I 
mean, a decent father's instincts . . . I'm just surprised how 

Senator MANSFIELD. All right, Mr. Broadbent, I've asked all I 
want to ask. Have you any questions? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Nothing at present, sir. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Then I think we should pick up with the 
boy. Thank you, Mr. Rudd. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please fetch Master Rudd. 

Senator SKYPACK. Brother, I hope my blood vessels don't rup- 
ture on me. 



Senator MANSFIELD. All right, sonny, you're sworn. Please 
just take your seat. 


Senator MANSFIELD. Just pick up where we broke off, Mr. 

Mr. BROADBENT. So after Mr. Cleary left, your parents told you 
the situation. What was your reaction? 

BARRY RUDD. At first I had a feeling of elation, a sudden lift, 
because somebody important was interested in me. But I've 
learned to distrust euphoria. I once thought it was a priceless 
state of ecstasy, a rapture, like a moment when Blake had one of 
his visions, say, or when Archimedes in his bath realized he could 
find out whether the tyrant Hieron's crown was pure gold or al- 
loyed, by a simple displacement test. But I've come to under- 
stand that it's not a time of revelation not for me. My mo- 
ments of inspiration come when I least expect them, when I'm 
abstracted, walking up the public-library steps, playing gin 
rummy with Flattop. It seems as if it's the absent mind that 
solves the problems of this world for me, anyway. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What did you do? 

BARRY RUDD. My homework. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Where? 

BARRY RUDD. No, we had supper first, then Momma and 
Father and the Monster stayed in the kitchen and I went 
in the other room to do my homework. I turned the main- 
room light on by a Rube Goldberg device I'd made. A string 
is attached to the doorknob, a system of pulleys and 
weights, and 

Senator MANSFIELD. I think we can picture it, sonny. 

BARRY RUDD. There were two problems in connection with 


Friday, October 25 

the device. First, the lamp has a revolving switch rather than a 
chain pull. Second, turning the light on and off every other 
time, to allow for departures from the room, presented 

Senator MANSFIELD. Yes, sonny, go on. 

BARRY RUDD. I went under the lamp, still burning (I was 
burning, I mean, not the lamp though it was, too, in its way) 
with this euphoria somebody powerful wanted to buy me! 
and I began a childish game, very regressed, of playing with my 
shadow under the lamplight. I'd make my shadow, my other 
self, first bigger, then smaller; try to jump away from it, discon- 
nect it; try to stamp on it, scare it away. I had thought of my 
shadow, when I was small, as a gauze thing that could be 
folded and put in a bureau drawer. Of course you know where 
that fantasy came from? 


BARRY RUDD. I suddenly needed advice, needed to talk with 
someone I trusted. I saw Grandpa Rudd's picture on the bureau. 
For years I believed that I could make pictures of people, snap- 
shots, come to life if I could only find the key. I wanted to have 
a small man, about three inches high, to keep my desk neat at 
school, tell me stories; he would ride in my book bag. For a long 
time I thought the key might be to hold my breath and count, 
forwards or maybe backwards. I realize that this, too, was baby- 
ish, but I've clung to a feeling that the pictures, even if they 
couldn't come all the way to life, could think and see. So I took 
the picture of Grandpa in my hands, and I asked him what I 
should do, and something made me drop him, and I had a mo- 
ment of unrealistic fear that I'd hurt him. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What happened then? 

BARRY RUDD. As I put my grandfather's picture back, there 
came over me a feeling of inadequacy the thought that my 
heredity was deficient, that I came from a thin line. I thought of 
some verses of Horace that Dr. Gozar reeled off once when she 



was showing me a few basic facts of heredity through fruit-fly 
demonstrations: 'In steers, in steeds, appear the merits of their 
sires; nor do fierce eagles beget timid doves/ My euphoria 
drained away as I thought of familial talents: how Adams, the 
son of a president, became president; how vivid the two cousin 
Roosevelts were; that the Bachs were musical for three genera- 
tions; that Addison was the son of a Royal Chaplain, Bulwer of 
an ambitious army general, Hugo of a king's aide, Boyle of a 
Lord High Treasurer of Ireland. And I remembered: Training 
increases inborn worth/ Horace went on to say; and I thought 
of the good fortunes of Mill, Pitt, Mozart, Michelangelo. Then 
I had to struggle to jack up my spirits, and I thought of unex- 
pected greatness: of Lincoln; of Bunyan, the son of a tinker, 
Carlyle of a mason, Winckelmann of a cobbler, Canova of a 
stonecutter, Jansen of a peasant, Kant of a strapmaker. And I 
thought of my father, who'd said he wanted to let me go if he 
could get a good enough price, in the next room, watching Mav- 
erick on television. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Great program. 

BARRY RUDD. I finally got down to work. In order to ensure 
the success of my report on nomenclature, I first followed a 
ceremony that had helped me a great deal in the past: I sharp- 
ened my pencil, pointed the sharp end successively toward the 
north, east, south, and west, and then, holding it upright, tapped 
its eraser end repeatedly on the table while, with the fingers of 
my left hand, starting with the pinky and moving toward the 
thumb, I flipped the lobe of my left ear. The pencil, inciden- 
tally, was John Sano's. He got an A on his last research report, 
on bread mold, and I'd borrowed it from him, because a pencil 
that had written so well for him was bound to write well for me. 

Senator SKYPACK. Pinky! My God! 

BARRY RUDD. My tapping got out of phase with my earlobe 
flicking, and I began the whole deal over again, even to sharpen- 


Friday, October 25 

ing the pencil, to make sure. I know, Senator Skypack, you 
think this is foolish, you think reliance on this sort of thing 

Senator SYKPACK. You're damn tootin'. 

BARRY RUDD. Momma has always dinned into me that lean- 
ing on luck, magic, is foolish, and I fenow, in the higher associa- 
tional and reasoning centers of my cortex, that she's right. Still, 
just in case. Deep down. But don't get me wrong. I work. I work 
long sessions. I've observed Dr. Gozar I watch her by the hour, 
in her natural habitat, the lab, as if I were on a zoological field 
ramble, Homo sapiens, a noble specimen, and I've seen her 
marked willingness to stay at a task, to withstand discomfort, go 
without food, disregard fatigue and strain, forget a cold or a 
headache above all, to face the possibility of failure, and fac- 
ing that chance seems to me the first prerequisite of success, or 
completion. And I've learned concentration. I closed the shout- 
ing of Bart Maverick out of my mind. I fought the pencil across 
the page how I hate the act of recording! But Til tell you 
something: no matter how awkward I may be at stickball or vol- 
leyball, no matter how much I'm the butt of the beefers on the 
playground and no matter how jaggedly I write, nevertheless 
when I get in the lab, next to Dr. Gozar, and we're sorting Pro- 
methea, Cecropia, and Polyphemus moth larvae, or we're 
mounting beetles and bugs on pins, I can feel an unusual grace 
flowing into my fingers, like an electric current. I'm trans- 

Mr. BROADBENT. Is there a connection 

BARRY RUDD. Yes. You asked my reaction to the news about 
the child buyer. All through my preparation of the report, even 
thought I was concentrating fiercely, like a horse racing with 
blinders on, I felt an underlying malaise, but at the same time a 
remnant of my earlier lift. My unnatural delight was mixed now 
with a slow sinking feeling. I finished my work and got ready for 
bed. The Monster was already tucked in: I have to sleep on half 



the rollaway with her. Momma turned the lights out, and I 
lay on my back and rubbed my eyes, and I saw a sort of glowing 
head, a ghost head. I knew it was a mere phosphene, from the 
rubbing, but I connected it with the child buyer; it seemed 
threatening. I read for a while with a flashlight under the covers 
and ate some dried apricots. I've been hit by science fiction 
lately. My favorite at the moment is James Mull's The Moon- 
Skaters, and somehow the tartness and roughness of the apri- 
cots is just right for science fiction. And Mr. Broadbent, I 
know you're worrying about the relevance underneath I had 
this growing feeling of oppositcs, joy and fear, partly stemming 
from the reading but partly not. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I see. 

BARRY RUDD. When I had grown tired of reading I cut off 
the flashlight and I lay on my back thinking about a girl in my 
class, about her thigh area just above her kneecap. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Florence Renzulli? 

BARRY RUDD. No, Mr. Broadbent. You're strict about rele- 
vance; she wasn't in any part of this. I don't like to give names 
here, so I'll just say it was another girl in my class. You see, Flat- 
top and I had been talking about the stickleback, and I was 
wondering about applying certain elements of the ritual 
something in the book I'd been reading triggered 

Senator SKYPACK. Smut, I knew it was smut. These paper- 
backs . . . 

BARRY RUDD. but then I got thinking about moving her 
skirt up, centimeter by centimeter, just to the top of her stock- 
ing picturing Sunday clothes, I mean. Excuse centimeters; 
from the lab I carry the metric system over into much of my 

Senator SKYPACK. Scandalous. 

BARRY RUDD. Then suddenly I was thinking about the child 
buyer's proposition. The G-man had told Momma that the 


Friday, October 25 

child buyer was hunting for geniuses. I thought of the refrain 
Dr. Gozar had put in my head: work! work! She was forever 
quoting the authorities. Flaubert: 'Genius, in the phrase of 
Buffon, is only long patience. Work/ Button's sentence actually 
was: 'La genie n'est autre chose qu'une grande aptitude a la 
patience. 1 Carlyle: 'Genius is an infinite capacity for taking 
pains/ Michelangelo: 'If people knew how hard I work to get 
my mastery it would not seem so wonderful after all/ Padcrcw- 
ski: 'Before I was a genius I was a drudge/ I thought of going, 
being bought and going away to Arizona for the vague unclear 
experiment on me. I thought hard about it, because I habitually 
think the opposite of what I want in order to get my way. Then 
for some reason I thought about my grandfather; I wanted to 
make a dream about him. 

Senator MANSFIELD. You wanted to make a dream? 

BARRY RUDD. I have long believed I could make myself dream 
about the last person I thought about before falling off to sleep. 
I think of dreams as substances of light that are out in the room 
around me at night. The room is full of dreams, which possibly 
are tiny lights that come from the moon or stars. They come 
from the sky, the night makes them, and they get in the room, 
crowding around, and they sort of look at you, watching for an 
opening, and if you think about one of them, it can get in. I 
think of light as looking at you. A street lamp can see everything 
that passes; a candle sees the flickering room; a match sees the 
end of a cigarette. I think of human eyes as giving light. Did you 
ever see a cat's eyes beside the road? 

Mr. BROADBENT. For a boy with a scientific bent of mind 

BARRY RUDD. I know, I know. The cat's eyes reflect your head- 
lights. A street lamp has no optic nerve. I fenow all that, but 
these arc holdovers from a very early age. Sometimes I have a 
strange feeling, almost a sensation of being on an escalator or 
perhaps a treadmill, or of slipping or gliding from one age 



level to another. An adult thought one moment, a babyish 
thought the next. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And did you dream about your grandfather? 

BARRY RUDD. No, I'm often disappointed. I fell into a deep 
sleep, and the next thing, I woke up with a start saw the light 
going across the ceiling when a car passed outside. I knew which 
way it was going. I figured that out by logic one night a couple 
of years ago, and then to verify my conclusion I propped a mir- 
ror in the window sill and saw that Yd been right. The opposite 
way. As I lay there I was hit, as if by a blow, by the thought of 
my father's wanting to sell me. Suddenly I had the feeling that 
he was the most august yet compassionate creature on earth a 
gentle king. I loved him. I wanted him to teach me. I thought 
of Montaigne's father, educating his son with utmost delicacy 
and consideration, even going so far as to waken the boy each 
morning with instrumental music. I thought of Jeremy Bentham 
learning Latin at three and the Greek of Lily's Grammar at four 
and five on his father's knee. Coleridge, Schelling, Pascal, Goe- 
the, Leibnitz all systematically taught by their fathers. Then 
my thoughts began subtly to shift toward the notion of fathers' 
exploiting their sons to gratify ambition or avarice: Robert 
Peers father consciously determining that he would mold his 
son into another Pitt; Mozart's father putting his son's absolute 
pitch and extraordinary powers of improvisation on display as 
if the child were a puppet. I thought of Samuel Johnson saying 
that in order to avoid being put on show as a prodigy he used 
sometimes to 'run up a tree.' Don't mistake me. I don't put my- 
self in a class with ... I aspire but I don't arrogate. ... It 
only helps to make my own feelings clear if I ... 

Mr. BROADBENT. But I gather that on the whole you and your 

BARRY RUDD. At that particular moment I had a feeling of in- 
tense yearning for his love. I wanted his strong arms around me. 


Friday, October 25 

Then all at once the full horror of the child buyer's proposal 
came over me. 

Senator SKYPACK. Horror? You don't seem to realize what 
kind of a deal this is. In a class with getting an appointment to 
West Point. Better even. Horror! 

BARRY RUDD. At first the feeling wasn't explicit. I remem- 
bered a little girl in a Sunday-school class I was in several years 
ago who had a shriveled hand. Then I remembered being chased 
through the parking lot of the shopping center on Sycamore 
Street, last year, on my bike, by these big boys, and they kept 
calling me a queer. Tou know you're a queer, don't you?' I 
didn't want to fight. I thought that sticks and stones couldn't 
possibly hurt my bones as much as those taunts did, though I 
had no idea what they meant. I thought of my childhood fears: 
When I was three I was afraid of what I called 'polo' infantile 
paralysis. Then I was terrified that the Russians would drop a 
'hydrant bomb.' Being bitten by a big dog. Being run over. Fire. 
Spiders. I lay in my bed and wondered if I was going crazy. It 
had been drummed into me I remember Miss Songevine used 
to din this into me that precocious children grow up abnormal, 
neurotic, headed for imbecility or insanity. Early ripe, early rot. 
The Bible says, 'Much learning doth make thee mad.' Seneca: 
'There is no great genius without some touch of madness.' Bur- 
ton, in The Anatomy of Melancholy, speaking of men 'out of 
too much learning become mad/ Moreau de Tours, Lombroso, 
Langc-Eichbaum 'scientists' who 'proved' the relationship 
between brilliance and madness; Miss Songevine threw them 
at me. I felt doomed. Doomed. And in a minute I was over- 
whelmed by the Great Fear. I was terrified that if I went to sleep 
again I wouldn't wake up in the morning. I put my hand on my 
chest to feel my heartbeat was it steady? I turned my head on 
my pillow to listen for the rush of blood pumping in my ear. I 
heard a dog howling in the distance telling me of death, death. 



Then I desperately tried to save myself by classifying the crea- 
tures of this earth. Phylum One: Protozoa, the unicellular ani- 
mals. Classes: Sarcodina, Mastigophora, Sporozoa, Infusoria. 
Phylum Two: Porifera, the sponges . . . And eventually I 
fell asleep. I waked up early, by habit, alive. I'd been getting up 
with Venus usually to get a couple of hours of work with Dr. 
Gozar in the lab before breakfast. No Venus that morning, 
though: it was raining. Upon wakening I found the grip of my 
hand very weak. I felt as if Fd been running all night. 

Senator MANSFIELD. All right. Thank you, sonny. Now, I think 
that's about all we have time for today, and we have the week- 
end coming up ahead of us. Is there anything farther you want 
to ask or add this afternoon, Mr. Broadbent? 

Mr. BROADBENT. No, sir, as far as I'm concerned we could call 
it a day. 

Senator MANSFIELD. We will stand in recess then, until ten 
o'clock Monday morning. 

(Whereupon, at 5:10 p.m., Friday, October 25, the hearing 
was recessed, subject to the announced recall of the Chair.) 



(The Committee met, pursuant to call, at 10:05 a - m - * n Execu- 
tive Session, in Room 429, Capitol Offices, Senator Aaron 
Mansfield presiding. Committee members and counsel present.) 

Senator MANSFIELD. Senator Skypack asked for this Executive 
Session before we go down to the big room. So we'll be in or- 
der. Senator? 

Senator SKYPACK. I just wanted to tell you people I did some 
thinking over the weekend about the kind of stuff we had to sit 
here and listen to in our hearing on Friday, and I just want to 
serve notice, and I wanted this on the record, serve notice that 
I'm going to do everything I can to get that arrogant little twerp 
before we drop these hearings. 

Senator MANSFIELD. 'Get'? Just what do you mean? 

Senator SYPACK. Show him up. Make him go, for one thing. 
Him sitting there and saying he doesn't choose to go along with 
the child buyer, with his plan! 

Senator MANSFIELD. I'm rather surprised, Jack, I was very im- 
pressed with the boy. Charming. You mean you want to try to 
force his parents' hand? Make them sell? 

Senator SKYPACK. You damn tootin'. I mean, you heard what 
the buyer told us, what they're doing down there. If this coun- 
try's going to sit back and let the enemy outthink us, outrocket 
us, outeducate us. I'll tell you, I'm going to get him. 



Senator MANSFIELD. What do you think, Peter? 

Senator VOYOLKO. Huh? Me? 

Senator MANSFIELD. How did the boy strike you? 

Senator VOYOLKO. Fat. He's too fat. He eat too much. 

Senator SKYPACK. You can't tell me that boy doesn't know 
all about the bombing 

Senator MANSFIELD. Stink bombing. You and Mr. Broadbent 
seem to insist 

Senator SKYPACK. Bomb, stink bomb what's the difference? 
What's it matter what's inside gunpowder or that sulphur-and- 
acid mixture or whatever they use these days? 

Senator MANSFIELD. Seems to me there's quite a difference. 
Boys make stink bombs. Seems you're familiar with the mate- 
rials yourself, Jack. 

Senator SKYPACK. That's beside the point. The point is, by 
his own admission he was in the lab there with that goon just 
before the bomb was tossed. The cops nabbed him red-handed 
when his own house and home was being shmcarcd. In trouble 
with that girl. Broadbent hints around about the child buyer 
and a morals rap my God, what about this precocious little 
fiend? I think we got to think about stiffening up the state J.D. 
laws, you take a case like this. 

Senatoi MANSFIELD. May I ask what you intend to do, Jack? 

Senator SKYPACK. I don't know yet. I'm just going to sit back 
and mull for now But I don't think we ought to fool around. I 
think we ought to get that delinquent punk in, for one thing. 

Mr. BKOADBENT. He's here. He's right downstairs. I intend to 
call him, second witness this morning. 

Senator SKYPACK. All right. Who's first? 

Mr. BROADBENT. The buyer. 

Senator SKYPACK. All right. I want you to take a good strong 
line now. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Perhaps I ought to remind you, Jack, 
that I'm still Chairman of this Committee. ... I mean, we 


Monday, October 28 

ought at least to work out our tactics together. I'm inclined to 
give the kid a little leeway 

Mr. BROADBENT. I think I should tell you, Mr. Chairman, I 
hold with Senator Skypack on this. I mean this country ... we 
can't afford . . . 

Senator SKYPACK. You bet your life we can't afford it. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Peter, I wish I could get you to express 

Senator VOYOLKO. You take and put the kid on a diet. Then 
sell him. Get a better price, I bet you get a better price. 

Senator SKYPACK. I told you I wanted to serve notice, and I've 
served it. So let's get down there and get to work. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Very well. I just want to say, though, 
Jack, I hope and trust we won't rush things. Keep an even keel. 
I'm not at all convinced 

Senator SKYPACK. You haul your keel, Aaron, and I'll haul 

Senator MANSFIELD. I guess we can adjourn to Room 202, 
five or ten minutes. 

(The committee moved to the designated room and came to 
order, in Ordinary Session, at 10:19 a.m.) 

Senator MANSFIELD. We will be in order. I must give a strict 
warning to our visitors this morning, we've never been this 
jammed in here, and we want quiet and orderly behavior so we 
can conduct our business without interruption. Now, Mr 
Broadbent, you tell us you're calling Mr. Jones first off. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please bring in Mr. Wissey Jones. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Sir, you have been sworn, so please just 
take your place over there. Thank you. 


Mr. BROADBENT. This morning, Mr. Jones, the Committee 
would like to hear about certain events that took place on Fri- 



day, the eighteenth your visit to Miss Perrin's classroom at 
Lincoln Elementary, where, as we understand it, you first ob- 
served the boy Barry Rudd, and your interview later with the 
boy's parents, and with him, at his home. And I would like to 
add, sir, before starting the questioning, that we are anxious to 
help in any way we can to bring this matter to its desired con- 
clusion. We 

Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Broadbent, I don't believe you're 

Senator SKYPACK. We think if the general public had any idea 
of the patriotic and beneficial nature of the experiment your 
company is conducting, that the sympathy that has been 
drummed up in the press for this boy, largely because you hap- 
pen to come from out of State 

Senator MANSFIELD. Senator Skypack, we'll follow good order 
here, please. You may take up the questioning, Mr. Broadbent. 

Mr. JONES. I wonder if I could make a modest suggestion be- 
fore you kick off, gentlemen? 

Senator MANSFIELD. Please. 

Mr. JONES. I always make it a habit, when I become interested 
in purchasing a specimen, to visit the public library patronized 
by the child. You'd be amazed at what turns up in a library. I 
have done so in Pcquot, and the suggestion I would make is that 
you invite Miss Elizabeth Cloud, the librarian, to testify here in 
these matters. Miss Cloud is a hunchback; she has a sufferer's 
face and a most intriguing forehead. I'm inclined to be attentive 
to foreheads, and hers is truly a collector's item. Lines that seem 
to have been cut by a sensitive etcher's acid run every which 
way on it, and each one seems to express a feeling or a fate: one 
might almost read her fortune in those lines, the way a gypsy 
can read a hand. At any rate, I doubt if anyone in Pequot 
knows Barry Rudd better than she does, and she can give you 
insights through his choice of reading 


Monday, October 28 

Senator SKYPACK. She dig out the pornography for him to 
read? Paperbacks? 

Mr. JONES. I think you should talk with her, gentlemen. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Broadbent, will you follow up 
on this Miss Cloud? 

Mr. BROADBENT. I've already passed a note out, sir. We're 
phoning our investigator in Pequot, and he may be able to drive 
her right up this morning. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Alert of you, Mr. Broadbent, thank you. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Now, Mr. Jones, about your visit to Miss Per- 
rin's class. Please just start right in and tell us in your own words. 

Mr. JONES. I've done enough visiting to make allowances for 
the sudden change of atmosphere that took place in Miss Per- 
rin's room on my entrance. It's remarkable what an upheaval 
will take place in a classroom when a visitor enters. Children 
the teacher can barely control when she's alone in the room sud- 
denly become goody-goody because they have an outsider to 
impress, and others who are usually docile sense her nervous ab- 
straction and see a chance to slide out from under her thumb. I 
spent the first few minutes, before I even began to watch the 
Rudd specimen, weighing this shifted atmosphere. Miss Perrin 
has a deep sense of her own unworthincss, and she reacts badly 
to being watched. I saw her speaking sweetly to a boy named 
John Sano, a friend of the Rudd specimen, but at the same mo- 
ment secretively pinching him alongside a shoulder blade. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What was the class doing? 

Mr. JONES. It being the beginning of the school day, the class 
had a weather session, and very soon I could sec the Rudd speci- 
men's dominance of the classroom. He's the teacher there, and 
it's a sign of a curious combination of brokcn-spiritedness and 
magnanimity in Miss Perrin that she doesn't resent him. In 
the midst of the usual cliches of weather forecasting, with the 



little girls especially trying to inject a whiff of pre-pubertal sex 
into their talk of fronts and precipitation, in unconscious imita- 
tion of TV weather queens, the Rudd boy, perhaps for my ben- 
efit, slipped in radiosonde, hygrothermograph, psychrometer. It 
was just a lot of talk, excepting his part. Anyone could see that 
it was raining outside. But your average school, you know, is 
like a daily television program these days, and the children are 
at once actors and audience. Rudd breaks that pattern, how- 
ever, from the opening minute in the morning: that's my first 
impression. He's there not just to imitate and watch, but to 
learn and teach. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Any other impressions? 

Mr. JONES. Yes. He's bored within an inch of his life: this we'll 
eliminate at United Lymphomilloid, believe me. . . . Miss 
Perrin droned along with a standard brand of old-fashioned 
mother's-milk classroom courtesy. 'Excuse me, Paul, I didn't see 
your hand. . . . I'm pleased to see this group working so well 
especially pleased to see Molly working so well. . . . Let's 
see who's wide awake. I know friend Jock isn't wide awake, be- 
cause he watched Meet McGrmv and Divorce Court again last 
night, didn't he? What was it, Jock? Ten thirty? Eleven? . . . 
David didn't hear what I said a minute ago, I guess. He still 
doesn't hear. . . .' And the Rudd specimen sitting there ob- 
sessed, it seems, with clocks, watches, calendars. Time fleeing 
from his voraciousness! Once his impatience came vomiting 
out: Miss Perrin was pressing Jock, a slow one, to connect a 
word in a reader with the literal-minded family-magazinish il- 
lustration above it, and Rudd blurted out, Tor goodness sake, 
Jock, hurry up! Ars longa; vita brevis!' 'My gracious,' Miss Perrin 
said. Want to know what it means?' Rudd asked. The tactless- 
ness of a quick one. He was just trying to push Jock off the can, 
I think. 


Monday, October 28 

Senator SKYPACK. Sounds just like him, pushing normal 
young men around. 

Mr. JONES. I didn't say 'pushing around/ Senator. And I don't 
think it's necessarily 'normal' to be Jock. I mean the Jock I saw 
that day. 

Senator MANSFIELD. I gather, in fact, sir, that you were favor- 
ably impressed by the Rudd youngster. 

Mr. JONES. I was, I must say, favorably struck, I mean from a 
U. Lympho point of view, by his reaction to something that 
happened during social studies. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Would you describe it, please? 

Mr. JONES. I don't know whether you gentlemen are aware 
of the unusual relationship that exists between Rudd and Dr. 
Gozar, the principal of Lincoln Elementary. . . . 

Mr. BROADBENT. Yes, we know about that. 

Mr. JONES. About the early-morning lab work? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Yes, yes, we've heard. 

Mr. JONES. But a really deep attachment, on both sides . . , 
Well, Miss Perrin's social-studies class was going along in a hum- 
drum way when suddenly Dr. Gozar irrupted into the room, 
with a wrinkled nose and her leathery lips drawn up with a 
string. She was holding high in her hands a soaked textbook 
that had obviously been left out in the rain, and she handled 
this object as if it were the carcass of a pet, already putrescent 
yet bitterly mourned, and she delivered a short speech, a sort of 
funeral oration. Every time she uttered the word 'book' it 
seemed as if she meant to use another word 'life,' or 'fire,' or 
'spirit.' I watched Rudd's face closely. Most of the children, 
who couldn't be expected to feel anything but joy over the 
ruination of a textbook, were just made rebellious by the threat- 
ening tone of her words. Rudd wore a mask. Only when the 
word 'book' came again and again out of the old iron jaws did 


a sign show on it a sort of pulling. It was his book. He had left 
it out of doors. I found this out later, but I also found out that 
Dr. Gozar knew it then. And she was an ogre. Relentless. She 
wound up her speech saying, 'The pupil who is responsible for 
this negligent act he knows who he is will remain after school 
today and will write one hundred times the following sentence: 
"I must learn to respect town property." He will write neatly 
and legibly, please. Here, I'll put the sentence on the board 
for all of you to see/ What was most interesting was to see how 
Rudd performed after Dr. Gozar left. 

Mr. BROADBENT. How did Dr. Gozar get ahold of the book? 
The boy told us about leaving it in the woods, on a log by the 
millpond of an abandoned knife works. 

Mr. JONES. That's right. I got him to tell me about recovering 
the book in the afternoon, when I called at his home; he told 
me the story without a hint of emotion. Do you want me to 
break in with it now? 

Mr. BROADBENT. All right with you, Mr. Chairman? 

Senator MANSFIELD. Yes. Go ahead. 

Mr. JONES. When he first waked up that morning, he told me 
he'd had a fearful night, terror-struck, in consequence of Mr. 
Cleary's taking things into his own hands he looked out the 
window of the kitchen, where he and his sister sleep; it's on the 
street, River Street, and he saw it was raining, and his first 
thought was that the leaves would no longer be dry for a weasel 
he'd been observing in the forest to use to reline its nest. That 
made him think of his book. He wheedled his father into driv- 
ing him to school early, when his father went off to work at 
Trucco. At the school he thanked his father for the ride, walked 
at a leisurely pace to the front door of the school, entered, let 
the door slam behind him, glanced over his shoulder to make 
sure his father's car had pulled out of sight, then turned and 
burst out of the school and went at a run up the hill and out the 


Monday, October 28 

Treehampstead Road into the wooded countryside. He got a 
stitch in his side he's candid about his gawkiness and flabbi- 
ncss and he had to walk awhile, but when he came to the dirt 
track cutting through the forest downward to Chestnut Burr 
Creek, he forced himself to run again. Underfoot, he said, there 
was a shining wet carpet of leaves of many colors. Here and 
there branches whipped their loads of water drops off onto his 
chest. He walked past the ruined knife works and along the 
edge of the millpond to the log at the upper end. His book lay 
just where he had left it. He picked it up. The cover was slimy, 
the cloth of the binding had come unstuck and had curled away 
from the cardboard underneath, and the cardboard itself was 
warped; many whole pages and edges of other pages were wrin- 
kled and soaked. The boy said he stood for a long moment star- 
ing at the pond, which was smooth and iron-black, with myriad 
tiny circles of raindrops 'like a celebration of water stridcrs danc- 
ing on it'; then he ran away back. When he reached the school 
the playground was empty. He ran to the front entrance and 
opened the door cautiously and turned to ease its closing so it 
wouldn't slam. He was panting, and his chest hurt, and his legs 
felt, he said, as if they had a deep-sea diver's boots on. He turned 
away from the door. Dr. Gozar was blocking his way. She stood 
looking down at him. He said her hips were wide, her shoulders 
looked narrow, her head seemed very small; she had a towering, 
trompe-l'oeil perspective; she seemed to him enormous, looking 
down at him from a great height, her neck bent so her head 
wouldn't press against the ceiling. But her face was not so far 
away that he could lose sight of its icy sternness. Mind you, 
these two people are in love. Passionately. 'What is that you 
have in your hand?' Dr. Gozar asked in a horrified whisper. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You spoke of Barry's behavior in the class- 
room after Dr. Gozar left. 

Mr. JONES. Yes. It was remarkable. As if nothing had hap- 



pened. As if that sentence, that crazy nineteenth-century pun- 
ishment, weren't scrawled reproachfully across the blackboard. 
I think he was showing off for me in a curious way r and at the 
same time scrutinizing me though I never actually caught his 
eyes on me. His eyes never seemed to rest on anything; they 
seemed to be looking inward at the shelves of the busy super- 
market inside his head. Yet he was right there every second. 
'Homer's father earns two hundred fifty dollars a month/ Miss 
Perrin said once. 'How much does Homer's father earn in a 
year? 7 Three or four hands went up, including Rudd's. Fact is 
he keeps his hand up most of the time: holds up the elbow of 
his right arm with his left hand and just keeps it there because 
he knows all the answers. Miss Perrin called on Jock. Twelve 
months times two fifty dollars/ he said. Two times zero equals 
zero. Two times five equals ten. Carry one . . .' And so on, 
crunching along, step by step. The answer finally came out at 
three thousand. Then Rudd spoke out. 'There's an easier way/ 
he said. What's that?' Miss Perrin said. Tour times two hun- 
dred fifty is one thousand. Three times a thousand is three thou- 

Senator SKYPACK. Wait a minute, now. 

Mr. JONES. He broke the twelve into two elements. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Yes, I see that. Four times the two hun- 
dred fifty and then 

Mr. JONES. Wouldn't have been too remarkable, except I had 
the feeling he discovered the short cut just then, on his own. 
Washington was mentioned at one point, George Washington 
as a youth. Like an electronic scanner, Rudd riffled off con- 
temporaries of young Washington: Johann Bach, famous or- 
ganist in Leipzig; Vitus Bering, sailing all the way from the 
Baltic to the strait that has his name; Ch'ien Lung, poet-warrior 
emperor of China; Voltaire producing Merope; Watt working 
in his father's shop . . . and so on. Rapid-fire. He certainly did 


Monday, October 28 

dominate the room, in spite of Miss Perrin's efforts to hold him 
back. It was evident to me, after some time in the class, that the 
boy had met and fallen under the influence of a first-class mind, 
which had dealt with him as if he were an adult. His fantastic 
inner powers are leashed, disciplined. I felt from the way he 
opened up each thought and even each rote memory for use 
that he was always reorganizing, that he has at base one of those 
minds that can never be satisfied with things as they are. That's 
the kind we want at United Lymphomilloid. Of course the top- 
notch mind that had influenced this specimen belonged to Dr. 
Gozar the old crank who'd ordered him to write a stupid sen- 
tence a hundred times. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Anything else of interest in the classroom? 

Mr. JONES. One thing. They had a recess, and after the recess 
Rudd gave a so-called research report on the system of binomial 
nomenclature for plants and animals devised by Carl von Linn6. 
It was synthetic on the whole, tailored, I would judge, rather to 
get a good mark than to please himself. One touch, though. 
You remember a few minutes ago I spoke of schools nowadays 
copying television? I may have had this notion for some time, or 
I may have gotten it from Rudd, who not only senses it but 
plays on it to the hilt, though he himself, as I said earlier, is in 
school to be schooled. He was using an opaque projector, and at 
one point, being clumsy, he got his thumb caught in the reflec- 
tor and it showed on the screen. In a pompous network voice he 
said, 'One moment, please. The picture will be off the air for a 
few seconds because of technical difficulties. The audio portion 
of the program will continue. . . .' 

Mr. BROADBENT. Now would you tell us, sir, about your visit 
to the Rudd home? 

Mr. JONES. I should say, first, that most of the homes I've vis- 
ited making purchases of specimens for United Lymphomilloid 
have been in suburban areas and have been 'nice' houses natu- 



ral habitat of the handsome I.Q. High incidence of baby-grand 
pianos. Hi-fi. Books. Standard-package cultural values. Many 
foreign cars. Ambitious mothers and ulcerated fathers. But 
listen: let me tell you about the Rudds' heap. It's down at the 
tail end of River Street in Pequot, the end that looks like a 
crushed cigarette butt. The house is one of a series of tenement 
blocks frame buildings, tinder boxes. The Slatkowski block, 
where the Rudds have two ground-floor rooms, is a rickety four- 
story pile on the end of a row of check-by-jowl buildings, sepa- 
rated on the other side from a dingy grocery store by a narrow 
dirt-paved alleyway. The house is covered with tar paper that 
has bricks printed on it. There's no entrance to the apartment, 
if you can call it that, from the front hallway with its creaking 
stairway leading to the other flats upstairs. There's a heavy door 
from the Rudds' kitchen, right out to the street, but this is ap- 
parently swollen and warped out of all use, and you have to en- 
ter by going through the alleyway to the back, where a yard 
about twenty feet deep separates the house from the retaining 
wall of the Pohadnock River. There's a sagging lean-to porch 
roof against the house back there, but no porch; on the bare 
earth under the roof is a mare's nest of rubbish I noticed bro- 
ken dishes, a rusted toaster, old milk cartons, a disemboweled 
alarm clock with a bell on top like a bicycle bell, a burst bag of 
hickory nuts. This open-pit garbage mine is only a hint of the 
slovenliness inside. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mrs. Rudd told us she wasn't too strong on 

Mr. JONES. She certainly isn't. That's an understatement. 
There are just the two rooms, a living room and a kitchen, both 
of which double as bedrooms. There's a dirty, broken-down 
couch in the living room that's simply smothered with clothes 
that need mending, limp magazines, the kids' wet-weather togs, 
every which thing. There's a don't-care atmosphere. The lino- 


Monday, October 28 

leum on the floor is worn through to the fabric and even to 
the underlying wood in places, and the plaster on the walls is 
cracked and falling, so the place looks like Liberty Hall for mice. 
No pictures, limp gray muslin curtains. The kids' rollaway bed 
in the kitchen doesn't get rolled away doesn't even get made. 
The whole flat is warmed by a cheap kitchen stove on which 
was balanced, the afternoon I called, a spoked laundry rack 
draped with mildewy bras and other unspeakables. The tin 
chimney of the stove goes out the side wall over the alley walk- 
way. Bundles of lint stir in the drafts like the tumbleweed on 
the desert down in our part of the world. But if you look closely, 
you see the surprise of this filthy nest. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Which is? 

Mr. JONES. Here and there, tucked under beds and seats, in 
corners, wedged under the sink, wherever they can be scuffed 
away from the pattern of traffic of the four Rudds, are cardboard 
cartons, containing treasures that belong to the boy. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Treasures? 

Mr. JONES. Books. Scores on scores of books. God knows how 
he's scrounged and scraped to get them. 

Mr. BROADBENT. So. When you called, who was home? 

Mr. JONES. At first the mother and father but neither child. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What transpired? 

Mr. JONES. The first thing I discovered, of course, was that 
Cleary had beat me to it. He had the mother so nervous she 
could scarcely waggle her tongue. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You outlined your proposition? 

Mr. JONES. You have to slide sideways into my sort of proposi- 
tion. I got Mrs. Rudd loosened up about the boy. Among other 
things, she recalled a newspaper article that labeled Barry, when 
he was nine, a genius. She got it out and made me read it. It 
was pretty bad written by an untalented reporter in uncon- 
sciously mocking tones. She spoke of her son's careful and pain- 



ful reactions to that publicity his trying to find out what gen- 
ius is. Mrs. Rudd showed me some typewritten notices tacked 
to the wall above the boy's work table in the living room. Wil- 
liam James to the effect that genius is the faculty of perceiving 
in a new way, or 'unhabitual way/ I think it was. Things like 

Senator SKYPACK. He was spouting that genius stuff to us, like 
his personal preserve. 

Mr. JONES. I think you get him wrong, Senator. I don't believe 
he's conceited. He has an almost frightening humility. Dr. Go- 
zar fed him most of that material. Mrs. Rudd told me that after 
the third-grade year Dr. Gozar was wonderful to the boy; the 
lab work began when he was in fourth. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Did you finally put your proposition to the 

Mr. JONES. I did. I explained the entire business to them. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Including the facts you gave us off the record 
on Friday? 

Mr. JONES. Everything. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Weren't you afraid of leakage? 

Mr. JONES. Not at all. Parents of this kind of child have 
learned, the hard way, to play their cards close to the chest. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Even a man like Mr. Rudd, who wanted to 

Mr. JONES. Especially a man like him. The very fact that his 
son seems alien to him makes him excruciatingly sensitive to 
slurs and innuendoes about the boy from other people like him- 

Senator SKYPACK. You say you told them everything. 

Mr. JONES. Every last word. 

Senator SKYPACK. Sir, I want to ask you to release for the rec- 
ord the material, the remarkable pioneering your company's 
doing, that you entrusted to us, off the record, on Friday. I want 
you to let us put that on the record. 


Monday, October 28 

Mr. JONES. Out of the question, Senator 

Senator SKYPACK. When the public sees the patriotic . . . 
That precocious little J.D. wouldn't have a prayer. . . . 

Mr. JONES. You have to realize, Senator, we're living in a free- 
enterprise system. If other companies, with which we at United 
Lymphomilloid have to compete 

Senator SKYPACK. All the same, mister, if the public could just 
know how one little self-appointed genius is trying to sabotage 
this country's 

Mr. JONES. I don't feel free at this time. You'll just have to 
accept that. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What was the price tag, sir? What did you 
offer the parents? 

Mr. JONES. First of all, cash. My starting offer was twelve thou- 
sand five hundred ninety-three dollars. 

Senator MANSFIELD. For a human life? 

Mr. JONES. I was careful to say that was my starting offer. Be- 
sides, the cash was only part of it. You see, people in this coun- 
try are so adjusted to the TV quiz and give-away mechanism, 
as well as to the whole tax-dodge-payola-material-gift-bonus 
ritual, that money has become, not entirely meaningless, not by 
a good bit meaningless, don't misunderstand me but the image 
of reward, you see, has a much more complex texture. 

Mr. BROADBENT. So what did you offer? 

Mr. JONES. You must remember this was my starting position. 
A matched set of Brigham metal-linen flax-weight troposphere- 
blue airplane luggage 

Senator MANSFIELD. For the Rudds? 

Mr. JONES. It's basic, Senator: the more inappropriate the 
'gift* or 'prize/ the more comfortable the image seems to the 
receiver. I mean, you could see that what was called for in that 
home was some new furniture, a vacuum cleaner, a rag mop. 
But those wouldn't tempt. Repulsively necessary. I offered a 
Bonson-Telldorf nates-length gossamer-coal-fiber-lined mink- 



dyed natural stone-marten bed jacket. A Potenga-Borg two- 
hundred-liter after-drive piston-silver-colored sports-racer con- 
vertible. For Mr. Rudd a pair of matched monogrammed ivory- 
backed military hairbrushes with built-in Swiss ninetcen-jewel 
gravity-wind clockwork razor and music box. These, plus per- 
haps one or two other small items, to make the list sound a little 
longer, constituted my starting offer. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Nice stuff. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Did the Rudds bargain? 

Mr. JONES. When they learned that it would be necessary for 
them to sign away all rights to the specimen, including the right 
of visitation, and to sign an authorization for experimentation, 
up to and including major surgery, you could sense a stiffening. 

Mr. BROADBENT. So you went up? 

Mr. JONES. I first increased the cash offer. To sixteen thousand 
seven hundred thirty-four dollars. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Why these odd numbers? 

Mr. JONES. The 'bargain myth/ We've had it thoroughly re- 
searched, sir. The buying public is so conditioned to getting a 
bargain at ninety-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents that our 
research people tell us these same people don't think they get a 
good value when they sell something if the figure's round. The 
prices I mentioned have more 'specie-weight' to them, in the 
bargain-myth terminology, than a much higher round number, 
say twenty thousand dollars. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Still seems low. For a human being. 

Mr. JONES. Value in commerce, sir, is an illusion. What mat- 
ters is that the price seems right to the purchaser, or seller, not 
to an outsider, who may be a Polynesian barterer or an Eastern 
European communist or I have you in mind, Senator a clear- 
minded realist who sees interlocking relationships of values not 
apparent to the partners in the transaction. In any case, our 


Monday, October 28 

negotiations were cut off because the boy came in. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What happened then? 

Mr. JONES. The parents and I together with the girl, who 
arrived home shortly thereafter moved into the kitchen so the 
boy could work at the small table in the living room that has 
been set aside for him. After a few minutes I asked if I could 
talk alone with him. The father and by then it was clear that 
he was itching to make a move said he'd like to tackle the boy 
first. I was afraid of his approach, but he was, after all, the fa- 
ther, and he was insistent. He went in. From my seat in the 
kitchen, when Mrs. Rudd swung the door between the rooms 
open a few minutes later on some bogus errand she invented to 
settle her curiosity, I caught a glimpse of the two of them: the 
porcine limited man standing under the edge of a cone of light, 
the boy sitting with his elbows on his precious papers looking 
up into his father's eyes. The two faces were almost opposites 
the father's face, though chubby, was mobile and expressive, 
every passing thought and feeling reflected in a pull and ripple 
of flesh around the organs of sense, so that an intelligent person 
like the boy could almost have added a silent sum in the man's 
mind just by watching the legible face, or, in this case, have read 
the unspoken underlying thought, 'I want to sell you, son'; while 
the boy's face, to the contrary, was a soft, round, flaccid, un- 
moving mystery, only the vivid eyes leaping ahead of the father's 
words from problem to answer to implication. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Did Mr. Rudd have any success with the boy? 

Mr. JONES. He returned to the kitchen after a few minutes 
and shrugged heavily, as if to say, 'I've never understood that 
boy/ So then I had my shot at him. 

Mr. BROADBENT. How did you go about it? 

Mr. JONES. Realizing that the father and Cleary before him 
might already have soured the boy, I had to adopt a gingerly 



approach. I started by asking him what had happened to the 
wet book Dr. Gozar had brought in, and he told me the story. 
Then I congratulated him on the research report I'd heard him 
give that morning, and he said, Tm going to give a report on 
superstition next time. It sure is lucky for the kids that I've de- 
cided that/ I asked him why lucky. 'I don't mean because it's 
going to be so good/ he said. 'What I mean is, most of my 
reports arc so dull. "The Linnacan System of Binomial Nomen- 
clature!" On superstition I'll give them some fun. Why thir- 
teen's unlucky. Do you know why thirteen's unlucky?' I said I 
didn't. 'Probably because primitive man, in his cave-dwelling 
stage, learned to count by using his ten fingers and two feet. 
Anything beyond twelve was mysterious, fearful, unlucky. Later 
man found that twelve was divisible by two, three, four, and six, 
while thirteen was indivisible, like a big ugly boulder. You 
know, the duodecimal system makes better sense in a lot of ways 
than the decimal system, for instance as a basis for money. . . . 
There were thirteen at the Last Supper. In Scandinavian myth- 
ology there were twelve demigods, until Loki, the evil one, came 
along to make the thirteenth. But, speaking of money, do you 
know something? I've seen a man turn down a two-dollar bill 
because it was unlucky, but never a one-dollar bill, yet the one 
has thirteen letters on it in E Pluribus Unum, thirteen letters in 
Annuit Coeptis, thirteen stripes in the shield, thirteen leaves, 
thirteen berries, thirteen stars, thirteen arrows. Enough bad luck 
to queer any deal that was based on the buck/ I didn't know 
whether he was slyly alluding to my deal you know, subtly 
putting the whammy on me. Anyway, he went on, 'I sure am 
sorry for the class for time after next. I'm afraid I have an irre- 
sistible impulse to report to them on the saurians and sphene- 
dons the lizards and tuataras/ He sighed. 'I guess I just have a 
soft spot in my thalamus for those creatures/ 'In your what? 9 I 
said. 'It's inaccurate/ he said, 'to speak of having a soft spot in 


Monday, October 28 

your heart for something, because the thalamus, in the between- 
brain, is more properly the seat of the emotions/ 

Senator SKYPACK. Ye gods and little fishes! How much of 

Mr. JONES. I asked him what he wanted to be. A taxonomist, 
he said. 

Senator SKYPACK. And what the hell might that be? 

Mr. JONES. A biologist who classifies animals and plants ac- 
cording to their natural kinships. For some time he's been work- 
ing up a complete classification of the animal kingdom, accord- 
ing to phyla, classes, orders, families, genera, species, and sub- 
species. It's all written on a scroll of shelf paper fourteen feet 
long. He remembers every item on the scroll. He said to me as 
he was showing it to me, 'I wish I could track down the orders 
of the Holothurioidea, the sea cucumbers, for sure. I know three 
orders, but I don't know if they have any more.' 

Senator MANSFIELD. He spoke to us of wanting to bring order 
out of chaos. 

Mr. JONES. Yes, it's a creative urge too powerful, I'd say, 
for old-fashioned taxonomy. He'd wind up in biophysics, I 
imagine. But of course when we get our hands on him at U. 
Lympho, there'll be no question of 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please go on, sir, with your interview. 

Mr. JONES. The boy showed me what he called his family tree. 
It was a series of captioned drawings an amoeba named Amos 
Rudd; a jellyfish, Medusa Rudd; a fish going ashore, perspiring 
from the effort, whose name was U. Sthenop Terron Rudd. 
Then there were dinosaurs named Patrick, Cyril, Wolfgang, and 
Ludwig Rudd. An anaptomorphus, or lemur, named Actor 
Louis Phineas Reginald Ignatz Mendel Rudd. A pithecanthro- 
pus, a cave man, holding an American flag, named Ebenczer 
Rudd. Finally he pointed to three snapshots at the bottom and 
said, That's my grandfather, Paul George Rudd, a butcher and 



violin carver. That's my father, Paul James Rudd, machinist 
and salesman. And that's me, Barry Rudd merchandise/ That 
was a sarcastic blow at me out in the open. 

Mr. BROADBENT. How did you counter? 

Mr. JONES. I fell back to rally my forces. You couldn't see a 
trace of anger on the boy's face. He talked on in his gentle ex- 
pressive voice, about how he visualizes taxonomic relationships 
and the adaptive flow of evolution in his mind. He said his 
sensations were like those of the dog Buck, in The Call of the 
Wild, who saw the man by the campfire melt, as it were, into a 
hairy cave man. He could 'melt' the skull of one reptile ('large 
number of bones worse than a jigsaw puzzle') into the skull of 
another. And how he saw evolution as a sort of gliding moving 
picture a creature in a setting, then, as a geologic age gives way 
to its successor, the creature and setting dissolve and change and 
emerge clearly in new forms. Matter of fact, he led me into a 
booby trap on all this. Just after we'd talked about these pic- 
tures in his mind I asked him if he liked TV. 'Oh, yes,' he said. 
I asked him what his favorite program was, and he said it was 
one called Up from the Mire. I said I hadn't heard of that one. 
What sort of program was that? 'About evolution,' he said. 
The gradual changes in the forms of animals. Slight touch of 
Lysenkianism in the approach but basically mutant genes. 1 I 
asked him what channel it was on, what network. 'Oh, no 
channel/ he said. 'It's my program. It's in my head/ 

Senator SKYPACK. That little smart aleck likes to give people 
a hard time. 

Mr. JONES. I enjoy a specimen that has spunk, but I must ad- 
mit, he was pressing me a little closely: and he didn't let up 
either. Next he got in some licks at his father that I think were 
really aimed at me. 'I distrust television,' he said. The trouble 
with it is that there's too much command, authority. Do this, 
buy that! I suppose that on the subliminal level, the stove, where 


Monday, October 28 

warm food comes from, is mother, the TV, with its blustering 
authority, is father/ And with that he turned a flood of ab- 
straction loose on me; it was like a gas attack. 'During the past 
year/ he said, Tve come to the conclusion that a person should 
never accept any statement, idea, or even any "fact" as being the 
absolute truth. An important part of this whole idea is the tenet 
that no statement should be believed merely because it has been 
made by an authority. There's real danger in the acceptance of 
the word of an authority without questioning it, because the ac- 
ceptance may blind us to proof of a more accurate statement. 
The best example of this danger given to us is the stagnation of 
thought in the Middle Ages, which resulted from the unques- 
tioning acceptance by most of the time's great thinkers of the 
utterances of certain ancient authorities. The evidence to dis- 
prove some of the old ideas was right before men's eyes, but, 
blinded by authority, they didn't see it/ 

Mr. BROADBENT. What was he getting at? 

Mr. JONES. I think he was telling me that he was going to defy 
his father and me. I tried changing the subject, but he 
wouldn't let it stay changed. I asked him how he got along with 
his contemporaries. And he said, 'Not too badly for an odd ball. 
Did you know that the schoolboys used to chase Coleridge out 
of their games and that they baited him all the time? He got to 
be fretful, scaredy-cat, and tattletale, and stuck up about how 
bright he was. Once he ran away from home after a squabble 
with his brother; he was sickly for a long time as a result of the 
exposure. But, you see, he wasn't as tough as Huckleberry 
Finn, who ran away because his father wanted to exploit him. 9 
. . . The slight stress on that 'him' told me I was up against a 
pretty tough article myself. I finally decided just to lay my 
proposition squarely on the table, and I did. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What did he answer? 

Mr. JONES. One word. 



Senator MANSFIELD. Don't tell me, let me guess! 

Mr. JONES. You've guessed, all right. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Would you spell that out? 

Mr. JONES. N.O. 

Senator SKYPACK. What the devil, couldn't you go over his 
head and just buy him? 

Mr. JONES. From the father I could have, yes, but the mother 
said she wouldn't consider it unless the boy agreed. 

Senator SKYPACK. By God, we'll change that. Who does she 
think she is? 

Mr. JONES. I'm afraid the mind that'll have to be changed be- 
longs to the boy, Senator. 

Senator MANSFIELD. All right, Mr. Jones, we thank you. You 
may step down now. 

Senator SKYPACK. Just want you to know, sir, that some of us 
here are going to do all we can 

Senator MANSFIELD. Your next witness, Mr. Broadbent. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Charles Perkonian. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Please just stand up right there, sonny, 
and be sworn. 

Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you are about to 
give this committee on the matters under consideration will be 
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help 
you God? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. What's all that jazz? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Just hold up your hand and say, 'I do/ 


Mr. BROADBENT. Sit down. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I do what? Say, what goes on here? 


Mr. BROADBENT. What is your name? 

Monday, October 28 


Mr. BROADBENT. Full name. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Charles Aram Perkonian. Junior. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You're called Flattop? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Sometimes Flattop. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You're a friend of Barry Rudd? 


Mr. BROADBENT. Why do you like Barry Rudd? 


Mr. BROADBENT. What do you mean by that? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. He's cooZ. You stupid or something? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Is it true you were released in September 
from Clarkdale Reformatory? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. What's it to you? 

Mr. BROADBENT. On what charge were you sent up there? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Salt in the battery. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Beg pardon? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Salt in the battery. Stupid. I slugged a 
stupid driver the school bus. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Tell me, Charles, do you know how to make 
a stink bomb? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Sure. You take and put some hide-your- 
color acid and . . . Why'n't you ask Rudd the Crud he's so 

Mr. BROADBENT. Do you think Barry Rudd knows something 
about the stink bomb that was tossed in the auditorium of 
Lincoln School while the State Supervisor 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. When that happen? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Last Tuesday. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Tuesday. What's today? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Monday the twenty-eighth. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Monday. Yesterday was Sunday. Right? 
What'd you say, Tuesday? 


Mr. BROADBENT. Last Tuesday at three o'clock in the after- 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Tuesday. Today Monday, you say that? 

Mr. BROADBENT. That's correct. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I don't remember. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Last Tuesday afternoon you were with Barry 
Rudd in the biology-chemistry lab of Wairy High School, isn't 
that right? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I don't remember nothing. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Were you in the lab there with him? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. What day was that again? 

Mr. BROADBENT. All right, I'll ask you something else. Do you 
remember one day after school, about ten days ago, when Barry 
Rudd came to see you at the bowling alleys? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. The lanes. Sure. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You remember that? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Sure. He come there. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You remember discussing a fish known as 
the stickleback? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Sure. Sure. That's the one such a sex- 
boat. Sure. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You were discussing sex, then. 


Mr. BROADBENT. Do you know a girl named Florence Ren- 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Sure. She's my class. The one the big 
bazooms. I mean you take her age. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Watch your language, Charles. Everything 
you say goes into the public record. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I ain't said nothing. 

Mr. BROADBENT. When discussing the stickleback, did he ex- 
press any special feeling for Florence Renzulli? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Feeling her? I don't remember. 

Monday, October 28 

Mr. BROADBENT. You have suggested Florence Renzulli is 
advanced for her age. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I didn't say nothing. I don't remember 

Mr. BROADBENT. The other night, when a gang attacked the 
Rudds' home 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Hey, was that cool! 

Mr. BROADBENT. You were there? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Why not? It's a free country. Why 
shouldn't I be there? 

Mr. BROADBENT. We understand Barry Rudd was picked up 
by the police. Was he taking part in an assault on his own 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. What you want me to do, finger my pal? 
I don't remember nothing. 

Mr. BROADBENT. How many were involved in the attack? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I don't remember. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Now, look here. You've already said you were 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I don't remember. I don't remember. I 
don't remember. A million times if you ask me. 

Mr. BROADBENT. The windows 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. That was cool. Like they had these base- 
ball bats, see. I got me this fungo bat. That was the greatest. 
They had this signal, see 

Mr. BROADBENT. Then you do remember. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Look, stupid, why'n't you pick on some- 
body your own size? Why'n't you ask the man the funny hat? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Funny hat? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. The flat fedora. You call me Flattop! 

Mr. BROADBENT. You mean a pork-pie hat? You mean Mr. 
Wissey Jones? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I don't know no names. The guy the 



classy motorcycle you can snap it the middle. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You must mean Mr. Jones. Why Mr. Jones? 
What does he know about the assault? What are you trying to 
say, young man? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Don't ask me. Ask him. Ask the drug- 
store guy. 

Mr. BROADBENT. The drugstore man? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. The guy a stomach out to here. 

Mr. BROADBENT. The druggist? What was the name, Mr. 
Chairman? Ellithorp? 

Senator MANSFIELD. That was the name, yes. 


Mr. BROADBENT. What did he have to do 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Don't ask me, ask him. 

Senator SKYPACK. Now, listen, you little delinquent rat, are 
you trying to suggest that Mr. Wissey Jones 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. You can call me a rat, I can call you a 

Mr. BROADBENT. Now, Charles. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. What's this stupid jerk think he is, thinks 
he can call a person anything he wants to call him, thinks he can 
pick on somebody half his size, quarter his size? 

Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Broadbent, I believe we can dismiss 
this witness. You'll look into those allegations, of course. 

Senator SKYPACK. You mean to say, you're willing to accept 
the word of a 

Senator MANSFIELD. I said 'look into,' Senator. 

Mr. BROADBENT. All right, Charles. That door over there, 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Stupid jerk. I'll show that stupid jerk. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Let's have our next witness, please, Mr. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Miss Millicent P. Henley. 


Monday, October 28 

Senator MANSFIELD. Please stand to be sworn, ma'am. 

Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you will give here 
before the Standing Committee on Education, Welfare, and 
Public Morality will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing 
but the truth, so help you God? 

Miss HENLEY. I swear it. 


Mr. BROADBENT. Please identify yourself, madam. 

Miss HENLEY. My name is Millicent Parmelee Henley, and I 
am the State Supervisor for Exceptional Children. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You operate out of the State Office of Edu- 
cation, here in the capital, is that right? You go all over the 
State, giving advice, laying down the law to the town school 
systems, right? 

Miss HENLEY. That's correct. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What do you understand by the term 'Ex- 
ceptional Children? 

Miss HENLEY. You have, first of all, the unfortunates: the re- 
tarded, the handicapped deaf, dumb, clubfooted, spastic, so 
on. Our hearts go out to them. Then you have a smattering of 
the gifted many of whom are emotionally disturbed. 

Mr. BROADBENT. The gifted and the clubfooted are in the 
same category? 

Miss HENLEY. They are exceptional, yes. Lord Byron, as I 
remember, was both but then, we don't run across many 
Byrons in this State, do we? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Would you tell us, please, how you happened 
to get into this Rudd situation? 

Miss HENLEY. Mr. Cleary, the Guidance Director down in 
Pequot, telephoned me on Monday last to inform me that a 



controversy was building up among the teaching staff in the 
town's elementary schools, and particularly at Lincoln Ele- 
mentary, over the Rudd case, and he asked me to come down 
and set forth some fundamental doctrine, straighten the teachers 
out, the misguided ones. 

Mr. BROADBENT. So a lecture was set up? 

Miss HENLEY. Mr. Cleary assembled all the primary and 
elementary teachers in the Lincoln auditorium, on orders from 
Mr. Owing, the Superintendent. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Would you describe exactly what happened 
on that occasion? 

Miss HENLEY. It will be important for you gentlemen to un- 
derstand a little about this boy and his particular problem as a 
backdrop for what happened. May I ? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please. 

Miss HENLEY. I think perhaps I should introduce my remarks 
to you gentlemen on the subject of this boy's problem exactly 
as I did in my ... brahaha . . . unfortunately interrupted 
lecture of last Tuesday. It's so hard for people with a limited 
background on educational psychology 

Mr. BROADBENT. Proceed, madam. 

Miss HENLEY. I'd like to give you a few insights into the learn- 
ing process. We have to look for individual differences in terms 
of the reaction threshold, for the laws of operant behavior are 
the same for all. Learning depends on the restructuring of the 
Gestalt field. Learning starts with failure, the first failure is the 
beginning of education. The essence of learning by repetition 
is the effort to reduce the tendency to hesitate or fail in relay. 
The significance of the Pavlovian work is that there is no physi- 
ological limit to the power of association, for anything that af- 
fects the nervous system can come to 'mean* anything else. The 
repetition of bonds, according to Thorndyke, strengthens the 
bonds, if the connections are rewarded, and the Gestaltists tell 


Monday, October 28 

us that repetition has not merely a cumulative effect but brings 
new insights and the perception of new relationships in the 
learning situation. In Hull, as in Thorndyke, mere repetition 
produces only reactive inhibition; improvement depends on 
reinforcement by reward. The Forty-first Yearbook of the 
N.S.S.E. attempted to bring a rapprochement between the asso- 
ciational and gestaltist theories. Guthrie accepts contiguous 
conditioning only similar to Thorndyke's association-shifting 
and Skinner's S-type conditioning. Hull's reinforcement theory 
is related to Thorndyke's law of effect and Skinner's R-type con- 
ditioning. It is curious, by the bye, that a theory based on ob- 
servable minutiae proprioceptive stimuli precisely coincident 
with specific muscular responses should gain its support from 
purely anecdotal observations. At any rate, habit strength 

Senator MANSFIELD. One vowel, Senator! 

Miss HENLEY. I beg your pardon? 

Senator MANSFIELD. I was just pointing out something about 
the word 'strength' to Senator Skypack, ma'am. Please excuse 
the interruption. 

Miss HENLEY. Habit strength increases when receptor and 
effector activities occur in close temporal contiguity with pri- 
mary reinforcement, that is to say, diminution of need, or with 
secondary reinforcement, a stimulus or reward associated with 
need reduction. Kohlcr's apes could use a means to an end 
e.g., moving a packing box in order to reach a banana. Whether 
they could, in time, use a typewriter to write War and Peace is 
another question, clearly opposed to the bundle hypothesis, that 
a percept is made up of sensations bound together by associ- 
ation. Am I making myself clear, sir? 

Senator VOYOLKO. Huh? You talking to me? 

Miss HENLEY. Do you follow me, sir? 

Senator VOYOLKO. Yeah, sure. Not real close. Like I'm a few 
feet back. 



Miss HENLEY. All right. Now, when we come to the intra- 
psychic motive 

Senator MANSFIELD. I think maybe that's enough background, 

Miss HENLEY. I had only just begun 

Senator MANSFIELD. Do you think that's a sufficient fill-in, 

Senator SKYPACK. Ample. Ample. 

Senator MANSFIELD. And you, Senator? You satisfied? 

Senator VOYOLKO. Me? I'm up to here in it. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Very good. Miss Henley, where did you 
psychologists learn all this? 

Miss HENLEY. From mice. Mostly from mice. We put hungry 
mice in mazes 

Senator MANSFIELD. I see. So the Rudd boy 

Senator SKYPACK. What I want to know, miss. Just one thing. 
Are you for this boy or against him? 

Miss HENLEY. In cases where the need reduction 

Senator SKYPACK. For or against? 

Miss HENLEY. I was getting to that. . . . To oversimplify, the 
purpose of my lecture was to give a dire warning to all the teach- 
ers present on maladjustment on the part of these extreme 
deviates at the upper end of the bell curve. 

Senator SKYPACK. I still want to know 

Mr. BROADBENT. Excuse me, Senator, could I have the witness 
a minute? Can you tell us quite simply, madam, what happened 
how your lecture was interrupted? 

Miss HENLEY. I certainly can. I was standing here, behind the 
lectern. The edge of the stage was here. Mr. Owing and Mr. 
Cleary were sitting back here. Everything was going along very 
smoothly when I heard this curious pop, I couldn't tell exactly 
where the sound came from, I was concentrating on my train of 
thought, and then here, just in front of the lip of the stage I 


Monday, October 28 

saw billowing up a curious yellow cloud. I thought at first I 
have a thing about electricity, thunderstorms, defective wiring 
I thought at first it was a short circuit of some kind, and I'm 
afraid I uttered a rather piercing summons to the fire depart- 
ment. Shortly thereafter a response to an extcroceptive stimulus 
on the part of my olfactory apparatus 

Senator MANSFIELD. You mean you smelled the stink bomb. 

Miss HENLEY. I certainly did. Putrefaction such as you have 
never like that of one of those horrible ditches in the Inferno, 
where the sinners lay in a river of excrement: were they the Flat- 
terers? If there's anything I hate, it's a saccharine compliment. 

Mr. BROADDF.NT. Have you any theory as to who may have 
thrown the bomb? We understand it probably came in one of 
the auditorium windows, so that would rule out any of the audi- 
ence. Have you any theory? Know anyone who might 
want ? 

Miss HENLEY. I can't imagine that it was anyone but the sub- 
ject of our meeting. Who else could feel that way about me? It 
was obviously a small boy's kind of trick. I feel so badly about 
that youngster, because we school people have failed him some- 

Senator SKYPACK. All right. That's all I wanted to know. 
Let's have the next witness. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Just a minute, Jack. Anything else you'd 
like to say, ma'am? 

Miss HENLEY. Well, yes. I'd just like to say that where you 
run into trouble with these children is in singling them out. Hie 
kind of thing Dr. Gozar has done in the lab work with this boy. 
I came right out and said this in my lecture. We talk about the 
defense of democracy how undemocratic can you get? Why 
shouldn't the next child get the extra help the slow learner? 
The extremely gifted child should not be removed from the 
common-learning situation. He's the last one who needs extra 



attention. And don't think, just because I'm a specialist on your 

Senator MANSFIELD. I must say, ma'am, you make them sound 
like little sex fiends. 

Miss HENLEY. I may specialize in deviates, but I don't forget 
the norm. The norm is the bedrock of our society. You can't 
neglect the median child in favor of the exceptions. You re- 
member K.D.R.'s great declaration: 'This is the era of the com- 
mon man.' That's democracy, gentlemen! Not a society where 
you have an elite telling the rest of us how to live. 

Senator SKYPACK. I agree with you, miss. We can't have these 
double-domes getting in there and 

Senator MANSFIELD. All right, ma'am, I think we have the 
drift of it. Thank you for coming here and helping us out. 

Senator SKYPACK. You heard what she said about who threw 
it, Aaron. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Your next witness, please, Mr. Broad- 

Mr. BROADBENT. Word has just been sent in to me, sir, that the 
librarian has arrived. I will call Miss Elizabeth Cloud. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Well, that was quick. It isn't often that I 
give myself occasion to congratulate you, Mr. Broadbent. . . . 
Over there, please, Miss Cloud. Just stand there to be sworn. 

Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you arc about to 
give this committee on its present business will be the truth, the 
whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God? 

Miss CLOUD. I do. 


Mr. BROADBENT. Please identify yourself for the record, 
madam, as to name, address, and occupation. 


Monday, October 28 

Miss CLOUD. Elizabeth B. Cloud, 27 Maple Street, Pcquot, 
Chief Librarian of the Town Free Library. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You are acquainted with a school child 
named Barry Rudd? 

Miss CLOUD. Acquainted! Jchoscphat, I should say I am ac- 
quainted with Barry. I've been nourishing him since he was 
knee-high to a grasshopper or, as I guess he'd put it, as tall, or 
perhaps as short, as the ginglymus joint between the femur and 
tibia of Melanoplvs spretus. You may have gathered, Barry's a 
great one for saying things the accurate way, even if it's the hard 
way. And so, for that matter, am I. He may have caught a bit of 
that from me or I from him. We've been making a game of it 
together for years. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Would you give a little background of your 

Miss CLOUD. There isn't much background. Mrs. Rudd 
brought Barry all the way over from Treehampstcad when he 
was barely five. Treehampstead is a regular city, but as is so often 
the case they have a blah library, stacks and stacks of Victorian 
pablum and rental-library trash; and I guess Mrs. Rudd had 
heard about me and the child-heaven I keep my story-telling 
hours, the space I give the kids' books; they come first with me. 
I don't have a Children's Corner; I have an Adults' Corner in 
my library. And besides, my humpback, there's something about 
the luck of my back: the tykes think of me as a gnome or a magic 
thing a living apple stump, something like that. We get along. 
Anyway, here came Mrs. Rudd shaking and fretting because 
some school idiot had made her think that Barry's being able to 
read so early was a form of sickness. So I took him over. We had 
an afternoon together each week till the Rudds moved to 
Pequot, and from then on well, we're just pals. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Would you say that your, ahem, misfortune, 
madam, has made the boy Barry Rudd feel specially close to 



you, with his, ahem, exaggerated mentality? 

Miss CLOUD. Why don't you come out from behind those 
euphemisms, Mr. District Attorney, or whatever you arc? 'Mis- 
fortune?' You mean my hunchback? You mean that Barry's 
brilliant mind is like a crooked back, and that's why we're pals? 
Deformity is our bond? More like it that you have a twisted 
mind, sir. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I was only trying exceptional 

Miss CLOUD. This is one of the reasons I like children better 
than adults: they haven't learned yet that honesty between 
human beings is a form of social blooper, like belching, to be 
apologized for if it accidentally bursts out. 

Senator MANSFIELD. I'm sure he meant no offense, Miss Cloud. 

Miss CLOUD. I like it better when the offense is intended, sir. 
I know then where I stand. Perhaps I'm like a child myself in 
that particular respect. 

Senator MANSFIELD. If we could go on with our questioning. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Would you tell us, please, madam, about 
the boy Barry Rudd's reading interests? 

Miss CLOUD. Well, like many of my young ones, he started 
in with I^ewis Carroll and Kenneth Grahame and Robert Louis 
Stevenson difference being that he read the books himself, 
mcmori/cd them, improvised from them. I'll skip the feeling-out 
period. Recent years he began to get into geology, zoology. 
Before the Ddwn of History by Charles R. Knight. Monsters of 
Old Los Angeles by Charles M. Martin, about the prehistoric 
creatures of the La Brea tar pits. Then, suddenly, Mofey Dick, 
on account of the stuff on whales. Insects, their origin. Then he 
had a period of Robert Frost he has a strong lyrical urge, loves 
to talk about natural things. Thurber by the measured mile. He 
has a persistent mind. When he gets on a track, he traces it down 
and gets what he wants all of what he wants. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Dr. Gozar told us 


Monday, October 28 

Miss CLOUD. I know: biographies. Dr. Gozar has been a 
wonderful prod to that boy. She goes along behind him with a 
pitchfork aimed at his seat and how he runs! He's read bi- 
ographies by the dozen. Boswcll's Johnson twice. He doesn't 
like the Maurois-type popular biography; he prefers your tartar- 
steak kind of thing. Facts, original sources, lean meat. He roots 
around in footnotes like a boar going after truffles. The last 
year, year and a half, he has been reading the biographies of 
'the biggest brains who ever lived' I've had to send off for a lot 
of them through our library exchange system. Newton, Goethe, 
Pascal, Leopard i, Voltaire, Conite, Michelangelo, Arnnuld, Wol- 
sey, Laplace, the younger Pitt, Schelling, Grotius. 

Senator SKYPACK. I don't sec we're getting anyplace. When 
Mr. Jones told us to talk to this person, Mr. Chairman, he 
must have . . . Look, miss, this boy been coining to you for 
sex books? 

Miss CLOUD. Matter of fact, he has. Indirectly anyway. Just 

Senator SKYPACK. I thought so! And you dished them up to 

Miss CLOUD. I dish up whatever a young mind wants and 
needs, sir. Barry became interested first in courting rituals be- 
tween mammals, fishes, birds you know, the drumming of 
ruffed grouse, bill-clapping of nesting storks, the throaty chant 
and spiral climb of the woodcock. 

Mr, BROADBENT. A fish called the stickleback? 

Miss CLOUD. You know about that? He told you about that? 
I found him that one! 

Senator SKYPACK. So you're the one's been feeding him this 
stuff. . . . Is that a public library down there, miss? 

Miss CLOUD. Town Free Library. Supported by local taxes 
and a State allotment. You're welcome any time, sir. Anyhow, 
I was telling you. After a certain amount of this courtship ma- 



terial, Barry suddenly wanted some technical stuff on human 

Senator SKYPACK. I knew it. I knew it. 

Miss CLOUD. He wanted a couple of gynecological texts, and I 
gave him 

Senator SKYPACK. By gorry, Aaron, it's time we got after 
these public libraries. Openly handing out this smut to minors. 

Miss CLOUD. Senator, if you call Transactions of the Ameri- 
can Gynecological Society 'smut/ then you've set some kind of 
record in bibliographic classification. And the basic works by 
Curtis, Wharton, Novak they're about as smutty as the Rosetta 
stone. And about as easy to read. 

Senator SKYPACK. I'm serious, Mr. Chairman. We've got to 
get in there and root this dirty stuff and filth out of these li- 
braries, if it's getting to the minors. 

Senator MANSFIELD. The boy is a bit young for that sort of 
book, Miss Cloud. What do you suppose his purpose was in 
wanting them? 

Miss CLOUD. I hold back nothing from a child's mind 
within reason. I can smell a bad smell as well as the next person, 
but where there's curiosity, healthy curiosity, I believe in satis- 
fying it. If you thwart and withhold then's when the prurience 
and sneaking and perversion begin. 

Senator MANSFIELD. But you haven't answered my question. 
Why did the boy want those books? 

Miss CLOUD. At the time I had no idea. It wasn't until the 
P.-T.A. protest meeting on the Rudd-Renzulli case 

Senator MANSFIELD. Why did the P.-T.A. hold a? 

Mr. BROADBENT. We have Mrs. Sloat, sir, the President of the 
Lincoln P.-T.A., waiting outside. I intend to call her before long. 
We'll get the full story. 

Senator MANSFIELD. After that you knew why he had wanted! 
the books? 


Monday, October 28 

Miss CLOUD. It was only a guess. 

Senator SKYPACK. You don't have to do much guessing, Mr. 
Chairman. It's bad enough on the newsstands, but I say that 
when the librarians of our public libraries start dealing out sex 
and sadism to our children! 

Miss CLOUD. If you come down to the Town Free Library in 
Pequot with the intent of pulling out books and making a bon- 
fire of them, sir, I'll be there to welcome you with a fourteen- 
gauge shotgun. Please be warned. 

Senator MANSFIELD. We'll have order, please. Resume your 
seat, Jack. Miss Cloud! That is the subject for another set of 
hearings, perhaps not this one, anyway. I think we can excuse 
Miss Cloud now. Thank you for coming up here. 

Miss CLOUD. Thank me for coming up? I was practically kid- 

Senator SKYPACK. Imagine a crippled virgin like that handing 
out sex and sadism! 

Senator VOYOLKO. Before you go, lady. 

Miss CLOUD. Yes, sir? 

Senator VOYOLKO. Could I touch your hump? 

Miss CLOUD. You certainly may, my dear Senator. I hope it 
brings you great good luck. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Thank you, thank you. Real obliging. Sky- 
pack, ain't you gonta ? 

Senator SKYPACK. Not with a ten-foot pole. 

Senator MANSFIELD. All right, Mr. Broadbent, who's next? 
. . . Thank you, Miss Cloud, very forthright. ... If I may 
just . . . No, I can reach right across here. . . . Thank you. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Paul Rudd. Please have him brought in. 

Senator MANSFIELD. You're already sworn, Mr. Rudd. Take 
your place. 




Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Rudd, I've asked you to come back here 
to tell the committee about what happened, the chat you had 
with Mrs. Sloat and your subsequent futile conversation with 
your son, that took place on Thursday afternoon, the twenty- 
fourth. The afternoon before the P.-T.A. meeting took place 
that night. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Now, just a minute, please, Mr. Broad- 
bent. We'll want to get the timing straight on this. This was 
after the stink bombing? 

Mr. BROADBENT. After the stink bombing that was Tuesday 
afternoon. After the attack on the Rudds' house Tuesday 
evening, or night. After the boy was caught with the Renzulli 
girlWednesday in broad daylight at school. It was after all 
those things. In fact, the P.-T.A. was going to meet because of 
these happenings, to discuss 

Senator MANSFIELD. Why do you jump around in this way, 
Mr. Broadbent? 

Mr. BROADBENT. I have to catch my witnesses when I can, 
Mr. Chairman. This Mrs. Sloat is a busy woman. Two, three 
committee meetings a day, seems to me. This happened to be 
the only chance I could snag her this whole week, and Mr. 
Rudd's testimony is germane to hers, and I'm going to ask Miss 
Pcrrin some questions, too. . . . 

Senator MANSFIELD. Well, it's very aggravating. For weeks 
I've been trying to get you to unfold your material for us in a 
straightforward, orderly way, Mr. Broadbent. All right. Go 
ahead, now. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Rudd, I'll ask you to tell us what you 
were doing last Thursday afternoon, the twenty-fourth. 

Mr. RUDD. In the afternoon I was fixing the windows. That 
bunch of hoods. 


Monday, October 28 

Mr. BROADBENT. You were replacing the glass panes? 

Mr. RUDD. Throughout. Every single one. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You know the glazing trade? 

Mr. RUDD. Learnt it thirty years ago. I picked up carpentering, 
fancy masonry stonework, I can do surveying, pump out septic 
tanks, any kind of machine press. Twenty kinds of work. Like I 
was saying here the other day: Why can't the boy earn his keep? 
Do you suppose Mr. Brain-child would stoop to learn something 
useful, something that would maybe bring in a living, part of a 
living even? 

Mr. BROADBENT. You were replacing the windows one by one. 
Would you tell us what happened, please? 

Mr. RUDD. By the way, somebody ought to pay for those win- 
dows. Everybody's offered plenty free advice, interference, you 
people, but I'm the one who's out of pocket on this deal. Here's 
the buyer with a big fat check in his pocket, all kinds of luxury 
items Maud and me've been wanting all our lives, and so far I'm 
the only one that's had to put out. I wonder if you gentlemen 
realize what a full set of glass costs for a person's home, putty, 
sprigs, some primer, sash tool, putty knife it don't come to 
scratch feed. You people sit up here. Who looks out for the ordi- 
nary citizen like me? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please just tell us what was happening. 

Mr. RUDD. I come home there the night before and find every 
blasted window smashed to smithereens. . . . 

Senator MANSFIELD. Couldn't Mr. Rudd give us the details 
of the attack on the house while he's at it? I mean, to 

Mr. BROADBENT. He wasn't there when it happened. You'd 

Mr. RUDD. I wasn't there. I was down the bowling lanes. . . . 
So I came home and found all this broken glass, it was kind of a 
chill in the weather that night, too. So as soon as I could I got 
them to give me the afternoon off at Trucco, and, like I say, 



I was putting in these new panes, I was working on the kitchen, 
on the front, I was just trimming up and beveling the putty, 
when this brand-new Buick drives up, and this lady gets out and 
comes right acrost the sidewalk. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Had you known Mrs. Sloat before? Did you 
recognize her? 

Mr. RUDD. I vaguely seen her, they have this covered-dish sup- 
per over at the school every year. Maud drags me. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And what did Mrs. Sloat want? 

Mr. RUDD. All right, see how you'd feel about it. This woman 
is one of those ones that's into everything. She has this fox thing 
around her neck, a complete fox head looking at you with these 
bossy little brown glass eyes, it's like the lady's looking at you 
like a President, and the fox is looking at you like a Vice- 
President. The two of them. 

Mr. BROADBENT. She has a child in Barry's school? 

Mr. RUDD. You sec, our school district cuts across the Intervale 
and runs up onto the west hill, so you have a mixed group, you 
have the tenement-block people and some of the wealthy two- 
car-garage split-level people. And I don't know, this lady is one 
of your up-the-hill heart-bleeders. She's an improver. I say 
wealthy. I mean, like this new Buick and probably a second- 
hand Pontiac for the husband. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What did she want? 

Mr. RUDD. She lit into me. I was working on the windows, I 
wasn't in a mood for it. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What did she say? 

Mr. RUDD. She said juvenile delinquency was the parents* 
fault, The parents ought to go to jail. I hadn't even heard about 
this Florence Renzulli thing yet. I'm just the handyman around 
there, general repairman to fix the breakage all about my son 
that's so advanced. So she demanded I come to the meeting that 
night, this meeting about what are we going to do with the 


Monday, October 28 

younger generation? First the stink bomb. Then our house. 
Then Barry's in this sex trouble. She's counting the disasters on 
her fingers. Barry in sex trouble? That was news to me. I knew he 
was advanced for his age mentally, but . . . 


Mr. RUDD. She suddenly started taking off on Miss Perrin. 
That's Barry's teacher. 

Mr. BROADBENT. We know. 

Mr. RUDD. She said Miss Perrin was trying to get the meeting 
called off. She said Miss Perrin wasn't fit to be a teacher, all like 
that. She really railed along. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What did you say? 

Mr. RUDD. What did I say! I couldn't have wedged the narrow 
side of my putty knife in between the words. I didn't have a 
look-in. First thing I knew, I heard her say I was to be there at 
eight o'clock sharp and then I'm reading the word ROADMASTER 
on her rear end going down the street. 

Mr. BROADBENT. After that, what happened? 

Mr. RUDD. Well, I was just beginning to have my reaction, I'd 
been too surprised to even get proper mad, but after she left I 
was building up, I tell you I could've smashed some windows 
myself when Mr. Brain-child comes sashaying home. Whis- 
tling. 'Surrey with a Fringe on Top* most cheerful gol-dang 
song ever written. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And you then had a talk with him? 

Mr. RUDD. Which didn't exactly give me relief. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What do you mean? 

Mr. RUDD. I mean I asked him what his objection was to going 
off with Mr. Jones and saving his country, et cetera. And you 
know what he said? I remember the words. You want to hear 
what he said? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Yes, we do. 

Mr. RUDD. 'I don't give a fig for my country/ Either 'fig' or 



'frig/ I'm not sure of anything any more in this world. 

Senator SKYPACK. Did you hear that, Mr. Chairman? Do you 
need more than that? Are you satisfied now? 

Mr. BROADBENT. What else, Mr. Rudd? 

Mr. RUDD. I asked him what he did give a fig for, or a frig for. 
Know what he said? 'The future of the animal kingdom/ 

Mr. BROADBENT. Thank you, Mr. Rudd. That's all. 

Senator SKYPACK. My God! Don't you think it's about time we 
cracked down, Aaron? 

Senator MANSFIELD. All the same, Jack, don't forget that hu- 
man beings are part of the animal kingdom. 

Senator SKYPACK. Now I've heard it all! You, Aaron! 

Mr. BROADBENT. I will call Miss Charity Perrin. 

Senator MANSFIELD. You've already taken your oath, Miss 
Perrin. Please just be seated. 


Mr. BROADBENT. We have information, Miss Perrin, that as the 
boy Barry Rudd's teacher you opposed the holding of the emer- 
gency Lincoln P.-T.A. meeting last Thursday evening. Is this 
correct, and if so, why did you take such a position? 

Miss PERRIN. I wouldn't say opposed, sir. It wouldn't be for 
me to 

Mr. BROADBENT. Did you not solicit the support of Dr. Gozar 
in trying to prevent the meeting, and did you not telephone 
Mr. Owing and Mrs. Sloat on the subject? 

Miss PERRIN. I did make some calls, and I realize it wasn't for a 
teacher. . . . The initials P.-T.A. I realize P. comes before T., 
I know I don't have any business 

Mr. BROADBENT. Just tell us why, Miss Perrin. What was your 


Monday, October 28 

Miss PERRIN. To be perfectly honest, there was one aspect . . . 

Mr. BROADBENT. Which was? 

Miss PERRIN. But, truly, it's giving me too much credit, to say I 
'opposed/ 1 wouldn't have the nerve to 

Senator SKYPACK. All right, all right, miss. Spit it out. 

Miss PERRIN. You mean, the aspect ? 

Senator SKYPACK. I mean, spit it out. 

Miss PERRIN. Well, there was one thing. Mind you, the parents 
at our school are good people, very kind people, and they put 
a lot of time and effort into school affairs. But it often seems to 
me I'll say it sometimes seems to me that they I don't want 
to be too harsh they miss the point. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Specifically? 

Miss PERRIN. This meeting, you see. It was to be a big explo- 
sive meeting about the troubles last week about the decline 
and decay of the younger generation. About the unfortunate 
incident at Miss Henley's lecture, and the attack on the Rudds' 
home, and what someone saw Barry and Florence doing. The 
meeting was going to be all about those things. What's Wrong 
With American Youth? and not a word, either before the meet- 
ing or at it, about the real point. 

Mr. BROADBENT. The real point? 

Miss PERRIN. The child buyer. 

Mr. BROADBENT. The proposition wasn't discussed? 

Miss PERRIN. Not a whisper. Neither before or during. It was 
just taken for granted, I guess. Forgive me, I know I have no 
right to criticize but what I'd like to say is, if all you look for is 
delinquency, you're going to find it. There's so much good in 
young people sometimes our best parents, I mean a cultured 
mother like Mrs. Sloat it sometimes seems to me they're not 
really interested in good education for their children, they're 
only interested in getting school people fired. 

Senator SKYPACK. You trying to condone these perpetual 


sex incidents, Miss Perrin? 

Miss PERRIN. No, of course not. I 

Senator SKYPACK. How's your memory, miss? 

Miss PERRIN. Oh, I have a very poor memory, sir. I've often 
wished . . . 

Senator SKYPACK. It seems you have, miss. Do you remember a 
certain teachers' strike in the northeastern part of this State in 
the year 

Senator MANSFIELD. Let's get back to that meeting, Jack. 

Senator SKYPACK. It's perfectly obvious, Aaron. This lady has 
no respect for the authorities. I mean we've got the facts, here, 
why don't we use them? 

Senator MANSFIELD. Pretty ancient facts, Jack. Mr. Wairy told 
us that had all been forgotten. Mr. Broadbent, the meeting. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Now I want you to confine yourself, Miss 
Perrin, to the teachers' side of things at the meeting. Mrs. Sloat 
will give us the parents' slant. What did the teachers have to say? 

Miss PERRIN. There was a lot of talk about Barry, of course. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What was said strictly by teachers? 

Miss PERRIN. Dr. Gozar said he's a topnotch student who'll 
make an outstanding research scientist; that his interest is deep, 
scholarly, tending toward the theoretical . . . Gaining in 
poise . . . 

Mr. BROADBENT. Anyone else? 

Miss PERRIN. Miss Bagas, first grade, said she considered him 
extremely sympathetic told how once another child had a 
stopped-up nose while reciting, and Barry blew his nose very 
hard several times, as if that would clear out the other child's 

Mr. BROADBENT. You trying to say there was nothing but 

Miss PERRIN. There were favorable comments. I hate to repeat 


Monday, October 28 

Senator SKYPACK. I'd advise you to be a co-operative witness, 

Miss PERRIN. Why should I go against my ? 

Senator SKYPACK. The initials U.C.N.T. mean anything to 
you, miss? 

Miss PERRIN. Oh. 

Senator SKYPACK. Ever hear of the Union of Clerks, Nurses, 
and Teachers, miss? Ever hear about the rotten apples in that 
barrel, miss? Ever hear about the part it played in the upstate 
teachers' strike, back in the Depression? 

Miss PERRIN. I . . . Dear me, I . . . 

Senator MANSFIELD. Jack. I really feel 

Senator SKYPACK. All right. Let her answer the questions, then. 
If she's going to sit there and pass judgment on parents and 

Miss PERRIN. Please. I want to do my duty. I know I have a 
responsibility. . . . Miss Songevine, it's common knowledge 
the children call her The Knife. She talked about him in the 
third grade, the beginning of the year they had a reader, Our 
Friends Around the Corner, and she said, TIe'd gone through 
the whole book the second day and remembered everything in 
it.' Miss Songevine has this sarcastic edge to her voice. 'He had a 
good-humored tolerance/ she said. ' "I've come to class; I have 
to sit here." ' Miss Songevine said she thought she could use 
him to present some social-studies material on the blackboard 
'with a little elegance/ she said, 'but he couldn't read his own 
writing/ She gave up using him for demonstration work. But 
I've heard Barry criticize her, too. Says she used double nega- 

Senator SKYPACK. I don't see this is getting us anywhere, 

Miss PERRIN. I do want to help, Senator. I do. Do you want 
more adverse comment on Barry? 'His attitude of superiority to 



the work we're doing' Miss Trent. Immature. Conceited. Lack 
of facial reaction. Strange chunky torso. That's what some of 
them say. Anything else you want? I do realize . . . 

Senator SKYPACK. It's this same sniveling attitude as before 
from this witness, Aaron. Couldn't we move on? 

Senator MANSFIELD. Were you finished, Mr. Broadbent? 

Mr. BROADBENT. I'm inclined to go along with Senator Sky- 
pack, Mr. Chairman. The witness . . . 

Senator MANSFIELD. Thank you for testifying, Miss Perrin, that 
will be all for now. 

Mr. BROADBENT. The next witness will be Mrs. William Sloat. 

Senator MANSFIELD. If you will just stand in front of the 
chair there, please, Mrs. Sloat and I'll swear you in. 

Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you are about to 
give on the matters now pending before this committee will be 
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help 
you God? 

Mrs. SLOAT. I do. 


Mr. BROADBENT. You are Mrs. William L. Sloat? 

Mrs. SLOAT. No. Mrs. Jefferson Sloat. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Crying out loud, we got the wrong witness? 

Mr. BROADBENT. We understood from our investigators that 
you were a Mrs. Bill Sloat. Bill L. Sloat. 

Mrs. SLOAT. I am called Bill. 

Mr. BROADBENT. That's your name? 

Mrs. SLOAT. No, it's my nickname. 

Mr. BROADBENT. That's your nickname? Your friends all call 
you Bill? 

Mrs. SLOAT. That's correct. 


Monday, October 28 

Mr. BROADBENT. Your real name being? 

Mrs. SLOAT. Wilhelmina Langwell Sloat. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You are President of the Lincoln School 
Parent-Teachers' Association? 

Mrs. SLOAT. And concurrently President of the Pequot P.-T.A. 
Council. And President of the Pequot Republican Women's 
Club, and President 

Mr. BROADBENT. Yes, madam, we understand you're a devoted 
public servant. As we understand it, madam, you called an 
emergency meeting of the Lincoln School P.-T.A. last Thursday 
evening, to discuss 

Mrs. SLOAT. To discuss delinquency. The shocking looseness 
of our young people. I say 'young/ These things are happening 
at a younger and younger age; that's the disturbing thing. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Exactly. And would you mind describing the 
meeting for our benefit, madam? 

Mrs. SLOAT. We started with the usual business meeting, and 
this took longer than normally because we had a rather heated 
discussion of our next Get-Acquainted Night. Mrs. Toll wanted 
the traditional hot covered-dish supper, and Mrs. Bennett, who 
has only lived in Pequot nine years and, you know, she has the 
typical newcomer's desire to revolutionize everything, well, she 
wanted a Mexican-style smorgasbord. Toward the end of the 
discussion, in walked Mrs. Singerly, right down to a seat in front 
of the auditorium she hadn't been invited, I purposely wanted 
to keep this meeting in the family; she's on the Board of Educa- 
tion, and she has an insufferable attitude and carriage. Walking 
down the auditorium as if to say, 'Are you looking at me? Did 
you notice me yet?' Typical! I remember her when she was just 
a lowly program chairman at Pohadnock Elementary. She'd 
heard about our closed-doors meeting 

Mr. BROADBENT. Excuse me, madam. 

Mrs. SLOAT. and she made it her business 



Mr. BROADBENT. If I may interrupt. 

Mrs. SLOAT. to come uninvited 

Mr. BROADBENT. If you please, Mrs. Sloat. We are interested 
in the Rudd case. These Senators are busy men. If you would 
kindly confine your details. 

Mrs. SLOAT. Of course. We got to the delinquency problem at 
about a quarter to nine. I don't know if you've heard of the 
shocks we've had in our peaceful village the last few days. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Yes, madam. 

Mrs. SLOAT. One's at a loss I think it must'vc been our 
young men going overseas, the last couple of wars, mixing with 
foreign riffraff, geisha girls, existentialists. Our Customs people 
ought to charge a duty on immorality. It's all imported. You 
know that. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Madam, I beseech you. The Rudd case. 

Mrs. SLOAT. Mrs. Bontecu told us that she remembered travel- 
ing on the train, I think it was to Springfield, this was last year, 
and the Rudd boy was on there, all alone. He was going to visit 
relatives, Easter-vacation time. Imagine sending a nine-year-old 
child on a train trip alone! They ought to abolish reformatories 
like Clarkdale and turn them into penitentiaries for parents. I 
mean it. Mrs. Bontecu said that boy would talk to anyone. She 
overheard him talking to this Jewish man about how the Egyp- 
tians buried their dead, the way they used to stiffen up the dead 
flesh for mummies. Then the thing happened that Mrs. Bontecu 
wanted to tell us. The boy had a pair of hamsters with him in a 
box, sort of like guinea pigs, and he took them out, and they 
were running all over the car, and then. One of them, it must 
have been a female, had a litter of babies right there just off 
the aisle. The boy gathered a whole crowd around to watch, and 
as Mrs. Bontecu said, she told this story to illustrate that this boy 
was already interested in sex in his ninth year. You talk about 


Monday, October 28 

Mr. BROADBENT. What else, madam? 

Mrs. SLOAT. Here's something I brought along with me. Two 
years ago Mrs. Parsons had to call on the Rudds in an every- 
parcnt membership-drive canvass, their home is a pigsty, anyway 
Mrs. Rudd was bragging about Barry, and she showed Mrs. Par- 
sons this little sign that was tacked over the boy's work table. 
Molly Parsons was so scandalized that she asked Mrs. Rudd 
could she have it, and Mrs. Rudd seemed flattered and gladly 
gave it to her, and Molly kept it all this time and brought it to 
our meeting. Here, I'll just turn it over to you. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Thank you. 

Senator SKYPACK. What does it say, Broadbent? 

Mr. BROADBENT. It's a little sign, like an ad. It says, 'Are you 


Mrs. SLOAT. To show the conceit of that boy. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Could we admit this document into the 
record, Mr. Chairman? 

Senator MANSFIELD. It will be admitted. 

(The document referred to was marked 'Sloat Exhibit No. i' 
and filed.) 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please go on about the meeting, madam. 

Mrs. SLOAT. Mrs. Singerly the School Board one tried to 
take up for the boy, but I'm glad to say she was hooted down. 
She tried to say that Barry Rudd has a 'notable dissatisfaction 
with present explanations of the way the world works/ that he 
is 'non-Panglossian,' whatever that is, and a lot of other affected 
statements. But then fortunately we got off on trying to find 
constructive solutions. Maria Tenn, she's one of the sixth-grade 
room mothers, she proposed that we set up a committee to look 
into the Reading Shelf in Miss Perrin's room, see if it's some of 
this insidious material in the textbooks and outside-reading books 
that accounts for the promiscuity and lack of respect for prop- 



erty in our youngsters. And Mrs. Toll introduced a resolution 
of censure of Mr. Scan Cleary, he's our man in charge of what 
they call Guidance, on account of the Tell- Who Test he used in 
the talent search, because he had questions in there like Tell 
who among your friends cheats a little on tests,' and Tell who's 
a liar in your class.' Any parent with any self-respect has been 
trying all these years to teach her children not to tattle, and here 
you have the school system insisting on it. 

Mr. BROADBENT. We understand you summoned Mr. Rudd to 
the meeting. What part did he play? 

Mrs. SLOAT. We'd intended to call him to task for his son's 
I mean, it's up to a father to tighten the cinch, get a stiff curb 
bit in there, hike up on the reins. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What was said to Mr. Rudd? 

Mrs. SLOAT. We didn't have time. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What about Miss Perrin? 

Mrs. SLOAT. Well, I think this business of tenure. Now, she's 
a perfect example. Your hands are tied, you can't let a teacher 
like her go if you want to. They get entrenched in there, dug 
in automatic raises every year. 

Mr. BROADBENT. In another connection, Mrs. Sloat. What do 
you feel the position of your organization would be with respect 
to the man Wissey Jones's proposal to buy Barry Rudd and take 

Mrs. SLOAT. The P.-T.A. couldn't meddle with that kind of 
thing. That's a business matter, the P.-T.A. has no right to get 
into questions of private enterprise. Of course, if you want my 
own personal opinion, it would be good riddance. They say the 
boy's a budding genius, and I say I don't trust geniuses. 

Senator SKYPACK. Other words, miss, you think the boy should 
be sold. 

Mrs. SLOAT. Definitely. I speak only for Bill Sloat, you under- 
stand. But definitely. 


Monday, October 28 

Senator SKYPACK. That's enough for me. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Thank you, madam. That will be all. Yes, 
you may step aside. The first door. Mr. Chairman, I'd like to 
call Master Barry Rudd. 

Senator MANSFIELD. O.K., sonny, just take your place again. 


Mr. BROADBENT. Now, Master Rudd, we understand that 
you were present at the second interview in Pcquot between the 
man Wisscy Jones and your school Guidance Director, Mr. 
Cleary the crucial interview, as we sec it, in turning the tide 
toward the violent events of this past week in Pequot. We want 
to question you about that conversation. 

Senator MANSFIELD. What day was that? 

Mr. BROADBENT. That was Saturday, sir, Saturday the nine- 

Senator MANSFIELD. Then that was before any of the disturb- 
ances weVe been talking about? You keep dodging around so. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Considerably before. Yes, sir. You'll remem- 
ber the man Wissey Jones arrived in Pcquot on the Wednesday, 
the sixteenth, and he began digging on Thursday. Thursday was 
the day Mr. Cleary went to the Rudd family, and Mr. Jones 
talked with the Rudds on Friday. Then this conversation took 
place on Saturday. 'Hie violence and all didn't begin till the 
following Tuesday. And, as I've said, I want to bring out that 
this interview laid the groundwork for those later occurrences. 
Where was this interview held, Master Rudd? 

BARRY RUDD. It was in the hotel, the Mulhausen, in Mr. 
Jones's suite. 

Mr. BROADBENT. How did you happen to be present? 

BARRY RUDD. Mr. Cleary stopped by the house Saturday's 



my luxury day, and I was all settled down with Aldington's life 
of Voltaire and said he'd been summoned to see the child 
buyer, and he insisted I go with him. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Why did he want you along? 

BARRY RUDD. As I think Momma told you, he was against the 
child buyer's proposition at that time, and I guess he thought I'd 
take his part or my own, if you want to look at it that way. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And he conducted you to Mr. Jones's room 
at the Mulhausen? 

BARRY RUDD. It was a suite. On the way in, when Mr. Cleary 
mentioned the name Wissey Jones at the desk, it was like waving 
a wand. Everyone began to bow and say sir, even to me. Mr. 
Jones had only been there three days, and it was as if he owned 
the place. 

Mr. BROADBENT. So then Mr. Jones received you. 

BARRY RUDD. He was in a dressing gown made out of the silk 
with a Paisley design splotches that looked like a bunch of 
Paramecia caudata, a species of unicellular slipper animalcule 
that is found in abundance in putrefying infusions; with the re- 
sult that I had at once a reaction of mild nausea. His folding 
motorcycle was in one corner of the room. This was the living 
room of what the hotel calls the Uncas Suite, named for Le Cerf 
agile, the nimble deer, as the French called Uncas, with prints 
of Mohegans and rather cheesy Indian motifs but the room's 
on the southeast corner of the building, and it was flooded with 
cheerful sunlight. 

Mr. BROADBENT. How did the conversation begin? 

BARRY RUDD. With suspicion and black looks. I guess Mr. 
Jones felt that the G-man had crossed wires on him, and the 
G-man must have been afraid that the child buyer was going to 
queer him with the Superintendent, or something. As they sat 
glaring at each other I wondered, as I have many times: Why 
don't looks mix or bump when they meet? Why can't you feel 


Monday, October 28 

an angry look when it hits your cheek? Sometimes when Momma 
looks at me I have a sensation of warmth on my skin and it al- 
most seems to me as if it's a kind of ray she emits from her eyes. 
I know what you're thinking, Senator Skypack: 'Unscientific/ 
I know. I can almost feel your look, Senator. B-r-r-r-r! 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please go on, Master Rudd. 

BARRY RUDD. Mr. Jones was imperious. How dared Mr. Cleary 
oppose him? Mr. Cleary stuck his lower lip out and said I was 
too young at ten to make an irrevocable commitment to science, 
or to anything else. I hadn't even gone through puberty; wasn't 
a man yet by a long shot. It was too early to start burning 
bridges. Mr. Cleary jabbed manfully at a pillow next to him, as 
if emphasis and punishment were synonymous. 'How does the 
youngster know at this point that he won't decide in ten years 
to be not a scientist but, let's say, a baker, or a bricklayer, or a 
certified public accountant?' He stared at me while he was saying 
that, I guess to see how I'd respond to those gratuitous down- 
gradings; I didn't care. I've known since I was eight that I'm 
going to be a scientist. He said, 'What if he's a failure?' That 
didn't bother me either; being a failure doesn't enter into my 
plans. You know what I thought? I thought: 'Listen, Mr. G-man, 
Shubert and Mozart were both dead before they reached your 
age. There isn't all the time in the world. Liebig discovered 
fulminic acid when he was sixteen. Galileo discovered the isoch- 
ronism of the pendulum when he was seventeen. Pascal invented 
a calculating machine when he was nineteen. Braille devised his 
alphabet when he was twenty. Colt designed his revolver when 
he was sixteen. Keats wrote "On First Looking into Chapman's 
Homer" when he was twenty. Weber isolated sulphur sesqui- 
oxide when he was nineteen. Raphael painted the Granduca 
Madonna at twenty-one. Wolsey graduated from Oxford at 
fourteen. Maybe I was already old to be starting as a classifying 
biologist. Linnaeus began to learn plant names at four, and at 



eight he had his own garden where he grew all sorts of wild 
flowers and plants that he collected. Don't talk to me about 
making a commitment too early!' 

Mr. BROADBENT. Go on, please about the interview. 

BARRY RUDD. Mr. Jones began asking the G-man about the 
various intelligence tests that had been given to me, and Mr. 
Cleary talked about his talent search. He gave my standings on 
the Minifie Gestalt Partial-Clue Puzzle and the Psycho-Kines- 
thetic Draw-Mama Test, and the Pankhurst Tell- Who, and the 
Olmstcad-Diffendorff Game. Then Mr. Jones said, 'But what 
about his intelligence, Cleary?' Undistinguished, the G-man said. 
Low on the Olmstead-Diffendorff Game. Mediocre standing on 
two national-norm group tests. He rattled off scores and statistics; 
he seemed for a few moments to have stuffed percentiles and 
medians and average reliabilities and coefficients of data into his 
cheek pouches, as a red squirrel, Scuirus hudsonicus, secretes 
the meats of nuts. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What was the child buyer's reaction? 

BARRY RUDD. He asked if there had ever been a Binct or a 
Wcchsler. The G-man said thcre'd been a Binet given in another 
school system, Treehampstead; but Pequot doesn't accept rec- 
ords from outside the district. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Were you curious to hear your own I.Q.? 

BARRY RUDD. I was feeling detached as if all this talk had 
nothing whatsoever to do with me. For some reason I kept think- 
ing about Dr. Gozar, who was the first person to make me realize 
that everything in this world isn't known. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What happened next? 

BARRY RUDD. It seems that Mr. Cleary had been scurrying 
around gathering ammunition to use on the child buyer, and he 
said he had a memorandum from Miss Perrin, and he handed it 
to Mr. Jones to read, and after Mr. Jones finished it he passed 
it to me. This thing did hurt me, because I like Miss Perrin. 


Monday, October 28 

Mr. BROADBENT. Can you remember the gist of it? 

BARRY RUDD. I can remember every word of it. 'Barry Rudd is 
a lot brighter than I am. But he slumps in his chair, keeps his 
eyes down, chews pencils, and repels affection. Anecdotes as re- 
quested. ( i ) I put him on the list of blackboard cleaners, which 
thrills most of the children, but as soon as he saw his name put 
down he said, "Great!" in a very disgusted manner. (2) I wanted 
to show an audio-visual film strip in social studies but could not 
get the holes in the edge of the i6-mm. film to mesh with the 
little cogs in the projector. Barry stepped forward unbid and 
more or less pushed me aside and fixed it, but he did it with 
bad grace and went out of his way to make me feel stupid. 
( 3 ) He let a cheese sandwich from his cold lunch stay in his desk 
and rot until it smelled intolerably. (4) I put my hand on his 
shoulder while talking to him. I like to touch my children, and 
most of them look as if they need to be cuddled, especially some 
of the hard-mouth Intervale boys. Generally my children are 
glad to be petted. Not Barry. He flinched and pulled away as if 
I had leprosy. It makes me feel queer when love is answered 
with hate. He can be cold and clammy, yet sometimes his eyes 
seem to be appealing for help/ 

Senator SKYPACK. Mr. Broadbent, we should get ahold of that 
document. It ought to be entered here as an exhibit. 

BARRY RUDD. As I was reading it, I thought, What does a 
teacher really know about his pupils? At fifteen Mirabcau, who 
baffled his family, was packed off to Versailles to be educated in 
the household of a M. de Sigrais. At the end of three months 
Sigrais announced to the parents that he'd remain the boy's 
jailer as long as they liked, but he couldn't do a thing with his 

Mr. BROADBENT. Carry on, please, with your account. 

BARRY RUDD. The G-man said I had a certain richness of 
imagination but some carelessness in the handling of it; that I 



was uncritical on the whole. He said I had a sneaky streak, and 
glibness bordering on mendacity. lie cited the answers I'd given 
on a form as to what I'd like to be when I grow up and I'll 
confess, I had my tongue in my cheek that day. I was fed up with 
the G-man's everlasting boondoggling snoopery. I answered: 
One. Banker. Two. Forest ranger. Three. Christian Science 
Healer. That same day, I remember, I gave a lot of purposely 
mixed-up multiple-choice answers on sports, in an aptitude test, 
really just for the heck of it: that pucks are used in archery, 
fruit-basket is a kissing game, whist is played with pins, snap is 
played with mallets, and canvasbacks are a kind of tent. 

Senator SKYPACK. You knew better? 

BARRY RUDD. Of course. Canvasbacks Nyrocae valisineriae 
a kind of tent? 

Senator SKYPACK. By God, I do think that's sneaky, Mr. Chair- 
man, to just thumb your nose at the great institution of public 
education that way. 

BARRY RUDD. Mr. Cleary referred to gifted students as 'the 
monster quotient' and kept talking about me as a 'deviate/ 

Senator MANSFIELD. I noticed that was Miss Henley's favorite 
word, too, sonny. I don't blame you for bridling at that. 

Senator SKYPACK. You got a better word, Mr. Chairman? 

BARRY RUDD. While they were talking about their busybody 
old tests, I was having one of my regressive reveries thinking 
that all my knowledge was innate; I'd been born with it. I've 
often been amnesic as to the source of my information, and I've 
just felt that I'd 'always known/ 'I just knew it/ When I used to 
believe in God I long had the image of facts and stories having 
been written in pencil on a sort of reel of microfilm made out of 
skin in my head by Him before I was born. I thought of God as 
being able to talk big and write very small. 

Senator SKYPACK. Top off the rest of it, he's a blasphemer. 

BARRY RUDD. I didn't intend any disrespect of your views, 


Monday, October 28 


Mr. BROADBENT. Back to the child buyer and Mr. Cleary, 
please, Master Rucld. 

BARRY RUDD. Mr. Jones began to heap ridicule on Mr. Cleary's 
talent search, and the G-man got talking in what seemed to me 
a confused way. The real problem is emotional/ he said. The 
child is disturbed. The blinking of his eyes have you noticed 
that? That's not normal in a child his age. lie's been on the 
brink. I've seen tears well up in his eyes. He's really afraid of 
Dr. Gozar. Well, I admit, Dr. Gozar's the dynamic type; every- 
body's afraid of her to some extent. But I've had to handle this 
boy with kid gloves. He blinks. I toyed with the idea of referring 
him to a psychiatrist but decided against it. I made my own 
psychiatric evaluation. The mother's the moving force. Look, 
I'm not the policy maker here. The administration makes the 
policy. What happens if every time a child comes to me and 
says, "I want to be on the talent chart," we put him there? 
There'd be repercussions, and I don't mean maybe. We've got 
standards. This child missed out on his fundamentals, some of 
them. He's got to learn to catch a ball. Be a boy. Besides, we 
can't spend all day on one pupil we couldn't justify that to the 
Board of Finance, I'll tell you that. We feel there are other 
things in life besides biological research. That boy's one-sided. 
He knows little or nothing about associating with his peers. He 
isn't interested in girls. The boy has to learn to be a citizen and 
conform in some respects. No son of mine would be allowed to 
carry the kind of load Dr. Gozar puts on that child. We don't 
have the time of day in public school for cases that get too 
special. This is mass education.' And so forth. He just rattled on. 
Till Mr. Jones cut in and asked him what Mr. Cleary's own 
'psychiatric evaluation' was that he'd said he'd made. 'This is 
rather technical stuff,' the G-man said. 'I believe that this boy, in 
reaction against the mother's psycho-cultural rejection-guilt-anx- 



iety-overprotection cyclical pattern, is suffering from a rather 
clear-cut nipple fixation, together with a certain amount of vulva 

Senator SKYPACK. By gorry. What did Mr. Jones say to that? 

BARRY RUDD. He said, 'Come off it, Cleary, don't hand me that 
Sigmund Fraud. Or Carl Jungle or Alfred Addled, either/ 

Senator SKYPACK. That child buyer's really an enlightened 
fella, he doesn't stand for any nonsense, does he? 

BARRY RUDD. I was taking some notes on the back of Miss 
Perrin's memorandum in a shorthand of my own that I'd de- 
vised, and when the G-man noticed me doing that he got very 
excited. 'See? See?' he shouted as if my doodling along in that 
way, really just to occupy myself, proved that I was a mental case. 
Mr. Cleary began talking about my lack of social adjustment in 
school. He said I prefer the company of older people to that of 
my own age group, and he said that the 'regular guys' bully me. 

Senator MANSFIELD. How did this make you feel the two of 
them talking about you right in front of you, as if you were a 
sick cat or dog? 

BARRY RUDD. I felt detached mildly interested. When the 
G-man talked about my seeking out older people, I thought, 'So 
did Hegel, Descartes, Voltaire!' Not that I consider myself one 
of them. But John Sano bores me. And when the G-man talked 
about the bullies, I thought of the German apothegm, 'When 
Pythagoras discovered the theorem of the right triangle, he 
sacrificed a hundred oxen; since then, whenever a new truth 
has been unveiled, all oxen have trembled/ 

Senator SKYPACK. You think you know more about his busi- 
ness than the Guidance Director, is that the size of it? 

BARRY RUDD. I must say, Senator, for a so-called educator, Mr. 
Cleary has an odd way of grading mental abilities: A stupid per- 
son is one who lets himself be victimized; a gifted person is one 
who's shrewd. He thinks intelligence is cleverness. Since he 


Monday, October 28 

thinks he's a 'realist/ thinks moral values are nothing but cant, 
he has the great advantage of not having to decide what he really 
believes his morality is the cops, his golden rule is don't get 
caught. Yet, I've got to admit the G-man's honest; I mean to 
say, he sees himself as honest and other people see him as honest. 
Perhaps the two views make him, practically speaking, honest 
indeed, though they aren't the same. The G-man thinks he's 
honest because he can spot 'good' people and 'talented' people 
for what they really are hypocrites and neurotics. He's so honest 
that a public display of genuine affection or loyalty or self- 
sacrifice is liable to make him feel sick at his stomach. When 
other people look at him, they see a man who's honest because 
he doesn't steal and because he sticks by his word even when he 
knows he's mistaken. 

Mr. BROADBENT. This is the first time, Master Rudd, that we've 
heard you speak with real feeling. I take it you were not quite 
so detached as you've told us you were. 

BARRY RUDD. My view is that I'm not maladjusted, I'm inten- 
sified. There's a difference. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Let's get back to the interview. Tell us 

BARRY RUDD. The child buyer was getting more and more im- 
patient. He was pacing up and down the room, and he burst out 
and said, 'Social adjustment isn't needed for research scien- 
tists. The more they prefer to be alone, the better off they are, 
and the better off science is. People in education,' he said, 'who 
do need social adjustment and often lack it, are simply obsessed 
with the subject.' 

Mr. BROADBENT. From what we know of Mr. Cleary, he 
wouldn't take that lying down. 

BARRY RUDD. He didn't. In fact he stood up, and I thought 
for a few moments we were going to have a boxing match all 
about me! But suddenly the buyer changed his tactics altogether, 
and within two minutes the G-man had caved in. Utterly. I wish 



you could have seen it. Tou told me the other day, Cleary/ 
Mr. Jones said, 'that you're a realist. Now, I suggest we get 
down to brass tacks. I'm a businessman. I'm here to arrange a 
business deal. It doesn't seem to be a particularly popular one, 
so my job is to make it popular, and I'm prepared to pay the 
price, or prices, of making it popular. This boy sitting here is 
something I want. I want him very much. I'm satisfied, knowing 
his I.Q. and having observed his performance, that he is a re- 
markable specimen that he's one in roughly five hundred thou- 
sand in our population; in other words, he has one of maybe 
the three hundred rarest potential minds in this country. I want 
him, and I'm going to get him. And one person who's not going 
to stand in my way is you, Cleary. Because I know what your 
price is. It's a scrubby little wet rag of power that you want to 
hold in your hands. And I have it for you. It's an Assistant 
Superintendentship in Trent, in Fairfield County; one of the 
plush towns educationally, as you're well aware. Stan Preese is 
Chairman of the School Board down there, and he's a business- 
man and a realist, too one who happens to have gotten himself 
rather seriously obligated to me and my firm. I can assert here and 
now that the job's yours. I know you don't care about the salary, 
but it's ten thousand five. The Superintendent is sixty-one years 
old, so the prospects are both excellent and practically immedi- 
ate. Now, for this price you're to support me whole hog and 
that means be my legman, put me onto the soft spots and 
temptations of the people I have to win over, help me in every 
way you can to sew this purchase up. You're such a big realist, 
Cleary is it a deal? 

Senator SKYPACK. By Christopher, he's a slick one! 

Mr. BROADBENT. What did Mr. Cleary say? 

BARRY RUDD. He didn't say anything. He blushed. A blush 
came out on his face like the slowly spreading and brightening 
glow of the coils of an electric toaster when it has been turned 


Monday, October 28 

on. You could see him trying to fight the blush, but he was as 
helpless as Canute trying to halt the ocean tide; his realizing 
that a blush is involuntary, and that there was absolutely noth- 
ing he could do to stop it until it had burned itself out, made 
it come on the more brightly. He had given himself away! No 
matter how smoothly he spoke now, the buyer and I had caught 
him out. When his cheeks were hotly shining at the highest 
flood of the blush, I sensed that he felt, above all, a hatred 
for me. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Did he accept Mr. Jones's offer then? 

BARRY RUDD. He never did in words. Mr. Jones just took his 
blush as an acceptance of his bribe, and they started mapping 
out their next steps. Mr. Jones outlined the full plan of United 
Lymphomilloid on what they'd do with me, how first they would 
put me in a small room 

Senator SKYPACK. Now, wait a minute there, boy. That plan 
has been given to this committee by Mr. Jones in confidence, 
strictly off the record. We're not going to have you shoot your 
mouth off and betray his trust in us. There are newspapermen 
here. You just drop that line of chatter, hear? 

Mr. BROADBENT. You say they planned their next steps. What 
were they? 

BARRY RUDD. I don't know exactly. As they were talking they 
both seemed to realize for the first time that I was there as a 
human consciousness. Cleary never had gotten around to calling 
on me for support. Now both of them turned on me. Where, 
until a few moments before, I'd been watching a fascinating 
fencing bout, I now saw both epees leveled in line at me and 
the tips weren't blunted, either. The two men were suddenly 
allies. Mr. Jones said, 'You'll excuse us now, Barry. You can run 
home I suppose you had your nose in a book this morning; 
what were you reading?' I told him about the Voltaire. Tou can 
run home to Monsieur Arouet/ he said. 'Mr. Cleary and I want 



to plot a little how to influence and change that stubborn little 
so-called mind of yours/ So I had no choice but to leave. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And I put it to you that this situation, after 
the interview the two men joining ranks against you, as it 
were led directly to your delinquencies of the following week. 
I put it to you that nobody else but Master Barry Rudd was at the 
bottom of the violence and delinquencies that ensued in 
Pequot, and that Master Rudd was motivated by the outcome of 
this talk. 

BARRY RUDD. That's a rather sweeping statement, sir or per- 
haps I should say a sweeping misstatement. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I intend to prove it before we're finished 
with these hearings. 

Senator SKYPACK. Can I have the witness a minute, Broadbcnt? 
If we're through with that part of the questioning. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Certainly, sir; I have no more questions on 
that interview. 

Senator SKYPACK. Now, listen, boy, I want straight answers. 
You've already admitted you were in the lab the afternoon of 
the bombing you and that delinquent punk. Right? 

BARRY RUDD. I don't think it's fair to Charles Perkonian to 
speak of him that way, Senator. He served out the full punish- 
ment under law for what he did, and he's working darn hard at 
his own rehabilitation. 

Senator SKYPACK. I'll thank you to confine your remarks to 
answers to my questions, my boy. And, by the way, I'll pick my 
words and you pick yours. Now I want to put it to you directly. 
Did you make and throw that stink bomb? 

BARRY RUDD. No, sir. 

Senator SKYPACK. You're not forgetting you're under oath. 
You know the meaning of the word 'perjury'? 

BARRY RUDD. From the French, parjurer, and originally from 
Latin, periurare, to forswear oneself, or, in other words, to 


Monday, October 28 

swear to tell the truth and then tell a lie. 

Senator SKYPACK, All right. You know what it means, and I 
assume you know the usual penalties for it. I'll repeat the ques- 
tion. Did you make and throw that bomb? 

BARRY RUDD. I did not, sir. 

Senator SKYPACK. Do you know who did? 

BARRY RUDD. Yes, sir, I do. 

Senator SKYPACK. Who was it? 

BARRY RUDD. I'd rather not tell. 

Senator SKYPACK. You know you're under oath to tell the 
whole truth, don't you? 

BARRY RUDD. There is no greater truth than that I'd rather not 

Senator SKYPACK. Mr. Chairman, would you do me the kind- 
ness of directing the witness to answer? 

Senator MANSFIELD. Now, look here, Jack, are you sure you 
want to make an issue 

Senator SKYPACK. You damn tootin' I want to make an issue. 
Was it that delinquent punk friend of yours, boy? 

BARRY RUDD. If you mean Flattop, he isn't a punk, and as to 
the stink bomb I have no intention of informing. 

Senator SKYPACK. Was it ... was it that fellow Cleary? 

BARRY RUDD. Are you crazy, Senator? He set up the meeting. 
He was on the stage with Miss Henley. 

Senator SKYPACK. Was it that teacher? That Miss Pcrrin? 

BARRY RUDD. I've already said that I don't intend to tell you 
who it was. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Let's move on, Jack. You're not going to 
get any satisfaction out of the boy on this one. Is there anything 
else you want to ask about? 

Senator SKYPACK. There certainly is. I want to ask about these 
dirty books he's been picking up at the public library. Tell me, 
boy, when did you first learn the facts of life? 



BARRY RUDD. If you mean about the reproductive process in 
humans, I got the first basic information about two months ago. 

Senator SKYPACK. Where did you pick this up? 

BARRY RUDD. From my friend Charley Perkonian. We were 
walking home from the movies, a matinee, I remember we were 
going along Second Street, where there's a series of white picket 
fences, and Flattop was tapping a stick along the palings, and 
we got talking about the kissing in the film we'd seen, and how 
it sort of made you sick to the stomach, when suddenly he 
launched into kissing as a first step toward copulation I mean, 
he used street language; I've acquired a more exact vocabulary 
since then out of books and he described the whole process to 
me. His information, I later learned from my reading, was as- 
tonishingly accurate, except for one detail. 'Before a guy can 
start with a woman/ he said, 'he has to get her ready by he lets 
her shove her finger into a ring with a precious jool on it. Thing 
is/ he said, 'this has a lot to do with can they make a baby. 
They can make one pretty easy if the fool's a diamond, and you 
take and have a big-size diamond on the ring, about the size of 
a raisin, it's a pushover. I mean it's like rolling off a log, it's 
nothing/ I now realize that I went off on my geology kick just 
after that talk. I'd noticed mica shining in the rocks in the 
detritus along the river in back of our house, also down near 
Sandy Point where my father and Mr. Zimmer used to take us 
on picnics with the boat they made, and now I had a fantasy 
about fabricating synthetic diamonds, for men to use in this in- 
teresting way, out of the mica. I'd been crazy about cacti just 
before that, but they were wearing off, and the first thing I knew, 
I was off to the races with rocks. I was directed to a dentist in 
Tunxis who had a big amateur collection, and he gave me a 
lot of his extras. Then on two weekends Dr. Gozar drove me to 
the Agassiz in Cambridge and the Peabody in New Haven, and 
I saw a billion specimens of rock. I found some stone up on the 


Monday, October 28 

ridge that crumbled into white powder, and I thought it might 
be gypsum, and I would 'discover' cement. My big adventure, 
though, was to go over to the old mica mine near Londonvillc, 
an open-pit mine which during the last couple of wars supplied 
mica for electronic uses. I had a prospector's pick, and I took out 
some rose quartz and garnet and some other pretty subgem 
stones. And mica. For men. 

Senator SKYPACK. All right, boy. Now about these smut books 
you been getting from the public library. This Miss Cloud 

BARRY RUDD. To me things take on heightened reality after I 
have seen them on the printed page. Reading's just about the 
most important part of my life. We have a French conversation 
class at school, and when Miss Sejour asks, 'Que mangez-vous 
pour votre petit dejeuner? Qu'est-ce que vous faites dans la 
cuisine?', the other kids answer out of the book, 'Je mange le 
dindon,' or 'Je mange la tarte & la citrouille,' or John Sano says, 
'Je mange peanut butter.' But I say, 'Je lise dans un livre de bi- 
ologie.' That's what I'd rather do than eat. Reading gives truth. 
I feel that, I really do. So whenever I come across something 
new, I want to read about it. Now. When Flattop talked about 
this new subject, there was an indefinable something his know- 
ing air, his controlled casualness, the curious feeling of intimacy 
I had with him while he was talking that subtly made me 
realize that my approach to Miss Cloud for material on the sub- 
ject would have to be circumspect. I understood later, when I'd 
read about adolescence, puberty, coming-of-age fertility rites 
among primitive peoples, and so on, that a particular reason for 
this being complicated in my case was that I have a physical age 
and a mental age which simply leap right across adolescence. On 
top of that Dr. Gozar had talked perfectly openly to me about 
reproductive phenomena, heredity in fruit flics and all, and I'd 
seen hamsters and termites born and hatched, but never a word 
about the process of fertilization. Now there were, from Flattopy 



mysterious suggestions of pleasure, of magic, what with the talk 
about diamonds, and even a whiff of right and wrong. So, to 
begin with, I kind of pussy-footed with Miss Cloud. But she's so 
understanding she plunged right in and got me started right 
away on courtship rituals in fauna. 

Senator MANSFIELD. And, by the bye, sonny, just what does 
the stickleback do? 

BARRY RUDD. Oh, he's a rascal, but he's sort of pathetic, too. 
The three-spined stickleback, Gasterosteus aculeatus, is a little 
fish whose first dorsal fin and ventrals are dangerous pointed 
spines attached to bony shields of his endo-skeleton. He mates 
early in the spring in fresh water, in shallows. First he stakes out 
his home grounds and drives every other fish out of it. (This 
staking-out in the mating season is common to many creatures; 
Dr. Gozar once told me about a rose-breasted grosbeak, lie- 
dymeles ludovicianus, that she'd seen pecking at his reflection 
in a window because he thought it was another bird intruding 
on his nesting area.) Anyway, the stickleback digs a hole about 
two inches square in the bottom, picking up the soil mouthful 
by mouthful, like a tiny steam shovel, and it piles thread algae 
and grasses in the hole, plasters them with some goo from its 
kidneys, and pushes them into a mound. Then it makes a tunnel 
by wriggling through. At that point he suddenly turns from pale 
gray to brilliant red and bluish white, and he begins to watch 
for fat females they've got about a hundred eggs in them 
and when he sees one he goes at her with a kind of zigzag dance, 
until she approaches him with her head up and her tail dragging, 
so to speak. He leads her to the tunnel, flops over on his side, 
inserts his snout in the nest, and waggles his spines at his girl 
friend. She gets the idea and when he gets out she goes in, with 
her nose sticking out one end and her tail out the other. He 
nudges her tail with his nose, rhythmically, bump bump bump 
bump, and she lays the eggs, and she slips out and he slips in, 


Monday, October 28 

and he fertilizes the clutch. Then he chases her away, and she 
better scoot or hell bite her tail off! After a while he turns dark- 
colored and he hates everybody, male and female, and he fans 
water onto the eggs with his fins, and when they hatch out he 
worries himself sick over the babies; if one of them swims away 
from the brood, papa goes and brings him back in his mouth 

Senator SKYPACK. That's enough of that! So as I understand 
it, boy, you gluttoned yourself up with a lot of sex and smut at 
the free public library and then picked out a perfectly decent 
young girl, what was her name again, Broadbcnt? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Florence Renzulli. 

Senator SKYPACK. Renzulli, and in broad daylight, in the store- 
room of the principal's office 

Senator MANSFIELD. Excuse me, Jack, but we're running along 
to lunchtime here, and I gather, Mr. Broadbent, from what you 
told me before we convened this morning, that you intend to 
develop this whole Renzulli incident at an early opportunity, is 
that correct? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Right after our recess. We're all set on it. 

Senator MANSFIELD. So if you don't mind, Jack, could we 
postpone ? 

Senator SKYPACK. Just as long as we don't lay down on the 
job and cover up for this clever little devil here. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Then we'll stand recessed until two 

(Whereupon, at 12:25 p.m., Monday, October 28, 19 , the 
hearing was recessed. ) 



(The hearing was resumed in Committee Chamber 202 at 2:20 

Senator MANSFIELD. This committee will be in order. Go 
ahead Mr. Broadbent. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I will call Mr. Willard Owing. Please bring 
him in. 

Senator MANSFIELD. You're sworn before us, sir. Take your 
place, if you please. 


Mr. BROADBENT. We've recalled you to testify, Mr. Owing, 
because you have final administrative responsibility for the 
Pequot school system, and we intend to go into the Rudd- 
Renzulli incident here this afternoon, and we want to ask you, 
first of all, to describe what actually took place, as you under- 
stand it, between those two children. 

Mr. OWING. I so enjoyed my visit with you Senators the other 
day. For the academic man to get out here in the hurly-burly of 
legislative life it's heady, gentlemen, heady. I always say, 'A 
teacher's never too old to study.' 

Mr. BROADBENT. If you please, Mr. Owing, when did the 


Monday, October 28 

Rudd-Renzulli incident first come to your attention? 

Mr. OWING. These little episodes take place, you know, year 
in and year out. The important thing is to keep the sights high, 
keep your eye on the goals, don't forget that the schools' business 
is to manufacture citizens. First and foremost. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please try to follow my questions, Mr. Owing. 
Who told you about the Rudd boy being caught in school hours 
and on school property with the Renzulli girl? 

Mr. OWING. I was saying at our Board meeting just night be- 
fore last, you can't let a single incident loom too large in the 
foreground. Under law our schools are open at least one hun- 
dred and eighty-three days a year, and 

Senator SKYPACK. Broadbent, I want this shilly-shallying to 
stop. Let me have this witness a minute or two. 

Mr. BROADBENT. With pleasure, Senator. And good luck, sir. 

Senator SKYPACK. All right, Owing. Now, I want direct an- 
swers to direct questions. 

Mr. OWING. As I said the other day, Senator, I'm here to help. 
In any way. Eager. 

Senator SKYPACK. Who caught these kids? 

Mr. OWING. At our Board meeting 

Senator SKYPACK. Na na na! None of that, Owing! I want an 
answer. Who caught these kids? 

Mr. OWING. According to the first report I got ... May I 
proceed, Senator? 

Senator SKYPACK. Long as you're answering my question. 

Mr. OWING. The first report I received reminded me of a 
dictum I first heard from old Professor 'Ink-Spot' Channing, in 
my sophomore year at 

Senator SKYPACK. Owing, I must warn you to answer my ques- 

Mr. OWING. But, Senator, try as I will, you cut me off. You're 
constantly interrupting. I'm not accustomed 



Senator SKYPACK. You're not surrounded by a bunch of in- 
timidated cross-stitch and rag-rug teachers here, Owing. I'll try 
again. Who caught these kids? 

Mr. OWING. When you say 'caught/ it seems to me your em- 
phasis is wrong, Senator. 'Surprised/ yes. 'Came upon/ perhaps. 
I'd accept 'found.' 

Senator SKYPACK. I don't care what word you use, who 
caught them? 

Mr. OWING. There's a matter of principle here, Senator. It 
isn't just semantics. If your public schools' authorities take the 
stance of 

Senator SKYPACK. All right, Owing. Who caught them? 

Mr. OWING. Professor Channing's dictum really does apply 
at this point, and if you'll permit me 

Senator SKYPACK. No, I certainly won't permit you. 

Mr. OWING. He first delivered the dictum one day 


Senator VOYOLKO. Excuse, Senator. Yield a minute? 

Senator SKYPACK. I sure will. Brother! 

Senator VOYOLKO. This Renzulli that's an Italian name. 

Mr. OWING. Professor Clianning pulled out his watch, a mag- 
nificent gold turnip, and 

Senator MANSFIELD. It's obviously an Italian name, Peter. 

Senator VOYOLKO. I thought so. That's what I thought. 

Senator SKYPACK. Let's get rid of this witness before my stack 
blows, Mr. Chairman. This is hopeless. 

Senator MANSFIELD. I'm inclined to agree with you. Have you 
finished your questioning, Mr. Broadbcnt? 

Mr. BROADBENT. I can't say I've even begun it, sir. I had 

Senator MANSFIELD. You may be excused, Mr. Owing. I'm 
afraid you haven't been wholly responsive 


Monday, October 28 

Mr. OWING. A pleasure, Senator. Please feel free any time. 
Down in Pequot we 

Senator MANSFIELD. Please stand down, Mr. Owing. We're a 
little pressed. . . . Mr. Broadbent? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Miss Charity Pcrrin. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Take your place again, please, Miss Perrin. 


Mr. BROADBENT. Madam, we're questioning witnesses this 
afternoon on the incident involving the boy child Barry Rudd 
and his classmate Florence Renzulli. 

Miss PERRIN. I don't know why you call on me on that inci- 
dent, sir. I don't know anything about it. 

Senator SKYPACK. What do you mean, you don't know any- 
thing about it? Those kids are in your home room, aren't they? 
They're in your grade? 

Miss PERRIN. They are. 

Senator SKYPACK. You're responsible for what they do in 
school hours, right? 

Miss PERRIN. Within reasonable limits. 

Senator SKYPACK. And you try to tell us you don't know any- 
thing about this shameful incident? 

Miss PERRIN. I not only try to tell you that, sir, I succeed in 
telling you that. 

Senator SKYPACK. I say you're those kids' teacher, you're di- 
rectly responsible for what they did. 

Miss PERRIN. And I say you're talking through your hat, Sen- 
ator Skypack. 

Senator SKYPACK. What gives with this witness, Broadbent? 
She comes in here, she's little Miss Country Mouse on two oc- 
casions, and now suddenly she's like she's got a poker up her 



Mr. BROADBENT. Dr. Gozar told us she might rear up and 
buck once in a while. 

Senator SKYPACK. Well, I don't like it, Look here, miss, you 
better co-operate with this committee if you know what's good 
for you. 

Miss PERRIN. Do you require me to lie under oath, sir? 

Senator SKYPACK. I'll tell you something, miss. I wasn't at all 
satisfied with the way you stammered and yeehawed that other 
time here when I was questioning you about the stink bombing. 
Not at all satisfied. Mr. Chairman, I think we should pursue that 

Senator MANSFIELD. We're on another topic right now, 

Senator SKYPACK. All right. Now, miss, I want you to tell us 
what happened between these two kids. What was he doing to 

Miss PERRIN. I don't know anything about it. 

Senator SKYPACK. You think you're going to sit there and defy 
me, you got another think coming. I'll give you one more chance. 
Exactly what happened, this sex incident? 

Miss PERRIN. I know nothing about it except by hearsay and 

Senator SKYPACK. I remind you, miss, of the initials U.C.N.T. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Oh, now, Jack. That was twenty, thirty 
years ago. Let's not 

Senator SKYPACK. Do you remember those initials, miss? Or 
would you like me to air out your memory for you? 

Miss PERRIN. They have nothing to do with the subject of 
these hearings. 

Senator SKYPACK. I put it to you as a fact, and I ask you to 
affirm or deny the fact, that you were a ringleader of the Union 
of Clerks, Nurses, and Teachers in Pequot during the widespread 
strike here in the State back in 


Monday, October 28 

Miss PERRIN. Do I look like what you call a 'ringleader/ Sen- 

Senator SKYPACK. I warn you, I have full information on your 
part in that business, miss and I happen to know something 
about that strike. I was kept out of seventh grade for four 
months on account of it, right in Sudbury. I have a personal 
reason to feel sore about it. If you want my advice, if you don't 
want this examination to get uncomfortable, you'd better go 
along with this committee and its sundry members. 

Miss PERRIN. Were you truly 'sore' about being kept out of 
school for four months, at the age of twelve, or thereabouts, Sen- 

Senator SKYPACK. I put a fact to you a minute ago. Answer the 

Miss PERRIN. I have no intention of answering any such ques- 

Senator SKYPACK. Answer the question. 

Miss PERRIN. My past life is my own. I will not be bullied. 

Senator SKYPACK. We're talking about a case of ... of sedi- 
tion, miss. 

Miss PERRIN. Senator, I think that during those four months 
of seventh grade that you were deprived of, you must have missed 
the unit of social studies that would have told you that it's no 
crime against the government to join a union. Have you ever 
heard of something called the right of association? 

Senator SKYPACK. You know the history of that union as well 
as I do, miss, who got control of it and all. 

Miss PERRIN. You're speaking of much later history. 

Senator SKYPACK. It's the same union. Anyway, teachers are 
the one kind of people that don't have any business having a 
union. We put our little children in their hands 

Miss PERRIN. Mr. Chairman, I must protest. This hearing is 
supposed to be about the child buyer. 



Senator SKYPACK. By gorry, Aaron, I'm not going to have a 
witness sit there and 

Senator MANSFIELD. Miss Perrin, I'm very curious about one 
thing. Your attitude has changed very markedly since your 
previous appearances here one of them just this morning. Has 
something developed? 

Miss PERRIN. I had lunch with Mr. Jones. I had a dry martini, 
and . . . 

Senator MANSFIELD. And? 

Miss PERRIN. I now think Barry should be sold. 

Senator MANSFIELD. But you were fighting this harder than 
anyone else. 

Miss PERRIN. I've changed my mind. 

Senator MANSFIELD. What changed it? 

Miss PERRIN. Money. 

Senator MANSFIELD. What? 

Miss PERRIN. Eight thousand five hundred and thirty-four dol- 
lars. I've worked as a teacher for four and a half decades, and 
I've scrimped and squeezed all my life, and when that much 
cash falls in your lap at one time, something happens! I've al- 
ways dreamed of being free. And now I am free. This morning, 
Senator Skypack, I was putty in those horny hands of yours, be- 
cause I was terrified of losing my job. Right now you can have 
it. I have money to live on long enough to take a good look 
around; teaching isn't the only work in this world. 

Senator MANSFIELD. But, Miss Perrin. What about your be- 

Miss PERRIN. What beliefs? How can I be positive that Barry 
would be better off going through the Pequot schools than he 
would be going off to United Lymphomilloid? Or, to put it an- 
other way, Senator, would I be the first person in American his- 
tory to shade his beliefs ever so slightly on account of money? 
I feel so good, Mr. Chairman. 


Monday, October 28 

Senator SKYPACK. I'm shocked and bitterly disappointed in 
you, miss. 

Miss PERRIN. You're shocked, Senator? 

Senator SKYPACK. My idea of a teacher was the last person in 
the world would do a thing like that. I mean, I remember when 
I was in school. 

Miss PERRIN. Whereas a politician well, one expects it of a 
politician, doesn't one, Senator? Even when he's elected to pub- 
lic office. The very word 'politician' 

Senator SKYPACK. I'm thoroughly disillusioned. Imagine a 

Miss PERRIN. Want to know something? I found out a few 
pointers about myself from Mr. Jones today. That man can look 
right through your forehead and sec every thought that's in there, 
and some ghosts and shadows you don't know are there, too; it's 
amazing. You've been trying to discredit me through that teach- 
ers' strike, Senator Skypack. Mr. Jones made me realize that in 
that whole mishmash I was a leader who tagged along behind. I 
was a patsy. I always have been. In the everlasting committee 
work we have in school I've always found some reason, ever since 
that strike, why I couldn't take on a chairmanship, but I've felt 
badly cheated if I wasn't allowed to do all the hard work and 
then give credit to someone else who didn't deserve it. Mr. 
Jones asked me about my student days, and I began telling how 
I waited on table to earn part of my tuition at Winship's Normal 
School, and how much aside from the fact that watching peo- 
ple snap at their forks used to take away my appetite I en- 
joyed the job; I was good at it; I was always right there with 
extra butter I forced food on sated people like the keeper with 
the ramrod who feeds the lazy big snakes at the zoo. Tou're the 
Little Helper, aren't you?' the child buyer said. He said he bet I 
cried buckets when I saw a movie about Florence Nightingale 
or Dr. Kildare. I do! I do! I soak my handkerchief. I can't stand 



to criticize other people, for fear of hurting them, yet I always 
agree with criticism of myself I guess I get some kind of 
gloomy kick out of taking it nobly, with a mea culpa. I never 
make demands. I never show off. Mr. Jones had me ticked off 
in every particular he's got those brace-and-bit eyes! Hate 
storms, appease bullies, run away from quarrels. I'm not good 
enough, so I have these spurts of Ovaltine or beef broth or extra 
orange juice. Senator, you were dying to corner me about that 
strike. Sure, I was in charge of the Strike Committee in Pequot, 
but I was no more a leader of that strike than you are a states- 
man, sir. I'm not trying to deny anything; I just mean that peo- 
ple travel under false colors a lot of the time. This was the De- 
pression. We teachers had a hard time. Six hundred dollars a 
year. Have you ever been hungry, Senator Skypack? Have you 
ever bitten your hand till it bled, to offset the pain of a knot in 
your stomach that came from not eating enough? I'll bet you 
haven't. Let me tell you, I suffered not from hunger, I could 
stand that but from pity: pity, on the one hand, for some of 
the kids from the Intervale section, whose families were un- 
speakably poor, and pity, on the other hand, for some of my 
fellow teachers who I imagined were worse off than 1. 1 agonized 
so much everyone decided I must be some kind of saint, and 
they put me in charge I mean in name only. I was the ideal 
front: I couldn't say no. What were you trying to prove, Sen- 
atorthat I was some kind of radical? I'll tell you exactly what 
I was: I was trying to be agreeable. I even tried to be agreeable 
with the School Board. I wanted everyone to be happy, except 
for unworthy me. ... I was about as much a leader as Barry 
Rudd is. By the way, did Mr. Cleary ever tell you how Barry 
got on the talent-search chart for leadership? 

Mr. BROADBENT. No. How did he? 

Miss PERRIN. They put him on because on a test form called 
the Give-and-Take Sociometric Peer-Rating Instrument he came 


Monday, October 28 

out very badly on followership. Ergo, he must be strong on 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mrs. Rudd told us that a certain Miss Bagas, 
his teacher in first grade, said he had splendid followership. 

Miss PERRIN. He got over it, bless him something I never did, 
until lunch today. Anyway, I think now my turn has come. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Chairman, I'd remind you we've got a 
heavy docket here. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Yes, let's move along. Thank you, Miss 
Perrin. I can't help saying, though, I tend to share my colleague's 
surprise that a teacher would take money like that to go back 
on her values. I feel let down. 

Miss PERRIN. And I feel just great! Keep plugging away at the 
whole truth, Senator Skypack. And cheer up, Senator Voyolko. 
Tomorrow will be a less puzzling day. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Tomorrow? What we got to do tomorrow, 
Mr. Chairman? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Dr. Frederika Gozar. Bring her in. 

Senator MANSFIELD. You've been sworn, Dr. Gozar; please 
take the witness's chair again. 


Mr. BROADBENT. We're trying today, Doctor, to get some in- 
formation about the Rudd-Renzulli episode. Can you help us 
out on that? 

Dr. GOZAR. Indeed I can, sir. Better than anybody. It was I 
who interrupted the little lambs. 

Senator SKYPACK. By gorry, we finally struck paydirt. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Would you be so good as to tell us what hap- 

Dr. GOZAR. Surely. 



Senator SKYPACK. You mean, no argument about it? 

Dr. GOZAR. Senator, you look as if you were about to sit down 
to a T-bone steak. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Proceed, Doctor. 

Dr. GOZAR. Let's see, this was last Wednesday afternoon, dur- 
ing the sixth period. I had just completed my inspection of the 
furnaces and basement areas something I do every day at two 
o'clock sharp and I returned to my office. I should tell you 
that the main storeroom for school supplies adjoins my office; I 
got everything stowed in there thirty years ago, so I could keep a 
weather eye on withdrawals, and I'll warrant you, the Board 
hasn't ever been able to say that Lincoln was a wasteful school, 
I've seen to that. The first few minutes after I got back from the 
cellar I was preoccupied with something or other at my desk, 
and it wasn't till near the end of the period, which incidentally 
is a recess for Miss Perrin's room, among others it wasn't till 
five minutes or so before the bell that I happened to look over 
on the floor by the storeroom door and saw something black, 
and I went over and picked it up, and it was a patent-leather 
Mary Jane. 

Senator SKYPACK. A what? 

Dr. GOZAR. A girl's shoe, with a little strap that buttons over 
the instep. ... I then noticed a crack of light around the store- 
room door, which was shut, and I entered. And there they were. 

Senator SKYPACK. In the act. 

Dr. GOZAR. I don't know just what act you have in mind, 
Senator. These are ten-year-olds. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What was happening? 

Dr. GOZAR. Whatever had been happening was over. We have 
a utility cart, on big casters, for the custodian to use for moving 
heavy loads, which is about three and a half feet long and has 
two shelves. Florence Renzulli was prostrate on the upper shelf, 
when I first flung open the door, and at the sight of me she 


Monday, October 28 

squealed and wriggled onto her side and doubled up and began 
tugging at her dress. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And Master Rudd? 

Dr. GOZAR. Master Rudd, as you call him, was standing at the 
foot of the cart, bent over Mistress Renzulli. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What had he been doing? 

Dr. GOZAR. Just a sec. We'll have to catch a glimpse of his 
regalia first. Barry was all in white, except for his hands. He'd 
copped one of the white gowns, one of those toga-like things, 
that the school nurse keeps in case she has to do an examination 
down to the buff; he must have sneaked it out of her cabinet, 
lie had on a square white cloth cap, like the one the carpenter 
wears in The Walrus and the Carpenter/ according to Ten- 
niel I think he may have made it for the purpose. And he was 
wearing a handkerchief across his nose and mouth, bandit style. 
On his hands was a pair of red rubber gloves that I guess he'd 
brought from home. 

Senator MANSFIELD. In other words, he'd been playing doctor? 

Dr. GOZAR. Exactly. I guess he'd been giving Miss Renzulli 
a gynecologic once-over something she may need for keeps at 
a younger age than most young ladies, I fear me. She's the most 
willing child. 

Mr. BROADBENT. We understand you raised merry Ned over 
this incident. 

Dr. GOZAR. To tell you the truth, I would have let it pass, but 
just at the wrong moment Mr. Busybody Cleary, having some 
overblown errand for me, walked in my office and caught a 
glimpse of Barry removing his rubber gloves and Florence 
straightening her clothing and me standing on the sidelines send- 
ing in the plays. Mr. Cleary, who's frightfully psychological, be- 
gan to tremble and perspire, not out of concern for the girl, you 
understand, but because he saw he could make character for 
himself out of the incident, and I knew I had to take a firm 



stand out of plain self-defense. I know the town of Pequot. I 
could hear the palates already twanging as the gossip readied 
itself for flight from fence to fence. So that's how a trifle got to 
l)e a famous case. 

Senator SKYPACK. You call that a trifle? A girl in that position 
on a table, all rumpled like that! Practically speaking, bare! 

Dr. GOZAR. It was a trifle. Take my word for it. Either it was 
really scientific curiosity on Barry's part, or else well, there was 
something odd about it: the location of this bit of research, 
right alongside my office, and the shoe lying there inside my 
office, as if it had been installed, like a small monument of some 
kind, right where there would be the most splendid public dis- 
play. I don't know, something funny. In any case a trifle. Ex- 
cept for the thrill our Guidance Director got out of the thing, 
which removed it from the trifling category. 

Senator SKYPACK. I call this attitude shocking. Shocking. 

Dr. GOZAR, Senator, your shock threshold is low down like 
some other things about you. And while I'm at it, I think I'll 
give you another shock, sir, and I hope a taste of liberal educa- 
tion at the same time. Are you braced, Senator Skypack? 

Senator SKYPACK. What now? 

Dr. GOZAR. That stink bomb I've been reading about in the 

Senator SKYPACK. What about it? 

Dr. GOZAR. I made it. And I threw it. 

Senator SKYPACK. My God! And she calls herself an educator! 

Dr. GOZAR. At least, I arranged to have it propelled. 

Senator SYKPACK. If I was the town of Pequot, I'd fire you so 

Dr. GOZAR. Bzzt! 

Senator SKYPACK. What was that? Why are you pointing at 
me? What did that sound mean? 

Dr. GOZAR. That was a death ray going off the end of my 


Monday, October 28 

index finger in your direction, Senator. Bzzt! Bzzt! 

Senator SKYPACK. I swan! I never seen a woman like this onef 

Dr. GOZAR. Then why don't you subside and let a person talk? 
You interrupt too much. And too foolishly. 

Senator MANSFIELD. I must say, Doctor, I share my colleague's 
astonishment. Why would a school principal do a thing like 

Dr. GOZAR. Do you really want to know why I did it? 

Senator MANSFIELD. I certainly do. 

Senator SYKPACK. I sure do. 

Senator VOYOLKO. What she do? What the lady do? 

Dr. GOZAR. If you'll be patient I'll tell you exactly what I did 
and why. In full. Do you want to hear it? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Yes, indeed. Proceed. 

Dr. GOZAR. Then don't interrupt, please. Senator Skypack, you 
see this lethal index finger? . . . Very well. ... On Mr. 
Cleary's solicitation I showed up at the lecture by the State 
Supervisor for Exceptional Children. I knew Miss Henley's line 
of blabber inside out, because I'd been listening to it for years 
without thinking that it really affected me or the children in my 
school. But this time I suddenly realized that all her gobblede- 
gook had a direct connection with my Barry, and it began to 
agitate me; I began to cross and uncross my legs and to fidget 
in my seat. Her words acted on me as prickly heat or griping 
bowels might. I was near the back of the auditorium and on the 
side aisle I always like to sit on the aisle in case I have to go 
turn up the thermostats or call the riot squad or whatever and 
I noticed that one of the large windows along the west wall, just 
to the audience's side of the stage, was open, because that day, 
last Tuesday, was Indian-summery, warm, hazy, and muggy, and 
with all those ardent humid teachers in there, it was close so, 
as I say, that window was wide open. And Miss Henley's effluvia 
were suddenly too much for me, with a result that I had an idea 


associated with that open window. And I got up and left. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What time was this, please? 

Dr. GOZAR. Miss Henley had been talking only about five 
minutes, because I know I worked up my charge awfully fast; I 
suppose it was four fifteen. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Our investigator has established that the stink 
bomb was exploded at four thirty-eight. So what did you do in 
those twenty-three minutes? 

Dr. GOZAR. Hold on awhile. You asked my motive. Before I 
tell you exactly what I did I want to tell you why I did it. 
Maybe even you will understand, Senator Skypack. ... It had 
begun with a choking sensation, a feeling that I was being as- 
phyxiated by Henley's outpourings, which were based on the 
notion that education is a science, that the process of learning 
is like a process of catalysis or combustion or absorption ob- 
servable, definable, measurable, manipulable; and that Barry 
volatile, mysterious, smoldering Barry is inert experimental ma- 
terial. But the idea of education as a science appalls me, really 
actively sickens me. There are some aspects of human social or- 
ganization that simply cannot be defined and analyzed yet with 
the kind of precision that is the sine qua non of science. So I 
reacted to Henley with violent sensations. I felt as if I were 
drowning. And as if drowning I saw pass before my eyes certain 
images of my experience, which battered at my mind's vision 
seemingly to prove to me that education is non-science. Will 
you be patient and hear me out? Because I think this will help to 
explain my stink bomb, and lots more besides, lots about Barry's 
predicament, perhaps. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Go ahead. 

Dr. GOZAR. A long, long time ago some schoolteachers in the 
hills up in the northern part of the state held up in front of me 
that there was something better than sprinkling a stove with 
perspiration in a mill-town tenement block, that if you worked 


Monday, October 28 

hard you could accomplish. Also they sold me, and my sister, too, 
on the idea that there is such a thing as vertical social mobility 
through education, and so my sister and I decided we'd have 
some of that. My sister's a year and a half older than I am, a full 
professor of biochemistry at Penniman Institute. She calls her- 
self the uneducated half of the Gozars; she only has four grad- 
uate degrees, and I have six. Meg was one of New England's 
more famous women athletes in the early days, when women 
athletes were hampered by copious bloomers; nothing was sup- 
posed to show but the lowest part of the shinbone, even if you 
were competing in the hop, skip, and jump. Some people still 
take me for Meg, and I'm always flattered. Well. My mother was 
an ignorant immigrant woman who always put it up to her two 
daughters that if you tried hard enough you could do just about 
anything. I believed it then, and I still believe in it, and I talk 
it up energetically eight days a week. My first job was at age six: 
leading a horse to pull earth up out of a well that was being dug 
by hand. I had a paper route. I've always been obliged to do some 
things that are commonly reserved to the male sex. I graduated 
from eighth grade in a little one-room school in the foothills of 
the Berkshires. Father was a cow-and-vegetable farmer, a patient 
man who thought that if he just kept at it long enough, he'd be 
able to remove every single stone from a New England field; he 
was from Lithuania, he didn't know the stones were half a mile 
deep with just a pinch of clayey dirt sprinkled in for good meas- 
ure. His persistence with his ever-willing team of oxen and his 
stone boat and his chain the picture of him comes to my mind 
whenever I think I'm tired. Well, Father's farm went broke, and 
we missed a few meals here and there, but I've caught up on 
those in recent years, as you can see, and my sister Meg is even 
vaster than I am. Our school only went through eighth grade, 
and the nearest high school was thirty miles distant, so Meg and 
I struck a bargain with the teacher to start us off on something 


like a high-school education. She did. She was a fine inspiring 
lady named Danna French one woman with eight grades and 
sixty people in her schoolroom, willing to take aboard two ur- 
chins who just wanted more. I've seen so much of that in 
schools in my time. She gave us a course in algebra and one in 
history, and in turn we helped her to do some of the cruder 
teaching. We also did coolie work cleaned the place; and if 
you think I have powerful arms, they came originally from chop- 
ping firewood at Danna French's school. Meg and I were there 
that one year, then we made arrangements where we went to 
Galilee High School, thirty miles from home. We had to pay 
six dollars a month tuition, because they didn't have a district 
system to take care of us, and our room cost three dollars a 
month, and our food ran us six dollars a month. We didn't live 
too elegant on the tooth, but we weren't awful hungry. We 
worked various places; I remember I was some kind of sorter in 
a watch factory, and I assembled the two blades of shears. I must 
have put three hundred thousand pairs of scissors together with 
little screws. That was tedious but when you took fifteen dol- 
lars a month out of your pay for fixed charges at one clump, you 
just had to get married to tedium, you were stuck with it. In the 
spring I helped with planting, in the fall I helped with the har- 
vest. There was no stigma attached to hard work in those days. 
Danna French had held up the idea that if there was something 
better in the world, by gosh, you could go and get it. There were 
convenient places where my sister and I got work; there was a 
dairy not far from the school where we washed bottles. We had 
to start at four in the morning, but we got done before school. 
Out of twenty units of credit, I got nine A's and eleven B's. My 
sister reversed that. She was a better student than 1. 1 tried to be 
as good a student as I could, and a good athlete, too. I wanted to 
look good to Meg. I still do. We had some great teachers who 
steered us both. Mrs. Ethel Le Grand. G. W. Sudland. Glenn B. 

Monday, October 28 

First. They were always holding up in front of you the possibili- 
ties of people to amount to something. When I got to college, at 
Silverbury, as I think I told you the other day, I decided on biol- 
ogy, and I took the two degrees, and then I settled out to teach, 
and so did Meg. And besides teaching I took on some of those 
jobs I was telling you about. One of them was in an iron 
foundry. It was an open shop, and I mean open they put you 
doing whatever you could do, no matter what they were paying 
you. I was classified as a laborer, but at times I was doing mold- 
ing, layout work, machine shop. One autumn I worked as an ap- 
ple picker and saw them feed the people they were itinerants, 
winos and bums, goodhearted broken folks I saw the orchards 
feed these people on metal plates nailed to the tables, the knives 
and forks on chains; they washed up with fire hoses. All those 
years, whatever job I was on, I'd go to school on the side. Or 
maybe the job was on the side. I worked up an M.A. in biology 
in 19 at Springfield. Then I got a Ph.D. six years later at 
Colton College. I told you about all those semesters at Silver- 
bury. Then after the second war I picked up an M.A. in history 
at Manchester College. After that I figured I was in the educa- 
tion business and it would be a good gesture to get me an M.A. 
in elementary education, which I did at Perkins State Teachers. 
And so it went. I've had two hundred and eighty semester hours 
since my Ph.D. seven full years the way the credits usually go. 
This doesn't affect my salary; don't think that's why I did it. I'm 
planning now to get a master's in either physics or math so I can 
keep up with the Space Age, you know? Right now I'm taking a 
correspondence course in meteorology with Silverbury. In my 
leisure time I write Westerns for rags like Highwayman and Big 
West, though I've never been west of Albany; it's all from read- 
ing. Course I do it under a pseudonym, I don't want a scandal. 
Then I'm an amateur photographer. I point and shoot. I'm a 
very amateur musician, play the clarinet for the Valley Power 



and Light Company Marching Band. I've had four offers to be a 
permanent college professor but no. I'm me. In spare times I 
go to track meets. I've made every state track meet in the last 
twenty-four years even helped coaching a bit. It's on account 
of Meg, that's obvious. I take pictures, about thirty at each meet, 
of the finishes, on a four-by-five Speed Graphic, then I have the 
prints made and I send a copy to every athlete who shows, to 
the winner a copy and the negative because somebody did that 
for Meg back in 19 , bloomers and all. It was a man named 
J. F. Van Palent, a Dutch preacher, with an old Graflex, and he 
sent Meg a copy of her breaking the tape in the hundred-yard 
dash. For the past couple of decades I've been sending copies 
like that 'this is of you and this is on the house.' Sometimes 
they write, and sometimes they don't. Oh, I could have retired 
four years ago. I wasn't interested. I can retire at seventy, but I 
won't unless they give me the heave-ho, because if I keep feeling 
as good as I do now, I don't think I'll ever want to stop learning 
and trying to hand on some of it. ... Now do you see, gentle- 
men, why that stuff of Henley's about need reduction and rein- 
forcement of rewards and restructuring the Gestalt field drove 
me to action? Do you begin to understand? How about you, 
Senator Skypack? 

Senator SKYPACK. All right. All right. 

Dr. GOZAR. All right. So now we get back to what I did in 
those twenty-three minutes between my leaving the lecture and 
the bomb going off. I flew like a hummingbird to Wairy High 
School, about a block and a half away from Lincoln, and I was 
feeling pretty ferocious; my old ticker was pounding a lot faster 
than my feet. I said hummingbird, though it's not an image that 
goes with my physique, to express speed, because I figured Miss 
Henley would talk about forty minutes, so I'd have to hurry. 
Speaking of pulse rates, did you know, by the way, that a hum- 
mingbird's heart beats six hundred and fifteen times per minute? 


Monday, October 28 

More than ten times a second? Barry found that out and told 
me it; we've had fascinating talks about the metabolism of birds. 
Anyway, I thought out my whole plan on the way to Wairy, and 
I charged up to the lab, and I found Barry and Flattop there 
Barry was puttering around on some experiment, as he often 
does in after-school hours. I went right to work, and I never did 
anything with such dazzling speed. The two boys wanted to help 
me in whatever I was doing, but I wouldn't let them, because 
the law can take rather strict views of complicity, and Barry 
would just have slowed me down with his deliberate questions, 
anyway. I mixed ferrous sulphide and hydrochloric acid and a 
coloring agent in a globular vial in a matter of seconds. Then I 
took a large snap-type rat trap, and I 

Senator MANSFIELD. Why a rat trap? 

Dr. GOZAR. Back during the second war I had to fill in for a 
couple of months for a sick high-school physics teacher, and I 
did a lecture on ancient engines of war, such as the testudo, the 
battering ram, Greek fire, and so on. I developed a slinging 
mechanism on the snapping arch of a rat trap to show the cen- 
trifugal hurling principle of the trebuchct, and the spring action 
of the ballista and catapult. Furthermore, to exercise the brighter 
youngsters' math, I conducted a series of experiments to calcu- 
late the trajectories of objects of various weights as thrown by 
my rat-trap engine, and I had used these same globular vials 
containing varying amounts of water as my projectiles. I was 
therefore able to weigh my stink-bomb vial and estimate fairly 
closely how high and how far it would carry. It took me only 
about half a minute to rig a timing mechanism a kitchen timer 
I keep in the lab for experiments, to whose pointer I attached 
part of a wooden pencil, so I could simply set the timer along- 
side the trap and in due course the pencil would swing down on 
the bait-trigger of the trap. 

Senator SKYPACK. This woman's a Frankenstein! 



Dr. GOZAR. My maternal instincts, which haven't had much 
exercise in my lifetime, were turning out to be pretty formida- 
ble. It's the closest I've ever come, I guess, to imitating a mother 
tigress protecting her cub. I ran back to Lincoln, to the play- 
ground alongside the auditorium. I had to guess the interior dis- 
tance from the window to the lectern, and, as it happens, I 
underestimated the distance by about eight to ten feet. I paced 
off the required distance outdoors, set my engin volant and 
timer, and shot back to my seat in the hall, and when I sat down 
I said in a loud whisper to my neighbor, 'What's she saying? Did 
I miss anything?' Pretending to be fascinated. 'I had to make a 
phone call/ 1 whispered. Cover-up. 

Senator MANSFIELD. What did you set the timer at? 

Dr. GOZAR. My entire errand had taken not more than thir- 
teen or fourteen minutes. It was a gamble just how long Henley 
would shoot off her mouth, but, not wanting the bomb to go off 
too soon after my return to the auditorium, I had set it for eight 
minutes. Eight minutes! They were like eight months. One nice 
ironic note. At about the seven-minute point, as I estimated, 
Henley took a crack at me my harming Barry by singling him 
out for special help in the lab. 'Just you wait a minute, Henley/ 
I said to myself, 'you'll have my answer to that stinking state- 
ment/ And after one minute beautiful! I saw the little sphere 
glisten as it arched through the window. It didn't quite make the 
stage, but fell on the floor in front. A delightfully pretty yellow- 
green smoke curled up over the heads of the audience in the 
front rows. It began to spread. People jumped up. I said in a 
loud innocent voice to my neighbor, 'What's happened? Did you 
see what happened? What's going on?' Then I saw Owing and 
Cleary running around with their arms over their heads and Mil- 
licent Parmelee Henley, B.S., M.A., heading for the wings with 
her hands to her face. 

Senator SKYPACK. Are you completely finished, miss? 


Monday, October 28 

Dr. GOZAR. I'll never admit I'm completely finished, Senator. 

Senator SKYPACK. All I can say is, this has been one of the most 
disgusting, shameful, degrading exhibitions it has ever been my 
privilege as a State Senator to have to sit through and witness. I 
mean, here's an educationist, sitting here without once saying 
she's sorry, and she 

Senator MANSFIELD. I found it instructive, Jack. Didn't you, 

Senator VOYOLKO. Who, me? What I want to know what 
she want with that rat trap? I didn't dig that part. She trying to 
catch a rat or something? 

Senator MANSFIELD. Never mind, Peter. In any case, Mr. 
Broadbent, we'd better keep things rolling. And thank you, Dr. 
Gozar. Most instructive. 

Senator SKYPACK. Most disgusting! I mean, a person, we en- 
trust our young people to a person . . . 

Mr. BROADBENT. I'll call Mr. Sean Cleary. Mr. Cleary. 

Senator MANSFIELD. You're sworn, Mr. Cleary. Take your 
seat. Good. Now, Mr. Broadbent. 


Mr. BROADBENT. This afternoon, sir, we're discussing the 
Rudd-Renzulli incident. We understand you came in on the tag 
end of it. 

Mr. CLEARY. Yes, I did. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Would you give us your estimate 

Senator SKYPACK. We're beyond 'estimates' now, Broadbent. 
We need some rock-bottom facts here. Wouldn't you say, 
Cleary, that this was one of the smuttiest, cheapest incidents in 
the history of education in this State? The younger generation, 
the deadbeats we're breeding in this State. 



Mr. CLEARY. Frankly, it was the adult, Dr. Gozar, who sur- 
prised me most when I first came on the scene. It was almost as 
if she was working toward some vicarious reward or climax. 

Senator SKYPACK. We're not interested in her, we're interested 
in that criminal little boy. I want to know what you did about 
this crying shame. 

Mr. CLEARY. First of all, Senator, I always try, when we have 
an incident involving a disturbed child, to get things out, get 
them talked about not try to smother and hide them, because 
if you sweep oily rags off in a corner and cover them over you're 
just going to have spontaneous combustion and maybe a wicked 
fire. I therefore promptly called Mr. Owing, Mr. Wairy, Mrs. 
Sloat, Miss Henley, and Mr. Jones, and gave each of them a com- 
plete rundown on the facts. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Sounds more like stirring up a hornets' 
nest than ventilating rags. 

Senator SKYPACK. You wouldn't expect him to shush a scandal 
like that up, would you, Aaron? 

Senator MANSFIELD. From what we've seen here, I'm not sure 
that calling Bill Sloat is exactly the way to clear the air of in- 
flammable fumes. I suppose this led to that P.-T. A. meeting. 

Senator SKYPACK. What else did you do, Cleary? 

Mr. CLEARY. I summoned the boy and gave him a Standard- 
ized Testing Institute Mirror-Image Personality Inventory. 

Senator SKYPACK. You wanted to see whether he was danger- 

Mr. CLEARY. This test is a remarkable instrument. I would 
estimate that it gives the equivalent of a three-year psychoanaly- 
sis in about twenty minutes. It makes use of carefully framed 
psyche-symbol questions, all answerable by yes or no, such as, 
'Are you sometimes cranky before ten in the morning?' and, 
'When a person catches a nose cold, is it his fault?' The choices 
are significant, the results strikingly revealing. 


Monday, October 28 

Senator SKYPACK. And what did you find out about this cheap 

Mr. CLEARY. It appeared to be a manifestation of transmuted 
Puritan libido-thrusts. The rubber gloves . . . 

Senator SKYPACK. Let's not get high-flown, Cleary. Just a 
common garden-variety question. Was it good or bad? 

Mr. CLEARY. It was good (from my point of view) in that the 
boy's bad behavior tends to give Jones a good chance to bring a 
bad (from the boy's point of view) outcome of this United 
Lymphomilloid proposition. On the other hand, it was bad (for 
the child buyer) because the episode was really a good (in the 
boy, psychiatrically speaking) sign that he could do something 
bad to such good effect. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Cleary, that goes quite some ways 
beyond double talk. That's quadruple talk. 

Senator SKYPACK. What I would like to know is, how are you 
going to punish him? 

Mr. CLEARY. United Lymphomilloid 

Senator MANSFIELD. Don't I remember your telling us, Mr. 
Cleary, the first time you appeared before this committee, that 
there hadn't been time as yet for you to undertake psychologi- 
cal training? Do you think you're fully qualified 

Senator SKYPACK. That's a dirty, unfair question, Aaron. I seem 
to remember you said we weren't to manhandle our witnesses 

Mr. CLEARY. No, Senator, I'd like to answer the Chairman's 
question. I think it stems from ignorance rather than malice. 
The psychological tests we use in the schools today, Mr. Chair- 
man, are so foolproof, the norms are so stable, the scoring is so 
automatic, the interpretation is so ineluctible, that you need 
have no concern over one man's array of graduate degrees. In 
short, sir, we fenow about these children. Please calm your nerves 
about my training. 



Senator MANSFIELD. Another thing I seem to remember from 
your first appearance, Mr. Cleary, was your denial that the child 
buyer had done anything to influence you to help him. But we 
have heard testimony today that he is in fact finding you a new 

Mr. CLEARY. There's nothing to deny in that! He's lining me 
up a job down in Fairfield County. Assistant Super. Big jump 
salary-wise, but of course I don't care about that part of it. It's 
just that a tadpole feels great when he sheds his tail and gets out 
of the slimy little pond he's been trapped in know what I 

Senator MANSFIELD. You don't feel that there's anything ir- 
regular about this offer of his? 

Mr. CLEARY. The significance of this kindness on his part, it 
seems to me, is in the way it shows his extraordinary perspicacity 
his almost frightening powers of devination, clairvoyance. He 
must have some extrasensory ability, otherwise how could he 
have known that I had my restless shoes on? 

Senator VOYOLKO. Mr. Leery. 

Mr. CLEARY. Cleary. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Mr. Whatever-It-Is. Where you go to 

Mr. CLEARY. Perkins State Teachers. 

Senator VOYOLKO. You play basketball? 

Mr. CLEARY. As a matter of fact, I did. 

Senator VOYOLKO. I thought so. See? I thought he did. Good 
and tall. 

Mr. BROADBENT. If you gentlemen are finished with your ques- 

Senator MANSFIELD. Jack? 

Senator SKYPACK. I'm finished. I mean, you've got to crack 
down on these deadbeat kids, there's no other way in the world. 

Senator MANSFIELD. All right, Mr. Cleary; thank you. O.K., 
Mr. Broadbent. 


Monday, October 28 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Chairman, a few minutes ago Senator 
Skypack passed me a note that he wants to question the child 
buyer again. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Do you still have him here? 

Mr. BROADBENT. I think so. Yes, the committee usher indicates 
he's still out there. 

Senator MANSFIELD. I would certainly want to honor the 
wishes of my eminent colleague from Sudbury County. Have 
Mr. Jones brought in. Thank you, Mr. Jones, for bearing with us 
again. Help yourself to the witness chair. 


Senator SKYPACK. There's really only one question I want to ask 
Mr. Jones, and that is: Do you still want this boy, I mean after 
this business of stripping and pawing that little girl, the 
mortician's daughter, and all? Do you still want to buy 

Mr. JONES. More than ever, sir. 

Senator SKYPACK. That surprises me. That definitely surprises 
me. How could you want a cheap actor like that? 

Mr. JONES. This proves he's alive. lie's juicy. lie's not one of 
your cobwcb-and-lint intellectuals. Oh, this was encouraging, 

Senator SKYPACK. Well, it beats me. That's all I wanted to ask, 
Mr. Chairman. But you got me with my mouth open, Mr. Jones, 
if the national defense requires a sneaky actor like that. I mean 
I'm not surprised about those moon shots fizzling out, the lag 
in rocketry. 

Mr. JONES. You'll just have to take my word for it, Senator. 
The boy's value is enhanced. 

Senator SKYPACK. Oh, I'll go along with you, sir. If that's the 
way you say things are. I'm going to stand by my promise to do 



everything I can to help you get him. Fact is, I'll be happier than 
ever to have him shipped out of this State. 

Mr. JONES. I'm grateful for your expressions of support, Sena- 
tor. I think I should tell you that they have just become rather 
urgently important to me. It would help me if these hearings 
could be brought to some fruitful conclusion as soon as possible. 
I had a telegram delivered to me a few minutes ago outside this 
chamber, and I believe it's pertinent to these hearings; I'll take 
the liberty of turning the wire over to your committee. Mr. 
Counsel, may I ? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Thank you, sir. Shall I read it out, Mr. Chair- 

Senator MANSFIELD. I wish you would. 

Mr. BROADBENT. It's signed HACK SAWYER. You might tell us, 
Mr. Jones 

Mr. JONES. Of course. Excuse me. Hack's the prex of U. Lym- 

Mr. BROADBENT. The wire seems to be a kind of purchase or- 
der, at least the first part of it. It reads here: DESIRE SOONEST DE- 

Mr. JONES. So you see, Mr. Chairman. Senator Skypack. 
Senator Voyolko. 


Monday, October 28 

Senator VOYOLKO. Huh? Me? . . . Specimens, specimens. 
What they talking about specimens? 

Senator MANSFIELD. It means children, Peter. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Children! Why don't they say so? Nobody 
ever says what they mean any more these days. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Could this wire be admitted into the record, 
Mr. Chairman? 

Senator MANSFIELD. It will be part of the record. I so rule. 

(The document referred to was marked 'Jones Exhibit No. 2/ 
and filed.) 

Mr. JONES. You'll appreciate, gentlemen, these hearings have 
already detained me three days. 

Senator MANSFIELD. What time is it? ... It's already late in 
the day today, Mr. Jones, but I'd hope that with any kind of 
luck we can finish up here in one more day. Tomorrow. Two at 
the most. 

Mr. JONES. Anything you could do to expedite 

Senator SKYPACK. Look, Jones, you say this whole scheme's 
coming out in the press. It states there in the telegram that the 
security is broken on the matter. I therefore want to renew my 
request to you to admit the off-the-record material you gave us 
the other day. This record doesn't mean much without that 

Mr. JONES. Since this article in Momentous has apparently 
been drafted in a way so favorable to U. Lympho, I hesitate 
to chance spoiling it; I'm loath to jump the gun without 

Senator MANSFIELD. I might point out, Mr. Jones, on Senator 
Skypack's behalf, that our record won't be published by the 
State Printing Office for at least two weeks. There's no reason 
why the off-the-record material couldn't be held in confidence 
in our files until well after the dateline of the Momentous article 
and then be released to the State Printer. 



Mr. JONES. I'd have no objection to that. 

Senator MANSFIELD. I then order that the off-the-record mat- 
ter presented by Mr. Jones to this committee in Room 41 yA of 
this building on last Thursday morning, October 25, be admitted 
to the record, on the basis just agreed. 

Mr. BROADBENT. In extension of this ruling, Mr. Chairman, 
don't you think you'd better add that the matter in question 
was not recorded by the committee stenographer but is in the 
form of a memorandum by the committee counsel which has 
been reviewed by all members of the committee and by the wit- 

Senator MANSFIELD. Right. So ordered. 

(The document referred to was admitted to the record, as 
'Committee Memorandum No. i,' and is printed herewith.) 


Chairman MANSFIELD asked the witness to proceed in his own 
way. Mr. WISSEY JONES then deposed that the methods used by 
United Lymphomilloid to eliminate all conflict from the inner 
lives of the purchased specimens and to ensure their utilization 
of their innate equipment at maximum efficiency are and will 
be the following: 

First, Period of Mental and Reflexive Reconditioning, Orien- 
tation, and Preparation. During this period, the length of which 
varies from one to six weeks, depending on the adaptability of 
the subject, each specimen is placed naked in a bare and con- 
fined chamber, six feet cubed, without exterior lighting, dimly 
lit within, so that the consciousness can take in nothing but the 
totality of barrenness of the setting. There is nothing. There is 
silence. There is nothing to do, except during one period of ac- 
tivity each day, when a single meal appears through a trap door 
and when feces can be removed if the subject desires and takes 


Monday, October 28 

the step. The discomfort and rather extreme apprehension ex- 
perienced by the specimen during the first part of this period, 
together with applications of the drug 'L.T./ introduced 
through food, produce a complete elimination, or purge, of 
memory; all experience, education, knowledge are permanently 
cleared away, with no impairment whatsoever of the mind's ac- 
quisitive faculties and capacity for future new memory. As the 
mind goes blank, all thinking ceases, and the subject experiences 
a progressive feeling of warmth and relaxation. About three 
quarters of the way through this period, orientation is begun in 
the form of constant whispering which is piped into the chamber, 
barely perceptible at first, gradually increasing in volume and 
clarity, but never rising above an aspirated murmur, the con- 
tent of which is entirely devoted to United Lymphomilloid to 
the motherly, protective, nourishing qualities of the corporate 
image, and later to Her creativity, fecundity, and later still to 
Her great Mystery the Miracle of the Fifty-Year Project. This 
whispering continues for several days and produces in the speci- 
men a growing desire, which in due course becomes almost ec- 
static, to be exposed to the image and to feel (the subject has 
forgotten he can think and therefore do anything besides feel) 
Her benignity and sovereignty, which the specimen apparently 
pictures as a kind of primitive comfort, a sort of swaddling. 
Upon its completion, this phase of preparation is followed by 
Second, Education and Desensitization in Isolation. The 
specimen is removed from the Forgetting Chamber and is 
placed in a small but comfortable room, containing a hard bed, 
a table, a washbasin, and a toilet. (Toilet training is necessary, 
since the subject has forgotten, of course, how to avail him- 
self of plumbing.) There are no windows in the room in fact, 
the specimen will never again look out at the complexity of na- 
ture, which would only confuse him. Education now begins. A 
most important aspect of the United Lymphomilloid method is 



that the specimen shall have no contaminating (in a mental 
sense) contact with other human beings. All teaching must 
therefore be done mechanically by the technique of whisper- 
ing to which the specimen is already conditioned, by films and 
symbols projected against walls of the room, by recorded mate- 
rial infiltrated into the subject's hard pillow during sleeping 
hours, and by other devices so far too secret to discuss Mr. 
JONES simply said that one of them involves, for example, hyp- 
notic high-frequency vibrations. Reading is taught entirely by 
sound film. Gradually, as the student progresses (because of the 
emptiness of the mind at first and the possibility of excluding 
all irrelevancies, great and small, the progress is astonishingly 
rapid, so that in mathematics, for instance, which begins with 
adding one and one, the calculus is reached in five weeks of 
teaching, and logarithm tables are quite unnecessary), his life is 
made more comfortable. Television, radio, and books are in- 
troduced into his room, but the specimen is never exposed to 
anything that does not relate to the Miracle of the Fifty-Year 
Project. The television programs he sees have all been specially 
taped for him and him alone, the radio programs specially re- 
corded, the books specially written and printed and bound. Ev- 
erything the specimen learns has been built around the fecund 
female corporate image of U. Lympho. She is Truth. She is the 
Source and Secret of Life. She is the One and Only Television 
Sponsor. She becomes the motivating force for all activity in- 
deed, She, U. Lympho, becomes the Divinity. By slow and sub- 
tle training, in which rhythms of repetition play a great part, the 
specimen's relationship to Her becomes ritualistic. He begins to 
worship Her by solving problems simple ones, to begin with, 
then increasingly trying ones. His whole life becomes an at- 
tempt to please Her by spurts of creative mental activity, which 
are seen as worshipful acts. This religion is, however, entirely in- 
tellective. Emotion of all kinds is eliminated as far as possible 


Monday, October 28 

from the specimen's life, partly by keeping from his emptied 
mind all images and ideas that might stimulate feeling, and 
partly by a drug, enthohexylcenteron, related to the tranquiliz- 
ers used in psychiatric therapy but specially developed by United 
Lymphomilloid researches to deaden all affective responses with- 
out, however, removing the elements of pain and joy in the 
specimen's new motivation specifically, the particularly intense 
motivation to genuflect before Her, as it were, by problem- 
solving. This schooling period lasts about four months and is 
followed by 

Third, Data-feeding Period. The specimen is now almost pre- 
pared to work for Her on the Mystery of the Fifty-Year Project 
or at least on one isolated corner of the project. Into his mind 
is fed an enormous amount of data that will be needed in find- 
ing episodic solutions to certain problems in connection with 
the Mystery. Mr. JONES pointed out to the committee that it is 
common knowledge that electronic calculating machines have 
proved fallible because they are fed data by human beings. 
United Lymphomilloid reverses the process. The subject's hu- 
man mind, capable of illimitable subtlety, is fed data by abso- 
lutely reliable and matter-of-fact calculating machines. (The 
machines are fed, in turn, by previously conditioned specimens.) 
The specimen's mind is now working so fast, and his motiva- 
tion is so powerful, that this stage takes only about three weeks 
and is followed by 

Fourth, Major Surgery. The subject is now perfectly prepared 
to do Her work. There are, however, two dangers. One is that 
through some inadvertence, unforeseen by the minds of tech- 
nicians who have not been conditioned as the specimen has, 
scraps of information that are not wholly related to the subject's 
particular area of worship-solving may creep into his mind. The 
second is that he may develop emotions; it has been found that, 
despite the prophylaxis and enthohexylcenteron, extremely dan- 



gerous emotions may arise, apparently stemming from tiny 
doubts about Her, the source of which Project researchers have 
not yet been able to pin down. The specimen therefore under- 
goes major surgery, which consists of 'tying off' all five senses. 
Since the subject need not take in any more data, he has no 
further need of sight or hearing. Smell and taste have long since 
been useless to him, since he regards the intake of food as a me- 
chanical process that he carries on only for Her sake. Only so 
much sense of touch is left the specimen as to allow him to carry 
on his bodily functions and 'write* on a Simplomat Recorder, a 
stenographic machine the use of which has long since become a 
ceremonial rite for the subject. Most specimens are also steri- 
lized, though a certain few will be left their reproductive equip- 
ment in order to breed further specimens for the Project. It is 
thought that some of these breeders, after they have solved most 
of the problems arising from their data, will be retired to stud 
the servicings for which will of course all be mechanical. The 
surgical period lasts about two months, whereupon ensues 

Fifth, Productive Work. The specimen worships U. Lympho 
by offering up to Her solutions of incredibly difficult problems 
relating to the Mystery. 

Mr. JONES then asked if there were any questions. 

Senator MANSFIELD asked if all this wasn't a little drastic, and 
Mr. JONES replied that by the same token the results represented 
a major break-through in the development of the human intel- 
lect as great and startling a break-through in its field as the one 
represented in another field by the first setting off of an atomic 
chain reaction in the lattice pile in the cellar of the squash courts 
at the University of Chicago in 1942. He would cite one fact to 
show the extent of the implications of the United Lymphomil- 
loid method. This method has produced mental prodigies such 
as man has never imagined possible. Using tests developed by 
company researchers, the firm has measured I.Q.'s of three fully 


Monday, October 28 

trained specimens at 974, 989, and 1005, whereas 100 is the 
median in the general population, and 200, estimated by the 
psychologist Terman to have been approached by only a hand- 
ful of world geniuses such as Goethe, Pascal, and John Stuart 
Mill, had previously been considered the absolute tops. The 
company intends, incidentally, Mr. JONES said, to use as breed- 
ers only subjects who test for I.Q/s at over the one-thousand 

Senator SKYPACK asked if this system wasn't prohibitively ex- 
pensive, considering those special closed-circuit television pro- 
grams, special books, and so on, and Mr. JONES replied that it 
was indeed costly, but that the firm had set its training facility 
up as an institution of higher learning, known as Hack Sawyer 
University, which is naturally tax-deductible, so that everything 
the company puts into it can be written off. Mr. JONES remarked 
that this feature might in due course have important beneficial 
ramifications for both private education and private enterprise 
in this country; they might, in effect, merge. 

Mr. BROADBENT asked what the drug referred to by Mr. JONES 
as 'L.T/ was, and Mr. JONES said it was an herbal drug, of 
ancient origin, known as Lethe terrae, loosely, 'forgctfulness of 
this world/ Lethe on earth. He reminded the committee that in 
classical mythology Lethe was a river in Hades, the drinking of 
whose waters would produce amnesia, and he said this herbal 
drug was used in certain pre-Columbian sacrificial rituals in 
Peruvian mountain cultures indicating, the witness remarked 
in passing, that some of the newest things in the world come 
straight from some of the oldest. 

Senator VOYOLKO asked if Hades and Hell weren't one and the 
same, and Mr. JONES let the question pass. 

Senator MANSFIELD asked how, if the specimens were per- 
manently isolated and were given only small portions of the 
Mystery of the Fifty- Year Project to solve, the major parts of the 



necessary solutions would be brought together in the end, and 
Mr. JONES said he didn't want to talk too much about this, but, 
on account of the extraordinary development of the specimens' 
intellects, co-ordination was definitely being achieved by a 
process of telepathy between them that when cognate so- 
lutions are reached by two specimens, each becomes aware of 
the other's answers. Senator SKYPACK asked whether this took 
place right through walls and everything, and Mr. JONES said it 
did, concrete walls. 

Senator SKYPACK asked what the Mystery of the Fifty-Year 
Project actually is, and Mr. JONES said that that was a foolish 
question. He didn't even know himself. He believed it had to do 
with satisfying man's greatest need to leave the earth. 

If that was in fact the end and aim of the Project, Senator 
MANSFIELD then asked, how did Mr. JONES justify the claim that 
his purchase of BARRY RUDD was for purposes of 'defense'? Mr. 
JONES said he justified the claim on the ground that the Project 
is being carried on by United Lymphomilloid under govern- 
ment contract. Besides, he added, in the present state of affairs 
the best defense might be departure. 

The committee members thanked and heartily congratulated 
Mr. JONES, and the off-the-record session was brought to a close. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Jack, he's your witness. Anything more? 

Senator SKYPACK. Only this, and I ask it again: You're sure, 
are you, that you want this boy, after what he's done? 

Mr. JONES. More than ever. Even before this happened, I 
regarded him as potentially one of the finest specimens I've yet 
found. Mr. Cleary told me the other day that the boy had been 
given an individual I.Q. test when he was in school in Tree- 
hampstead, and I took the trouble to ride over to Treehamp- 
stead on my motorbike, and I looked up the record. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Did he do well? 


Monday, October 28 

Mr. JONES. Did he He was five years and four months old at 
the time. The test was the Stanford-Binet. The examiner as- 
signed him a basal age of six, and the boy made a perfect score at 
that level. He breezed through everything that the test demanded 
of a seven-year-old except to tie shoe knots. He got all of the eight- 
year-old items right, except that he did poorly, again, on co- 
ordination did sloppily on finding an escape from a maze, be- 
cause that meant holding a pencil. He got most of the nine- and 
ten-year-old questions right at the ten-year level he was an 
eagle for errors of logic. On the twelve-year test he was still 
answering questions correctly, such as, 'In what way are the 
following things similar: crow, cow, lizard? 9 Only when he 
reached the fourteen-year-old test did the five-year-old boy fail 
everything. He was an assigned an I.Q. of one hundred eighty- 
nine. According to the Terman studies, this was approximately 
the I.Q. enjoyed by Bentham, Leibnitz, Macaulay, and Grotius, 
and is higher than those of Voltaire, Darwin, Descartes, New- 
ton, and Lope de Vega. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Was the family ever told of this? Does 
the boy know it? 

Mr. JONES. Never. Of course not. An I.Q. figure like that is 
considered far too dangerous. In fact, the boy's teachers in 
Treehampstead were never told exactly what it was only that 
it was 'quite unusual' and no whisper of the figure ever leaked 
the nine miles to Pequot after the family moved. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Wait a minute there, mister. Crow, cow, 
lizard. That's the ones you said, right? What's the story on that? 

Mr. JONES. That would be easy, even at five, for Barry Rudd, 
for a future taxonomist. They're all animals. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Who you think you're kidding? A crow 
an animal? Ever see an animal could fly? Ever see a cow fly, 
mister? Watch out if he does! 

Mr. JONES. Barry could explain this better than I can, but 



they're one each from the animal vertebrate classes of birds, 
mammals, and reptiles. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Boy thinks cows can fly! He better get him- 
self an umbrella. 

Senator SKYPACK. All right, Mr. Chairman, I know all I want 
to know from this witness. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Thank you once more, Mr. Jones. What 
next, Mr. Broadbent? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Charles Perkonian. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Just sit down in that chair you were in 
before, sonny. 


Mr. BROADBENT. Now, Master Perkonian, we have infor- 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Where you get this 'master* stuff? 

Mr. BROADBENT. We have information through our pre- 
liminary interrogations that you know all about Barry Rudd's 
indiscretion with Florence Renzulli. Is that right? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. All those fifty-buck words, you flammer- 
gast me. I mean holy Moses. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You knew about what Barry did to Florence 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Everybody and his uncle talking about 

Mr. BROADBENT. I mean at the time before it was public 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. The time? Man, I had the word way 
before it happened. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Barry told you his plan in advance? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. He told me? I told him! 


Monday, October 28 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please explain. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. It's my idea. The works. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Exactly what are you telling us? Would you 
kindly give the committee the whole story? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I given it. You stupid or something? I 
told you. My idea. 

Mr. BROADBENT. How did this happen to come up? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Rudd the Crud ast me. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What did he ask you? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. He ast me what should he do. 

Mr. BROADBENT. When was this? 


Mr. BROADBENT. Monday, October twenty-eighth. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Monday. What day'd he fool around, 
you know, when he was messing around with her? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Last Wednesday, the twenty-third. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Wednesday. So. What'd you want to 

Mr. BROADBENT. When did Barry ask you whatever he asked 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. What you say it is today? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Oh, forget it. Where did he ask this thing? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. The lanes. We was watching Piggy 
Kowalski. You should see him, he's got this two-finger ball, arms 
is like Popeye the Sailor, shoulders when Big Daddy Lipscomb's 
got his shoulder pads on, you know what I mean? like he 
could belt that ball down there like it's a cat's eye, fastest ball 
you ever see. Not him. He's got this slow banana ball. Slow 
curve, say twenty boards. He puts that sixteen pounds down so 
careful you'd a thought it's a powder puff he's dusting his old 
lady's bee-hind. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What was Barry's problem? What did he 
ask you? 



CHARLES PERKONIAN. He says to me this guy the funny hat I 
was telling you about, he's after him. 

Mr. BROADBENT. The child buyer? So? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. So he wants to shake him, stupid. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And he asked you what to do. What did you 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Get in trouble. Anybody knows that. 
Only way you'll ever get out of trouble is get in new trouble. 
Then they forget about the other. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You advised Barry to get in serious trouble 
in order to avoid being bought by Mr. Wissey Jones, is that it? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Nobody wants a punk. 

Mr. BROADBENT. The idea was to be caught? Deliberately? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Want to know something? That's easier 
than to not get caught. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And Barry liked the idea? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. He's not so dumb. You think he's 

Mr. BROADBENT. You cooked up this thing with Florence 
Renzulli. Why did you pick on her? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. She never in her life knew to say no. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You told her this was just to get Barry 
out of trouble? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Nah. Nah. We tell her it's for kicks, 

Mr. BROADBENT. And you planned out with Barry the whole 
doctor act? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Nah, that's his idea. I don't like the 
doctor bit. That's his brain-child, he likes it. He says he can read 
up on it, this Miss Cloud's his pal down the lie-berry. 

Mr. BROADBENT. And you then helped him persuade Miss 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I never did like that doctor idea. I hate 


Monday, October 28 

doctors, I'd like to punch 'em in the snozzle, I hate 'em. My 
idea, he should make like he's going to rape her. 

Senator SKYPACK. My boy, how old are you? 


Senator SKYPACK. My gracious, boy, do you even know the 
meaning of the word 'rape'? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Sure. It's cool. There's this guy, see, and 
he has this thing, and what he wants is, he wants to put this 
thing inside this other thing that this girl has, only in rape it's 
different, 'cause this girl, see, she usually wants this thing, I 
mean the you know, the thing this guy has, to be .in this other 
thing that she has, only in rape it's different, she don't. I mean 
she don't want this thing 

Senator SKYPACK. Thank you, boy, I know what the word 
means. I'm astonished that at your age 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Look, pop, us kids these days catch on 
all this stuff first thing. Like under teen age. I mean like Boy 
Scouts, 'Be Prepared.' 

Senator SKYPACK. I trust you realize that we have laws. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Aw, come on, pop. We don't never do 
any that stuff. We set there and talk about it. 

Senator SKYPACK. That's good. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Like I mean my friend Hairy Barry. 
Come the showdown, what's he do? Plays doctor. Doctor wants 
a little peek now. Nurse want a peek at doctor? O.K., nurse, just 
one peek. See if they's any rash. Stuff like that. Laws is for 
grownups, pop, you know that. People your age, that's where 
you need 'cm. We're just kids. 

Senator SKYPACK. Kids! Going around advocating delin- 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Chairman, this testimony puts a new 
light on the episode we've been discussing, and I think, if you 
agree, we ought to call the boy Barry Rudd. 


Senator MANSFIELD. By all means. 

Mr. BROADBENT. This would seem to explain his cryptic state- 
ment that he got into the incident with the Renzulli girl 'on ac- 
count of Mr. Jones/ I will call Master Barry Rudd, then. 

Senator MANSFIELD. You're excused, sonny. You were much 
more helpful today than last time, much more communica- 
tive. . . . You talked more. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Hairy Barry he said to go ahead talk, 
sing away. So 

Senator SKYPACK. All right. Let's move along, young fellow. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Bring the Rudd boy in, please. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Take your place, Barry. Mr. Broadbent 
wants to ask you a few questions. 


Mr. BROADBENT. We have just been informed by a witness 
under oath that your entire misadventure with Miss Renzulli 
was undertaken with the deliberate intention of being dis- 
covered, in the hope that your 'delinquency' would disqualify 
you from being bought by Mr. Wissey Jones. I ask you to affirm 
or deny this information. 

BARRY RUDD. It's true. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Would you please give us a full account of 
the events leading up to the incident? 

BARRY RUDD. I had a problem. My problem was that I didn't 
like being for sale. 

Senator SKYPACK. You mean your problem was that you 
wanted to chicken out on the national defense. That's more like 

BARRY RUDD. As always, when I have a problem, I set about 
trying to find a solution. Now, I have learned by experience that 


Monday, October 28 

there are three stages to solving a problem. First comes a period 
of rambling, when there's no sure destination, just meandering 
around in the underbrush of the mind trying to flush up ideas. 
This aimless beating around can be hard work for me, by the 
way, or seem like it. By Tuesday afternoon last week, after 
school, when I was sitting talking with Charley Perkonian at the 
bowling alleys 

Mr. BROADBENT. He told us you were watching a certain Mr. 
Piggy Kowalski. 

BARRY RUDD. That's correct. It was Piggy Kowalski who 
triggered my solution, indirectly, at least. By that afternoon I 
was downhearted. Flattop and I had been in the lab earlier in 
the afternoon when Dr. Gozar had come storming in and had 
made her stink bomb which I gather you now know all about 
and there'd been something so ferocious about her behavior, 
she'd been so brusque with me, that I'd been forced to conclude 
that somehow things were going badly for me. I knew about the 
Henley lecture; I assumed that the meeting was going against me. 
Then at the alleys, as we sat watching Piggy Kowalski, Flattop 
let me in on the plan for the attack on our home, which was to be 
that evening, and my heart really sank. 

Senator SKYPACK. Do you expect us to believe that 'heart 
really sank' when you went right out and took part in the 
rumble yourself? 

BARRY RUDD. I don't expect you to believe, Senator Skypack, 
that I'd take part in a rumble, as you call it, against my own 

Senator SKYPACK. The cops picked you up, didn't they? 

Senator MANSFIELD. That's another story, Jack. One thing at 
a time, please. 

Senator SKYPACK. All right. All right. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please go on. At the bowling alley. 

BARRY RUDD. I told Flattop I was lonely. In his down-to- 


earth way he asked me why, and I said it was because of my 
eccentricity. He said that that was too long a word for him to 
bother with, and I explained it, and he said if being that way 
upset me, why didn't I get hep and be like everybody else? I 
told him that Dr. Gozar had made me realize that the essence of 
scientific creativity is disciplined eccentricity. Flattop said, Tor 
God sake!' I said that she had shown me how, even on cut-and- 
dried experiments and demonstrations in the lab, you could 
learn more, perhaps discover more, perhaps get on the path to 
true greatness, by not following the book too slavishly, by 
breaking rules beautifully, as she put it. Flattop said, 'You mean 
like Don Carter bowls the wrong way, with a bent elbow, looks 
like he's got arthur-itis, so he wins the national championship?' 
That was it, exactly. Flattop understands me. But I told him that 
people who break rules are lonely; that Mr. Cleary had said I 
was a quasi-foreigncr in my peer group. Then the old catalogue 
began riffling in my head. A few who were 'adjusted' occurred 
to me. Voltaire apparently an all-round fellow, admired and 
beloved by his contemporaries in school. Thackeray wonder- 
fully social and good-humored. Victor Hugo leader in the 
boys' games. But there were so many others who were lonely or 
rejected or overbearing. I told Flattop that Jeremy Bentham 
was almost a dwarf, so he was left out of children's play, but, 
having a mind of somebody twice his age, he treated all other 
children as dunces. That at the age of twelve Benjamin Franklin 
invented extension paddles for his hands and feet so he could 
outswim his friends; he had to be better than anybody. That at 
ten Mozart invented an imaginary kingdom, of which he 
made a map and of which he, of course, was king. That when 
he was eight, Elie Metchnikoff, the Russian biologist, used to 
pay children to listen to his lectures on the local flora. That be- 
fore he was five, Thomas Chatterton presided over his playmates 
as if they were his hired servants. Maladjusted, the whole kit and 


Monday, October 28 

Senator SKYPACK. Didn't Flattop think you were a bit con- 
ceited for comparing yourself to all those people? 

BARRY RUDD. No. He thinks they're just characters in tele- 
vision serials I've watched. 

Senator SKYPACK. Including Benjamin Franklin? 

BARRY RUDD. Sure. Sure. He used to watch See It Now. He 
told me once he thought Thomas Jefferson was cool sort of 
like Phil Silvers, only not quite as funny; unlike Phil Silvers, he 
wore a wig; Phil Silvers could stand to use a wig, he said. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Let's get back to solving your problem, 
please, Master Rudd. 

BARRY RUDD. I hadn't talked with Flattop much about the 
child buyer, but now I suddenly began unburdening myself to 
him, and I told him what a nightmare it all was to me, and I 
asked him what in the world to do. 

Senator SKYPACK. Asking advice of a no-goodnik who still 
smells of the correction home! 

BARRY RUDD. He advised doing something bad. He said, They 
get feeling sorry for you.' 

Senator SKYPACK. Wanted you to violate that poor little virgin 

BARRY RUDD. No, sir, he didn't have any specific suggestions 
at first, and we stopped talking about the problem altogether, 
and Charley was pointing out to me the delicacy of Piggy 
Kowalski's bowling style, so finicky for such a brute, he's a huge 
man, when I guess we both simultaneously noticed the floozy 
tattooed on Piggy's right arm in such a way with her hands 
clasped behind her head and her legs straddling the biceps, tri- 
cepts, and brachialis muscles that on the backswing and de- 
livery she did a sort of grind and bump. And that was where the 
second stage of problem solving came in. This is the phase of 
inspiration when in the midst of a recess from work on the 
problem, while not thinking about it at all, a flash comes up 
from the depths of the mind which doesn't quite give the so- 



lution but hints at it. Looking at that tattoo, I very nearly had itf 
And by a curious coincidence Flattop must have experienced 
the same illumination at the same moment, because he ex- 
claimed, 'Jeez, Hairy Barry, I got the answer. "I Was a Pre- 
Tccn-Age Stickleback." ' 

Senator SKYPACK. So then you picked your victim? 

BARRY RUDD. There followed the third phase of creative work. 
We knew we were on the right track, but we needed a period of 
consolidation, verification, elaboration. The basic notion was 
that I would break a rule beautifully, and get caught, that it 
would be with a female of the species, because we both sensed 
that here was where the rules were most deeply tribal. I would 
be not simply delinquent, I would be taboo. I would make my 
protest against civilization in terms as old as civilization it- 
self. I give Flattop just as full marks as myself for this apt in- 
sight. You see, this is where Flattop, in his way, has a kind of 
talent. If only there were some way of harnessing it. 

Senator SKYPACK. So now you want to put an ordinary J.D., 
a time server, on a pedestal! 

BARRY RUDD. He deserves a pedestal, Senator. He'd be a 
worthy citizen if one could be found for him. Anyway, we dis- 
cussed many details. For the central approach to my misbe- 
havioral adventure I adopted a line of which Flattop disap- 
proved: the gynecological approach. Flattop wanted a more 
elemental action, something meatier. As things turned out, I 
think he may have been right. My crime passionel turned out 
to be a flimsy curiosity. Here we sit politely mulling it over, 
when what I needed was to be clapped into Clarkdale. But be 
that as it may, I told Flattop that I had to follow my own 
natural bent, which was, alas, scientific rather than lascivious. I 
could read up on my approach at the library, with Miss Cloud's 
help and later I did. 

Senator MANSFIELD. How could you be sure you'd be caught? 


Monday, October 28 

BARRY RUDD. This again was Flattop's contribution, in large 
part. He had observed, during his frequent visits to the boys' 
bathroom, which is in the basement of Lincoln, that Dr. Gozar 
inspects the cellar installations of the school at two o'clock 
sharp every day, that her tour takes twelve minutes to the dot, 
and that afterwards she invariably returns to her office. I re- 
membered the closet off her office. Florence Renzulli con- 
tributed the bit about planting her shoe in Dr. Gozar's office; 
Florence was most co-operative. I'm very fond of her, and very 
grateful. My time alone with her was fascinating. She has a 
mature development, prepubesccnce like young corn silk, ex- 
cellent pelvis. 

Senator SKYPACK. I see you're not repentant in the slightest 

BARRY RUDD. Repentant no. Regretful yes. Abashed that 
my little protest was so futile. It has, however, taught me some- 
thing about adults. 

Senator SKYPACK. Namely. 

BARRY RUDD. Namely, that what is commonly called juvenile 
delinquency is largely ineffective as protest because it simply acts 
out things that grownups would secretly like to do. The horror 
adults felt at what I did appeared to be in direct ratio to their 
envy of me. Mr. Cleary was beside himself with rage. I don't 
think I ever saw a person gnash his teeth before. It's a sort of 
rotary sharpening process. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Why did you want to be caught by Dr. 

BARRY RUDD. Because I knew that she's strict about things 
that matter such as letting a book be damaged by rain. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Any other questions, gentlemen? 

Senator VOYOLKO. This Piggy Kowalski, he get that tattoo in 
the Navy? 

BARRY RUDD. I don't know, but there's an anchor tattooed on 



his left forearm. Entwined in a serpent. 

Senator VOYOLKO. Anchor. See? I thought so. I thought he 
was in the Navy. You talk about national defense! 

Senator MANSFIELD. If there are no further questions, gentle- 
men, I think the time has come to call it a day. Tomorrow, as I 
understand it, Mr. Broadbent, we'll take up the attack on the 
Rudd home. 

Mr. BROADBENT. That's right, sir. 

Senator MANSFIELD. O.K. We'll stand adjourned until ten in 
the morning. 

(Whereupon, at 4:18 p.m., Monday, October 28, the hearing 
was recessed, subject to the recall of the Chair.) 



(The committee met, pursuant to call, at 10:15 a.m., in Ordi- 
nary Session, in Room 202, Capitol Offices, Senator Aaron 
Mansfield presiding. Committee members and counsel present.) 

Senator MANSFIELD. We will come to order. Again I must 
caution our spectators against disturbing our committee in 
any way. We intend to be orderly and expeditious here, and if 
there are any disturbances we'll be obliged to clear the room 
forthwith. Mr. Broadbcnt, you may go ahead. 

Mr. BROADBENT. First, this morning, I'd like to call the boy 
Charles Perkonian. Usher him in, please. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Sit down over there again, sonny. In a 
talking mood this morning, I hope. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Barry says sing, I sing. 


Mr. BROADBENT. Yesterday, Master Perkonian, the boy Barry 
Rudd testified to us that you gave him advance warning of the 
attack on his home, and you yourself made some broad hints in 
testimony here yesterday morning that the child buyer knew all 
about the assault beforehand. You remember that? 



CHARLES PERKONIAN. Knew all about it? You can say that 
again. His baby. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Are you suggesting that the child buyer 
engineered the attack? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Like I said, it was his baby. Beginning 
to end. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What makes you say that? How do you 
know it? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. What you think I got ears for? Flap off 
the flies? 

Mr. BROADBENT. You heard something. What did you hear? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. The guy the flat hat, I heard him telling 
them fellas what to do, how to do it. A to Z. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Where was this? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Where was what? 

Mr. BROADBENT. This conversation you overheard. These in- 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. The drugstore. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Ellithoip's drugstore? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I don't know no names. The drugstore 
fella the stomach out to here. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Mr. Ellithorp. Search your memory, Master 
Perkonian. Was this in Mr. Ellithorp's store? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. You're the one said that. 

Mr. BROADBENT. The record will show that the alleged con- 
versation took place in a drugstore in Pcquot, presumably Elli- 
thorp's. Please tell what happened. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I already told. Stupid. Like I already 
told. The guy the flat fedora, cooking up the deal. 

Mr. BROADBENT. How did you happen to overhear? What 
were you doing in the drugstore? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Doing? Buying a bottle Bromo, my 
old lady got herself a head. Minding my own business. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Where were they talking? 


Tuesday, October 29 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. In the back. I come in there after this 
bottle Bromo, nobody's around, the fat guy's usually got this 
white coat, like he's playing doctor like my pal Hairy Barry, 
anyway he's not there, nobody around. So I ease around behind 
the place he stashes all these bottles a medicine. 


CHARLES PERKONIAN. Mumbo-jumbo in the back. The guy, 
the drugstore guy, he got this office in the way behind. I can 
hear 'em. So I crotch down, there's this trash barrel around the 
corner there, I crotch down where nobody can't see me, and I 
hear the whole thing. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Who was there? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I din see 'em, I only heard 'em. 

Mr. BROADBENT. So far as you could tell from overhearing, 
who was there? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I don't like to use no names. Gives me 
the hecmie-jeemies, I ain't no squealer. Just those guys in 

Mr. BROADBENT. We know the child buyer and the druggist 
were in there. Who else? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. These two hoody guys. You want I 
should stool on 'em or something? I don't go for that stuff. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What was the child buyer saying? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. The whole deal. What time. Motor- 
cycles. Pick-up truck. Baseball bats. How to open up the 
chimblcy, side the house, pour this crap and stuff down it. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Where did Barry come into all this? 


Mr. BROADBENT. The police picked him up. You know that. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. You want to know about him, you ask 
him. I already talk too much. You get him in here, you want to 
know about him. Lay off from me on him. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What was the purpose of the attack to be? 
Did you gather that? 



CHARLES PERKONIAN. They was going to scare the living 

Mr. BROADBENT. Watch your language, now. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Daylights. Anything the matter with 
daylights? What's so dirty about daylights? 

Mr. BROADBENT. I thought you had something else in mind. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Stupid. I suppose you think daylights is 
dirty or something. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Go on, Master Perkonian. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Jeez, a guy can't even say daylights 
around here. I ain't surprise you got a hatful a guys down 
Clarkdale. A guy can't say nothing till you come along and de- 
cide he's a criminal or something like that. You call this a 
democracy, a guy can't even finish a sentence he's in Clarkdale. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You were saying about the purpose of the 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I don't know. You got me so I don't 
want a open my trap, find myself down Clarkdale again. 

Senator MANSFIELD. We're not going to do anything to you, 
sonny. Just go ahead. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Well, I'd like to know what gives with 
this stupid jerk. Can't even say daylights. They going to give 
me a vote like anybody else, one these days. I'll bomb this jerk 
when they give me a vote. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Never mind, sonny, just answer the ques- 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. How'm I supposed to say it? They got 
this idea they're going to scare the . . . the . . . Look at him! 
Just can't wait to ship me off to the correction house! They call 
it justice! . . . O.K., O.K. Supposed to throw a scare into 
mostly Mrs. Rudd, so she'll up and sell Barry like this guy the flat 
fedora wants to buy him. 

Mr. BROADBENT. The attack was to intimidate Mrs Rudd? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. You accuse me the dirty words, I ac- 


Tuesday, October 29 

cuse you words a guy can't understand. You oughta watch TV, 
mister, learn to talk like a normal person the way they talk on 
the programs there. You can understand every single word. 

Senator VOYOLKO. I agree with this boy. Wouldn't do you a 
bit of harm, Mr. Broadback. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You then joined up with the attack yourself 
at the appointed rendezvous? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. I don't know what you mean, that 
roundy-view, but sure I went along. Who wouldn't? It was going 
to be cool. 

Senator SKYPACK. One more question, son. What do you 
think should they sell Barry? 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. Why not? What's to stop 'cm? People 
don't have no choice. My pal don't want to go, that's just 
tough . . . Oh-oh. Mr. Daylights looking down my tonsils 
again, looking for dirty words. I was only going to say, Just 
tough luck. Barry don't have a look-in. Did they ask me, did I 
wanta go down Clarkdale? A free country, only trouble is, it 
don't work that way. Under twenty-one, it ain't always all that 

Senator MANSFIELD. All right, sonny. Thank you. 

CHARLES PERKONIAN. What's all this about, anyway? What's 
the fuss about? What's so special about Mr. Barry Rudd Es- 
quire? Who ast me when they sent me down Clarkdale? Did 
they have these Senators and all this Mr. Daylights jazz then? 
I don't get the whole thing. 

Senator MANSFIELD. All right, sonny. You're excused now. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I will ask for Master Barry Rudd. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Take your place, sonny. 


Mr. BROADBENT. Now, Master Rudd, yesterday you told us 
that on last Tuesday afternoon your friend Flattop informed 



you about the imminent attack on your home. What did you 
and he do? 

BARRY RUDD. What do you mean? Together? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Flattop has testified here that he took part 
in the attack, and we know about the police apprehending you 
at the end of it. How did you and he enlist in the attack? 

BARRY RUDD. You have the whole thing wrong. 

Mr. BROADBENT. How wrong? 

BARRY RUDD. About my role. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Would you kindly give an account of the 
attack, then, from your point of view? 

BARRY RUDD. As I explained to you, Charley Perkonian told 
me about the plan that afternoon at the bowling alleys. I went 
home about six o'clock. Father bowls in a league on Tuesday 
nights, and he'd already left for the lanes when I got home; we 
must have passed each other in transit of course I was on foot 
and he was driving. It had been summery that afternoon, but it 
was suddenly turning snappy, I could see my breath as I walked. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What did you do when you got home? 

BARRY RUDD. I warned Momma and my sister Susan. I stood 
in the living room, still in my coat, hat, sweater, and gloves, 
and I tried to tell Momma all I had understood of what Flattop 
had told me. It was hard for me to get it out. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What did your mother do? 

BARRY RUDD. Momma got redder and redder, and then pur- 
ple, and almost blue, until I thought she might have an attack 
of some kind and die. She was transformed. She was gradually 
transmogrified into something I had never seen before, as if she 
were going from larva to pupa or, rather, the other way 
around, regressing from pupa to larva. Why, the sons of bitches!' 
she finally roared. 'The dirty lowdown sons of bitches!' I'd never 
heard such words from my mother's lips, and it seemed as if her 


Tuesday, October 29 

body had changed and become coarser. From a proud, timid, 
genteel lady she had turned into a big, coarse woman, with a 
broad, florid face slashed by deep furrows across the forehead. 
Her hair, which is naturally curly, stood out in a bush all around. 
Her eyes were their usual remarkable clear light blue, but her 
mouth seemed thick and had no lipstick on it and was twisted. 
She wore a drab, beltless, dirty, hanging dress, and under it her 
bosoms hung long and huge, like the milch bags of Capra hircus, 
and out from short sleeves came two great, muscular, hairy arms. 
I'd never seen my mother look like that. I'd certainly never 
heard her shout the way she did, yet at first, rather than being 
frightened or mortified by her, I was overcome with pity for the 
big, helpless, cursing hulk she'd turned into. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Go on. 

BARRY RUDD. Suddenly she whirled and towered over me. 
'How do I know you're telling me the truth? It's one of their 
slimy tricks sending my little boy in here to scare me!' I was 
terrified that she would hurl herself at me and crush me in that 
mass of angry transformed flesh. Susan had begun to cry. The 
bastards came in here this morning with their sleazy threats, 
and they told me to call them up and give in to them they 
said by seven o'clock them and their bastardly deadlines and 
ultimatums; but they don't know Maudie Rudd. By Christ! Let 
them come, let the sod-hearted bastards come, I'll break every 
dad-blasted chicken drumstick in their dad-blasted white-meat 
bodies.' Then Momma burst into tears, and she fell in a heap 
on the sofa, and she wailed, 'Oh, Paul, Paul, why did you have 
to go bowling this night of all nights?' I was surprised to hear 
myself say, during a lull in her typhoon, 'Don't you think we 
ought to get ready for them?' Momma turned off the torrents, 
as if with a faucet, and she got up and surged toward me and 
looked as if she would fling those suddenly huge bear arms 



around me in gratitude and affection, and I was just as fearful 
of being suffocated by love as I had been of being squashed in 
her fury, and she shouted, 'Dear Barry!' Momma lurched into 
the kitchen, where, behind the display of linen, she evidently 
looked at the clock, because she cried out, 'A quarter to eightf 
The bastards! . . . First off/ she added in a quieter voice, Til 
put this wash away so we can have more room to fling around in. 
Susie! Come here with the big basket. Susie! Lively!' Susan ran 
into the kitchen. I took off my coat and hat and gloves but not 
my sweater, because it was chilly in the house; the only heat in 
the two rooms came from the kitchen stove though both Susan 
and Momma only wore cotton dresses. I went in the kitchen. 
Soon all the clean things were mounded in a huge reed laundry 
basket, and Momma took the rope down from its hooks and 
threw it in a box in the corner, and once the linen was out of the 
way I was hit by the mess in the room; I was saddened, so my 
hands and feet felt heavy and I thought I'd cry, by the reali- 
zation that Mother's gentility had all along been only a skin, 
which she could easily burst and shed a meaningless thing of 
touches, like the pot of African violets, Saintpaulia ionantha r 
on the window sill under the street-side window. The daybed 
where I slept was unmade, and the things in the room were 
cheap, crude, and battered, like Momma herself just then 
the iron coal-burning stove, the deep, low, galvanized sink for 
both laundry and dishes, the dented pots and chipped plates; 
the coal dust on the floor by the scuttle, the glasses on the 
shelves mottled with soap-and-grease spots. I realized that 
Momma really is a slattern. In the last few minutes she'd be- 
come one for me to see. Little to choose between her and Mrs. 
Perkonian sickening idea! I felt weak. Anyway, Momma be- 
gan thinking out loud, and her thoughts were like thunder. 
The kitchen door to the street's O.K., it's like the door of a 
damned old safe in a bank, let 'em try to crack that one! But 


Tuesday, October 29 

the door in the back. I've been nervy about it for months. 
We've got to back it up. Come on, Sue-sue. Come on, son/ And 
Momma led us into the living room and lifted one end of the 
ragbag sofa and roared to the two of us to grab the other end. 
'H'ist!' Momma shouted, and we managed to get our end off 
the floor, and Momma heaved sofa and us and all toward the 
door. The thing was too wide to cram between the bureau by the 
door and the side wall, and it had to be canted up on its side, 
and not only clothes and magazines but also a thimble and two 
spoons and some change and other odds and ends fell onto the 
floor and scattered around like fleeing vermin, Cimici lectu- 
larii or Periplanetae americanae. We got the sofa jammed 
against the door. We went back into the kitchen. I asked, 'What 
if they came in a window?' Momma said the windows were all 
nailed. 'If they come in a window, they'll have to smash it first. 
If they do that, we'll just have to pick 'em off one by one. Let's 
see. . . .' Momma began to look around for a weapon. She 
took a broom from a corner and held it in the air and shook it, 
but it must have seemed too light; she handed it to me, and I 
clutched it as tight as I could. 'Aha!' she then shouted. 'I know 
what's loose.' She went to the kitchen table, lifted one corner, 
and pulled a thick leg out of its socket. She took it by its bottom 
end and swung it, and looked pleased. Slowly the table fell 
awry, with a sliding metallic sound of shifting kitchen cutlery. 
Susan suggested calling the police, but Momma was scornful of 
that idea. She said, 'Did you ever hear of calling the firemen 
before you set the house on fire?' The clock pointed to eight 
o'clock; the three of us in the kitchen fell silent. Then I had an 
idea. I asked Momma if we hadn't better turn the lights out. 
That way we could see them, and they wouldn't be able to see 
us there was a moon out. 'You're a darling boy!' Momma 
said, but it didn't seem to me there was any real love left in her. 
We turned the lights out, and I thought of Father's long five- 



battery flashlight that he kept under his bed, and I ran out and 
got it and offered it to Momma. 'Keep it/ she said. 'You can use 
it to knock the brains out of them, such as they have. Give the 
broom to Sue.' We stood in the dark then. It was still within and 
without, except that Momma's breathing, which was beginning 
to be asthmatic because of her emotion, sounded like wind 
going intermittently through a Pinus strobus 

Senator SKYPACK. All right, boy, enough of that foreign 

BARRY RUDD. A white pine. After a long time she took the 
flashlight from my perspiring hands and shone it briefly on the 
clock, which said fourteen minutes past eight; she threw the 
beam then straight in my face, and she rasped, Tou little bas- 
tard, you wouldn't be trying to make a fool of Momma, would 
you?' She'd never talked to me like that, ever, and I would have 
cried, I guess, but she suddenly said, 'Bah! You're a good little 
boy,' and she snapped off the light and handed it back to me. 
We waited another eternity and then we began to hear some- 
thing in the far distance, just a hum, at first, remote and low. 
Gradually the sound increased, until it seemed like a faraway 
flight of planes. That's them,' Momma whispered with a great 
wheeze. Then, speaking very loud, in a voice that made me 
jump, she said, 'We'd best have a lookout in each room. Boy, 
you stay here in the kitchen. Sue, you go in the bathroom. And 
I'll take my parlor, and Lord love the bastard that gets in there/ 
Parlor. It shook me to hear her use that word a vestige of the 
gentility that had so suddenly peeled off her. You know about 
the appearance of that room, yet she always called it her parlor. 
Susan began to whimper. 'I don't want to go in there alone/ 
'Git!' Momma roared, and Susan gat, sniveling and whining. I 
went to a front window. The moon was shining whitely now, and 
I could see the bright ribbon of the street beyond the porch and 
the sidewalk, and beyond that Mr. Zimmer's beautybush, KoZ- 


Tuesday, October 29 

kwitzia amabilis, and his wayf aringtree, Viburnum lantana, and 

Senator SKYPACK. Now look here. 

BARRY RUDD. For a moment I was seized by fear, and I wanted 
to run into the back room and enfold myself in that strange 
voluminous flesh in there, but just then the bathroom door 
creaked, and Susan tiptoed out and came and knelt beside me 
at my window. She had stopped crying, but when she settled 
herself beside me she loudly snuffled. I gripped my flashlight, 
and I whispered, Til bean you/ The noise outside seemed un- 
bearably loud now. There they came! I could see them off to 
the right. First there were three or four motorcycles, then a small 
truck, then a car, and some guys on bikes. The machines were 
moving slowly, and the motorcycles' headlights flashed from side 
to side as the riders kept their balance on the pavement. Susan 
put her hand in mine; she was shaking like a passenger in a 
rickety auto. The first machines had stopped, and I heard a voice 
shout over the roar, 'Is that it?' And an answer, 'Sure, that's the 
house. Them fake bricks and the chimney out the side. That's 
it!' The convoy halted, and the riders dismounted and pushed 
their machines to the Zimmers' side of the street and leaned 
them on their stands. The truck parked a little down the street 
to the left. The motors and lights were being cut off. I could see 
about a dozen figures milling around the truck. High-school 
kids, they looked to be. They all seemed to be talking in under- 
tones. One of them stepped a few paces toward the house and 
shouted to the others, 'Christ, lights all out. What if the old 
bag ain't home? What the hell fun's an empty house?' I was sur- 
prised at how easily I could hear every word; I knew how thin 
the walls were, but I still was surprised. I knew Momma must 
have been able to hear in the back room, too, because now I 
heard her mutter, 'What they'll call a person!' She let out a kind 
of growl. Another boy called out that maybe she was in bed, and 
still another shouted, 'You gonna get in it with her? What I 


hear, she's got room for three-four of you, bub!" Because of my 
reading in Ellis, Curtis, Wharton, and others, I understood, of 
course, exactly what he meant, and I could picture it, and it gave 
me a queer and violent feeling I'd never had in my life before, 
to picture my own mother but just then Momma let out a roar 
which, I swear, shook the pots in the kitchen: 'You just try to 
come in here and climb in the bed with Maudie Rudd, you knee- 
pants sophomore hoor-mongers. I'll give you a dose you didn't 
look for/ There was a second of silence, then the first boy 
shouted in mock-elegant tones, 'Lah-de-dah. The lady of the 
house is expecting guests!' At that the boys all started whooping 
and yodeling and making siren noises and laughing and scream- 
ing in falsetto voices like old maids. They swarmed around the 
truck and picked off it all sorts of things to make noises with 
pans and wooden spoons, horns and megaphones, a drum, a 
watchman's rattle, a whistle, and a frightfully sour old trumpet 
which I saw flashing in the moonlight as one of the hoods 
played ridiculous taps. All the time Momma was swearing and 
Sue was giving out little miserable chirping squeaks like those 
of a fledgling bird. Two of the boys approached the house with 
a ladder and went in the alley alongside the house, and I could 
hear the scrape and thump of the ladder against the side wall, 
and then I heard a metallic banging at the tin chimney of our 
stove, and Momma shrieked out, 'If there's property damage, 
I'll skin your backsides one and all!' But there was such a clatter 
and whooping that I'm sure her challenge was lost on our as- 
sailants. A boy went into the alley with a bucket, and soon I 
heard a hissing and splashing as whatever had been in the bucket 
was thrown down the hot chimney pipe and ran into the kitchen 
stove, putting out the fire there. Soon the house was filled with a 
steam that had an overpoweringly foul smell on it. 'Skunks! 
Skunks! Skunks!' Momma shrieked. The trumpet blew a signal, 
and suddenly the noise all stopped, except for Momma's furious 


Tuesday, October 29 

tirade in the living room. The hoods all ran back to their truck 
and put down the things they had had and picked up some boxes 
and baskets and ranged along the street in front of the house. 
'No windows yet/ a voice called out. A mournful blast came from 
the trumpet, and the boys began to pelt the house with things 
that made soft, squooshy noises when they hit. Tou can come 
back and paint this house tomorrow/ Momma shouted, 'you 
damned little schoolboy crab lice, you!' She was in a frenzy, and 
I could hear the heavy crashes of her feet as she ran back and 
forth in the other room. Soon the pelting stopped; the attackers 
apparently ran out of that sort of ammunition. 'By God/ 
Momma said, 'it's time for cops/ She ran with thudding steps to 
the telephone, which hangs on the wall by the back door; she 
must have reached for it over the barricading sofa. I heard her 
click the receiver once, then again, then rapidly many times. 
'What a moment for the damnable telephone machine to go 
dead!' she shouted. I said, They probably used that ladder to 
cut the wires on the side of the house/ 'Ah, that's right/ 
Momma said. 'You're one of this younger generation, Barry, 
you'd know what these devilish young new-type bastards have 
thought up in their modernistic dirty minds/ Momma had come 
to the door of the kitchen, and she saw Susan, whom she had set 
to guard the bathroom. 'What are you doing in this room?' she 
screamed at poor Susan, and then she wailed, 'Oh, it don't mat- 
ter, it don't matter/ and she went back into the living room and 
began to sob. A sentence she blabbered out hit me like a splash 
of scalding water. 'Barry! Barry! You've seen me the way I really 
am/ I saw the swarm of boys convene again at the truck, and 
this time each one came away with a baseball bat. I could hear 
some of them run into the alley beside the house, and some 
along it to the back, so they had us surrounded on three sides. 
'What now? What now?' Momma said between groans and sobs, 
as she evidently saw boys appearing in the back yard. The boys 



in front got down on hands and knees and crept toward the 
house. I became very frightened, and I dragged Sue back to the 
wall of the room away from the street. Momma was weeping 
and moaning, 'Paul oh Paul oh Paul, I need you, Paul, Paul!' 
Then the trumpet blew a fanfare, like one when a king appears 
in a movie. With that the boys began their whooping again, 
and they leaped up, and with the baseball bats they smashed in 
every window on the ground floor of the house, all at once. Now 
Momma shrieked as if she'd been stabbed, and Sue began to cry 
again. The boys were laughing and shouting through the open 
windows, and they continued to pound at whatever glass re- 
mained in the sashes. I could feel cold air rushing across the 
floor and swirling in the room. I heard the hoods talking about 
coming in the house. 'Come on/ one of them shouted. 'All to- 
gether!' 'No, no, no/ Momma cried. 'Stay out of here. I'll sell 
the boy. They can have the boy. Just stay out, for the love of 
God, stay out/ And she rocked off in a torrent of sobs. But some 
of the boys climbed in, anyway. Sue and I we cringed against 
the wall. Where the hell's the light switch?' one of the voices 
asked. Then, 'Shut up!' a sharp voice shouted, and there was an 
immediate silence. In the distance a siren could be heard the 
Zimmers told us later they'd heard the racket and called the 
police. Excited voices cried, 'Am-scray!' 'Cheese it!' 'Jiggers!' 
The mob began to pour out the windows faster than they had 
come in. 'I'll sell him, I'll sell him, I'll sell him/ Momma was 
shouting over and over in the kitchen. Suddenly I felt I couldn't 
stand any more of it, and I got to my feet and ran to the window 
where I'd been kneeling, and I jumped out, and I began to run, 
I didn't know where to, just to get away. The siren was wailing 
not far away, and down the road a searchlight was swinging its 
beam here and there. Motorcycle engines were starting up. 
The pick-up careened forward and swerved around in a U-turn 
and barely missed me as it hurtled along River Street in the di- 


Tuesday, October 29 

rection away from the approaching police car. I was running 
blindly, as fast as I could. Another siren was coming. I was dimly 
aware of the first police car stopping and its doors flying open. 
Another searchlight was sweeping the street, and I could hear a 
third siren in the distance. I felt as if I couldn't run any further. 
I stumbled and fell face down; dust got in my lungs; I lay cough- 
ing and panting, and I shivered in the dreadful cold. Then a 
big hand was on my shoulder, and a flashlight was in my face, 
and a deep voice was saying, 'Well, well, well, here's the littlest 
rat of all. Why, this one's practically a mouse/ I could still hear 
Momma bellowing, 'I'll sell him, I'll sell him, I'll sell him,' back 
at the house. 

Senator MANSFIELD. There, now, sonny, there's no need to 

Senator SKYPACK. He better stand down. Get him off there, 

Senator MANSFIELD. All right, sonny. That's right, Mr. Broad- 
bent. That's better. 

Senator SKYPACK. I can't stand to see a kid blubber like that. 

Senator MANSFIELD. What next, Mr. Broadbent? 

Mr. BROADBENT. The child buyer. Call Mr. Wissey Jones, 

Senator MANSFIELD. Take the witness chair, please, Mr. Jones. 


Mr. BROADBENT. You have been accused, sir, by a witness be- 
fore this committee, of having planned and organized the gang 
attack on the Rudd home of Tuesday evening last. Do you admit 
to having done so? 

Mr. JONES. 'Accuse'? 'Admit'? My dear Mr. Broadbent, you 
use words that suggest something reprehensible. I feel no guilt 


about this little job of work. In fact, I'm rather proud of it. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You did, then, devise this attack and set it up? 

Mr. JONES. Even the word 'attack' seems to me an overstate- 
ment of the case. Trank' sounds better to me. It was a business 
prank, by which I mean, it was not an idle joke. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Would you give us an account of your part 
in the incident, please, sir? 

Mr. JONES. I turned over to you yesterday, and you read out 
loud to the committee, Mr. Broadbent, a telegram from the 
prex of U. Lympho expressing extreme urgency about getting 
my purchases of specimens completed. I will tell you that even 
before that wire arrived I had felt sharply the pressure of time. I 
was a man in a hurry. You will say fifty years the expected du- 
ration of U. Lympho's Mystery is a long time, two thirds of a 
man's life span, more or less. But, as you know, we live in a cut- 
throat world. What appears as sweetness and light in your com- 
mon television commercial of a consumer product often masks a 
background of ruthless competitive infighting. The gift-wrapped 
brickbat. Polite legal belly-slitting. Banditry dressed in a tux. 
The more so with projects like ours. A prospect of perfectly 
enormous profits is involved here. We don't intend to lose out. 
That is why these extended hearings- 
Mr. BROADBENT. How was the attack, or prank, connected with 
what you're saying? 

Mr. JONES. In this way. By Monday a week ago, the day before 
the prank, I had already spent four full days of work in Pequot, 
and I didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Usually it takes me 
only two or at most three days to conclude these deals, because, 
you see, your upper-middle-class families, where the high-I.Q. 
children mostly show up, need money much more desperately 
than poor families, such as the Rudds, do. 

Senator MANSFIELD. How's that again? 

Mr. JONES. Money is commonly thought of as a medium of 


Tuesday, October 29 

exchange, as a means of storing value, but in my work I think 
of it as a habit-forming drug. The more you've had, the more 
you need. For the addicted a large dose produces an ecstasy 
that is short-lived. Withdrawal, or even the threat of it, causes 
intense physical pain. Among those who are hooked I have no 
trouble at all extracting children in return for a jolt of the stuff. 
But people like the Rudds are often deeply afraid of heroin, 
morphine, cash, and other forms of dope, without really know- 
ing how afraid of them they are. 

Senator MANSFIELD. But I thought you told us that Mr. Rudd 
was eager to sell. 

Mr. JONES. He didn't care about the money. He wanted the so- 
called luxury items. He knew deep down that it would be fatal 
to be rich, but to appear to be rich for a short time would be no 
more dangerous than having a sweet dream. 

Mr. BROADBENT. So what did you do? 

Mr. JONES. As you know, I had Cleary under my thumb, and 
I put him to work. My hunch and I think it's proving to have 
been correct was that my most important impediment was 
Mrs. Rudd, that if I could bring her around, the boy would fol- 
low, sooner or later. He might rationalize his decision, but when 
you came right down to it, you'd find it was a case of his being 
cleated to an apron string as strong as a tugboat's hawser. Cleary 
provided the clue. He told me about his first interview with 
Mrs. Rudd, when he was in fact arguing against the sale of Barry; 
he told me about Mrs. Rudd's confession of having spent her 
whole life trying to escape what she considered coarseness in 
herself, and how Barry had become the main prop in her cha- 
rade. The first victim of fear is affectation; scared people can't 
hide their true natures, even from themselves. So the problem 
was: how to frighten Mrs. Rudd, but good; show her she hadn't 
escaped her basic self, and never would, Barry or no Barry. Cleary 
found out for me that Mr. Rudd goes bowling on Tuesday 



nights, and that would give us an opportunity to work on her 
without his support. I then devised the idea of an orgy of de- 
structiveness on the part of some teen-agers fun for the kids 
and hay for me. I asked Cleary who was Pequot's Mr. Fix-It. 
Every town has at least one: the guy who knows all the angles, 
the Republican who's thick as sin with the Democratic Town 
Committee, the man who can get it for you, who can squash 
tickets, knows the Chief. Paul Ellithorp, Cleary said. So I sent 
Cleary to him, to make the first approach, to put me in touch 
with the headquarters of the junior defacing element. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You mean some high-school hoods? 

Mr. JONES. I don't know exactly what you mean by that term. 
As a matter of fact, I asked for two or three boys, to be ring- 
leaders, from good families, boys who'd had a sound record of 
breakage, ill manners, and rebelliousness. Sons of men who be- 
lieve in firm discipline for the younger generation but not nec- 
essarily for themselves. Cleary set up an appointment for me 
with some boys who were just the thing, delightfully surly, in 
Ellithorp's office, and we had a grand time. It was like planning 
games for a party, all that capering with noise-makers and base- 
ball bats and buckets of slops like Blind Man's Buff, Bop the 
Boodle, Sardines. Joys of innocent childhood, discussed by my 
blackguard boys, of course, with terrifying frowns and disen- 
chanted grunts. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Yes, sir, we've heard about that conversation. 

Mr. JONES. You have? From whom? 

Mr. BROADBENT. From a boy who overheard you in the back 
of the store. A chum of Barry's, Charles Perkonian. 

Mr. JONES. So that accounts for it! 

Mr. BROADBENT. Accounts for what? 

Mr. JONES. Did this child warn the Rudds? 

Mr. BROADBENT. He did. 

Mr. JONES. That explains Mrs. Rudd's recovery. At the end of 


Tuesday, October 2$ 

the attack she gave in shouted over and over that she'd sell. 
But by the next morning she'd hardened up again. It must have 
been the lack of surprise that gave her a chance to become 
resistant to a certain extent. As to flu from a vaccine. Did she 
know I was behind it? 

Mr. BROADBENT. Yes, she did. 

Mr. JONES. Ah, well, there you are. That's how mischief climbs 
on mischief's back the human tongue and ear come into play. 
I think the most merciful phase of our experiment with the 
specimens at United Lymphomilloid is the tying off of the 
senses. What serenity! What undisturbed virtue! 

Mr. BROADBENT. Please go on with your story. Did you pay the 
high-school boys? 

Mr. JONES. Heavens, no. The chance to destroy for a purpose 
was more than enough reward for them. After I finished making 
plans with them in the drugstore, Ellithorp came through with 
a brilliant suggestion. Why not call on Mrs. Rudd in the morn- 
ing and give her a deadline say seven o'clock in the evening, 
one hour before the gang was scheduled to arrive for surren- 
dering? This would lend added force to her alarm and shock at 
eight. I've always been astonished at how eager people have 
been to help me in my procurement work; I'm sure there's some 
secret here for the future of collective human effort, but I 
haven't quite figured out what it is. Anyway, we went; Ellithorp, 
who's a creditor of the Rudds', went along with me. 

Senator SKYPACK. Jones, I have to call a halt here and con- 
gratulate you. I sure do admire a practical man. 

Mr. JONES. Well, I thank you. I try not to be a fool. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Sir, on the occasion of your first appearance 
before us, one of our committee, I believe it was Senator Sky- 
pack, asked about your collapsible motorcycle, and whether you 
personally took part in this attack, or prank> as you call it. At 
that time you denied any 


Senator SKYPACK. I wouldn't want to resurrect an old question 
like that, Broadbent. 

Mr. JONES. The Senator succeeds in not being a fool, where I 
only try! . . . Don't take offense, Mr. Broadbent, I didn't mean 
to suggest that you re a fool. That was intended as humor. 

Mr. BROADBENT. I understand perfectly. Did you take part in 
the attack, sir? 

Mr. JONES. No, I did not. I leave specialized work to specialists. 
An office boy would have a right to be offended if I sharpened 
my own pencils it's something he can do better than I. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Have you ever staged an assault like this 
before, to help parents to make up their minds? 

Mr. JONES. I rather pride myself on varying my approach to 
meet the unique requirements of each situation. 

Senator MANSFIELD. But you have no compunction about 
what your mob did about the cost to the Rudds of those win- 
dows, for instance? 

Mr. JONES. I've offered the Rudds enough money for a life- 
time of broken windows. 

Senator MANSFIELD. You'd do it again if you had to? 

Mr. JONES. Certainly. All's fair in love, war, and free enterprise. 
Only I'll tell you one thing: Another time I'd make sure a sneaky 
boy wasn't eavesdropping. 

Senator SKYPACK. What I want to know, Jones, is: How are 
you coming along with Mrs. Rudd and that sneaky boy of hers? 
Are you going to get this deal closed? 

Mr. JONES. Of course I am. 

Senator SKYPACK. You sound cocksure. You making some 

Mr. JONES. I am. I'm glad to say that the mother has already 
come around, permanently, and I've got Dr. Gozar working on 
the boy right this minute, out there in the anteroom. 

Senator MANSFIELD. You've got Dr. Gozar on your side? 


Tuesday, October 29 

Mr. JONES. I don't give up easily, Senator. 

Senator SKYPACK. By George, he's a whiz! 

Senator MANSFIELD. But how did you win them over? 

Mr. JONES. I imagine they can tell you better than I can, sir. 
I'm not sure I really know myself I've tried so many approaches 
on them. 

Senator MANSFIELD. We'll certainly ask them. Mr. Broadbent, 
let's have in Mrs. Rudd and then Dr. Gozar. Thank you, Mr. 
Jones, you may step down. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Bring Mrs. Paul Rudd in. 

Senator MANSFIELD. The same chair, Mrs. Rudd. Yes, please. 


Mr. BROADBENT. Mrs. Rudd, how do you feel at the present 
time about Mr. Jones's proposal to buy your son? 

Mrs. RUDD. I said at the beginning that the decision was really 
up to Barry, and I still feel that way. 

Mr. BROADBENT. But personally? Yourself? 

Mrs. RUDD. Speaking for myself, I wouldn't object. 

Mr. BROADBENT. But you wouldn't actually give your approval 
to the deal unless Barry gave you the go-ahead? 

Mrs. RUDD. That's correct. Providing Barry doesn't take too 
long making up his mind. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Why do you say that? 

Mrs. RUDD. There isn't all the time in the world. If we delay 
much longer, we're liable to lose out on the whole deal. The 
child buyer says he can't stay on one job forever. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What has changed your mind, Mrs. Rudd? 
What has made you willing to sell your son? 

Mrs. RUDD. My husband feels it would be the right thing to do. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Is that the real reason? Mr. Rudd was for the 



sale from the beginning, yet for several days you opposed him. 

Mrs. RUDD. Well, I think it's a fine opportunity for Barry. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Do you truly feel that? All those operations 
and everything? 

Mrs. RUDD. It'll give Barry a chance to be alone and think. 
He's always complaining to us that we never leave him alone. 

Mr. BROADBENT. But is that enough reason to sell your only 

Senator MANSFIELD. Excuse me, madam, but I feel with Mr. 
Broadbent that your answers somehow don't carry complete 
conviction. May I hazard a guess at what swayed you? 

Mrs. RUDD. I've told you, my husband, Mr. Rudd, thinks it 
would be best. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Could it be, madam, that during the at- 
tack on your home last Tuesday evening you were thrown back 
into the state of crudeness I think the word you used yourself 
to Mr. Cleary was coarseness from which you had been trying 
to escape since your girlhood, and that 

Mrs. RUDD. I don't know what you mean. I came from a very 
good home. We never had much money, but my parents were 

Senator MANSFIELD. and that your son Barry looked into 
your eyes, and it was as if he saw right through the gray tissue 
within to the back of your skull an emptiness there rough- 

Mrs. RUDD. I was brought up to read good books gentle 
books. Cranford. Northanger Abbey. 

Senator MANSFIELD. and that you were ashamed to have 
your son see you as you felt you really are, and always have been, 
and always will be? 

Mrs. RUDD. Barry respects my education. I don't know what 
you're talking about. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Could it be that you fear that unless he 


Tuesday, October 29 

leaves you he'll be spoiled by you not in the sense of being 
pampered, madam, but as a bad potato ruins a good one if 
they're left side by side in the barrel? 

Mrs. RUDD. Honestly, sir, you're talking riddles. The one thing 
I fear for Barry if we let him go is that he'll miss the softening 
influences of a cultured home. Especially as things will be now. 

Senator MANSFIELD. What do you mean by that? 

Mrs. RUDD. Thanks to Mr. Jones, we'll be surrounded by the 
best works of man. I mean, he's going to give us the Five-Foot- 
Three-Inch Classics Shelf, in de-luxe imitation-leather bindings, 
and a subscription to the Upstream Book Society, where every 
month you can practically read right over the shoulders of 
Aubrey Winston, Pierre Berlioz, and Willing Lion, the judges, I 
mean as if you were in their own living room with those dis- 
tinguished litterateurs' truly truly favorite books, and they send 
you an engraved invitation every month just to read in company 
with them, and the Sky-Hi-Fi Symphony Series, complete in 
sixty albums, and a composite stereophonic record player, and 
the Print of the Month, matted and framed, from the Moden- 
heim Museum, and the Drawn and Quartered Quarterly, the 
digest of all the biggest Little Magazines, where you get hope- 
lessness so condensed it's kind of thrilling, and you have to read 
it or you don't know what you're talking about, and a new tele- 
vision set I'm not ashamed of this, it's part of our American 
culture so we can view The Endless Mind, and Shortcuts to 
Longhair Music, and The United States Motor Company 
Shakespeare Half Hour. And a cleaning woman once a week. 
All the cultural opportunities I've always dreamed of! 

Senator MANSFIELD. In other words, Mr. Jones switched his 
gift list on you. When did this happen? 

Mrs. RUDD. He first proposed this new list yesterday afternoon, 
while Barry was testifying about that naughty Renzulli girl who 
got him in trouble. 


Senator MANSFIELD. And what does Mr. Rudd think of this 
new list? 

Mrs. RUDD. We've decided I mean the child buyer and me 
we've decided to let him still have that sports car. He loves to 
tinker. And those fancy brushes with the mechanical razor and 
music box, if he wants it, though of course he hates music. 

Senator MANSFIELD. And you are actively trying to persuade 
Barry to give in? 

Mrs. RUDD. One of the wise things my mother taught me was: 
When your children reach the age of discretion, don't interfere 
in their lives. Trust their judgment. And don't try to tie them to 
the newel post; there comes a time when you just have to let 
them free. . . . Anyway, Dr. Gozar's working on him. 

Senator MANSFIELD. So we've heard. Any other questions, gen- 

Senator VOYOLKO. That TV set that a eighteen-inch screen 
or a twenty-one-incher? 

Mrs. RUDD. Twenty-one. 

Senator VOYOLKO. I thought so. That fellow, the one buys 
the kids, he's not no cheap skate. Like the pro football games, on 
a twenty-one-incher you can see the plays develop, the belly 
series, the ride series, where your guard takes and mousetraps 
your defensive end, all like that. I'm real glad it's a twenty-one- 
incher, ma'am. I wouldn't advise you to barge ahead and sell 
the boy if it wasn't only a eighteen-inch screen. O.K., Mr. Chair- 
man, that's all. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Thank you, Mrs. Rudd, you're excused. 
Now, Mr. Broadbent. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Dr. Frederika Gozar next, please. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Yes, that's it, Dr. Gozar. Be seated. 


Mr. BROADBENT. Witnesses here have informed us, Doctor, 

Tuesday, October 29 

that you now favor the sale of Barry Rudd, favor his going to 
United Lymphomilloid. Is this correct? 

Dr. GOZAR. It is. 

Mr. BROADBENT. We are most anxious to know the reason for 
your change of heart. 

Dr. GOZAR. Of mind, not heart. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You mean your feelings about the boy Barry 
Rudd haven't changed? 

Dr. GOZAR. They never will. He's the finest of all my children, 
the thousands of children I've had in my thirty-eight years at 
Lincoln School. I love him very much. I'll be crushed when he's 
gone though of course he'd be gone sooner or later anyway, 
by graduation; it's in the nature of things, we gain and we 

Mr. BROADBENT. Then why? What did the child buyer give 
you, or promise you? 

Dr. GOZAR. An honorary Ph.D. at Hack Sawyer Univer- 

Mr. BROADBENT. And for that, for one more sheepskin 

Dr. GOZAR. Wait a minute. This isn't a bribe. He hasn't of- 
fered me a Ph.D. He bet me one. On my side of the bet I've put 
up a new turtle-neck sweater with the varsity letters H.S.U. on 
it, for him to wear when he rides his motorbike; I've promised to 
knit the cursed thing myself if I lose, and I loathe knitting- 
woman's slave labor! And if the child buyer wins, he will have 
earned his letter, believe me. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What's the bet? 

Dr. GOZAR. Let me tell you how it came about. I don't know 
whether you realize it or not, but out there in the anteroom, or 
outer hall, or whatever you call it, where you herd the witnesses 
while they're waiting to take the stand, we've been having ses- 
sions of our own ever since last Friday, tugging and hauling at 
each other and at Barry, trying to settle this thing, and I'll wager 
(I'm in a betting mood, sir) that our battle has been just as 



lively, and just as terrible, as your hearings. You know how 
there's that small wickerware table near one end of the gloomy 
room, with all the state pamphlets on it, on how to test well 
water, and how neighbors should establish common fences, and 
other such anachronistic pap, and between the table and the 
wall there's a settee, under the Governor's portrait? That's 
where Barry has been established the whole time. It has been 
like a royal levee. The rest of us have formed clumps around the 
room three or four in one of the high windows looking out on 
Prospect Park, where the fat city squirrels play among the gum 
wrappers and empty cigarette packs glistening in the sun; another 
group standing under that mad brass chandelier in the middle 
of the room that looks like a tangle of golden rams' horns with 
little incandescent onions impaled on their tips. We've been 
lobbying and intriguing and debating. And Barry has sat there 
receiving one supplicant after another, with that impassive look 
on his face, giving no sign, simply listening. There's a kind of 
desperation in a long, long wait to hear your name called, and 
all of us were stripped down to our naked personalities. Papa 
Owing perspired gallons in his determination, if you could call 
it that, not to take a position. The great forceful Cleary has 
alternated between nourishing himself on the polish on the child 
buyer's boots and running the man's nasty little errands of cor- 
ruption. Charity Perrin nodded and looked frightened but didn't 
budge an inch till she came back from lunch yesterday with the 
child buyer, as tiddly as a tufted titmouse; she was down the 
river; there were dollar bills sticking out of her ears. Anyway, 
my real crisis began first thing this morning, when I came in 
there with today's paper, and I'd done my stint in the lab before 
driving up, so I'd only had time for four cups of coffee, with a 
result that my blood was creeping like slush in a gutter in 
March, because this big frame of mine is hard to keep habitable, 
it really ought to be changed over to central heating. I sat alone 


Tuesday, October 29 

in a window light and read about this hearing of yours yesterday 
afternoon, about the off-the-record matter on the United Lym- 
phomilloid plan, what they do with these brilliant human 
beings, and then I looked over at Barry on the settee, with his 
mother patting his hand on one side (her hide's as tough as a 
turtle's shell, believe me) and the G-Man whispering in his ear 
on the other. At first, before the full weight of the United 
Lymphomilloid scheme landed on my shoulders, I sat there 
wondering whether you people are trying to prove something 
with these hearings, or whether you're just running down hares 
and pheasants. So much of government these days seems to be 
elaborate machinery for the ego-satisfaction, as I think Cleary 
would call it, of the elected. What do you really want of us the 
governed? . . . But I didn't last long on that line because 
then it hit me. Barry would beat their system. Barry would show 
them they can't manipulate human minds like that. His stead- 
fastness would break their backs. Oh, don't worry, I know that 
the roughest lesson about humankind this century has taught 
us is that mental breakdowns can be systematically produced to 
satisfy tyrants' whims. But this is the faith I have in Barry: He 
has the mind, and he has the fiber, to resist, to hold on, to re- 
main himself. Barry's not just a routine cataloguist; he's more 
than a taxonomist. Don't forget that Aristotle worked on the 
classification of animals as a youth in Plato's Academy, but he 
didn't stop there. I have faith in Barry. He's the sort that could 
do very great things for this mortal world. 

Senator SKYPACK. Know what I think? I think he's a silly, con- 
ceited boy. Probably going to be a homo. Turns my stomach, 
what we've heard him say. 

Dr. GOZAR. And you, Senator Skypack, are a Philistine. And 
Mr. Jones is worse: He's a Visigoth. But Barry, my Barry, he's 
one of those timeless ones, one of those who carry the human 
spirit-flame in them. My mentioning Aristotle makes me say 


what I've long thought that Barry has that wonderfully sun- 
struck optimism, the love of existence, that the Greeks had and 
that gave meaning to their insatiable curiosity. This is why I 
think he can bring down the Goddess U. Lympho. Hell sit them 
out, and they'll find they can't make a calculating machine of 

Senator MANSFIELD. But what about the drug, 'L.T.'? Can he 
resist that? 

Dr. GOZAR. Ah, that's a worry. I've worried about that a great 
deal this morning while I was sitting with Barry on that creaking 
piece of furniture trying to give him my point of view. But here's 
what I think: To produce its effect, 'L.T.' must be essentially 
hypnotic, and, at least as far as the hypnosis administered by a 
human hypnotist is concerned, we know it isn't effective so long 
as the subject refuses to give over his mind. I believe it may be 
so with the drug. I believe it may. Barry can hold on. He can 
cling through that ordeal to the minimum notion that he is 
going to be a classifying biologist, that he's going to persist in 
this aim and break them, or Her, in the effort to make him ex- 
clude everything but Her from his life. He knows the phyla, 
classes, orders, and on down the line. He'll recite them to him- 
self a hundred times a day. He will not forget. He'll cling to the 
memory of a weasel gliding along, like the slippery hope in a 
thief's heart, beside a stone wall near a hen coop; the gaping 
mouths of baby robins, uptilted triangles, in a nest in dangerous 
springtime; a soldier termite undermining some man's slipshod 
carpentry with his sharp clamping jaws. He'll remember. I really 
believe he will. 

Senator MANSFIELD. And if he doesn't? 

Dr. GOZAR. If he doesn't, it will be a great loss. But not so great 
a loss as it might have been, were it not for the fact that Barry 
has been destroyed for all practical purposes in the last few days 
anyway. Talent is a hundred times as fragile as crystal from 


Tuesday, October 29 

Venice. It can't stand up under hammer blows of stupidity 
least of all, those of stupid notoriety. Barry's finished as far as the 
world of Pequot and Treehampstead and what he has called 
home is concerned. Thanks to you gentlemen. So that the 
chance of something remarkable being salvaged at United Lym- 
phomilloid seems to me worth taking. And if he fails, if he docs 
forget, and if they do turn him into a machine, he'll be the 
best; he (or it) will have an I.Q. of twelve hundred, fifteen 
hundred. How the wheels will turn! 

Senator MANSFIELD. Dr. Gozar, mightn't this position you've 
adopted be just what the child buyer wanted? Aren't you serving 
his ends? 

Dr. GOZAR. How do you mean? 

Senator MANSFIELD. It doesn't matter to the child buyer 
whether you urge Barry to go in order to defy or go in order to 
comply. All he wants is to get him, buy him. Don't you think 
the child buyer may have 

Dr. GOZAR. The devil! The dirty devil! 

Senator MANSFIELD. How did you happen to make your bet 
with him? 

Dr. GOZAR. That's why I call him a devil and a toad! I realize 
. . . About ten this morning, I'd had my first exciting reaction 
to the thought that Barry might resist, when Jones approached 
me he watches faces closely, he says he studies foreheads, he 
must have seen the agitation under my skin and he began 

Mr. BROADBENT. Excuse me, Doctor. Mr. Chairman, I've just 
been handed a note by the usher. It says the boy Barry Rudd 
wants to be heard. 

Senator MANSFIELD. We'd better have him right in. Dr. Gozar, 
I know you'll forgive us if we excuse you out of hand. We'd 

Dr. GOZAR. It doesn't matter. It was only about my idiotic 



bet. I'm such a fool but I still have faith in ... They can't 
takeaway. . . . 

Senator MANSFIELD. Yes, thank you. You may have the boy 
brought in, Mr. Broadbent. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Barry Rudd. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Take the chair, sonny. 


Senator MANSFIELD. You wanted to tell us something? 

BARRY RUDD. I've decided to go. 

Senator SKYPACK. About time! 

Senator MANSFIELD. Poor child! 

Senator VOYOLKO. Go? Go? Where's he gonta go to? We 
finished with him yet? 

Mr. BROADBENT. What decided you, Master Rudd? Why have 
you decided to be sold? 

BARRY RUDD. It's funny, but I don't really know. One of the 
many things that passed through my mind out in that outer 
room this morning was a piece of misinformation they taught 
me in school. It was under Miss Songevinc, in third grade. I re- 
member the page in our social-studies book, and the words. I see 
the type in my mind now, under a sentimental litho of the 
Santa Maria, the Pinta, and the Nina. 'Until that time, men 
believed that the earth was a flat disk. If you sailed too far you 
would fall off the edge into Chaos. But young Christopher 
Columbus had the idea that the world was round. . . .' I sup- 
pose this was a benevolent simplification nice short sentences 
with nice short words, and the equally nice notion that Colum- 
bus was the first man to think up a spherical earth, so he could 
discover America where all good school children live. It was too 
simple, and when, during my fifth-grade year, I learned the 


Tuesday, October 29 

truth at the library, with Miss Cloud's help, I was bitter: that 
the spherical form of the earth was asserted by Pythagoras in the 
sixth century B.C., and that in 250 B.C., seventeen centuries be- 
fore Columbus was born, Eratosthenes of Alexandria, knowing 
that it was a sphere, calculated its diameter to within fifty miles 
of the correct figure. Do you know the way he did it? It was 
ingenious and childishly simple, as all great leaps of the mind 
seem to be. At a place called Syene the sun at midday was in 
zenith, straight overhead: he could see its reflection at the bot- 
tom of a deep, deep well. At Alexandria, four hundred miles 
north, an obelisk cast a shadow, which he measured at its long- 
est point. By simple geometry, using the angle of the shadow 
and the four hundred miles as his clues, he found his answer. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Has this anything to do with your deci- 

BARRY RUDD. Maybe. I was thinking about it this morning. 
About my bitterness. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Is it because your mother changed her mind? 

BARRY RUDD. Mother's wanting me to go is the one thing 
that makes me want to stay. 

Mr. BROADBENT. What arguments did your mother use with 

BARRY RUDD. Momma's become genteel again since last Tues- 
day night more than ever. After Father fixed the windows she 
cleaned the whole house, threw out stacks of her cheap maga- 
zines, made Father buy some deal bookshelves over at Hansen's, 
in Treehampstead, and she's taken my books out of the cartons 
they were in, under the beds and in the corners, and she's put 
them all out on the shelves. Her arguments with me? She hasn't 
really urged me very much, but she did say this would be a great 
opportunity for me to become, as she puts it, 'truly cultured/ 
Momma didn't read the account of the United Lymphomilloid 
experiment in this morning's paper as carefully as she might 


have. She thinks Hack Sawyer University offers some kind of 
liberal-arts curriculum. Momma wants me to have the best op- 
portunities. . . . I'll be homesick for Momma. I'll miss her. I 
love her more than I can say. 

Mr. BROADBENT. You mention Tuesday night. Are you afraid? 
Did those hoodlums frighten you? 

BARRY RUDD. Did you ever come across a poem called 
The Brontosaurus A Sad Case'? It pictures the Brontosaur 
as a magnificent creature seventy feet long and four tons 
in weight, but 

'As it was lacking in much brainium, 
It had a pitifully small cranium/ 
and, the poem concludes, 

'He was the giant of his day, 

But now his bones are on display/ 

Mr. BROADBENT. I take it you're not afraid. Could you tell us 

BARRY RUDD. I'm not afraid, but I must confess that ever 
since a week ago last Thursday, when I took that walk in the 
woods down to Chestnut Burr Creek, from the moment I put 
my book down on that log, from the time when my brown 
friend Mantis religiosa turned his head as if on a swivel to look 
at me and then took off with a whir, like a helicopter, I've had 
a feeling that something everything was slipping through 
my fingers. I feel as if I've lost everything. Out there in that room 
this morning Charley Perkonian gave me the strangest looks. 
We were a thousand miles apart. I can't explain it. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Is this why you want to go? 

BARRY RUDD. Maybe, but I doubt it. Maybe it reduces the 
need to stay, but I can't see how it gives me any good reason 
to go. 

Mr. BROADBENT. Are you going simply because you have no 
desire to stay? 

BARRY RUDD. Maybe. Last night Momma was all steamed up 

Tuesday, October 29 

finding fault with the schools. And I had the creepiest feeling 
of being critical of her. I've never felt that way before; I think 
something must have happened to me that night when the hoods 
attacked the house. 

Mr. BROADBENT. In what way did you feel critical? 

BARRY RUDD. I felt the school people may have been put off 
by Momma's queer way of being half pushy, half timid. I'll give 
you an example. When I became five we still lived in Tree- 
hampstead then Momma took me to enter me in kindergarten 
at a school called Cotton Mather Elementary, and we were re- 
ceived by the school clerk. Momma's always been very much in 
awe of authority, and she thought this clerk was the principal, 
and Momma said, 'I think I have a son who is advanced for his 
age.' The clerk gave Momma an oh-my-God look, and Momma 
said, 'I suppose you have lots of mothers who think that.' Tou'd 
be amazed,' the clerk said. But the woman did go and get a 
primer, and she put it in front of me to read. I'd been plowing 
through news magazines and technical journals at that time, and 
I just laughed out loud at the silly book and wouldn't deign to 
read it. The clerk was polite and said, Til certainly keep an eye 
on t his one.' And Momma was satisfied with that anyone could 
see, anyone but Momma, that the clerk was being sarcastic. That 
year all Momma got was a series of disquieting reports about 
my refusals to participate in Reading Readiness classwork and 
about my inferior hopping and skipping on the playground. 

Mr. BROADBENT. But surely the teachers discovered you could 

BARRY RUDD. They found out, after a fashion, but Momma 
feels that they were much more interested in the fact that I was 
maladjusted as I guess I was, having 'I-see-Susan-run-Susan- 
run-run-Susan' rammed down my throat for six months. 

Senator MANSFIELD. Don't you think the school people might 
be excused for thinking that you had been a bit in the wrong? 



BARRY RUDD. I don't see that. What do you mean? 

Senator MANSFIELD. I mean your laughing at the primer. Af- 
ter all, you had a chance to show that you could read and you 

BARRY RUDD. I never gave that much thought. The book was 
so moronic, from my point of view at that time, I mean. . . . 
So Momma blames the schools, the schools blame me, and I 
blame Momma. It's a kind of circular motion, isn't it? Maybe 
some such circular linkage of forces, love and hate, love-blame 
and hate-blame, philos-aphilos, is what makes the world go 
round. Brings progress, war, adaptation 

Mr. BROADBENT. What about Dr. Gozar did she persuade 
you this morning? Do you plan to hold out at United Lympho- 
milloid in the way she urged? 

BARRY RUDD. Oh, no. Once I go, I'll go the whole way. It 
would be wonderful, but of course this is impossible it would 
be wonderful if I could experience the United Lymphomilloid 
process twice, once co-operatively, and once fighting it. ... 
You seem to want to know who persuaded me. . . . Everyone 
has changed. Why has everyone changed? Mr. Clcary he used 
to have such contempt for me; he's been hovering around me 
like a brood hen, warm and protective. Miss Perrin has gone 
giddy, she's tried to argue me into leaving and she uses the fun- 
niest arguments. Dr. Gozar, my dear, open friend, is suddenly 
so conspiratorial, whispering with Mr. Jones and then whisper- 
ing with me about defying United Lymphomilloid. And 
Momma. So ladylike. But I can still hear the echo of her shrieks 
the other night. TH sell him, I'll sell him. 9 ... I can't say I'm 
going in order to please you, Senator Skypack. ... I guess Mr. 
Jones is really the one who tipped the scales. 

Mr. BROADBENT. How? How did he influence you? 

BARRY RUDD. He talked to me a long time this morning. He 
made me feel sure that a life dedicated to U. Lympho would at 


Tuesday, October 29 

least be interesting. More interesting than anything that can 
happen to me now in school or at home now that everyone 
has changed. Or perhaps it's that they've come out into the open 
as themselves. . . . Fascinating to be a specimen, truly fasci- 
nating. Do you suppose I really can develop an I.Q. of over a 

Senator MANSFIELD. So the child buyer found a way to cor- 
rupt you, too, did he? 

BARRY RUDD. Corrupt? What do you mean, corrupt? Is it cor- 
rupt to want to be interested to want to use your mind to 
want to be alive? 

Senator MANSFIELD. I don't suppose a person who has suc- 
cumbed can be expected to recognize the coin that has bought 
him. I.Q. points! How absurd! . . . Does it occur to you, sonny, 
that the child buyer has driven a wedge between you and your 

BARRY RUDD. Not at all. I told you I love Momma. The child 
buyer has been most generous with her. 

Senator MANSFIELD. You like him, do you? 

BARRY RUDD. Very much. Why shouldn't I? He respects in- 
telligence. He wants intelligence on his side. 

Senator MANSFIELD. I wonder what else the child buyer wants. 
What he wants altogether for himself, I mean. 

BARRY RUDD. I think I know. I can guess. I feel I know him 
now. I think he wants to be accepted as a specimen. I believe 
he hopes that his good work as a child buyer will earn him the 
right. He must know he's old for a specimen, and I can assure 
you he has no illusions about his brilliance, but his devotion is 
pure. He believes in U. Lympho. He worships Her already. Do 
you know what I think he wants most of all? 

Senator MANSFIELD. What is that? 

BARRY RUDD. I think he wants more than anything to go into 
the Forgetting Chamber. 


Senator MANSFIELD. Do you really think you can forget every- 
thing there? 

BARRY RUDD. I was wondering about that this morning. 
About forgetting. I've always had an idea that each memory 
was a kind of picture, an insubstantial picture. I've thought of 
it as suddenly coming into your mind when you need it, some- 
thing you've seen, something you've heard, then it may stay 
awhile, or else it flies out, then maybe it comes back another 
time. I was wondering about the Forgetting Chamber. If all the 
pictures went out, if I forgot everything, where would they go? 
Just out into the air? Into the sky? Back home, around my bed, 
where my dreams stay? 


JOHN HERSEY was born in Tientsin, China, in 1914 
and lived there until 1925, when his family returned 
to the United States. He was graduated from Yale in 
1936 and then attended Clare College, Cambridge, 
for a year; upon his return from England he was 
private secretary to Sinclair Lewis during a summer. 
His first novel, A Bell for Adano, won the Pulitzer 
Prize in 1945. Since 1947 he has devoted his time 
to fiction and has written The Wall (1950), The 
Marmot Drive (1953), A Single Pebble (1956), 
The War Lover (1959), and The Child Buyer 

Mr. Hersey brought to The Child Buyer more 
than a decade of interest in American public educa- 
tion. He has been a member of a local school board 
and of a town school-study committee; chairman of 
a state committee on the problems of gifted chil- 
dren; member of the National Citizens' Commission 
on the Public Schools; delegate to the White House 
Conference on Education; member of the National 
Citizens 1 Council for Better Schools; and consultant 
to the Fund for the Advancement of Education. 

September 1960 


THIS BOOK was set on the Linotype in ELECTRA, 
designed by W. A. Dwiggins. The Electra face is a 
simple and readable type suitable for printing books 
by present-day processes. It is not based on any his- 
torical model, and hence does not echo any particu- 
lar time or fashion. It is without eccentricities to 
catch the eye and interfere with reading in general, 
its aim is to perform the function of a good book- 
printing type: to be read, and not seen. 

The book was composed, printed, and bound by 
KINGSPORT PRESS, INC., Kingsport, Tenn. Paper 
manufactured by S. D. WARREN Co., Boston. Ty- 
pography by VINCENT TORRE; binding design by