Read Online Born to Bark by Stanley Coren - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stanley Coren
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the physics department, liquefying helium for use by the cryogenics group. Cryogenics is the study of things that happen at very cold temperatures, and many research projects use liquid helium as a refrigerant, since it remains liquid at temperatures less than 1 degree above absolute zero (theoretically the lowest temperature obtainable is -459°F).
The cryogenics research group met once each week to discuss its ongoing work. Kenneth Atkins, the director of the group, invited me to attend, since I was treated as one of the regular departmental staff. Listening to these brilliant scientists wrestling with complex problems gave me an insight as to how research was conducted and how creative thinking could be applied to problems. I could not have gotten this kind of education any other way. It taught me how to turn questions into concrete tests, how to simplify complicated descriptions in a way that left only the vital elements.During these think-tank sessions I even began to learn how to present complex theoriesand ideas in a basic manner that any layperson can understand. Watching these scientists wrestle with concepts at the far limits of our knowledge made me want to test my own creative abilities by applying these same mental skills to psychological and behavioral problems.
With the benefit of hindsight, I can see that research had clearly become my passion. It was addictive, and I was spending the majority of what free time I had gathering data, writing, analyzing—lost in my own intellectual world. I had become that clichéd Hollywood version of a scientist, immersed in his work while forgetting or neglecting his family and other relationships. I finished my undergraduate studies with four published research articles, including a study in one of the most important research journals in the world,
Science
. That publication, as much as my grades and other qualifications, led to my being accepted by Stanford University for doctoral studies in psychology.
I graduated from Penn in the beginning of June 1964, and less than two weeks later Mossy and I were married, making two sets of parents and my grandfather very happy, and convincing them that all was right with the world. Later that summer, Mossy and I loaded everything that we owned (which wasn’t all that much) into the almost-new blue station wagon that my grandfather had given me for our cross-country trek to California.
The last thing I did before climbing into the car to begin the journey was to bend down to say good-bye to Penny. I held her big square head in my hands, looked into her deep brown eyes, and quietly told her, “I love you, girl.”
Normally the Goofy voice would have answered me with some snarky comment, but there were people around and I didn’t want them to think that I had gone mad. So the Goofy voice was silent this time.
“Wait for me, Glock. I’ll be back for you.”
It would be two years before I could return to my parents’ home in Philadelphia, and Penny could not wait. I never saw those brown eyes again and never again heard that Goofy voice.
Because I had served in the military, when Mossy and I arrived at Stanford University we were eligible for subsidized married student housing. These accommodations were in a place called Stanford Village, which made it sound like some idyllic, tree-lined setting. It actually was a set of narrow, one-story wooden army barracks located behind Stanford Research Institute. These buildings had been used as a military hospital during World War II, but now had been converted to apartment units by building thin walls to subdivide the area into apartments. Each housing unit was composed ofa small bedroom, a living room, a tiny kitchen, and a walk-in-closet-sized bathroom with no bathtub and only a metal shower stall. The walls had been hastily and cheaply put up with no sound insulation between units, and in some places there were gaps of around a half inch between the top of the wall and the
The cryogenics research group met once each week to discuss its ongoing work. Kenneth Atkins, the director of the group, invited me to attend, since I was treated as one of the regular departmental staff. Listening to these brilliant scientists wrestling with complex problems gave me an insight as to how research was conducted and how creative thinking could be applied to problems. I could not have gotten this kind of education any other way. It taught me how to turn questions into concrete tests, how to simplify complicated descriptions in a way that left only the vital elements.During these think-tank sessions I even began to learn how to present complex theoriesand ideas in a basic manner that any layperson can understand. Watching these scientists wrestle with concepts at the far limits of our knowledge made me want to test my own creative abilities by applying these same mental skills to psychological and behavioral problems.
With the benefit of hindsight, I can see that research had clearly become my passion. It was addictive, and I was spending the majority of what free time I had gathering data, writing, analyzing—lost in my own intellectual world. I had become that clichéd Hollywood version of a scientist, immersed in his work while forgetting or neglecting his family and other relationships. I finished my undergraduate studies with four published research articles, including a study in one of the most important research journals in the world,
Science
. That publication, as much as my grades and other qualifications, led to my being accepted by Stanford University for doctoral studies in psychology.
I graduated from Penn in the beginning of June 1964, and less than two weeks later Mossy and I were married, making two sets of parents and my grandfather very happy, and convincing them that all was right with the world. Later that summer, Mossy and I loaded everything that we owned (which wasn’t all that much) into the almost-new blue station wagon that my grandfather had given me for our cross-country trek to California.
The last thing I did before climbing into the car to begin the journey was to bend down to say good-bye to Penny. I held her big square head in my hands, looked into her deep brown eyes, and quietly told her, “I love you, girl.”
Normally the Goofy voice would have answered me with some snarky comment, but there were people around and I didn’t want them to think that I had gone mad. So the Goofy voice was silent this time.
“Wait for me, Glock. I’ll be back for you.”
It would be two years before I could return to my parents’ home in Philadelphia, and Penny could not wait. I never saw those brown eyes again and never again heard that Goofy voice.
Because I had served in the military, when Mossy and I arrived at Stanford University we were eligible for subsidized married student housing. These accommodations were in a place called Stanford Village, which made it sound like some idyllic, tree-lined setting. It actually was a set of narrow, one-story wooden army barracks located behind Stanford Research Institute. These buildings had been used as a military hospital during World War II, but now had been converted to apartment units by building thin walls to subdivide the area into apartments. Each housing unit was composed ofa small bedroom, a living room, a tiny kitchen, and a walk-in-closet-sized bathroom with no bathtub and only a metal shower stall. The walls had been hastily and cheaply put up with no sound insulation between units, and in some places there were gaps of around a half inch between the top of the wall and the
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