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The Facts and Tommy

 

“I’ve been telling you he can read.”

–MR. LUNSKI

 

It began spontaneously, this gentle revolution.

The strange thing about it is that it came about in the end by accident.

The kids, who are the gentle revolutionaries, didn’t know that they would be able to read if the tools were given them, and the adults in the television industry, who finally furnished them, knew neither that the children had the ability nor that television would supply the tools which would bring about the gentle revolution.

The lack of tools is the reason it took so long for it to occur, but now that it’s here, we parents must become conspirators in fostering this splendid revolution, not to make it less gentle but to make it more rapid so that the kids can reap its rewards.

It’s astonishing really, that the secret has not been discovered by the kids long before this. It’s a wonder that they, with all their brightness–because bright they are–didn’t catch on.

The only reason some adult hasn’t given the secret away to the two-year-olds is that we adults haven’t known it either. Of course, if we had known, we would never have allowed it to remain a secret because it’s far too important to the kids and to us too.

The trouble is that we have made the print too small.

 

The trouble is that we have made the print too small.

The trouble is that we have made the print too small.

The trouble is that we have made the print too small.

 

It is even possible to make the print too small for the sophisticated visual pathway–which includes the brain–of the adult to read.

It is almost impossible to make the print too big to read.

But it is possible to make it too small, and that’s just what we’ve done.

The underdeveloped visual pathway, from the eye through the visual areas of the brain itself, of the one-, two-, or three-year-old just can’t differentiate one word from another.

But now, as we’ve said, television has given away the whole secret through commercials. The result is that when the man on television says, Gulf, Gulf, Gulf, in a nice clear, loud voice and the television screen shows the word GULF in nice big, clear letters, the kids all learn to recognize the word–and they don’t even know the alphabet.

For the truth is that tiny children can learn to read. It is safe to say that in particular very young children can read, provided that, in the beginning, you make the print very big.

But we know both of those things now.

Now that we know we have got to do something about it, because what will happen when we teach all the little kids to read will be very important to the world.

But isn’t it easier for a child to understand a spoken word rather than a written one? Not at all. The child’s brain, which is the only organ that has learning capacity, “hears” the clear, loud television words through the ear and interprets them as only the brain can. Simultaneously the child’s brain “sees” the big, clear television words through his eye and interprets them in exactly the same manner.

It makes no difference to the brain whether it “sees” a sight or “hears” a sound. It can understand both equally well. All that is required is that the sounds be loud enough and clear enough for the ear to hear and the words big enough and clear enough for the eye to see so that the brain can interpret them–the former we have done but the latter we have failed to do.

People have probably always talked to children in a louder voice than they use with adults, and we still do so, instinctively realizing that children cannot hear and simultaneously understand normal adult conversational tones.

Everyone talks loudly to children, and the younger the child is the louder we talk.

Suppose, for the sake of argument, that we adults had long ago decided to speak to each other in sounds just soft enough so that no child could hear and understand them. Suppose, however, that these sounds were just loud enough for his auditory pathway to have become sufficiently sophisticated to hear and understand soft sounds when he got to be six years of age.

Under this set of circumstances we would probably give children “hearing readiness” tests at six years of age. If we found that he could “hear” but not understand words (which would certainly be the case, since his auditory pathway could not distinguish soft sounds until now), it is possible that we would now introduce him to the spoken language by saying the letter A to him, and then B, and so on until he had learned the alphabet, before beginning to teach him how words sound.

One is led to conclude that perhaps there would be a great many children with a problem of “hearing” words and sentences, and that instead of Rudolf Flesch’s well-known book called Why Johnny Can’t Read, we would need a book called Why Johnny Can’t Hear.

The above is precisely what we have done with written language. We have made it too small for the child to “see and understand” it.

Now let’s make another supposition.

If we had spoken in whispers while simultaneously writing words and sentences very large and distinct, very young children would be able to read but would be unable to understand verbal language.

Now suppose that television were introduced with its big written words and with loud spoken words to go with them. Naturally all kids could read the words, but there would also be many children who would begin to understand the spoken word at the astonishing age of two or three.

And that, in reverse, is what is happening today in reading!

TV has also shown us several other interesting things about children.

The first is that youngsters watch most “kiddie programs” without paying constant attention; but as everyone knows, when the commercials come on the children run to the television set to hear about and read about what the products contain and what they are supposed to do.

The point here is not that television commercials are pitched to the two-year-old set, nor is it that gasoline or what it contains has any special fascination for two-year-olds, because it does not.

The truth is that the children can learn from commercials with the big enough, clear enough, loud enough, repeated message and that all children have a rage to learn.

Children would rather learn about something than simply be amused by Mickey Mouse–and that’s a fact.

As a result then, the kids ride down the road in the family car and blithely read the Gulf sign, the McDonald’s sign and the Coca-Cola sign as well as many others–and that’s a fact.

There is no need to ask the question, “Can very small children learn to read?” They’ve answered that, they can. The question that should be asked is, “What do we want children to read?” Should we restrict their reading to the names of products and the rather strange chemicals that these products or our stomachs contain, or should we let them read something which might enrich their lives and which might be a part of Maplewood Avenue rather than Madison Avenue?

Let’s look at all of the basic facts:

1. Tiny children want to learn to read.

2. Tiny children can learn to read.

3. Tiny children are learning to read.

4. Tiny children should learn to read.

We shall devote a chapter to each of these four facts. Each of them is true and each is simple. Perhaps that has been a large part of the problem. There are few disguises harder to penetrate than the deceptive cloak of simplicity.

It was probably this very simplicity that made it difficult for us to understand, or even to believe, the absurd story that Mr. Lunski told us about Tommy.

It’s strange that it took us so long to pay any attention to Mr. Lunski, because when we first saw Tommy at The Institutes we were already aware of all the things we needed to know in order to understand what was happening to Tommy.

Tommy was the fourth child in the Lunski family. The Lunski parents hadn’t had much time for formal schooling and had worked very hard to support their three nice, normal children. By the time Tommy was born, Mr. Lunski owned a taproom and things were looking up.

However, Tommy was born very severely brain-injured. When he was two years old he was admitted for neurosurgical examination at a fine hospital in New Jersey. The day Tommy was discharged the chief neurosurgeon had a frank talk with Mr. and Mrs. Lunski. The doctor explained that his studies had shown that Tommy was a vegetable-like child who would never walk or talk and should therefore be placed in an institution for life.

All of Mr. Lunski’s determined Polish ancestry reinforced his American stubbornness as he stood up to his great height, hitched up his considerable girth and announced, “Doc, you’re all mixed up. That’s our kid.’

The Lunskis spent many months searching for someone who would tell them that it didn’t necessarily have to be that way. The answers were all the same.

By Tommy’s third birthday, however, they had found Dr. Eugene Spitz, chief of neurosurgery at Children’s Hospital in Philadelphia.

After carefully making his own neurosurgical studies, Dr. Spitz told the parents that while Tommy was indeed severely brain-injured, perhaps something might be done for him at a group of institutions in a suburb called Chestnut Hill.

Tommy arrived at The Institutes for the Achievement of Human Potential when he was just three years and two weeks old. He could not move or talk.

Tommy’s brain injury and his resultant problems were evaluated at The Institutes. A treatment program was prescribed for Tommy which would reproduce the normal developmental growth of well children in Tommy. The parents were taught how to carry out this program at home and were told that if they adhered to it without failure, Tommy might be greatly improved. They were to return in sixty days for a re-evaluation, and if Tommy were improved, for program revisions.

There was no question but that the Lunskis would follow the strict program. They did so with religious intensity.

By the time they returned for the second visit, Tommy could creep.

Now the Lunskis attacked the program with energy inspired by success. So determined were they that when their car broke down on the way to Philadelphia for the third visit, they simply bought a used car and continued to their appointment. They could hardly wait to tell us that Tommy could now say his first two words–“Mommy” and “Daddy.” Tommy was now three and a half and could creep on hands and knees.

Then his mother tried something only a mother would try with a child like Tommy. In much the same manner that a father buys a football for his infant son, Mother bought an alphabet book for her three-and-a-half-year-old, severely brain-injured, two-word-speaking son. Tommy, she announced, was very bright, whether he could walk and talk or not. Anyone who had any sense could see it simply by looking in his eyes!

While our tests for intelligence in brain-injured children during those days were a good deal more involved than Mrs. Lunski’s, they were no more accurate than hers. We agreed that Tommy was intelligent all right, but to teach a brain-injured three-and-a-half-year-old to read–well, that was another question.

We paid very little attention when Mrs. Lunski announced that Tommy, then four years of age, could read all of the words in the alphabet book even more easily than he could read the letters. We were more concerned and pleased with his speech, which was progressing constantly, as was his physical mobility.

By the time Tommy was four years and two months old his father announced that he could read all of a Dr. Seuss book called Green Eggs and Ham. We smiled politely and noted how remarkably Tommy’s speech and movement were improving.

When Tommy was four years and six months old Mr. Lunski announced that Tommy could read, and had read, all of the Dr. Seuss books. We noted on the chart that Tommy was progressing beautifully, as well as the fact that Mr. Lunski “said” Tommy could read.

When Tommy arrived for his eleventh visit he had just had his fifth birthday. Although both Dr. Spitz and we were delighted with the superb advances Tommy was making, there was nothing to indicate at the beginning of the visit that this day would be an important one for all children. Nothing, that is, except Mr. Lunski’s usual nonsensical report. Tommy, Mr. Lunski announced, could now read anything, including the Reader’s Digest, and what was more, he could understand it, and what was more than that, he’d started doing it before his fifth birthday.

We were saved from the necessity of having to comment on this by the arrival of one of the kitchen staff with our lunch–tomato juice and a hamburger. Mr. Lunski, noting our lack of response, took a piece of paper from the desk and wrote, “Glenn Doman likes to drink tomato juice and eat hamburger.’

Tommy, following his father’s instructions, read this easily and with the proper accents and inflections. He did not hesitate as does the seven-year-old, reading each word separately without understanding of the sentence itself.

“Write another sentence,” we said slowly.

Mr. Lunski wrote, “Tommy’s daddy likes to drink beer and whiskey. He has a great big fat belly from drinking beer and whiskey at Tommy’s Tavern.”

Tommy had read only the first three words aloud when he began to laugh. The funny part about Dad’s belly was down on the fourth line since Mr. Lunski was writing in large letters.

This severely brain-injured little child was actually reading much faster than he was reciting the words aloud at his normal speaking rate. Tommy was not only reading, he was speed-reading and his comprehension was obvious!

The fact that we were thunderstruck was written on our faces. We turned to Mr. Lunski.

“I’ve been telling you he can read,” said Mr. Lunski.

After that day none of us would ever be the same, for this was the last piece of puzzle in a pattern which had been forming for more than twenty years.

Tommy had taught us that even a severely brain-injured child can learn to read far earlier than normal children usually do.

Tommy, of course, was immediately subjected to full-scale testing by a group of experts who were brought from Washington, D.C., for this purpose within a week. Tommy–severely brain-injured and just barely five years old–could read better than the average child twice his age–and with complete comprehension.

By the time Tommy was six he walked, although this was relatively new to him and he was still a little shaky; he read at the sixth-grade level (eleven- to twelve-year-old level). Tommy was not going to spend his life in an institution, but his parents were looking for a “special” school to put Tommy in come the following September. Special high, that is, not special low. Fortunately there are schools now for exceptional “gifted” children. Tommy has had the dubious “gift” of severe brain injury and the unquestionable gift of parents who love him very much indeed and who believed that at least one kid wasn’t achieving his potential. 

Tommy, in the end, was a catalyst for twenty years of study. Maybe it would be more accurate to say he was a fuse for an explosive charge that had been growing in force for twenty years.

The fascinating thing was that Tommy wanted very much to read and enjoyed it tremendously.