This post is an abbreviated version of a longer page on “Native American Heritage in the Upper Housatonic River Valley” by the Housatonic Heritage organization. Here, I cover only the portion that relates to a …
I began my language studies of Western Abenaki (one of the many Algonkian dialects native to the Northeastern part of Turtle Island) in late 2019. I live in the homelands of the Mohican people (Muhheconneok), …
OLLI Spring 2019 Course TH104: A Walk Through Berkshire History
Michael Forbes Wilcox is a Berkshire native, having been born in the House of Mercy in Pittsfield.
His parents lived in Stockbridge, where he spent the first 17 years of his life. He currently resides in Alford, where he is the Town Moderator.
Wilcox is a 1963 graduate of Williams High School, and has never lived more than a few hours’ drive from Stockbridge. He did, however, travel the world on business and for pleasure, during his career in Finance and Investments. Never did he encounter a place more beautiful than the Berkshires.
Mr. Wilcox has a long history of teaching subjects about which he has little or no knowledge. He has, for example, lectured at the Columbia Business School, and given commencement talks for programs at Boston University and UMass Medical School. He has also taught graduate-level courses, as adjunct faculty, in the Autism Program at The Elms College in Chicopee. Last year, Michael brought his lack of expertise to OLLI and conducted a course on autism, despite having no training in the field.
Today, Mr. Wilcox continues the tradition of orchestrating a course on a topic in which he has no credentials. His academic training was in Economics, Philosophy, and Political Science, none of which has any bearing on the study of history. To his credit, however, or so he claims, he has history in his genes. He says he inherited a love of history from his younger brother.
We will leave it to the students to judge whether OLLI has made a colossal mistake in giving this knight errant a windmill to tilt.
Refunds will be available at the end of the 7th class.
Then, a tribute to my Grandmother Wilcox, who instilled in me a love of history and its lore
Next, a tribute to the People who were on this Berkshire land before my ancestors invaded their world and changed it forever. Throughout these six weeks, I will try to convey to you some of my understanding of how the Natives had carefully cultivated this Berkshire landscape for countless generations. As the course progresses, I hope that we can all contemplate the opportunity to maintain a connection with the Original People, who retain an active interest in their Homeland. We will also discuss aspects of their language and culture. We call them the Mohicans, but that is not what they originally called themselves. And they did not have a written language, so you may see various spellings, all echoing what was heard by European ears.
Muh-he-con-neok [I’m told this — with long “e”s — is probably closest to the actual pronunciation]
All of these mean “People of the Waters that are Never Still” and are related to the name of the River, Mohicannituck
Session One will be about the Mahican-Mohawk Trail, in northern Berkshire County. It will also be an opportunity to discuss the culture that was here before the Europeans arrived, and what we can take away from that knowledge that might benefit us. During this session (and later in the course) I will share some observations about Mohican ways, as I understand them. I will also refer to customs and practices of the English and Dutch colonists. Mostly, I will try to confine my remarks on these topics to what is relevant to our understanding of the places I’m describing.
Sessions Two through Six will include discussion of the following places, which I will give here in more or less the order I’d like to cover them; the amount of time to be spent on each may depend on my mood at the time, as well as interest and feedback from the students. That would be you.
Stockbridge: Ice Glen & Laura’s Tower
Monterey: The Bidwell House
Becket/Chester/Middlefield: The Keystone Arch Bridges and the Railway to the Moon
Lenox: Parsons Marsh
An expanded explanation of what will be discussed about these properties is available here.
What I hope to accomplish in this course
Through the use of these six specific examples, I hope to convey my sense of wonder and excitement about the area in which we live. I know that there are people here in this room who will have more information than I do about any particular subject. One thing you need to know about me, if you don’t already, is that I am autistic. You will hear me mention this several dozen times before all is said and done. The reason I bring it up so early is to emphasize a stereotypical characteristic of autistic people. Facts Matter. Recently, I was awarded a certificate in story-telling. There was another person (not present today) who was awarded a similar certificate that read “Facts Don’t Matter”…
There is a common story, told with some amusement by many autistic people (funny only because it is recalled many years after the fact) that as youngsters in school they often got into trouble for interrupting and correcting their teachers. I want you to know that this works both ways. I don’t mind being corrected. So, at any time, please interrupt me if you wish to express your opinion about some statement or pronunciation I may have made that doesn’t square with your take on things. Or, for that matter, stop me to ask a question about something that I’ve not been clear about. What I won’t tolerate is having people do their own monologuing. I reserve the exclusive right to do that. One autistic at a time is enough.
Speaking of facts; let me emphasize my view of History as an area of study. It is what I would call a soft science, and that means there are no facts; only opinions. I don’t mean this with disrespect. I’m an amateur historian; professionally, I come from another of the soft sciences — Economics. Although we have a lot of fancy equations in Economics and Finance, they are all based on sometimes questionable (and often controversial) assumptions about how people will behave.
I never fully trust anything I read or hear about things that happened in the past. I advise you to take the same attitude, and that includes information spewed forth by me in this course, under the guise of knowledge. Reality is a tricky thing. I never appreciated that until recent years. For most of my life, my autistic insistence that I had a monopoly on reality interfered with my ability to sustain friendships and other relationships. Now, I understand that there are multiple realities. Two people can be present for the same event and come away from it with completely different understandings and memories. I’ll have other examples later in the course, but here is one that is pertinent to our early discussion of first contact between the Natives and the English colonists. That is the concept of usufruct rights. For details, consult my blog post on the subject.
These three concepts of property rights come down to us from Roman Law.
usus = simple use
usufruct = rights to the product of the property
abusus = right to destroy or convey ownership
The word usufruct comes from the Latin and means, essentially “use of the fruit” — think of a fruit tree or an orchard. If you have the right to take the fruit produced by an orchard and do with it as you will — eat it, sell it, ferment it, and so on; then you have usufruct rights. It is only one aspect of ownership. It does not mean that you have the right to destroy the trees or sell them to someone else — that would be the right of abusus (meaning abuse). A milder form of property rights, btw, would be usus, or simple use. You might have the right to use to orchard for your enjoyment — walking through it, for example, or picnicking there, but not to pick the fruit.
When the English came to the Berkshires (and, of course, to other places in the New World), they brought these concepts with them. But the indigenous culture did not have the same understanding. They did not have a concept of private land ownership. For them, the land used for agriculture or hunting and fishing was under the care of the entire community. All of this led to serious misunderstandings and some very negative consequences for the Natives. I’ll get into specific examples and more detail when we discuss land usage and differing concepts of wilderness.
For now, let me return to my more general introduction. So far, we have established that facts do matter, but so-called historical facts are very subjective in nature, and it might be beneficial to think of them as opinions. Of course, some opinions are based on more knowledge than are others, though it’s not always possible to judge which stories are more accurate.
Let me switch gears here. Please indulge me as I give you some personal perspective on what led me to be standing here before you today. This is, after all, my story. I want you to appreciate why the places we will explore are special to me. I may throw in a few facts along the way, but don’t pay too much attention to those — they will not be on the final exam.
I was born and raised in Stockbridge. I grew up, living in poverty, as a member of a loving and highly literate family, an incubator that instilled in me a love of arts and letters, as well as an appreciation for diversity and inclusion. These values, as well as others I acquired in my youth, were to be my guiding lights through good times and bad, and continue to be the core of who I am today. I’m grateful that I had such a well-rounded upbringing.
Along the way here, I will share some of my childhood stories, for I have many fond memories of those early days. In many ways, Stockbridge was the town that Norman Rockwell portrayed. Norman and I were friends, btw (and, yes, some of my stories involve him).
Still, I had a troubled childhood, for reasons that are not important here. I left the Berkshires when I was 17. I wish I could say that it was to seek my fame and fortune, but I did not want to leave. I felt I was being run out of town on a rail. I had little choice, though, but to obey the wishes of the adults in my life. I had recently been released from jail, and placed on probation. My prospects must have seemed very dim at that point, but I never lost faith in myself.
By the time I moved back to the Berkshires, 30 years later, I had acquired an impressive résumé, if I do say so myself. I graduated Williams High School in 1963, and, although it was 13 difficult years later, I managed to earn a graduate degree in Economics from an Ivy League college. I went on to become an officer of an Insurance company in Hartford by the time I was 30, and I earned many professional designations, including Chartered Financial Analyst. I relocated to New York City in 1980, as a Vice President of a major Money Center Bank, and later I became a Principal at a major Investment Bank.
In my heyday, I was a world-renowned quantitative financial analyst, traveling the globe to share my insights, visiting all the financial centers of the world. I was, for one thing, the only American asked to join the Board of an organization of European money managers and pension funds known as INQUIRE Europe. My clients in those days included the governments of Hong Kong, Lichtenstein, Singapore, and South Dakota. Toward the end of my career, I managed billions of dollars of assets for foundations, pension funds, and others in Japan, Canada, Australia, and the United States.
Along the way, I started a drinking society named QWAFAFEW, that had its origins as a fun networking group with a serious purpose. Its first meeting was in my Manhattan apartment, and today QWAFAFEW has thousands of members in chapters all across the globe, presenting and discussing the work of leading academics and practitioners.
Hidden behind this glorious résumé lay a wasteland of personal problems. I had also gone through three divorces and many periods of acute depression and liberal use of alcohol. It wasn’t until about 15 years ago that I figured out that I’m autistic, and I began to piece together an understanding that helped me get my emotional life under control.
Despite having been banished, I never lost my love for the Berkshires. I remember coming back one time, from the Hartford area, to visit my mother, who at that time was still living in the house on South Lee Road where I had spent my teenage years. As I drove along route 102, I looked south in the direction of Beartown Mountain, viewing from a distance another one of the properties we’ll be exploring in this course, and I was struck with how beautiful the scene was.
When I saw my mother, I almost scolded her, by saying, “Mom, you probably don’t appreciate how beautiful it is around here!” She smiled at me and said, “No, you’re wrong. Every day, I think about how grateful I am to be here.”
I dedicate my efforts in this OLLI endeavor to my paternal grandmother, Grace Josephine Bidwell Wilcox. When I was a child, I spend countless hours with her, hearing her stories about Stockbridge, and watching her quiet excitement at sharing her knowledge with me and her many visitors to the Historical Room in the Stockbridge Library and her long list of correspondents from around the world.
I also want to acknowledge the assistance I received from many sources. Chief among them are the folks at BNRC, who are the caretakers of three of the six properties we will be discussing. Also, many thanks to Rob Hoogs, who is here with us for this course, and is the President of the Board of the Bidwell House. Another member of that Board who has provided me with lots of material on Stockbridge is Richard Bidwell Wilcox, aka my brother Rick.
Let us all acknowledge the indigenous people, the MoHeConNeuck, on whose land we now live and enjoy. Let us hold them in our hearts, with gratitude for their long stewardship of this land that we also hold dear. Let us offer our respect for these people, now known as the Stockbridge-Munsee Community, and let us welcome them in our midst whenever they have the opportunity to visit their beloved Homeland.
So, to the Muh-he-con–neok, who for countless generations cared for this land; on behalf of my generation, and from my heart, I say “anushiik”!
There! I’ve taught you a Mohican word. [Correction: I later learned that anushiik is a Munsee word. The equivalent Mahican word is “oneewe” — pronounced own-ay-wah]
Can we all say that together, in appreciation of our shared love of their Homeland that is now also our home:
Come With Me to the Pre-Contact Berkshires
Let us now begin our exploration together of a sampling of what makes The Berkshires the most special place on this planet.
This book is now out of print, but I found that many used copies are on offer. There is a 2nd edition, and from what I can tell, the only change was the addition of an introduction.
A recent (2018) review, written by a grad student at the University of Texas in Austin, does a good job of summarizing the main themes of Cronon’s book, although I’m not in complete agreement with his analysis. He states, for example, when (correctly) pointing out Cronon’s different treatment of northern and southern New England, that “the lack of agriculture” in the north created different forest types. (“As a result, the makeup of the forests was different.”) I’m not sure that’s what Cronon said, and in thinking about it, I’ve wondered whether we have a chicken-and-egg problem here.
Cronon points out the common practice in the south of burning the detritus and new growth on the forest floors, as often as twice a year, to preserve the “park-like” appearance commented on by many of the early English colonists. The Indians (presumably) did not do this for aesthetic reasons, but to give themselves easy access to tracts of land that they traversed (usually in the winter) in search of game. There were also other benefits that Cronon explains.
All of this worked well in the south, but not so well in the north, because the tree types were different. In the south, hardwoods prevailed (chestnut, oak, maple, cherry, and so on), whereas in the north, coniferous trees were more common. In a pine forest, burning the forest floor would often end up consuming the entire forest in flames, making this practice ill-advised. Now, was the forest of the north different because no burning had been done, or was it different because of other natural reasons, such as a colder climate (and shorter growing season), or different soil types?
Whatever the cause, there was indeed much less agriculture in the north, and the common means of transport was the canoe rather than the footpath. Indian populations tended to be concentrated along the coast or alongside rivers. Being dependent on fish and game for food required larger areas to support a given population than in the south, where the majority of caloric requirements came from agriculture. Cronon estimated that the population density in the northern half of New England was but a fraction (one seventh) of that in the southern half.
Usufruct is a word (and concept) utilized often in Cronon’s book, so I wanted to be sure I understood what is meant by it (although his exposition on its consequences is quite clear). In addition to my opening disclaimer that I have no legal training, please be clear that I am also not an historian. My background is in economics and finance, so these comments are those of an amateur researcher, and my terminology may not be technically correct.
My understanding is that English law with respect to property rights derived from the Roman system, and usufruct is a combination of two Roman (Latin) words that describe two of the three aspects of ownership.
usus (use) is the right to use something without altering it
frutus (fruit) is the right to profit from something, such as by growing and selling (or keeping) crops, renting buildings, or charging a toll for passage
abusus (abuse) is the right to consume property, destroy it, or transfer it to someone else
A person who has all three of these rights is considered to have full ownership.
Related to this concept of property rights is that of sovereignty. In the English system, the Monarch (King or Queen) had sovereign power over the entire country, but did not own it all. After First Contact, when the English colonists became familiar with the existence of sachems, they assumed an equivalence to their Monarch, which was really not the case. The Indian system of government was much more communal than that.
Much of the conflict between the colonists and the original inhabitants of New England arose from their different conceptions of property rights. The English evidently did not understand the Indian system very well, or perhaps chose to disregard it. Similarly, the Indians did not, at first, comprehend the English idea of individual property ownership. When they “sold” land, they were often selling (they thought) usufruct rights. Even in cases, however, when these rights were explicitly stated (either as being given, or, more often, retained) by the Indians, the English disregarded this aspect of the transaction, and claimed full ownership.
One early example, as given by Cronon, is the “sale” of Agawam to the fur trader William Pynchon. This transaction involved a tract of land along about 4 or 5 miles of the Connecticut River. There were no fewer than 13 Indian men and women signing the deed (an English concept), two of whom were evidently sachems speaking for a larger kin group. Again, the sovereignty over this land, to the Indians, was a communal affair, and they did not have a concept of individual land ownership. Cronon quotes from the deed:
they [the Indians] shal have and enjoy all that cottinackeesh, or ground now planted; And have liberty to take Fish and Deer, ground nuts, walnuts akornes and sasachiminesh or a kind of pease.
Cronon explains that his interpretation of what the Indians were doing was selling the right to jointly use the land much as they did, and they did not consider land to be a tradeable commodity. Thus, what the Indians were selling and what the English were buying were two different things.
The story is more complex than this, of course, because the English did not inherently recognize the Indians’ sovereignty over this land. After all, the English King had granted that to the Massachusetts Bay Colony. But that’s enough of the story, I hope, to show that I understand some of the underlying mutual misunderstandings between the two different cultures.
As Cronon goes on to point out, there was probably very little the Indians could have done to prevent the imposition of the English property system. Although that foreign mode of allocating rights was disruptive, the Indian way of life was likely destroyed more by European diseases and the ecological changes that came about as a result of the colonists’ use of the land. Or misuse, from the Indians’ perspective.
Here is a preliminary description of a lecture course I will give this Spring in Lenox. You can find registration information on my OLLI page.
I’ll also be providing links to other blog posts I have already written, as well as more to come. I realize that my lectures can only be brief introductions to the rich history of our area, and I’ll be sure to direct people to other resources if they wish to visit these places in person, or to do more reading on their own.
I’ve also posted about Alford Springs (see below) and much more, but I’ll wait and prepare the list in a more orderly fashion once I have the course outline more filled out.
This OLLI course is about Berkshire History. Not all of Berkshire history, of course. Many volumes have been written about that. We can only focus on a few things.
So this is my story. I have chosen six places that are special to me. The thing that they all have in common is that they are all beautiful places to visit, and they all have trails where you can walk and enjoy the sights. There are dozens of places like that in Berkshire County. Here is why these six places are special to me:
Alford Springs is a BNRC property in the town where I now live.
A branch of the Wilcox family, separating from mine, moved into Alford in 1838. The property that I now own is a small corner lot, carved out of the Wilcox farm that has been passed down through the generations, today owned by my cousin Ray, from whom I buy the hay to feed my horses.
I’ve been riding horses in Alford for many years, all over the town. When I wasn’t riding, I was walking, exploring the forests and looking for new places to ride, or just admiring the views and observing old roads, cellar holes, charcoal pits, and other signs of long-ago occupation.
The Bidwell House is a museum in Monterey that is much more than a house or even a museum. The inside of the house is fascinating, and well worth a visit and a tour. Outside, the grounds offer many opportunities for learning about the history of the area.
I’m a Bidwell, by way of my father’s mother. You’ll be hearing a lot about my grandmother, who was the family historian. It is also because of her that I became a stamp collector. The first United States postage stamps were issued in 1847. Monterey became a town in 1847. Coincidence? I think not!
Keystone Arch Bridges are located on the eastern periphery of Berkshire County, spanning three counties, along the West Branch of the Westfield River between the towns of Chester, Middlefield, and Becket.
My personal connection here is tenuous, but as a stereotypical autistic, I have a fascination with all forms of transportation. We’ll talk about horseback, railroads, canals, turnpikes, bridges, and footpaths.
Laurel Hill/Laura’s Tower/Ice Glen Hiking trails in Stockbridge, maintained by the Laurel Hill Association, which was founded in 1853 and bills itself as “The oldest existing village improvement society in the United States.”
I lived on Park Street in Stockbridge in my early years, in the shadow of Laurel Hill, and led my first hike to Laura’s Tower when I was in kindergarten. That was also the first time my mother called out the police and fire departments to search for me. Laura’s father-in-law was David Dudley Field, and she lived in Laurel Cottage, which later came into the Bidwell family.
Ice Glen was given to the Town of Stockbridge by David Dudley Field. The rumor in my neighborhood was that the bank robbers had hidden their stolen money in Ice Glen. We looked for it in the caves, and dug holes. My grandfather was at work in the bank the day it was robbed.
David Dudley Field also donated the Children’s Chime Tower to the town in 1878. Ernest Gray rang the bells for 45 years, each day from the time of the first apple blossom until the first frost. He taught me how to ring the bells and let me help him play some of the songs.
David’s brother Stephen was appointed to the U.S. Supreme Court in 1863 by President Lincoln, and he served until 1897. David successfully argued some important cases before that Court. In 1890, their nephew and a relative of mine, David Brewer, joined the Supreme Court.
Another of David’s brothers, Cyrus, devised the scheme that led to the first Transatlantic Cable, in 1859. The first transatlantic cable was received in Stockbridge in Cyrus’s workshop, which had once been the home of Barnabas Bidwell, another relative of mine. John L.E. Pell befriended my grandmother to aid him in his advocacy for the Postal Service to issue a stamp to honor the 100th anniversary. I will share a picture he sent me.
As you can imagine, the potential list of stories is legion.
Mahican-Mohawk Trail is an imagined re-creation of the original “Indian Trail” (as the English called it) that was a trading route between the Connecticut River (near Deerfield) and the Albany area.
When I was a kid, we all knew that “Indian file” referred to walking through the woods in single file. Based on my hiking experience in general, and after seeing the section of this trail that is known to have been in existence since before the English arrived, I’d say that was the easiest way to walk through difficult places.
I have long wondered why the auto route that goes from Greenfield to North Adams is called the “Mohawk Trail.” I knew from the stories my grandmother told me that the Mohawks did not live around here, but were over on the other side (to the west) of Albany.
Parsons Marsh is another beautiful BNRC property. It has a fully accessible trail that goes through a wetlands area to a large platform at the edge of the open water, which will delight birders, and provides panoramic views.
I did some research at the behest of BNRC into early uses of this land, because they wanted to be sure their trail would not disturb areas that might contain indigenous artifacts.
Jill Lapore does a brilliant take-down of a flurry of recent literature themed “The Robots are Coming!” in her recent (March 4, 2019) New Yorker piece The Robot Caravan. Lapore’s acerbic and erudite wit skewers the doomsayers and technophobes who see the apocalypse coming.
Her argument could be summed up in one paragraph from the middle of her essay.
Fear of a robot invasion is the obverse of fear of an immigrant invasion, a partisan coin: heads, you’re worried about robots; tails, you’re worried about immigrants. There’s just the one coin. Both fears have to do with jobs, whose loss produces suffering, want, and despair, and whose future scarcity represents a terrifying prospect. Misery likes a scapegoat: heads, blame machines; tails, foreigners. But is the present alarm warranted? Panic is not evidence of danger; it’s evidence of panic. Stoking fear of invading robots and of invading immigrants has been going on for a long time, and the predictions of disaster have, generally, been bananas. Oh, but this time it’s different, the robotomizers insist.
Despite their modern reputation, the original Luddites were neither opposed to technology nor inept at using it. Many were highly skilled machine operators in the textile industry. Nor was the technology they attacked particularly new. Moreover, the idea of smashing machines as a form of industrial protest did not begin or end with them. In truth, the secret of their enduring reputation depends less on what they did than on the name under which they did it. You could say they were good at branding.
One of the subtexts Lapore mentions is that of outsourcing. The upshot is the same; American jobs are being taken away by foreigners. It strikes me as odd that this drumbeat continues even in times like the present, in which the American job market is so tight that employers are complaining about not being able to find enough workers. I guess it’s not the only the present that people are worried about — it’s the future as well.
[Author Martin] Ford, an advocate of universal basic income, is neither a historian nor an economist. He is a futurist, a modern-day shaman, with an M.B.A. Everybody thinks about the future; futurists do it for a living. Policymakers make plans; futurists read omens. The robots-are-coming omen-reading borrows as much from the conventions of science fiction as from those of historical analysis.
There was even a small blurb within Lapore’s essay that made me smile for personal reasons.
In 1983, [a Mexican woman] crossed into the United States, illegally, to work at Kaypro, the maker of the Kaypro II, a personal computer that briefly rivalled the Apple II.
Just this past weekend, my friend Brooke (who now lives on the West Coast) and I were in a New York City taxicab discussing our days of using the Kaypro II.
My own take on the jobs discussion, as an erstwhile economist and as an amateur historian and all-around dilettante, is that it’s all a bunch of nonsense. In some circle, wealthy business-owners are touted as “job creators” as though they are performing some sort of grand philanthropic gesture to the poor unfortunate slobs who would otherwise not be able to work for a living. Of course they are doing no such thing, but are employing people when it is to their financial advantage.
There is also the argument that government stimulates (or should stimulate) the economy through its fiscal and monetary policies to create demand for goods and services, thus allowing businesses to hire more workers. There is undoubtedly some truth to this argument, to the extent that our collective action (also know as government) creates or subsidizes the infrastructure necessary for businesses to form and perform their job-creating miracle.
But in the end, my vote goes to the workers themselves. Jobs exist because people want them and are willing to work. Take, for example, the millions of people in this country who slipped across the border or who overstayed their tourist visas to find work. They may have started out by picking apples or mowing lawns or changing sheets in a motel, because they could find someone willing to pay them for things they were willing and able to do. Many of these people have gone on to higher-skilled jobs, and they are here because we need them; they are now an integral part of our economy.
Over tens or hundreds of thousands of years (or longer) of evolution, homo sapiens have risen to world dominance by being a cooperative species. In pre-agricultural times, human society probably consisted of bands of 100 to 150 individuals. Although there was probably some tolerance for non-working adults who were disabled or had special powers, for the most part each member of the clan had to pitch in if the group were to survive.
I suspect idleness has been bred out of our gene pool. Work, in our modern world, does not necessarily mean paid employment; it can be volunteer work, or hobbies, or helping out with the family. But I know very few people who just sit around and do nothing. And if people need money, they will find a way to earn it. When a worker accepts a job, who has “created” that job? My vote, as I’ve said, goes to the worker.
Yes, yes, I know this is all a great oversimplification. What about the Great Depression? Why didn’t all those people go out and create jobs? My argument is a philosophical one, and an appeal to look at cause and effect a bit differently. Robots are not to be feared. In aggregate, if people are replaced by technology, they will find other things to do that they can get paid for. Always have. Always will.
That said, I’m very well aware of the folk saying, “The only thing difficult to predict is the future!”
I was not familiar with this description, and it seemed to me to be a useful way to think about how autism is viewed. Dr. Insel offers four different perspectives of autism, dividing his world into four kingdoms, of which he is perhaps the Emperor, since each Kingdom’s name begins with “I”…
Illness: This is the classic model of autism as a medical condition requiring treatment. Autism was defined as an innate condition in the first two classic papers that identified autism as a separate identifiable condition. Leo Kanner (1943) termed the condition inborn autistic disturbance of affective contact. Hans Asperger (published in 1944, although probably written before Kanner’s paper) called it “autistic psychopathy.”
Asperger explicitly stated that he believed autism was genetic in origin, based on his observation of familial similarities. Kanner was more equivocal, and later changed his view to be more in line with the then-prevailing psychiatric thinking that many deviant behaviors, such as homosexuality and autism, were caused by trauma.
The clinician who made the presentation at Simon’s Rock was clearly in this school, although she did give a nod to the Injury Kingdom.
Identity: This is where I live. Autism is a different way of being, not a disorder. Neurodiversity is to be praised, not shunned. Autism is also a disability in a society that is not accommodating. As Insel states, the “focus is on community supports, educational and occupational services, and civil rights.” The core example of this kind of advocacy is ASAN.
Injury: People in the Injury Kingdom are searching for the “cause” of autism, so that it can be prevented or cured. There is a close alliance here with the Illness Kingdom, though the way Insel describes “injury” he seems to be talking mostly about vaccines. For those of us in the Identity Kingdom, there is very little functional difference between illness and injury; they both smack of eugenics, and they both suggest that autism is a defect, not just a natural variation in the human genome.
Insight: The residents of this Kingdom sound like anthropologists, studying a strange culture. This, too, seems to be based on a deficit model, which is an approach rejected by those of us in the Identity Kingdom. I’ve participated in many brain studies, thereby learning much about how different my circuitry is from that of neurotypicals. But different does not equate with inferior, and if research starts with that premise (as most autism research seems to do), the results will likely be distorted and uninformative.
Observations About the Presentation
Given that the speaker and I seem to live in different Kingdoms, it is not surprising that I found things in the presentation that were disturbing or that I disagreed with. There were also excellent points made about aspects of autism, such as the idea that “repetitive behaviors” can be adaptive. This made me think of Ted Williams as an example of obsessive repetition. There are also many autistic people who are (or historically have been) very talented in music and mathematics, disciplines that are highly structured.
One of the odd things mentioned in the talk was the definition of biomarkers. It was the first time I’d ever heard of “behavior” called a biomarker. In fact, that seems to me to be self-contradictory. The reason biomarkers (such as a blood test or brain scan) are sought out is to avoid having the subjective judgment required to classify behaviors, which is currently the only accepted way to diagnose autism.
Having a reliable biomarker, it was said, would increase the chances of identifying autism early in life, thus being able to begin interventions sooner. I wish more had been said about what those interventions are, since I’ve learned about a wide variety of “treatments” — ranging from harmful to ineffective. I’m not at all sure why being “social” is such a desirable outcome, given the strange behaviors of most neurotypicals.
Sensory issues were hardly mentioned at all, although they are central to the experience of being autistic. When I arrived at the lecture hall, the lights were so bright that I felt a need to request they be dimmed (an accommodation the organizers were happy to make). At one point, a video was played, describing the default mode network (DMN). I could not understand what was being said because there was music playing at the same time that someone was speaking. I suppose for neurotypicals, it is “background” music, but since it was louder than the voice, it was all I could hear. These are some of the amusing things that autistics encounter in this neurotypical-dominated world. I say amusing because, even though they can be annoying or even painful, it continues to amaze me that many programs or meetings I attend that are about autism are given in environments that are hostile to my kind.
The Language of Autism
Language cues reveal much about social attitudes toward autism. “On the spectrum” has become a universal euphemism for “autistic” to the point that no one really knows what the “spectrum” is. Or, more to the point, the word is used in so many different ways that it has no real meaning. Originally, it referred to IQ range, but that seems to have fallen by the wayside. There was a graph in this presentation showing “severity” levels of autism. The implication here, of course, is that autism is a negative thing. One doesn’t talk about the “severity” of eye color.
In the Injury Kingdom, it is often said that various things increase the “risk” of autism, implying, again, that autism is a bad thing. This has spawned many spoofs in the Identity Kingdom, declaring that “autism is caused by being born” or the classic “Studies Prove It: Autism is Linked to Being a Carbon-Based Life Form.” The rise in diagnostic rates in recent years has sent people scurrying to find these “causes” when, in fact, the increase in entirely a function of increased awareness and changes in diagnostic criteria. An authoritative view of these trends is provided in the wonderful book NeuroTribes, by Steve Silberman.
Those in the Illness Kingdom often talk about how the autistic brain has “too little” or “too much” connectivity in various regions, which is a value judgment, not a scientific fact. Despite years of academic research that shows there is no connection between autism and intellectual capacity, the myth persists that a high number of autistic people are intellectually impaired. It just ain’t so. I’ve recently heard numbers such as 50% or 38% or you-name-it. The truth is closer to 2% or 3%, the same as in the general population.
More on the Origins of the Illness Kingdom
My brief remarks in the paragraph above do not do justice to the early works of Asperger and Kanner, and the debate that ensued (and still continues) over the source of autism and how to deal with the condition. There is a good discussion in a book by Chloe Silverman, Understanding Autism: Parents, Doctors, and the History of a Disorder (pp. 36+37 and elsewhere).
All of this deserves much more extensive treatment than I can give it in this short post. Stay tuned! Meanwhile, my friend John Robison has shared his thoughts on part of the debate in his award-winning post for Psychology Today, “Is the Definition of Autism Too Broad?” Well worth a read.
Kudos to Simon’s Rock
I’m delighted that the college sponsored this lecture and discussion, which they made open to the public. Although I (obviously) did not agree with everything the speaker presented, it was good to see the keen interest in autism among the students and the guests. I hope the college will follow up with more talks on this important subject.
This past winter, I taught a course on autism for OLLI, our local (Berkshire) adult education outfit. Along the way, I discussed the theme of friendships.
One of the overriding messages I was attempting to convey in the 6-lecture course was that autism is not a deficiency, but a difference. To illustrate this, I shared examples of my collection of friends.
Although, as a youngster, I always felt left out of the inner circle of my classmates, I had plenty of friends. In recent years, I have asked some of those former classmates whether I seemed odd to them, and maybe that’s why they left me out. No, I was told, they never consciously excluded me, they just figured I was shy and I didn’t want to play with them.
This is a very common experience, I’ve come to learn, among autistic people. We long for inclusion, but never quite seem to find it, always looking in from the outside because we just don’t “get it” when it comes to social bonding. That stereotype, although accurate, should perhaps be revised to include the recognition that our desire for sociability and friendship is no less than in our neurotypical counterparts. We simply, for whatever reason, don’t pick up on the behaviors that lead to social integration in that dominant neurotypical culture.
Instead, we are steered by a different set of rules, and we make our own friends, in our own way. I’ll have more to say on the friendship theme in future posts, and I’ll share more of the examples I gave in my lectures. For now, I thought I’d post this one, since I came across a related document.
In my OLLI course, I flashed a picture on the screen and described it this way:
And these were my nerdy friends from high school. My 1963 graduation took place at Tanglewood. Notice that I am the only one with a girlfriend.
By coincidence, the four friends here were all on the same page of my high school yearbook.
Notice a common theme here? Lots of mentions of poker and gambling, money and odds. All part of my early life. I think I placed my first bet on a horse at the Barrington Fair when I was 14. I liked to think that I looked older than my age, but I wasn’t sure I could pass for 18. I put $2 down at the window and the teller looked me over. “How old are you?” he wanted to know. “18,” I lied. “Go away!” he waved me off. “Why?” I wanted to know. “You have to be 21!” So I went down the row a bit and tried again at another window. That guy never asked me my age.
I started investing in the stock market when I was in sixth grade. My uncle Paul, married to my father’s sister Jo, was a stockbroker at Goodbody and Company in Pittsfield. He told me to call him anytime for information or to place an order. He told me I could call collect. In those days, Stockbridge didn’t have dial phones, and a call to Pittsfield (two towns away) was a long-distance call, requiring the use of a long distance operator. It also happened that I was in school at the times when the stock market was in session, so I had to ask permission from my teacher, Fritz Brown (probably my least favorite teacher from grade school years).
Mr. Brown would escort me around the corner to the Superintendent’s office, and tell the secretary of my request. She would point to either the conference room or the inner office, whichever one was vacant at the time, and tell me I could go in there. I later figured out that they were listening in on my conversation from the phones in the outer office. I thought that was rather weird, because why would they care about what I was talking to my uncle about? Unless, of course, they didn’t believe me, and thought I was making contact with a Russian spy or something.
They would have heard some pretty boring conversations, although my uncle Paul was a loquacious guy. After I gave the operator my instructions, I would hear the phone ring and be answered. “I have a collect call from Michael, will you accept the charges?” Uncle Paul’s hearty voice would say, “Put him on!” and we would be off to the races, so to speak. After pleasantries, I would ask, “How’s Radio International doing today?” and he would tell me, “I’ll have to send a wire to New York to get a quotation — call me back in an hour and I should know then.” The stocks I was interested in generally didn’t appear on the ticker-tape very often.
So I would have to repeat the drill, and when he gave me the bid-ask spread, I might place an order to buy one or two shares at, say, $13. All of this was a whole lot more exciting to me than listening to Mr. Brown drone on about diagramming sentences, or whatever it was we were supposed to be learning that day. I hope he got a thrill out of listening in on my conversations. How I figured out he was doing that is asfad* and it involves the dog eating my homework, or something like that.
My cousin Bruce, along with Pete and Bill, were the core of my circle of nerdy friends. I don’t remember ever discussing our social situation with them at the time; I guess we all just accepted our lot in life, not being part of the “in crowd” (or at least that’s how I think of it now, looking back). We all went on to have high-powered careers, and it would seem that our social awkwardness in high school was not a precursor of a less-than-satisfying life.
Nadia Tao Wend was the only girlfriend I had in high school, and that for only one year. I think she identified with my friends, as a bit of a misfit in her own right, having moved into town just before our senior year. Or maybe there was more to it than that. After not seeing her for more than forty years, we reconnected when she came to Stockbridge, with her sister Darcy, for one of our high school reunions.
As you can see from her yearbook entry, she was known as Wendy at school. Her family called her Tao, and I called her Nadia. She pronounced it nahdja, and I thought it was a beautiful name, though I think I called her that because she asked me to. In between those high school days and our reunion, I had written a story about another love affair. It was published under the name Running in the Dark, and was based on a true incident. I asked my love interest at the time if I could use her real name, and she insisted that I not do so. We had both been married (to other people) for much of the time we were involved, although I was divorced by the time the story was written. So I proposed to use Nadia as the name in the story, and my friend expressed surprise, “Did you know that is the name of my sister?” I did not.
The original Nadia and I stayed in touch for a while after that reunion, and I shared with her my then-recent revelation that I had identified as Asperger’s. After hearing my story, she did a little research. We had lunch one day in New York City, where she was then living (I’ve lost track of her again), and she shared with me, “You know that Asperger’s thing? I think I might have a touch of that!” I didn’t ask her why she thought that, because it didn’t seem odd to me at all. Her father was an incredibly erudite and creative man, and would probably fit to a T the stereotype of the absent-minded professor. He was the one who inspired me, at age 16, to become a vegetarian. But, again, asfad*…
Here’s a great picture of me with my Georging friend Ed, photobombed by his daughter Eve.
Actually, as you can probably tell, this was a selfie by Eve, with Ed and me in the background. Very clever!
The setting here is a classroom at CIP in Lee, very generously made available to us twice a year for Northeast Gatherings. Georgers come from all over New England, as well as New York, New Jersey, and (in Eve’s case) Maryland.
Ed is a very talented and articulate guy — he serves as our unofficial scribe and always writes up a description of the action at Gatherings he attends, with a playful account of all the personalities involved.
Ed also is a weekend musician, performing with a group that plays mostly classic rock and roll. In “real life” he has a career involving computers. All of these things: Georging, music, and engineering, have a lot in common, it seems to me, and require the same kind of thought processes that involve attention to detail and a flair for mathematics.
His offspring seem to share these traits, and although his son is not involved in Georging, both he and Eve have recently started careers in technical fields.
It’s quite a delight to have them participate in our geeky social circle. Gatherings are full of laughter and fun, and when we meet in public places, we often get curious looks and even outright questions, such as, “What the hell are you guys doing?” which of course only adds to the solidarity of the group.
I own a book, written by Willard Douglas Coxey, from which the title of this post was taken, published in 1931 in Great Barrington, Massachusetts by the Berkshire Courier. The author, according to the Find A Grave website, was born (1861) and died (1943) in Egremont, Mass. My brother Rick tells me he owns a companion book, Ghosts of Old Berkshire, which was evidently written a few years later. The author seems to have published other works, including poetry and at least one play. That’s about all I could learn about him from a quick web search.
I think I did read at least parts of this book several years ago, and I’m now re-reading it with an eye to figuring out, to the extent I can, how much of what he writes is fiction, and how much is based on accepted history. The author admits in his Foreword that “… these Romances have taken some latitude with tradition and historical events…” and “… they are but dream pictures of a day that is past.” They also reveal something about the mores and cultural attitudes of the era in which they were written.
Also in his Foreword, the author acknowledges several sources, but, in most cases, does not give a full description of author or publisher. I have tried to track them down, though I’ve not yet indulged my yen to read them. Perhaps in the future I can circle back with a more complete understanding of the actual histories or legends that form the basis for his romances.
History of Berkshire County, Mass. (if I’ve linked to the book he was using, I do have access to a copy of that 2-volume set, published in 1885. An Egremont friend of mine has offered to loan it to me.)
The Indian Dreamer: A Romance of Lake Mah-Kee-Nac Before the White Man Came to the Berkshires
The first romance (of seven) in this volume takes place primarily in the town of Stockbridge, my home town. I learned to swim on the town beach at the Stockbridge Bowl. I remember my first introduction to the water. The instructor lined up her charges on the shoreline — there must have been nearly a dozen of us, all somewhere around the age of 5. She had us walk out into the shallow water, so that the blue lake was up to our knees, and then turn around to face her on the beach. She had us kneel down and spread our hands in front of us, reaching down to support our shoulders and keep our heads above the water. We were then told to lie flat and kick our feet. It was a very strange sensation at first, but once I got the hang of it, thrashing about in the water became fun.
When I told my grandmother about my water adventure, she told me that the Stockbridge Bowl used to have a different name. It was called Mahkeenac by the natives of Stockbridge, a name that meant something like “great body of water” — and it is quite grand. Fifty years later, I was to return to the lake on a regular basis to row around its outer limits each morning just after sunrise. On those quiet mornings, when the water was still, and there was no other activity, it was possible to listen to the birds singing their morning songs, to mentally block out the cottages along the shore, and imagine being on that lake in a time such as the one described in Coxey’s Romance.
Since those primordial days, the size of the lake has been enhanced by an artificial dam, so I’m not sure what the natural shape of the lake was like. Today, rowing gently around the outer edges is probably a 5- or 6-mile trip, and a brisk row from one end to the other is nearly 2 miles.
Comments about the Romance
“The Indian Dreamer” is the author’s retelling of the tale of Lovers Leap, or Squaw Peak. I’ve heard and read many variants of this legend, and won’t try to compare this one with all the others I’ve heard. This telling strikes me as being different from many accounts I’ve heard, which involved lovers from different cultures — native and colonist. In Coxey’s story, they come from two different bands of Algonquins. To me, this does not have a ring of truth to it. The Algonquins in this area were the Moh He Con Nuck, (also Muh-he-can-nook and other variations); commonly called Mohicans or Mahicans by the English and Dutch.
The Muh-he-can-nook were the guardians of a stretch of the western border of Algonquin territory: that part which encompassed much of what we now call New England, as well as eastern New York state.
To the west, the Iroquois inhabited much of the rest of New York state and up into Canada. The Mohawk tribe, or nation, were the people who lived in the eastern part of this territory, and they were called the doorway to the east.
Thus, the Mohicans and Mohawks were brought into contact with each other in an adversarial context, each trying to prevent encroachment by the other into rival territories. When the Europeans arrived, they would learn of these rivalries, and exploit them for their own benefit. But I digress.
In Coxey’s tale, the rival bands are both Algonquins. This seems a little far-fetched, but it is, after all, a Romance.
He also mentions “the waters of Shat-a-muc” in referring to the Hudson River. The Mohican name for that river was Mahecanittuck. I have not come across that other name elsewhere, so I’ll keep my eyes peeled as I do further reading.
Another aspect of the tale that caught my attention was the juxtaposition of religious beliefs. The author makes many references to “the Great Spirit” and “Happy Hunting Grounds” — which seem to me to be equivalent concepts to the Christian God Jehovah, and Heaven. I wonder what Joseph Campbell would have to say.
In any case, Coxey reveals much about the attitudes of his time, I think, when he says
The Muk-he-can-ew were savages. In those distant days the missionaries had not come with their promises of a life hereafter … but they had hearts.
In fact, these “savages” had a belief system about the soul that was much more elaborate than that of the Christians. Some tribes believed in reincarnation, and many believed in animism (that animals — and plants — had souls) and in totemism (that, for example, part of a person’s soul could hide in a totem animal for protection in times of danger). They believed that disease was caused by evil spirits, and could be cured by medicine men, who had multiple souls more powerful than the evil spirits.
All of this made the natives “savages” to the English, whose more simplistic religion fit in better with their power structure. Although the Europeans seemed to be willing to learn pragmatic things from the natives, their inherent belief that the European culture was superior seems to have destroyed a lot of opportunities for them to learn more subtle messages about how to get along with their environment.
As I have time, I will read and comment on the other stories in Coxey’s book, and place links to those posts here.