Little Albert, 1920

I was Little Albert.

Nine months old in the famous film.

In a white cotton nightie, on a lab

table sitting upright

facing a camera.

Remember me? Sure.

You do.

First, you saw that I was a “curious” baby.

You saw that I blinked and stared

with all the intensity of an infant-brain

eager to suck into its galaxy of neurons

all of the world. You saw that

I was you.

You saw that I was a “fearless” baby.

You saw that I was not frightened

of a burning newspaper held before me

at an alarmingly close range.

Though indeed my rapt infant face

expressed the classic wariness of our species.

Next, you saw that I was not frightened

of a frisky monkey darting close about me

on a leash. You saw

that I was not frightened

by a large dog brought close to me

nor by a quivering rabbit, nor

a small white rat—

nor even a Santa Claus mask

worn by a menacing male figure

clad in white, shoved close

to my infant face.

You saw that I was attracted to the small white rat.

You saw that I reached out to touch the small white rat.

And as I reached for the small white rat

behind my head came an explosion of noise—

the shock of it sent me sprawling, cringing,

face contorted in terror, mouth

a perfect O of anguish, howling—

as the experimenter John Watson struck

a metal pipe with a hammer.

What a shock!—how terror

rushed through me. How

desperately I crawled

to escape almost toppling

off the edge of the table—

except adult hands restrained me.

Children naturally fear loud noises.

The second experiment was one month later.

No escape for me for I was Little Albert.

Grim as a little gargoyle

in white cotton nightie able

to sit upright though now wary,

distrustful. No joy in my little body

as (again) a small white rat

was introduced to me. You saw

how this time I shrank away. How

this time there was terror in my face.

How this time I did not reach

with infant eagerness for the small white rat

for I’d learned to fear and hate

the small white rat. And again

(you saw) how the very presence

of the small white rat

precipitated a deafening clamor

as John Watson another time

struck a metal pipe

with a hammer again, again and

again behind my head for

who was there

to stop him? In this way

establishing on film

how (baseless) fear can be instilled

in a subject where fear had

not previously existed and

how memory of this (baseless) fear

will endure contained

in the unfathomable brain.

How I cried and cried! As if

I’d known that my mother had

received but one dollar for

the use of me in John Watson’s psych lab

in the experiment that would destroy me

and make John Watson famous.

For in the alchemy of my brain

my fear of a small white rat

had become generalized

and now (as Watson ably demonstrated)

I feared the monkey, the dog, the rabbit

equally though each was unaccompanied

by a clanging hammer.

Now I feared the menacing figure

in the Santa Claus mask as if

understanding that Santa Claus

was my tormentor. Cried

and cried and could not be

consoled, even a woman’s

fur coat terrified me for

how could I trust softness?

Sudden movements, sounds

behind my head—

the unexpected ...

Classic Pavlovian conditioning.

Bedrock of  behavioral psychology.

You are wondering: did John Watson

decondition me? No. He did not.

Did another experimental psychologist

decondition me? No. He did not.

Ask me what was the remainder of my life.

Ask me did I adjust to life after the

infamous experiment. Ask me

did I overcome my terror of animals?—

the answer is not known for

I died of hydrocephalus at age six.

All this was long ago. Things are different now.

John Watson would not be allowed to terrorize

Little Albert in his famous experiment now.

Ours is an ethical age.

Or was it all a bad dream? Were you deceived?

You were Little Albert? You were conditioned

to fear and hate? You were conditioned to

thrust from you what you were meant to love?

You were the victim? You were the experimental subject?

You were Little Albert, who died young?