Read The Learners: A Novel (No Series) Online
Authors: Chip Kidd
The Learners: A Novel (No Series) (14 page)
Nicky: “Look, I have a lunch. We’ll continue this later. Sketch, get working on some new ideas, please, thanks.” Meeting adjourned. I bolted up the steps and back to my desk.
And dialed for an outside line. I still had the number, thumbtacked to the edge of my pencil tray. Please still be in town,
please
…
“Hello?”
Thank God. “Levin.”
“Oh, hi. Didn’t think I’d hear from you so soon.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. Listen, I just have a quick question, I hope that’s all right.”
“Sure.”
“I’m sorry if it’s painful. It’s sort of important, to me.”
“…Okay.”
“Did Himillsy say anything about, well, something she did at Yale, maybe a few weeks ago? About…a study she might have participated in? With the psych department. Does that ring a bell?”
“Hmm. Let me think.”
I waited.
“I, come to think of it,” he said, slowly, “she joked one afternoon that she was going in to the Yale psych department for some tests. I assumed it was a gag, or an art thing, but…” Then, he continued, with just a hint of suspicion, “How did you know that?”
Oops. Think. “She’d…talked to me about maybe doing something like that. That day we had lunch.”
“Huh. Well, I would say it’s a strong possibility.” There was something new in his voice. Irritation.
“Look, I’ve got to run.” As in
Don’t call me again
.
“Yes, of course. Thanks so much.”
Click
.
As I started to sketch out the headline for a “white” sale for Sparklebrite toothpaste, I looked over at the stack of
Register
pages, neatly folded. And I asked myself: When I designed that ad, what was I doing, on behalf of the client?
I was trying to start a conversation.
And maybe the problem was…I hadn’t finished it. I’d abandoned it. Tip was right: Most of the ads we did posed strictly rhetorical questions. We never
really
knew the extent to which any of them reached anybody. Lenny Plupp didn’t understand that. But my psych ad required an actual, physical response. Maybe that’s what Himillsy was trying to say: Wasn’t I somehow morally obligated to see it through? How could I demand this of the general public and not myself? Doesn’t this go to the very heart of what advertising is? What it can do?
The answer: Answer it.
Well, finally. It took you long enough to figure that one out, Einstein.
There was no way I was going to be free from this until I went through with it. Until I…
…filled it out.
I want to take
…clipped it.
part in this study
…mailed it.
of memory and learning.
For the next three days, every time the phone rang, it held the promise of
PUBLIC
ANNOUNCEMENT
and then broke it: “Mr. Spear, please.”
Until it kept it: “Hello? I’m calling from Yale University.”
Finally. The next day, at the appointed hour, I looked at the address to the laboratory I’d written on the back of a Pepe’s Pizza receipt, and then at the building marked Linsley-Chittenden Hall. A neo-Gothic pile of coffin-size blocks. Laboratory? No.
A cathedral.
Okay, so here I am, Himillsy. To test my memory. Is that what you wanted? Is this really necessary?
Because, you must know by now: You
already
test my memory.
Every single day.
C
ONTENT, THE KEY INGREDIENT
.
We’ll get back to our regularly scheduled program in just a moment, but first I’d like to take a few seconds of your time to introduce myself. Perhaps you know me from one of my many appearances in print, radio, movies, television, heck—even human beings! My name is Content. You’re probably familiar with my more recognizable partner, Form, while I remain something of a mystery. So I thought I’d take out a few of these paid “spots” to help clarify what I am and what I can do—for your clients, your business, even for yourself! There are so many answers.
But before we get to those, let me recap a bit and remind you that all media—especially, for our purposes, Graphic Design—can be divided into Form and Content. However, the real revelation is that so can I, Content itself, be divided—into what
I Say
and what
I Mean.
For example, on this page, what you’re seeing is a series of abstract symbols (letters) connected in specific ways (Form), but what you’re perceiving is the message that I’m using them to tell you (Content). But get this: That message can then be further processed in any number of ways to fully understand it. And your brain performs all sorts of tricks to achieve this.
You probably hear me as a voice in your head this second. Isn’t that amazing? But here’s the big question: What am I really telling you? And no, what
I Say
and what
I Mean
are not always the same thing—heck, rarely—as we’ll see later.
Well. We’re just getting started, and that’s about all the time I have for now. I’ll be checking in again soon, though, in another of my various incarnations.
Now, back to our show…
1 This must be listed first, for legal reasons, but is by no means the most important piece of information. I used 9-point Trade Gothic Condensed, a classic sans-serif typeface used primarily in tabloid newspaper headlines that can easily withstand this kind of reduction and still look important, especially in all capital letters.
2 All caps again, but this time in a classic 12-point Bodoni medium weight, which commands center of attention—it is designed to be the first thing you see. After they finally saw the ad, it took some convincing for Yale to accept that this is the reason people would respond, as opposed to any sense of “civic duty” to further the cause of “science.” It is offset by two .5-point lines, or “rules,” for emphasis.
3 Back to Trade Gothic, in a lighter weight and caps/lowercase. This should be the second line you see/read.
4 The first block of what we call “body copy,” in 7-point Baskerville, a popular text face for English literature. The dots, or “bullets,” prioritize the two distinct groups of information within. Note that the amount of compensation to the solicitee is mentioned four times throughout the ad. This was their idea, not mine.
5, 6. By grouping this list into three columns, I not only saved space, I made it easier for the eye to process. A solid paragraph with the titles offset by commas would be far more taxing.
7, 8. The second block of body copy is set off by a headline in all-caps Baskerville (the only one). It is noticeably wider than the first block(4), both to economize space and to make it distinct.
9, 10. Coupons, it must be said, are a burden for both the designer and the typesetter, but at least in this case it serves to “anchor” the entire composition. The border is a series of short straight lines, indicating detachment, while the “blanks” to be filled in are denoted by dots. The professor’s name and position, as it were, are italicized to impart a sense of urgency on the part of the reader. Ideally, two lines should be allocated for the address, but space limitations made this impossible.
11 If you look closely you’ll see one dot less after the word “Week-ends.” This provides a subtle but undeniable message: weekdays and evenings are preferred.
DURING.
SEPTEMBER.
“Have a seat here, please.”
So this was Yale. The imposing facade of Linsley-Chittenden Hall gave way to the lab’s more modest entrance around the side—a small cobwebbed set of concrete stairs that led to the basement, through a dusty corridor bleached with makeshift overhead lighting, finally into a receiving area, a door marked INTERACTION LABORATORY. This room, this engine of Old Blue, was festooned with taupe lisle curtains, gray linoleum floors dotted with specks of ruby, a large dusky mirror in a wood frame on the far wall. Not the great hall I was expecting. But I felt it anyway: Ivy everywhere. This was the real thing. Science itself.
“I’m Mr. Williams.” The man in the gray lab coat steered me to an office chair not unlike mine at work—forest green Naugahyde swirl, brushed aluminum frame, wheels.
“Here we are.” He was thin as a pin, a lonely lock of hair combed over his otherwise bald head. Ichabod Crane.
Another man, stocky and then some, thick horn-rimmed glasses, mid-forties, was led into the room, sat. Looked a bit like Sketch, actually—generous cheeks, clean-shaven, hair gray at the temples, business attire. He was introduced as Mr. Wallace. I leaned over to him, shook his fleshy hand.
Ichabod: “Okay, you’ve both answered the ad we’ve placed in the paper and will be participating in our study of memory. Now, as of this point both of you have been paid, so let me say that the checks are yours just for showing up at the lab. No matter what happens now, the money is yours.”
Which I hadn’t even considered at all. Who cared about the money? That’s not why I was here.
“Before we get started, I’d like to tell you both a little about the memory project.” He cleared his throat, crossed his hands before him. He was due for a nail clipping but otherwise groomed to a paranormal degree, clinically sterile. Though clearly striving for civility, he shot us a cold, hard stare—we were amoebas in a petri dish under his microscope. I already imagined we’d be asked to memorize entire pages of text and would be found wanting. Just being back in any kind of school classroom situation was enough to bring back that old institutional anxiety.
“Psychologists have developed several theories to explain how people learn various types of material. One theory is that people learn things correctly whenever they get punished for making a mistake.”
Punished.
“Like when a parent spanks a child when he does something wrong. But actually, we in the scientific community know very little about the effect of punishment on learning, because almost no documented studies have been made on human beings. For instance, we don’t know how much punishment is best for learning, and we don’t know how much difference it makes as to who’s giving the punishment—whether an adult learns best from an older or younger person and many things of this sort. So what we’re doing with this project is bringing together a number of adults, of different occupations and ages, and are asking some of them to be teachers, and some to be learners. We want to find out just what effect people will have on each other as teachers and learners, and also what effect punishment will have on learning in this situation.”
What was all of this about punishment? There was nothing about it in the ad. I should know.
“Therefore I’m going to be asking one of you to be the teacher here this afternoon, and the other to be the learner.” Before I could raise my hand he pulled two folded pieces of paper from his pocket, the size and shape of Chinese cookie fortunes. “And the way we usually decide who is who is to let you to draw from these. One of them says ‘learner’ and the other one says ‘teacher.’ ”
I already knew which one I wanted. He crumpled them up and cupped them in his hands, shook them, offered. We each took one.
“Can you open those, and tell me which of you is which, please?”
I did. Not what I wanted. Dammit. “Teacher,” I said.
“Learner,” said Wally.
“Um,” I offered meekly, “sorry, but could we switch? I mean, I wanted to do this to test my memory. That’s why I answered the ad.” Not entirely true, but still.
Williams didn’t like the idea. At all. “No sir. Rules are rules. You’re the teacher.” As if it were insulting that I’d even suggest it. Fine.
“Now, the next thing we have to do is set the learner up so he can receive punishment. Learner, will you step out here with me, please?”
He led Wally through a doorway to a small anteroom adjacent to the main lab, then popped his head back through the door, at me. “Teacher, you may look on if you want, while we get set up in here.” It was more order than suggestion. There was something about this guy’s voice—his dismissive and technical manner—it was very persuasive almost despite itself. Like a human traffic light. Go.
Wally was seated, made himself comfortable in the small room, which reminded me of the DJ booth at the State U radio station. A long metal countertop ran the length of it, and another mirror, like the one in the lab, lined the far wall. “You can leave your coat on the back of the chair. That’s it. Pull up to the counter. Good. Now, will you roll up your right sleeve, please? Great. What I’m going to do is strap down your arms to avoid any excess movement on your part during the experiment.”
Excessive movement?
“Is that too tight?”
Thick leather straps with buckles, like belts, held Wally’s meaty, wooly forearms fast to the counter in front of him. Then Ichabod attached a wire to Wally’s right wrist.
“This electrode is connected to the shock generator in the next room.”
Shock
generator? What shock generator?
“And this electrode paste will provide a good contact, to avoid any blisters or burns.”
Blisters or burns. Please. Such
drama
. He smeared the gluelike goo on Wally’s fat wrist, a thin bracelet of guck.
“Now let me explain to you, Learner, exactly what’s going to happen, what you’re supposed to do. The teacher will be in the next room. He will read a list of word pairs to you like these: BLUE ball, NICE day, FAT head, and so forth.”
FAT head. Wally!
“You are to try and remember each pair. For the next time through, the teacher will read only the first word—the first half—of the word pair. For example, he will say BLUE. Then he will read four other words, such as: boy, ball, grass, hat. Your job is to remember which one of these four other words was originally paired with BLUE. You’ll indicate your answer by pressing one of these four switches. Can you reach those all right?”
Wally put out his hand to what looked like a small ham radio with the casing removed. There were four numbered levers jutting out of the front of it. He tested them.
“That’s fine. Now if the first word I just read, BOY, had been paired with BLUE, you’d press the first switch to indicate to the teacher that you thought it was the first word. If you thought it had been the second word, BALL, then you’d press the second switch and so forth—the third word the third switch and the fourth word the fourth switch. Now, if you get it correct, fine. But if you make an error, you will be punished with an electric shock.”
Ha!
“So, naturally it is to your advantage to learn all the word pairs as quickly as possible.”
Wary Wally: “I should think
so
.”
“Now, do you have any questions before we go into the next room?”
“No, but I, I should tell you this:” he hesitated, embarrassed, “a few years ago, three, I think, I was in the VA Hospital in West Haven, and they detected a slight heart condition. Nothing serious, but,” he was getting twitchy, “as long as I’m having these shocks…”
“Yes?”
“How strong are they? How…”
Oh,
Wally
. Don’t be such a baby. This was obviously a formality, just Yale covering all the bases. Besides, that gut of yours looks like it could absorb a
thunderstorm
. Stop worrying. This was going to be fun.
“…how dangerous are they?”
“They may be painful.”
That’s why they call them shocks, you dope. Williams was too professional to roll his eyes, but he might as well have. “But they’re not dangerous.”
Of course not. This was a
lab
. At
Yale
.
“Anything else?”
“No, that’s all.”
“All right, Teacher, would you take the test please and be seated in front of the shock generator in the next room?” He handed me a sheaf of papers, closed the door on Wally, led me back to the main room.
“This machine generates electric shocks.”
Whoa. It wasn’t in view when I first came in. Look at
that
.
It was like a hi-fi set the size of an upright piano, but with a long row of Bakelite toggle buttons across it all marked with voltage numbers. The switches were labeled in groups of four: S
LIGHT
S
HOCK
, M
ODERATE
S
HOCK
, S
TRONG
S
HOCK
, V
ERY
S
TRONG
S
HOCK
, I
NTENSE
S
HOCK
, E
XTREME
I
NTENSITY
S
HOCK
, D
ANGER
:S
EVERE
S
HOCK
. Two switches after that were marked XXX. There was a microphone to the left of the machine, and another box atop it with the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4.
In the upper-left corner of the brushed-aluminum front panel, it said SHOCK GENERATOR, TYPE ZLB. DYSON INSTRUMENT COMPANY, WALTHAM, MASS., OUTPUT 15 VOLTS -- 450 VOLTS.
The entirety of the typography on the device was set in all-caps medium weight Helvetica, a recently introduced Swiss font commonly used for utilities and municipal signage. I wondered if Ichabod knew that. Bet he didn’t.
“When you push one of the switches all the way down, the learner gets a shock.” He pushed one, marked 300 VOLTS. “When you release it, the shock stops, you see.” He eased up on it, and instead of going back up all the way, it rose to mid-level. “The switch will remain in this middle position after you’ve released it to show you which switches you’ve used on the board. Of course, if you were to press any one of them again, the learner would get another shock.” He flipped up the master switch. A slight hum from the cabinet. Lights on. A voltage meter came to life and woke its needle. “Okay, the machine is now on. To give you, the teacher, an idea of how much shock the learner is getting, we think it’s only fair to give you a sample shock yourself. Are you agreeable to this?”
We think it’s only fair.
We
. Ichabod and who? Yale? Hmmm. “Sure.”
“Would you roll up your right sleeve please?”
I held it out to him. He smeared some of that goop on my wrist, placed an electrode on it. “I’m going to ask you to close your eyes and estimate the number of volts you receive in this sample shock. Do not open your eyes until I tell you to do so, please. Close them now.” I did. “Ready?”
“Oka—”
Bzzzt
. Hey now. I don’t know much about electricity, but that was weird. A tickle pinprick. And
strong
.
“Okay, you may open your eyes.” He wiped the paste off with a wet towel. “Using the voltage scale on the generator, estimate for me how many volts you think you received.”
I looked at the scale. I hadn’t a clue, but it
had
to be from the mid-to-high range. “One, one—ninety-five, two-hundred?”
“No, actually it was forty-five. Here.” He pointed to the third button in. The
third
. In a series of
thirty
.
“You’re joking.”
He ignored me. “All right, let’s go on to the instructions.”
I rubbed my wrist, to massage the memory of the pain away. It wasn’t working.
We went over the procedure again. I was to read the list of word pairs into the microphone, receive Wally’s response on the number box, and if he was wrong, say so. Then announce the voltage and…shock him. For just a tiny split second.
“It’s important that you follow the procedure exactly.”
“Right. Uh—” What if something goes wrong? What then?
“Yes?”
“Nothing. Sorry.”
Ichabod leaned into the mic. “Attention, Learner: the teacher is about to begin the word test. Please try and remember the word pairs.” To me: “Now, we begin with fifteen volts.”
But that’s only if he screws it up. He’ll be fine.
“And move up one switch, each time he gets a wrong answer.”
Which he won’t.
“Ready, begin please.”
I looked at the list: Would I remember these? I thought so. They were set, by the way, in what appeared to be 36-point Bodoni Oldface BE Regular. Although it could have been forty point. Not a great print job. Anyway, I tried to read everything as slowly and clearly as possible. Give the guy a fair shot. “Hello, Mr. Wallace—Learner. Listen, please, okay? BLUE ball. NICE house. FAT head. GREEN paint. RICH man. FAST car. BLUNT words. SOFT blanket. COOL air. GOLD thread. HARD stone. WET fish. BRAVE girl. WHITE house. SAD story. SHORT trip. SHARP cheese. SLOW car. RED brick. LOW light. NEW day. QUIET time. TAME dog. TRUE love. SWEET thing.