Kanzi: The Ape at the Brink of the Human Mind by Sue Savage-Rumbaugh Page B
Authors: Sue Savage-Rumbaugh
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capable of swallowing a man, and they all appeared quite hungry. Consequently, the power the trainer could wield over them with only a whip amazed me. I noted that the trainer of the chimpanzees did not use a whip and the chimpanzees did not threaten him, as did the lions. I never really wondered how the big cats felt about the show, as I did with the chimpanzees; I did wonder why they tolerated being in a show.
My next experience with live chimpanzees occurred when I became a graduate teaching assistant in psychology at the University of Oklahoma, in Norman. Roger Fouts, who had recently transferred to Oklahoma from the University of Nevada, arrived in class one day carrying Booee, who was a little more than three years old. Roger set Booee down on a table and produced a series of objects, including a hat, a shoe, and a ring of keys. He held up each object and asked Booee to name it. The class, myself included, was quite taken aback as Booee formed his hands into signs for the objects, using the American Sign Language (ASL) system. Although he knew the names of all the objects, Booee was really interested only in the keys. He wanted to play with them and kept signing “keys” over and over while holding his hand out for them. While I wondered whether he really knew the other words that he was signing, it seemed pretty clear that he understood “keys.”
The time was 1970, and prior to seeing Booee in class I had heard little of the so-called ape-language studies that had begun in the late 1960s. My image of apes—based on the shows I had seen at the zoo and on television—was that of acrobatic monkeys. I thought of apes as smart dogs with hands and goofy faces. But the ape before me was different. He wasn’t cavorting on a stage or walking around in a coat with a large hat down over his eyes, mimicking a human character. He was sitting calmly on a table in front of nearly one hundred people and making a different sign each time Roger held up a different object. Roger had shown us the signs in advance, so we could see for ourselves that Booee was correct almost every time.After watching Booee do this, and noting the expressions on his face as he looked out over the audience, I knew at once that this creature had to possess sentience that all my life I had assumed was to be found only among humankind.
As impressive as Booee’s apparent language abilities were, even more intriguing was the nature of the social contract between Booee and Roger. Being the oldest in a family of seven siblings, I had been responsible for much of the caretaking of my younger siblings. This responsibility necessarily gave me a clear understanding of the typical behavior of young children, and the means they use to communicate even before they can speak. Seeing Booee with Roger that day was something like having a professor reveal to you that one of his children was learning impaired with severe speech difficulties and a few minor physical deformities. The real news, however, was not that this “child” was impaired, but that this child was not a human being by physical standards, regardless of whether or not his behavior suggested otherwise. Watching Booee and Roger reminded me of the many times I had taken my younger brothers and sisters on outings as they were learning to talk; Booee was just as playful and inventive as they had been.
I was attracted to psychology, in part, because of the experiences I encountered helping to raise so many siblings. The development of human behavior intrigued me, particularly the effect of rearing on the development of the human mind and intellectual capacities. When I saw Booee I decided to take Roger up on his request for volunteers to work at the “Chimp Farm.” This chimp farm, owned by Dr. Bill Lemmon, a clinical psychologist, was located about fifteen minutes outside of Norman, Oklahoma. There approximately thirty chimpanzees resided, along with several species of monkeys, lesser apes, peacocks,
My next experience with live chimpanzees occurred when I became a graduate teaching assistant in psychology at the University of Oklahoma, in Norman. Roger Fouts, who had recently transferred to Oklahoma from the University of Nevada, arrived in class one day carrying Booee, who was a little more than three years old. Roger set Booee down on a table and produced a series of objects, including a hat, a shoe, and a ring of keys. He held up each object and asked Booee to name it. The class, myself included, was quite taken aback as Booee formed his hands into signs for the objects, using the American Sign Language (ASL) system. Although he knew the names of all the objects, Booee was really interested only in the keys. He wanted to play with them and kept signing “keys” over and over while holding his hand out for them. While I wondered whether he really knew the other words that he was signing, it seemed pretty clear that he understood “keys.”
The time was 1970, and prior to seeing Booee in class I had heard little of the so-called ape-language studies that had begun in the late 1960s. My image of apes—based on the shows I had seen at the zoo and on television—was that of acrobatic monkeys. I thought of apes as smart dogs with hands and goofy faces. But the ape before me was different. He wasn’t cavorting on a stage or walking around in a coat with a large hat down over his eyes, mimicking a human character. He was sitting calmly on a table in front of nearly one hundred people and making a different sign each time Roger held up a different object. Roger had shown us the signs in advance, so we could see for ourselves that Booee was correct almost every time.After watching Booee do this, and noting the expressions on his face as he looked out over the audience, I knew at once that this creature had to possess sentience that all my life I had assumed was to be found only among humankind.
As impressive as Booee’s apparent language abilities were, even more intriguing was the nature of the social contract between Booee and Roger. Being the oldest in a family of seven siblings, I had been responsible for much of the caretaking of my younger siblings. This responsibility necessarily gave me a clear understanding of the typical behavior of young children, and the means they use to communicate even before they can speak. Seeing Booee with Roger that day was something like having a professor reveal to you that one of his children was learning impaired with severe speech difficulties and a few minor physical deformities. The real news, however, was not that this “child” was impaired, but that this child was not a human being by physical standards, regardless of whether or not his behavior suggested otherwise. Watching Booee and Roger reminded me of the many times I had taken my younger brothers and sisters on outings as they were learning to talk; Booee was just as playful and inventive as they had been.
I was attracted to psychology, in part, because of the experiences I encountered helping to raise so many siblings. The development of human behavior intrigued me, particularly the effect of rearing on the development of the human mind and intellectual capacities. When I saw Booee I decided to take Roger up on his request for volunteers to work at the “Chimp Farm.” This chimp farm, owned by Dr. Bill Lemmon, a clinical psychologist, was located about fifteen minutes outside of Norman, Oklahoma. There approximately thirty chimpanzees resided, along with several species of monkeys, lesser apes, peacocks,
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