Don't Cry For Me, B. F. Skinner: Monday February 17

Monday February 17
B. F. Hughes sat in the Fitz Memorial auditorium. He had forgotten that this was Black History Week and that there was a speaker scheduled for today. The speaker, a middle age black man who was in charge of some organization, had started off strong, telling the story of a lynching he had witnessed as a youth. But then it got bogged down and B. F. Hughes focused his attention on solving the long-standing problems of his dark-skinned brethren.
It’s no wonder they were lacking in social progress, B. F. Hughes reflected. They had no prominent behaviorists. The smartest thing they could do would be to elect B. F. Skinner president of the NAACP. Not only would that prove once and for all that they were not prejudiced, it would change forever the cycles of reinforcement that tormented them. Blacks could do anything Whites could do if they had the right reinforcers on the right schedules.
But they weren’t going to elect B. F. Skinner president anytime soon. They would continue to wallow in their misery for who knows how long? B. F. Hughes vowed to someday perform pro bono behaviorism. He would never be an ivory tower academic who forgets about the common people. Maybe after a year or two of studying behaviorism at IU, he would return to Evansville to help out in the inner city.
B. F. Hughes already had some ideas to improve the lives of public housing residents. He would start by installing electronic locks on all the doors that would automatically lock at 10 PM. This would serve to keep the residents out of mischief and make it much harder for burglars to enter. And he would turn off the water and gas and the electricity in the daytime so they would want to go to work.
Eventually the red brick housing units would be replaced by urban communes patterned after Twin Oaks, a Virginia commune founded on the principles of B. F. Skinner. The Twin Oaks community was self-supporting via their production and sale of hammocks. Of course, not every new Twin Oaks could produce hammocks. The market would be saturated. But B. F. Skinner had designed a bassinet for his daughter, rudely labeled the Skinner Box or the Heir Conditioner. With the world awakening to his ideas, the market for Skinner Bassinets would be insatiable. And the ripple effect of universal acceptance of the Skinner Bassinet boggled the mind.
And B. F. Hughes might also introduce inner city residents to beekeeping. There is always a market for honey. And bees pollinate flowers and if they had a lot of flowers it would improve the property values. And bees could be conditioned to chase away winos. All a behaviorist would have to do would be to spray a fine mist of diluted cheap wine over flowers. The bees would associate wine with food and would very quickly solve the wino problem.
And each year the dog pound killed thousands of dogs. Why not give them a rabies shot and turn them loose in the inner city? Not only would they make a dent in the rat population but also the dogs would revert to wildness and curb the chronic loitering that plagued the certain urban areas.
B. F. Hughes noticed that he was standing and clapping. He quickly looked around and saw that he wasn’t alone. The speaker had concluded and was receiving a standing ovation. Standing ovations were easy to come by at Fitz Memorial High School. Visiting speakers always got them. Everyone just got so restless. It was such a release to stand up and applaud wildly.
With the speaker out of the way the students of Fitz Memorial High School returned to their drudgery. The morning classes were shortened to accommodate the assembly. B. F. Hughes once again amazed himself at how well he did by slopping through his algebra. He had intended to rise at 6 AM and slop through his algebra but overslept until 6:30. He had to resort to what he called hyperslop and though it didn’t work as well as normal slop it satisfied the completion of his assignment.
Theology class featured a film about the Black American experience that was previously shown in Sociology class. It featured a scene involving a rat biting a baby and even though he had seen it before and the bite took place off camera and was incredibly hokey, he just had to watch the bite and the events leading up to it.
Sociology class featured a film about the Black American experience that had previously been shown in Theology class. It too featured a rat-bitten baby ear and was also met with fits of adolescent laughter. B. F. Hughes had planned on using Modern Literature to refine his plans to visit B. F. Skinner but Mr. Weisswasser prepared a lecture on Black American writers that turned out to be quite interesting.
B. F. Hughes had forgotten that he had Physics homework, so he spent his post-consumption lunchtime and all of his study hall to slop through Physics. Physics was hard to slop through but B. F. Hughes was a master of slop, having all but perfecting it while still in grade school. When Physics class finally rolled around it was just distracting enough to keep him from working on his travel plans.
B. F. Hughes grew to tired to formulate travel plans during American History. He listened to Coach Franz’s Black History presentation. Coach Franz listed several Negro athletes he admired, especially Willie Mays and Gale Sayers. He cited the extra bone in their foot that gave them superior speed. And as he expounded on the anatomical differences between the races, the class focused its collective gaze on Shamelia Ford, the class’s only black student. And Shamelia had the misfortune of sitting in the last seat in the middle row so that all the students had to turn in their seats to stare at her. Had she sat in the front of the class they would have been able to focus their sights on the back of her head in a very tactful manner. But being that she was in the back of the class, they had to turn away from Coach Franz to observe her doodling on her notebook.
And Coach Franz continued in what was for him a frenzy but what was for the listener a sustained droning. He used repeated football examples of wayward souls who channeled their energies appropriately as a result of hard-nose coaching. With hard-nose coaching even the most slothful or cowardly player could make a contribution to the team.
So vitalized was Coach Franz’s lecture that he occasionally looked up from his notes at the end of each sentence. And with each listing of Negro behaviors and characteristics, the class would turn and stare a little more openly at Shamelia Ford doodling on her notebook. “The Negro’s many problems can be traced to their reluctance to embrace Catholicism,” Coach Franz growled. “Negroes who attended Notre Dame never got in trouble.” He then listed several great athletes who were Catholic, “and none of them never held up a liquor store,” he stated emphatically. The lecture was terminated by the end-of-school bell. All eyes were on Shamelia Ford as she gathered her things and slouched out of the room with her eyes glued to the floor. B. F. Hughes would not see her again during Black History Week.
B. F. Hughes welcomed the end-of -school bell even though it meant an evening at Dixie Fried Chicken. At home he defecated and changed into sneakers and Levis and an oversized t-shirt. His mother had prepared him a dinner of minute steak and corn and mashed potatoes. B. F. Hughes ate quickly and passionately and was on his way to Dixie Fried Chicken.
The lot was empty except for Shirley’s Valiant. Upon entering B. F. Hughes said “Hi Shirley” enthusiastically.
“Who are you?”
He scanned her face for traces of a smile. “I’m Bill.”
No change in expression.
“You said come in tonight.”
“You get the hell out of here.”
“Shirley, don’t you know who I am?”
“I know who you are. Now get the fuck out of here before I call the police.”
“But …”
With that Shirley pulled a large butcher knife from under the counter. “You don’t touch my cash register. “
With Dixie Fried Chicken in his rear view mirror B. F. Hughes grew concerned about Shirley calling the police. What would she tell them? They would probably believe her instead of him if she did accuse him of anything because she was older. His heart raced as he thought of all the lies she might be telling about him.
He turned off Green River Road on to Bellemeade. What if she accused him of robbery and took the money herself? How could he defend himself against such charges? And then he saw it! The pay phone! He hadn’t remembered seeing it before and from the center lane he made a hasty right turn.
Not even a knife-wielding Shirley could shatter B. F. Hughes’ dreams. He climbed into the booth and closed the door and began dialing the memorized number. He had a pocket full of change and he was ready to exploit his opportunity.
“Please deposit…”
“Wow! That much for three minutes?” B. F. Hughes fumbled with his change and after much effort; all of his change was deposited.
“Please deposit 15 cents for the first three minutes.”
15 cents short! He checked the coin return. He looked around on the floor. Nothing.
“Operator. May I help you?”
“Yes, I have to make an emergency call and I’m 15 cents short.”
“You can make a collect call, Maam.”
“Well they might not recognize my name.”
And the operator asked B. F. Hughes a series of questions and he answered in terms he hoped would improve his chances of connecting. But this was a tough operator and the only help she gave him was in advising him to call back in an hour when the rates would be lower.
Dejected, B. F. Hughes drove home slowly. He had missed B. F. Skinner by 15 cents. Now there was nothing to do but go home and tell his parents of the frustration that was Dixie Fried Chicken. He hoped that Shirley hadn’t called his parents as his father might blow up at her. Plus, he might try pulling rank on B. F. Hughes and tell him he couldn’t work there when he had already made up his mind not to go back there. And he didn’t want Shirley to weird out and tell him he had tried to rob her.
Before they could ask any questions B. F. Hughes said, “Dad, you were right again. I should have listened to you.” He had heard his older siblings use this tactic and it always worked. “Shirley wouldn’t let me behind the counter. I wouldn’t go back there if they paid me a million dollars.
Mrs. Hughes beamed.
“I should have listened to you.”
And the mood was set for the entire evening. Craig came home on time and B. F. Hughes enjoyed a second dinner with his family. It was one of those pleasant, rejuvenating events that made one thankful to be a member of something, even a family.
The boys retired to the television set while Mr. Hughes and Mrs. Hughes washed the dishes. But the programming, unlike the dinner, was not very distracting to B. F. Hughes. All he could think about was missing B. F. Skinner by 15 cents.
After much fidgeting in front of the television B. F. Hughes told his father that he needed to take the Impala to Osco Drug to buy a notebook. He didn’t need a notebook but he needed an excuse to get out of the house so he could again try to call B. F. Skinner. But his plan would be thwarted as soon as it was hatched. Mr. Hughes also wanted to pick up some things from Osco Drug and he wanted to ride along with his loving and respecting son who had been so quick to acknowledge his father’s wisdom.
B. F. Hughes felt his heart sink to the bottom of his gut. He would not be talking to B. F. Skinner this evening. And B. F. Hughes went through the motions of picking out a notebook as his father browsed the well-stocked aisles of patent medicines, judiciously reading dozens of labels of antiseptics, analgesics, antacids, and foot powders before deciding on an obscure brand of cough drop and a small bottle of Mercurochrome.
At home B. F. Hughes dutifully watched some dreadful programming with his family. Craig’s sarcastic remarks peppered the viewing and actually made it all quite entertaining. When his parents retired to say the Rosary Craig’s remarks grew more off-color, much to the amusement of B. F. Hughes. After pancakes were served B. F. Hughes broke his routine. He did not slop through his homework because tomorrow he would be skipping school.