numbers, computers, and ordered systems.[3] Reflecting on the broad nature of this umbrella, Stallman says its possible that, if born 40 years later, he might have merited just such a diagnosis. Then again, so would many of his computer-world colleagues.
“It’s possible I could have had something like that”, he says. “On the other hand, one of the aspects of that syndrome is difficulty following rhythms. I can dance. In fact, I love following the most complicated rhythms. It’s not clear cut enough to know”.
Chess, for one, rejects such attempts at back-diagnosis. “I never thought of him [as] having that sort of thing”, he says. “He was just very unsocialized, but then, we all were”.
Lippman, on the other hand, entertains the possibility. She recalls a few stories from her son’s infancy, however, that provide fodder for speculation. A prominent symptom of autism is an oversensitivity to noises and colors, and Lippman recalls two anecdotes that stand out in this regard. “When Richard was an infant, we’d take him to the beach”, she says. “He would start screaming two or three blocks before we reached the surf. It wasn’t until the third time that we figured out what was going on: the sound of the surf was hurting his ears”. She also recalls a similar screaming reaction in relation to color: “My mother had bright red hair, and every time she’d stoop down to pick him up, he’d let out a wail”.
In recent years, Lippman says she has taken to reading books about autism and believes that such episodes were more than coincidental. “I do feel that Richard had some of the qualities of an autistic child”, she says. “I regret that so little was known about autism back then”.
Over time, however, Lippman says her son learned to adjust. By age seven, she says, her son had become fond of standing at the front window of subway trains, mapping out and memorizing the labyrinthian system of railroad tracks underneath the city. It was a hobby that relied on an ability to accommodate the loud noises that accompanied each train ride. “Only the initial noise seemed to bother him”, says Lippman. “It was as if he got shocked by the sound but his nerves learned how to make the adjustment”.
For the most part, Lippman recalls her son exhibiting the excitement, energy, and social skills of any normal boy. It wasn’t until after a series of traumatic events battered the Stallman household, she says, that her son became introverted and emotionally distant.
The first traumatic event was the divorce of Alice and Daniel Stallman, Richard’s father. Although Lippman says both she and her ex-husband tried to prepare their son for the blow, she says the blow was devastating nonetheless. “He sort of didn’t pay attention when we first told him what was happening”, Lippman recalls. “But the reality smacked him in the face when he and I moved into a new apartment. The first thing he said was, `Where’s Dad’s furniture?’”
For the next decade, Stallman would spend his weekdays at his mother’s apartment in Manhattan and his weekends at his father’s home in Queens. The shuttling back and forth gave him a chance to study a pair of contrasting parenting styles that, to this day, leaves Stallman firmly opposed to the idea of raising children himself. Speaking about his father, a World War II vet who passed away in early 2001, Stallman balances respect with anger. On one hand, there is the man whose moral commitment led him to learn French just so he could be more helpful to Allies when they’d finally come. On the other hand, there was the parent who always knew how to craft a put-down for cruel effect.[4]
“My father had a horrible temper”, Stallman says. “He never screamed, but he always found a way to criticize you in a cold, designed-to-crush way”.
As for life in his mother’s apartment, Stallman is less equivocal. “That was war”, he says. “I used to say in my misery, `I want to go home,’ meaning to the nonexistent place that I’ll never have”.
For the first few years after the divorce, Stallman found the tranquility that eluded him in the home of his paternal grandparents. Then, around age 10 his grandparents passed away in short succession. For Stallman, the loss was devastating. “I used to go and visit and feel I was in a loving, gentle environment”, Stallman recalls. “It was the only place I ever found one, until I went away to college”.
Lippman lists the death of Richard’s paternal grandparents as the second traumatic event. “It really upset him”, she says. “He was very close to both his grandparents. Before they died, he was very outgoing, almost a leader-of-the-pack type with the other kids. After they died, he became much more emotionally withdrawn”.
From Stallman’s perspective, the emotional withdrawal was merely an attempt to deal with the agony of adolescence. Labeling his teenage years a “pure horror”, Stallman says he often felt like a deaf person amid a crowd of chattering music listeners.
“I often had the feeling that I couldn’t understand what other people were saying”, says Stallman, recalling the emotional bubble that insulated him from the rest of the adolescent and adult world. “I could understand the words, but something was going on underneath the conversations that I didn’t understand. I couldn’t understand why people were interested in the things other people said”.
For all the agony it produced, adolescence would have a encouraging effect on Stallman’s sense of individuality. At a time when most of his classmates were growing their hair out, Stallman preferred to keep his short. At a time when the whole teenage world was listening to rock and roll, Stallman preferred classical music. A devoted fan of science fiction,
“Oh, the puns”, says Lippman, still exasperated by the memory of her son’s teenage personality. “There wasn’t a thing you could say at the dinner table that he couldn’t throw back at you as a pun”.
Outside the home, Stallman saved the jokes for the adults who tended to indulge his gifted nature. One of the first was a summer-camp counselor who handed Stallman a print-out manual for the IBM 7094 computer during his 12th year. To a preteenager fascinated with numbers and science, the gift was a godsend.[5] By the end of summer, Stallman was writing out paper programs according to the 7094’s internal specifications, anxiously anticipating getting a chance to try them out on a real machine.
With the first personal computer still a decade away, Stallman would be forced to wait a few years before getting access to his first computer. His first chance finally came during his junior year of high school. Hired on at the IBM New York Scientific Center, a now-defunct research facility in downtown Manhattan, Stallman spent the summer after high-school graduation writing his first program, a pre-processor for the 7094 written in the programming language PL/I. “I first wrote it in PL/I, then started over in assembler language when the PL/I program was too big to fit in the computer”, he recalls.
After that job at the IBM Scientific Center, Stallman had held a laboratory-assistant position in the biology department at Rockefeller University. Although he was already moving toward a career in math or physics, Stallman’s analytical mind impressed the lab director enough that a few years after Stallman departed for college, Lippman received an unexpected phone call. “It was the professor at Rockefeller”, Lippman says. “He wanted to know how Richard was doing. He was surprised to learn that he was working in computers. He’d always thought Richard had a great future ahead of him as a biologist”.
