capacity for understanding. For example, many people thought the way I perseverated on my door symbols was weird and tried to get me to get rid of them. It took someone like Mr. Carlock to help me channel such fixations.
College and Graduate School
Before I entered college, my mother informed the administration of my problems. The school was close to my old high school and I was still able to see Mr. Carlock on weekends. This was very important for my success. He provided needed support and encouragement while I adapted to life in college. I might not have been able to make it without him.
There were two kinds of college courses: easy ones, like biology, history, and English, and impossible ones, like math and French. Mr. Dion, the math teacher, spent hours with me after each class. Almost every day I went to his office and reviewed the entire day's lecture. I also had to spend hours with a tutor to get through French. For moral support there was Mrs. Eastbrook, the assistant dean's wife. She was another one of the unconventional people who helped me. She had wild hair and wore long johns under her skirt. When I got lonely or down in the dumps, I went over to her house and she gave me much-needed encouragement.
College was a confusing place, and I strove to use visual analogies to understand the rules of collegiate society. When I got into college, I made new analogies to augment the simple ideas that I had come up with in boarding school to stay out of trouble. There I had quickly learned which rules I really had to follow and which rules I could bend through careful observation and logic. I developed a simple classification system for rules, which I called «sins of the system.» A rule designated as a sin of the system was very important, and breaking it would result in severe loss of privileges or expulsion. Students got into serious trouble for smoking and having sex. If a student could be totally trusted not to engage in these two activities, she could break some of the minor rules without any consequences. I designated smoking and sex as sins of the system. Once the staff realized that I would not run off into the bushes and have sex I was never punished for going out in the woods without a staff member. I was never given special permission to go hiking by myself, but on the other hand, I learned that the staff would make no attempt to stop me. I figured out that the teachers and houseparents were much more concerned about smoking and sex, and I learned how to stay out of trouble.
For people with autism, rules are very important, because we concentrate intensely on how things are done. I always took the rules seriously and won the confidence of my teachers. People who trust me have always been a big help. But many people have difficulty deciphering how people with autism understand rules. Since I don't have any social intuition, I rely on pure logic, like an expert computer program, to guide my behavior. I categorize rules according to their logical importance. It is a complex algorithmic decision-making tree. There is a process of using my intellect and logical decision-making for every social decision. Emotion does not guide my decision; it is pure computing.
Learning a complex decision-making process is difficult. I had a strict moral upbringing, and I learned as a child that stealing, lying, and hurting other people were wrong. As I grew older I observed that it was all right to break certain rules but not others. I constructed a decision-making program for whether rules could be broken by classifying wrongdoing into three categories: «really bad,» «sins of the system,» and «illegal but not bad.» Rules classified as really bad must never be broken. Stealing, destroying property, and injuring other people are in this category, and they were easy to understand. The «illegal but not bad» rules can often be broken with little consequence. Examples would be slight speeding on the freeway and illegal parking. The «sins of the system» category covers rules that have very stiff penalties for seemingly illogical reasons. Using my system has helped me negotiate every new situation I enter.
My Aunt Breechen was another important mentor. She was always very tolerant and encouraged me to work with cattle. I fell in love with Arizona while visiting her ranch. My infatuation with the cattle chutes there also provided the motivation that started my career, and I returned there to go to graduate school.
I wanted to do my master's thesis in animal science on the behavior of cattle in feedlots in different types of cattle chutes, but my adviser at Arizona State University thought that cattle chutes were not an appropriate academic subject. Back in 1974, animal behavior research on farm livestock was a rarity. Once again, my fixation propelled me. I was going to do my survey of cattle behavior in cattle chutes even though the professor thought it was stupid. I then had to seek out a new adviser. Most of the professors in the Animal Science Department thought my ideas were crazy. Fortunately, I persevered and found two new professors, Dr. Foster Burton, chairman of the Construction Department, and Mike Nielson, from Industrial Design, who were interested. With them I figured out my survey methods. An idea that seemed crazy to conservative professors in animal science seemed perfectly reasonable to a construction man and a designer.
My master's thesis brought together all of my ideas about and fixations on the way things work. I wanted to determine the effect of different squeeze chute designs on the behavior of the animals, the incidence of injury, and the chutes' efficiency The variables I looked at were the breed of the cattle, the design of the squeeze chute, and the size of the cattle. I measured how often the cattle balked and refused to enter the squeeze chute, speed of handling, and things that could injure the animals, such as falling on slippery surfaces and head stanchions that could choke them. To survey the cattle, I stood next to the chute with a data sheet and recorded the behavior of each animal while it was branded and vaccinated.
I then had to punch the data into IBM punch cards for analysis on the mainframe computer in the Engineering Department. When I was at Arizona State University, there were no nice little desktop computers. Keypunching five thousand IBM cards was mind-numbing work, because the data for each animal had to be punched onto an individual card. I would arrive at the keypunch lab before the engineers got there at 6:00 p.m. and punch cards until my bladder gave out. If I left to go to the bathroom, an engineering student would grab my keypunch machine. I became an expert on the keypunch and the card sorter. When the sorter jammed, the engineering students would stand by helplessly while I unjammed it. Often I fixed the machine for them so I could get their cards sorted so I could get back to running mine. I always referred to the decks of cards as my cattle. Visualizing each card as an actual animal made it easier to understand how to sort them into different groups for statistical analysis. For example, I could sort the cards into size categories to see if cattle size affected efficiency. I used to call running the card sorter «sorting cattle.»
The results of my survey indicated that the design of the equipment affected its operation. Some types of squeeze chutes were more likely than others to injure the steers, and some breeds of cattle were more accident- prone in them than others. I also did a time-motion study to determine the most efficient speed for handling the animals. If a crew tried to go too fast, animals were more likely to become injured and vaccinations were given improperly. Twenty years ago I determined how much time was required to perform vaccinations and other procedures on cattle. These figures are still good today. It is simply impossible to handle the animals faster and do a decent job.
In some ways, I credit my autism for enabling me to understand cattle. After all, if I hadn't used the squeeze chute on myself, I might not have wondered how it affected cattle. I have been lucky, because my understanding of animals and visual thinking led me to a satisfying career in which my autistic traits don't impede my progress. But at numerous meetings around the country I have talked to many adults with autism who have advanced university degrees but no jobs. They thrive in the structured world of school, but they are unable to find work. Problems often occur at the outset. Often during interviews, people are turned off by our direct manner, odd speech patterns, and funny mannerisms.
Twenty years ago I did not realize how weird I seemed. One of my good friends told me that I was always hunched over, I wrung my hands, and I had an excessively loud, unmodulated voice. I've had to get everywhere I've gotten through the back door. Fortunately, I had enough money to live on while I started very slowly pursuing my career on a freelance basis. Once, at an American Society for Agricultural Engineers meeting, I was able to tell that I made a poor impression on two engineers, because they ignored me and refused to discuss engineering with me. They thought I was strange until I yanked out the drawing I had done of the dip vat at John Wayne's Red River feedlot. They said, «You drew that?»
People with autism can develop skills in fields that they can really excel in, such as computer programming, drafting, advertising art, cartooning, car mechanics, and small engine repair. Where they really need help is in
