Jennie

by Douglas Preston

  There were other limitations. None of the children in the neighborhood who played with Jennie learned ASL. I feel this must have undermined her progress. It only proves how much more a chimpanzee could learn under better circumstances.

  We expected her to learn five or ten signs the first year; instead she learned twenty-one. Let me check my notes here. . . . Shit, they’re all mixed up. Where are my glasses? Here we are. . . . She learned forty-four the second year, sixty the third, fifty-one the fourth, and seventeen the fifth, for a total of one hundred and ninety-three signs. Now wait, is that right? I thought she learned more. Let me add this up. I always carry this calculator. What a godsend. Hmmmm. I guess it was one hundred and ninety-three. Well, still, that’s a lot. More than any other chimp up to that time. Penny Patterson has taught that gorilla, Koko, six hundred signs. Absolutely true. I’ve been there and seen it with my own eyes. I know, if I had been allowed to continue the project, I could have taught Jennie a thousand signs. Chimpanzees are much smarter than gorillas.

  Anyway, of these one hundred and ninety-three signs, no less than twenty-five signs were of her own invention. No previous project had shown a chimpanzee inventing even a single sign. Our first paper was on Jennie’s invented signs. Let’s see, it’s right there. In that volume. Proceedings of the Thirty-third Annual Conference of the North American Association of Linguistics. I think you’ve got an offprint of it in there somewhere. Is that it? No. Well it should be in there. Unless I’ve got it here. Let’s see. . . . No, you must have it.

  The four colony chimpanzees, on the other hand, learned ninety-one, one hundred and one, fifty-four, and sixty-six signs, respectively. None of them invented a single sign. During the course of the project, Jennie made over thirty thousand different utterances from these signs. That we know of. Of course, when I wasn’t there no one kept track of anything Jennie said. We call them “utterances” because there’s a question as to whether they are sentences. There’s a big controversy whether chimps are creating sentences. Or whether they have language at all. Which is a bunch of shit, because they do. I mean, when Jennie says Give Jennie apple, what the hell is that if it isn’t language? These people are full of shit. Excuse my French. That’s another subject anyway. We’re still analyzing this data.

  Jennie’s invention of signs was the first surprise. The first was the sign for play. It occurred in, let’s see . . . April of 1968. April Fools Day. Aha! Here’s that paper! I knew I had it in here. You’ll definitely want to read this paper! It’s only thirty pages. If some of the terminology confuses you, give me a call. Are you familiar with Generative Grammar and Deep Structure: A Prolegomena to Future Linguistics? What? It’s a book, of course. An outstanding introduction to linguistics. Very readable. By the great linguist, V. R. Czerczywicz. You can borrow this copy.

  It happened like this. We were having a study session in our basement study room. The sun was shining outside the window and Jennie started to become restless. She vocalized and tried to open the locked door. I ignored her. Our methodology was to pretend not to understand Jennie’s requests unless they were signed. She didn’t know the sign for play, but she slapped the floor. It was a deliberate movement that to me looked uncannily like a sign. As an experiment, I slapped the floor. She slapped it and rattled the doorknob. I signed, Jennie want to go outside and play? But I used her sign for play, slapping the floor. She slapped the floor three or four times in succession, signing in between Yes, yes, yes.

  So I rewarded her with a play session down by the brook. Playing tickle-chase, her favorite game.

  After that, she signed play by slapping the floor or ground. She signed it when she saw children. And she sometimes signed it when she saw a dog or a cat. Her idea of playing with a dog, however, was chasing it and pulling its tail.

  When Jennie was given that kitten, she often signed play to it insistently before picking it up and playing with it.

  Let’s see. What else do you need to know. When she wanted to make a strong point, she signed with both hands. At first we tried to curtail this practice. But she persisted. We finally gave in. And then Sandy started two-handed signing, and I found myself doing it. For emphasis. Deaf children—now this is interesting—also sign with both hands for emphasis. The linguistic parallels between human being and chimpanzee were quite startling.

  Now here’s something interesting. Jennie quickly began to use language to mislead us. Or to manage a situation more to her liking. For example, Jennie would use the sign dirty to indicate a need to use the toilet. Dirty goes like this. [Dr. Prentiss demonstrated the sign, patting the back of her hand under her chin.]

  Jennie discovered she could get out of a boring lesson by signing dirty when she didn’t have to go. We’d rush her to the potty and nothing would happen. It happened again and again. Then we figured it out. She was lying to us. Of course, she sometimes did have to go. So when she really had to go, and we doubted her, she started signing Dirty dirty dirty with both hands, like this: [Dr. Prentiss made another demonstration with both hands.]

  If she wanted a banana and signed Banana, and it wasn’t forthcoming, she would often start signing Banana! Banana! with both hands, like this: [Again, a demonstration.]

  Jennie used language much like a human child. I’ll never forget when this was brought home to me. I was trying to end a play session and resume study in the house. Jennie refused to cooperate. I became increasingly frustrated and finally I clipped a lead around her neck, which for Jennie was the ultimate punishment. She rushed at me in full piloerection, and I was afraid she was going to bite me. Instead she violently signed Bite, angry, angry, bite! with both hands right in my face. It was an astonishing and very intimidating performance.

  This occurred—where are those damn notes?—on October 5, 1968.

  [FROM an interview with Lea Archibald.]

  One of the oddest episodes in Jennie’s life started about this time. Did I mention the Episcopal minister who lived across the street, the one who looked like Charlie Brown? Well, Jennie had been visiting him regularly. He fed her enormous quantities of chocolate chip cookies and milk. It’s a wonder that that wife of his would let Jennie in the house. Anyway, he came to me with the idea of—I’m not quite sure how to put it—converting Jennie to Christianity. Giving her religious tutoring. He said—and I’m quite serious—that he felt God had called him to bring Christianity to the poor dumb animals or something like that. Can you imagine? I could hardly keep myself from laughing. But he was so serious, and so embarrassed, that I promised I’d talk to Hugo about it. He had been so kind to Jennie.

  I thought Hugo would scotch the idea. You know, he didn’t believe in God or anything like that. But he thought the idea was marvelously funny. He roared with laughter and said that he didn’t see any harm in it. Oh my goodness. Jennie, he said, would love the attention. And it would get Jennie off our hands for an afternoon a week. Dr. Palliser was as kindly an old man as you could find, so earnest and gentle.

  Well! I spoke to Dr. Prentiss about it and—you can imagine—she was horrified. I can’t help but laugh when I think about it. Oh, she was just scandalized. She said, “What? This cleric wants to give Jennie religious instruction? How peverse!”

  I explained that he was really a harmless old man who Jennie was quite fond of. Dr. Prentiss found the whole idea diabolical. It would ruin her experiment! Well, I thought about that for all of two seconds and decided that what was right for Jennie was not necessarily right for Dr. Prentiss and her experiments. There are times, you know, when a mother simply has to do what she thinks is right.

  So Jennie started going to the Reverend’s house once a week. She would come home with cookie crumbs all over her shirtfront. And a big white mustache from the milk she drank. He spoiled her terribly. I’m surprised his wife put up with it. He never had children, you see. I think that had something to do with it.

  By this time Sarah had reached the terrible twos. But Sarah’s terrible twos were mostly unterrible. San
dy had been an absolute horror at two. When he learned the word no it was the end. “No!” was a constant refrain in our house after Jennie arrived. Hugo told me I used to shout it in my sleep! Oh dear. Sandy got a mynah bird from his aunt once, and we kept it in a cage in the kitchen. That darn bird learned only two things. The first was an earsplitting chimpanzee scream, and the second was “No! No! No! No!” It seems so funny now, but I’m telling you when that bird started up with that, we got rid of it so fast! There was enough noise in the house, thank you, without a bird repeating it.

  Let’s see, now, where was I?

  Oh yes. In the beginning, you know, Jennie took a great interest in Sarah. She carried her around and even fed her once in a while. She put her in the high chair, fed her, and then wiped up the mess. It was quite a sight, watching an animal feeding a baby with a spoon. But around two we realized Sarah didn’t really like Jennie. She was a quiet child, and she liked an orderly house. She always put her toys away, even without being asked. She did not like a chimpanzee or anyone else getting into her toys. Jennie was always getting into things and creating a ruckus.

  Jennie would take her toy and Sarah would sit there and burst into tears. And then Jennie would quickly give it back. That chimp just hated it when people cried. She was so concerned and would whimper and say “Oo oo oo” and try to pat away their tears. You know, chimpanzees can’t cry. They don’t have the tear ducts or whatever. Or is it they don’t have the proper part of the brain? Maybe that was for speech. I get so confused sometimes about all these experiments they did.

  When Sarah became mobile, she made it quite clear that Jennie’s presence was a bother. If Jennie so much as looked in her direction she would clutch her toys in her little fists try to totter away with them. Poor Sarah! Growing up with a noisy, rambunctious chimp was not her idea of fun.

  Sarah naturally picked up some signing. Not like Sandy, but she was quite capable of telling Jennie where to get off. In ASL. She’d sign Go away! or Bad Jennie! at two years old. Can you imagine?

  In that first year Jennie must have learned fifty signs. She was really quite the genius. After a year, Jennie and Sandy were signing back and forth like pros. They had a ritual. When Sandy came home from school the two of them went straight to the kitchen, looking for food. Jennie was signing furiously that she wanted something to eat.

  What? Demonstrate? Oh dear, I haven’t signed in seventeen years. Let’s see now. . . . [Editor’s Note: At this point Mrs. Archibald stood up and demonstrated each of the signs as she told the story.]

  So Jennie would say, Me Jennie eat, like this.

  Sandy always had a snack when he came home from school, and Jennie knew she was going to get something too. On the rare days when Sandy came home late or went over to a friend’s house to play, Jennie would fret and fret and finally come banging and hooting into the kitchen, demanding her snack.

  Anyway, when Sandy came home they both went straight to the kitchen. Sandy would sign What Jennie eat? Sandy had to get her what she wanted, because Jennie was absolutely forbidden on pain of death to touch the refrigerator. When Jennie got older, we actually had to padlock the refrigerator. She had no self control.

  Jennie might sign Eat Jennie eat orange or something like that. While Sandy was rummaging around in the refrigerator, Jennie would be signing furiously Orange, orange, orange! She had no patience, that chimp! And Sandy would get irritated and start telling Jennie to shut up, like this: Jennie wait shut up!

  I found it a bother to sign all the time, especially when I had my hands full cooking dinner. Jennie could understand quite enough English. But Sandy, he signed all the time. He was hardly aware of it. Sometimes when he lost his temper at me he’d yell and start signing something right in my face. At the same time.

  At first, Jennie’s table manners were awful. Sandy took it upon himself to improve her. When she drank milk, he signed Clean mouth. If she spat her food out, Sandy signed No Jennie eat food. Jennie would sign back Bad food, bad food, like this, and Sandy would respond Jennie shut up, no spit food, eat food. On the rare occasions when she still threw food, Sandy would really let her have it. No Jennie, no throw food, bad bad Jennie! And Jennie would usually hang her head and sign Sorry sorry sorry.

  Sandy sometimes became just a shade too zealous in scolding Jennie at dinner. Sometimes Jennie turned the tables on him! When Sandy drank milk Jennie would sign Clean mouth, clean mouth! even while he was still drinking. Well! Sandy did not like Jennie telling him what to do. He’d sign back Shut up Jennie, and she would hop up and down in her chair signing Clean mouth! clean mouth! Just like a brother and sister. It made Sandy so mad.

  Ah dear. It was hard to stay mad at her though. She knew just what to do. I remember one day. I had scrubbed and cleaned the floor with a little bit of Babbo cleanser, and she was enthralled by the powder coming out of the can. She kept trying to get back in the cabinet to inspect the can. I said no and thought that was the end of it. I left the kitchen for a few minutes, and when I returned, there was Jennie in the middle of the floor, completely covered with Babbo, with the stuff all over the floor. She looked at me and before I could even say anything she was signing Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!

  Now this made me even madder. Jennie knew perfectly well that she was doing wrong, and she thought that just by signing sorry she could escape punishment. I grabbed her by the ear and I hauled back to give her a good swat on the fanny, when she signed Me Jennie! Hug Jennie! That stopped me dead. How could I possibly hit Jennie when she talked to me like that? Crying out that she was Jennie and to hug her. She certainly had my number, that chimp.

  You know, Jennie, for all her roughhousing, was very kind. She was always terribly concerned when someone got sick or hurt. When Sandy cried, she instantly stopped whatever she was doing and hugged him and touched his tears and tried to wipe them away. She was always concerned with our welfare.

  I think it was the summer of 1969. I had never had chicken pox as a child, and that summer I came down with it. I was awfully sick.

  I was in the kitchen cutting tomatoes from our garden, and Jennie was playing on the floor. I had been feeling under the weather all day and suddenly I felt nauseous. I ran into the downstairs bathroom and was sick. Jennie came running in, and she was upset. She hugged me around the waist and whimpered and laid her little palm on my forehead.

  I was so surprised with what Jennie did next. She signed Bad, bad! at the toilet, and then actually struck the toilet with her hands! Bad dirty dirty bad! she signed, hitting the toilet again, as if somehow the toilet were at fault. Dirty was her sign for both going to the bathroom and the toilet itself.

  She followed me upstairs and helped me turn down the sheets to the bed. When I got in it, she crouched on the bed, kissing my hand and wiping the sweat on my brow. She quickly noticed the spots developing on my forehead and shoulders. She touched them lightly with her fingers, hooted mournfully, and signed Hurt hurt Lea hurt.

  By this time I was feeling simply dreadful. Hurt was one of Jennie’s favorite signs, you know. She used to sign hurt when she saw a scab on you. She’d poke at it and sign Hurt? Or she’d bang her knee and rush over signing Hurt! frantically, and we’d comfort her. Until she started doing it again and again and we realized she wasn’t hurt at all! Just faking, the little rascal!

  Anyway, Jennie began rubbing the chicken pox spots and signing Go away bad bad. When I asked her to stop, she just sat there, looking so miserable and worried. The she signed Hurt Jennie hurt.

  As sick as I was, this touched me. Jennie hurt. My being sick was causing her pain. I felt like crying I was so touched. She was so truly concerned about me, so deeply worried. Hugo put me in the guest room and Jennie stayed up with me the whole night, getting me a glass of water when I asked, stroking and grooming my hair, kissing me, and showing the most genuine concern. It was more than just concern: Jennie was actually scared. She even brought me her food. She was quite insistent, even though I couldn’t even think about eating
. She would sign Eat eat or Eat apple apple while shoving a disgusting half-eaten apple in my face.

  For two weeks while I was sick she hardly ever left my room. Sandy might be outside, whooping it up with his friends in the yard. Jennie would go to the window and look out, but she wouldn’t leave. It was a bit of a bother, her in the room day and night. When Hugo tried to get Jennie out, she screamed so frantically that we decided it was better for her to stay. During the two weeks I was bedridden, Jennie lost so much weight she began to look sick herself. That’s how worried she was. Oh my goodness, she was such a kind little animal. . . .

  Yes, Jennie was very kind; it was her most outstanding quality. It was just that sometimes she didn’t know her own strength, and she didn’t understand that people were a lot more fragile than she was. Sometimes she was rougher than she intended, you see. Did you know that a full-grown female chimpanzee is three to five times stronger than a man?

  Her kindness wasn’t only to humans. Did I tell you about Jennie’s pet kitten? Jennie just loved looking at pictures of animals in magazines, and she particularly liked cats. One day Sandy and Jennie and I were looking at a magazine, I forget which, and there was a picture of two cute kittens peeking out of a mailbox.

  Jennie signed, like this, Cat, cat. Sandy was there and he asked Jennie if she wanted a cat. Well! Jennie loved the idea. Jennie started signing Give cat, cat give cat me.

  Well why not? So we went to the pound and brought Jennie a kitten. It was a little gray-and-white Siamese cross that Sandy named Booger T. Archibald. Please don’t ask me why. We set it free in front of Jennie. Now was that a mistake. We should have known better. Jennie did not like surprises. If a package arrived and was put carelessly in the hallway, Jennie would sometimes be frightened of it and hit or stamp on the package. She managed to break a piece of Lalique glass my mother had sent, just stomping on the box. And this was after the post office had done their damnedest with it!