Looking Back, Dreaming Forward: Reflections on the History of Child Psychiatry
Leon Eisenberg
Anyone willing to write a chapter entitled Looking Back, Dreaming Forward must hesitate on recalling Yogi Berra’s quip, “The future ain’t what it used to be.” However cloudy my vision forward, what I see when I look back (it’s 60 years since my graduation) may be instructive for younger readers (by now almost everyone is younger than I am). What I see when I remember the child psychiatry of the 1950s is both ignorance (for which we cannot be blamed) and arrogance (for which we can). As Bertolt Brecht has Galileo say in his play:
One of the chief causes of poverty in science is imaginary wealth. The purpose of science is not to open the door to an infinitude of wisdom, but to set some limits on the infinitude of error (1).
When I was trained by Leo Kanner, there was no subspecialty certification, and hence no ABPN-approved residencies. In the 1950s, most departments of psychiatry were heavily psychoanalytic in orientation; departments of psychology were behavioristic; the word neuroscience had yet to be coined. When I say I was trained by Kanner, I mean that quite literally. I acknowledge that I did gain a great deal of practical knowledge from the one social worker (Barbara Ashenden) and the one psychologist (Charlotte Waskowitz) on the staff, but neither was academic in orientation. When I joined the full-time staff of the Children’s Psychiatric Service after completing my training, I effectively doubled the number of psychiatrists.
Leo Kanner was a polymath. If there is such a thing as eidetic imagery, he had it. He could picture in his mind the page on which he had read a poem in high school. He recalled the names of teachers who had attended his evening adult education classes at Hopkins when he saw them on the city streets. They were astonished to be remembered by name (and often he added the names of their seatmates) 5 or 10 years after a one-semester course (and I was equally astonished as I looked on!). A graduate of the Sophien-Gymnasium in Berlin who had earned his M.D. from the University of Berlin with a thesis on electrocardiography, he knew classical Greek and Latin (and frequently quoted Homer and Virgil). As a child he had learned Polish, Hebrew, and German, went on to learn English, and had familiarized himself with other languages as well. He was vain enough to display his erudition with multilingual puns that kept a monolingual American (with only remnants of high school Latin and German) hopping trying to figure them out.
His principal mode of teaching was extending to me the privilege of sitting in on his consultations with patients and families. The “price” for the privilege was taking notes and writing up the case report for the formal record (once he had come to trust the fidelity of my accounts). And it was an extraordinary privilege. He was polite and gentle but his questions were penetrating. He listened intently. He was unfailingly courteous, even to the most arrogant and dismissive parents. He charmed children and adolescents alike. His secret psychiatric technique (no longer permissible) was smoking a cigar. He blew lingering smoke rings (in those days, no one knew of the risks of second-hand smoke; those who objected to smoking did so on aesthetic grounds). The children were invariably fascinated. While he saw the parents, the clinic psychologist did a Binet or a WISC on the youngster and provided a brief and usually quite insightful report on her findings before he met the parents again. He wrapped up the 2- to 3-hour sessions with a sagacious review of what he had learned, with what he thought might be helpful to child and family, and with appropriate referrals (his was primarily a consulting practice). Then, he and I would have another 30 minutes together. I was free to pose any questions I wanted. I was encouraged to challenge his conclusions. I often did but usually came around to his position when he mustered the grounds for it.
During the other 4½ days of the week, I saw and treated clinic patients referred from pediatrics and, with the other fellows and occasional rotating pediatric residents, participated in a weekly case conference chaired by Dr. Kanner with the social worker and psychologist in attendance. There was no journal club, no regular supervision. It was catch as catch can with colleagues.
Kanner had come to America in 1924 amid the economic chaos in Berlin for a job in the State Hospital in Yankton, South Dakota (German inflation was on an exponential curve). In this unlikely setting, he found a way to do research and to publish several papers, one of which (on the rarity of general paresis among Native Americans) attracted the attention of Kraepelin, who visited Yankton to meet Kanner. In 1928, he applied for and received a Commonwealth Foundation Fellowship from Adolf Meyer, then the doyen of American psychiatry, at the Henry Phipps Clinic of the Johns Hopkins Hospital. At the completion of the 2-year fellowship, Meyer and Edwards A. Park, the Professor of Pediatrics, chose Leo Kanner to inaugurate a new clinic in pediatrics, charged with “investigating the rank and file of patients in the pediatric clinic for the form(ul)ation of psychiatric problems, the mastery of which should be made accessible to the pediatrician to serve him as the psychopathological principles in dealing with children.”
The clinic was initiated in 1930 with support from the Rockefeller Foundation. His office was a small pediatric examining room with a sink and a table. Five years later, based on his intensive study of the world literature and his clinical experience, Kanner wrote the first English-language textbook on child psychiatry (2). Its first edition paid homage to Meyer’s psychobiological terminology, but by the second (3), the Meyerian neologisms were abandoned. Kanner’s most outstanding and lasting contribution was the identification of the syndrome he called “autistic disturbances of affective contact” (4). On the basis of 11 patients who had been brought to him because of their unusual psychopathology, he formulated the characteristics of a syndrome still identified by these very features. In Michael Rutter’s words (5): “Kanner’s paper was a model of clarity in its combination of systematic, thorough, and objective observation with deep clinical understanding and appreciation of the personal problems faced by each child, and his family:…Nearly all the basic points made in the original paper have been amply confirmed by other writers.”
Kanner had concluded his 1943 article with the statement: “Here we seem to have a pure culture example of an inborn autistic disturbance of affective contact.” That conclusion, at a time when child psychiatric disorders were uniformly attributed to psychogenic causes, left him out on a limb and probably delayed widespread acceptance of the syndrome as a clinical entity. His syndrome remains unique.
Mental Retardation
The very terms in the official classification for the mentally retarded offend today’s sensibilities. The terms ran from feebleminded to moron to imbecile to idiot. Down syndrome was still known as Mongolian idiocy, a label reflecting Langdon-Down’s belief that it was an atavistic throwback to a more primitive “Mongolian race” (6). We did know that risk increased with the mother’s age, but trisomy 21 was not identified until the late 1950s (7,8). That is hardly surprising, given that the correct human chromosome number was not established until 1948! Whatever the terminology and whatever the ignorance about pathophysiology, what remains distressing is that most child guidance clinics of the ’50s and ’60s screened out retarded children as if retardation excluded treatable psychiatric disorders. A recent study of an epidemiological cohort of almost 600 children with intellectual disability has provided documentation of the substantial and persistent level of psychopathology and the need for effective interventions (9).
Few things epitomize Kanner’s personal commitment to the rights of all children more than his concern for the “feebleminded” at a time when most psychiatrists assiduously excluded them from their clinics and offices. The Superintendent of the Maryland State Training School for the Retarded, knowing of Kanner’s concern for such patients, appealed to Leo Kanner for help in controlling an appalling problem. Female patients were being removed from the training school by court orders and were being exploited in the community for cheap domestic labor. The superintendent was at his wits’ end; he simply didn’t know what to do. With the assistance of Miss Mabel F. Kraus, a social worker, Kanner (10) did a followup study on 166 patients who had been released from the school via habeas corpus writs secured by lawyers over the previous two decades. Three-quarters of these releases had been obtained by enterprising attorneys who, for a fee, secured what were essentially indentured domestic servants for affluent Baltimore households; others had been claimed by relatives who suddenly appeared to manipulate estates that had been left them; a few were demanded by parents who, after years of neglect, asserted their “natural rights.”
Kanner was able to follow 102, of whom only 13 were making even a modestly satisfactory adjustment in the community at the time of the study; 11 had died of illness and neglect before they reached 30; 17 had tuberculosis, syphilis, or gonorrhea; 29 were prostitutes; 8 had been committed to mental hospitals; and 6 were in prison. In total, these released patients had given birth to 165 offspring, 18 of whom had died from neglect, 30 of whom had been committed to orphanages, and 108 of whom tested at a “feebleminded level” when examined. The customary sequence had been a period of domestic servitude, followed by peremptory release when the young women proved to be inadequate as maids, and then a mournful hegira through the whorehouses and flophouses of the Baltimore slums. Few now remember Kanner’s paper in the American Journal of Psychiatry, but in 1938, the study had a dramatic impact. The release of the information produced a double row of inch-high headlines across the front page of the April 8th edition of the Baltimore Sun and provided the impetus to end an evil practice that had arisen from the collusion of attorneys and judges against the valiant but unsuccessful opposition of the superintendent of the Training School. It is a study worth remembering (10). Clinical precision joined with social conscience in a clinical project with immediate benefit for the lives of a despised minority.
In 1942, amid the war against the Nazis, Foster Kennedy, a well known neurologist, published a paper in the American Journal of Psychiatry entitled: “The problem of social control of the congenital defective: Education, sterilization, euthanasia” (11). In it, he proposed that defective children with no future or hope of a worthwhile life “should be relieved of the agony of living,” language remarkably similar to the Nazi policy to end life unworthy of life. In a vigorous response to Kennedy, Kanner (12) wrote: “Let us try to recall one single instance in the history of mankind when a feeble-minded individual or group of individuals was responsible for the retardation or persecution of humaneness and sciences. They who caused Galileo to be jailed were not feeble-minded. They who instituted the Inquisition were not mental defectives. The great man-made catastrophes resulting in wholesale slaughter and destruction were not started by idiots, imbeciles, morons, or borderlines. The one man, Schicklgruber, whose IQ is probably not below normal, has in a few years brought infinitely more disaster and suffering to this world than have all of the innumerable mental defectives of all countries and all generations combined.”
Kanner’s revulsion against euthanasia for the severely retarded was not universal; in the same issue of the Journal an unsigned editorial argued that the role of psychiatrists should be to persuade parents to agree to release their defective children from “the burden of living” (13). Euthanasia never became official policy, but sterilization was widespread in U.S. institutions for the mentally retarded.
Early Research on the Heritability of Early Infantile Autism
When Leo Kanner (4) first identified infantile autism as a diagnostic entity, he concluded that his patients had:
… come into the world with an innate inability to form the usual, biologically provided affective contact with people, just as other children come into the world with innate physical or intellectual handicaps…. [W]e seem to have pure culture examples of inborn autistic disturbances of affective contact (p. 250).
Kanner believed that his emphasis on an “inborn” disturbance delayed the acceptance of early infantile autism as a clinical entity. Recognition of the impact of severe maternal deprivation on child development had brought psychogenesis to the fore (14,15,16). Psychiatry was dominated by Don Jackson’s “schizophrenogenic mother” and Gregory Bateson’s “double-bind” (17). When Kanner coined the term “refrigerator mother,” the diagnosis of autism became more fashionable; it suggested that a “refrigerator mother” produced a “frozen child” (something he later regretted). Kanner was aware of the frequency of obsessional and schizoid traits among the parents and even suggested that the parents might be “successfully autistic adults.” Indeed, in my paper on the fathers of autistic children I suggested that the severe obsessional traits and relative social isolation some displayed might represent a forme fruste of the complete entity (18). Thirty years later, Sula Wolff and her colleagues (19) compared the parents of autistic patients with the parents of other child psychiatric patients and confirmed Kanner’s observations on the predominance of schizoid and socially gauche characteristics. But neither he nor I seriously pursued the genetic hypothesis. At Kanner’s invitation, I reviewed the charts of his first 100 patients and found 131 siblings, of whom 3 were autistic (20). I did not have a clue about the significance of what I had found. All I knew of genetics was Mendelian; it was clear that Mendelian laws were not operative in autism. Autism, I concluded, was not inherited because it was not Mendelian. No one called attention to my error.
In the 1950s, there were no published data on the prevalence of autism; but assuredly we knew it was rare. It was not until 10 years later that modern child psychiatric epidemiology began with the Isle of Wight study by Rutter and his colleagues (21,22). In a total population of 2,200 children, they found only one autistic child, a prevalence similar to the estimate of 4 to 5 per 10,000 published in the same year by Lotter (23). But I didn’t understand what finding three autistic children among 131 sibs implied. The rate I observed among siblings was two orders of magnitude greater than expected and established a genetic risk. Not until the mid-1970s did Folstein and Rutter (24) provide unequivocal proof of inheritance by comparing the identical and fraternal cotwins of autistic probands in a total population sample. I call attention to my failure to understand the data I analyzed to remind readers that the prevalent concepts, ideas, and methods of any given era act as blinders to all but the very gifted.
“ADHD” in the 1950s
When my professional career began, what is now known as ADHD had not yet been recognized as a diagnostic entity. Symptoms of overactivity and inattentiveness existed, of course, but were allocated to such categories as “behavioral disorder,” “minimal brain damage,” “minimal brain dysfunction,” or “post-encephalitic syndrome” (even though an episode of encephalitis had never been documented). The patients were not of much interest to most child guidance clinics because of the supposition of “organicity.” The one symptomatic treatment that seemed to be as effective was dextroamphetamine. It was not in wide use and had never been put to an exacting test. Indeed, when the Psychopharmacology Service Center of the NIMH convened a conference in 1958 on Child Research in Psychopharmacology (25), “there was essentially no research on drugs in children” (26). Randomized controlled trials were being introduced into psychiatry in the late 1950s. Our research group at Hopkins received the first NIMH grant for RCTs on tranquilizers and stimulants for treating hyperkinesis in children (27). Tranquilizers proved to be worse than placebos (28), but stimulants were clearly effective (29), a finding that has been repeatedly confirmed.

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