There are many words used to describe people who have some strong difficulty that might put them at a disadvantage to others. Yet, I am constantly reminded by a major finding in my discipline, economics, in one of its core concepts called “comparative advantage.” The idea is that any person who can interact with others has a place in the society where they can be productive and can engage in trade that is both beneficial to them and to other members of the society. Even someone who is especially good at everything is in need of trading with others: being able to do all things does not mean that a person can do all things, since we all face only 24 hours in a day and cannot possibly do all things.
Now, I should point out that having a place to produce goods or services that others will demand does not mean that all of us are especially good at any one thing, nor does it mean that all of us can provide others with goods or services of sufficient value that we can support ourselves without help of others. It does mean we all have a place and something we can do to help provide something to others of value. I often mention in classes that there are two paths to comparative advantage: one is to be relatively good at that one thing, and the other is to be relatively bad at everything else.
Still, there are some people who face certain substantial difficulties in life that it is amazing that they excel and even lead their fields in what they have chosen to do. Here are some personal recollections of three people I have come across at one time or another who were so astounding to me that the difficulty in their life was, for a time, invisible to me. Perhaps, I am just not that observant.
Walter Oi
Walter Oi is one of those economists whose articles were required readings in economic theory classes in graduate school. The most important of his theoretical works was an article titled “A Disneyland dilemma: Two-part pricing for a Mickey Mouse Monopoly.” The subject of that paper is something that I teach to my MBA students in managerial economics.
More socially importantly though, his paper in the American Economic Review in 1967, “The Economic Cost of the Draft,” and his related book, The Costs and Implications of an All-Volunteer Force, were instrumental in bringing an end to the military draft in the nation, showing that the draft was a more costly way to raise a military force than was an all-volunteer force of the same size.
In graduate school at Virginia Tech (better known as VPI back then), on Wednesday evenings and Friday afternoons, we had seminars that all graduate students were expected to attend. These seminars almost always had guest lecturers. One Wednesday night I arrived right after Professor Oi had been introduced. I do not recall the subject of that evening’s lecture. Professor Oi, though of Japanese descent, spoke perfectly clear English, as he had grown up in California (and was one of those Japanese Americans sent to a concentration camp during WWII). While his English was perfectly clear, when he furiously wrote equation after equation on the blackboard I had trouble reading his handwriting on the board, even though my own handwriting is difficult to make out (one reason I am a fan of Powerpoint). I could make out a few lower-case deltas and alphas in the equations and could read some of it, but with great difficulty.
While after about 30 years I do not recall exactly what Professor Oi’s lecture was about, I do recall that it was brilliant, as his work usually was. At the end of his lecture, the moderator thanked him for coming and giving his talk, and Dr. Oi received the usual round of appreciative applause. As he was leaving, I discovered the reason for Dr. Oi’s illegible blackboard handwriting when a German Shepard came around from the other room to Dr. Oi’s side. It was his seeing-eye dog. As it turns out, Oi, who received his Ph.D. from the University of Chicago in 1961could not read ordinary text at all when he began college.
Incidentally, Oi also once served as the Vice-Chair of the President’s Commission on Employment of People with Disabilities. For more on Oi, this Wikipedia entry is rather accurate.
Vernon Smith
Several years after I finished my degree at Virginia Tech, I was at a meeting of the Public Choice Society (devoted to using economic methods and theories to study political, sociological and other non-market activities), which met jointly with the Economic Science Association (devoted to experimental methods) in Tucson. At that time, Vernon Smith, who is credited for beginning the study of experimental economics was at the University of Arizona in Tucson, as was Gordon Tullock, one of my Virginia Tech professors, who was one of the most influential originators of public choice economics. About 10 or so years later, Smith, along with the psychologist, Daniel Kahneman won the Nobel in economics in 1999. While there in Tucson, Vernon Smith, invited me and several other young professors out with him and his graduate students, to a Western bar, which had a country and western band.
Smith was friendly and courteous, but a barroom was obviously not home for him. Some years later, Smith began to talk about his Asberger’s Syndrome, which is a type of Autism. As a result, Smith, unlike many of us, seems to function just fine for long periods of time isolated from others. Actually, Smith’s autism may have worked well for him, allowing him to become a very prolific writer, even for someone who is such an original thinker. (For more on Smith, see
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vernon_Smith.)
Evelyn Glennies
Some years later, sometimes in the 1990s, I attended the meetings of the Atlantic Economic Society to present one of my papers. One of the more enjoyable aspects of the Atlantic meetings is that they often arrange for attendees to go to some very nice cultural event and at reduced rates. I went to hear the Philadelphia Symphony at one meeting, but I especially recall hearing the National Symphony at the Kennedy Center in Washington at another.
While I still recall the grandeur of the Kennedy Center, mostly I recall the performance. The audience was told that the performance was being recorded for later broadcast on National Public Radio or for Public Television. There were just two pieces on the program, with the second being a rare percussion concerto. The percussion concerto called for the soloist, Dame Evelyn Glennies, to play almost 30 different percussion instruments that were arranged around the stage. Dame Glennies must have been in her mid thirties at the time, and this very beautiful and talented woman came to the stage in a flowing, gauzy white dress that made her appear as a forest faery as she flitted from instrument to instrument about the stage the way a humming bird flies from blossom to blossom. What was out of place, though, in this most formal of musical performances for a soloist with the National Symphony at the Kennedy Center, was that she was barefooted. I thought perhaps this was to make as little noise as possible as she went from drum to marimba to water tympani across the stage. She finished the evening with a brilliant encore with just her and a snare drum on the stage.
The next morning, I had a 7:30 flight out of Reagan National Airport. This flight was one of the few I have been on where they showed an in-flight interview program. Imagine my surprise to see an interview with the very performer featured at the performance the evening before, Evelyn Glennies. I was even more surprised when the interviewer asked Dame Glennies how long she had been completely deaf. Yes, this Scottish musician, and the only solo symphonic percussionist in the world at the time (she still may be for all I know), was completely deaf. Anyone who has ever performed with a musical ensemble, a band, a choir, an orchestra, a trio or quartet, knows that being able to hear the others you are performing with is essential for proper balancing, blending and timing. Then I understood the reason for her bare feet at this performance. Bare feet enabled her to “listen” to the rest of the orchestra through her feet from the stage floor.
You can hear Dame Glennies talk about listening as a deaf person and, more importantly, as a deaf musician at the TED conference. Listening to her over and over (and “listening with my whole body”), I still cannot detect any signs of deafness.
Extraordinary people and the rest of us
Some people are just extraordinary and would be extraordinary almost no matter what difficulty faced them, making their adversities seemingly disappear before their brilliance. Most of us are not so gifted. Each of us does, however, have something to offer, something to make the world better for others, some comparative advantage, even if it is just that one thing we can do. We should all understand and appreciate others for what they do for us, from the musician that thrills us, to the shortstop who amazes us, to the doctor who saves the life of a child, and on to the person who takes away our garbage or cleans restrooms. Everyone has something of value to contribute, and they should be valued and appreciated for making our lives better.
The question posed at the beginning was “what was the right word for those with disabilities?” Under various circumstances, any of those words may be appropriate, but remember that most of us have some area where we fall short, for some of us it is noticeable and for others, our disabilities are as invisible as Professor Oi’s and Dame Glennies’ disabilities were to me. I am constantly reminded of the words of the great American humorist, Will Rogers, who noted “everybody’s ignorant, only on different subjects.” We all fall short somewhere, even the brilliant and the beautiful. The word I tend to prefer is “human.”
-MC