In 1950, while an undergraduate at Harvard College, I chanced
upon a lecture given by Anna Freud. On my way "home" (to my
dormitory room) from the organic chemistry laboratory, which for
me at the time seemed a parcel of hell's acreage, I met another pre-
medical student who was already interested in psychiatry and psy-
choanalysis as well. He knew of the scheduled lecture, and suggested
we grab a Coke, then hurry for good seats--for there was certain, he
said, to be a large audience to hear Miss Freud. I had to confess that I
didn't know who Miss Freud was--except that she must be some kin
to Sigmund Freud, none of whose books I had read. My friend, on
the other hand, knew a great deal about her and her father, and while
we had our snack--in Hayes Bickford, a cafeteria long gone--he told
me some of what he knew.

I still remember one sentence--the sheer innocence of it, in
retrospect!--and I remember becoming more, rather than less, con-
fused for hearing it: "She discovered child psychoanalysis." What
did he mean by "discovery"? I asked. (He and I were getting our fill,
then, of scientific discoveries--all the laboratory breakthroughs Pro-
fessor Louis Fieser recounted in his lectures and in his daunting orga-
nic chemistry textbook.) My friend was short on details. He didn't
know how "she had done it," but she was the one, he asserted, who
"brought" psychoanalysis to the nursery. When I asked how in the
world such analytic inquiry took place, I was told that if I went to the
lecture I'd surely find my answer. By then I had the sense to lose
interest, although as I did my friend made one of those cautionary
remarks I'd later find familiar: "Don't be scared by what she'll say." I
hadn't the slightest idea what that remark meant--or more properly,

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