Professional Documents
Culture Documents
www.crownpublishing.com
ISBN 978-0-307-88768-9
eISBN 978-0-307-88770-2
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition
Tunneling
L
ocated along the banks of the Piscataquis River, just
ninety miles south of the Canadian border, the sleepy
town of Howland, Maine, has managed to keep much
of its rural charm intact over the years. The most exciting news
around town nowadays in Howland is a tourist spotting an occa-
sional moose or bald eagle. But back in 1894 the town was ground
zero of an intriguing mystery, one that defies our deepest assump-
tions about the resilience of the human spirit.
During the summer of that year, on a warm July day, Percy
Spencer was born. There was nothing unusual or extraordinary
about Percy’s birth or about his family. His father, Jasper Spencer,
worked in Howland’s sawmill. His mother, Myrtle, following the
tradition of the times, stayed at home taking care of the house-
hold. Percy’s childhood was set to be quite normal, and so it was at
first. But when he was just a toddler, tragedy struck at the sawmill.
A rotating saw unexpectedly splintered, and the centripetal force
sent shards flying in all directions. One of the pieces struck Percy’s
father, who died almost instantly.
The news sent Percy’s mother into shock. The disaster
proved too much for her to handle, and soon after the incident
she fled the family home, never to return. Now orphaned, with
15
no one to take care of him, young Percy was sent to live with his
aunt and uncle.
Losing one’s parents, especially at such a formative age, ob-
viously has a lasting emotional impact. But fortunately for Percy,
he had a roof over his head and family who loved him. He devel-
oped a special bond with his uncle, who became like a father to
him. They both enjoyed tinkering with machinery. When Percy
was just five, his uncle brought home a steam log hauler—essen-
tially a locomotive that did not require train tracks—that was in
need of repair. The large machine had recently broken down in
the heavy winter snow, and Percy’s uncle had been entrusted with
its care. The mechanical wonder was like nothing Percy had ever
seen before, and his excitement was palpable.
Percy also developed a love of nature and animals and spent
much of his free time in the woods. On one occasion he spot-
ted a cougar—one of the last remaining in Maine—up in a tree.
But just as young Percy was acclimating to his new life, tragedy
struck once more. When he was seven, his uncle died. The loss
was a crushing blow to the family emotionally, but it also took a
huge financial toll. Times were hard, and although Percy showed
a penchant for learning, he was forced to drop out of school before
completing the fifth grade to help support the family. The re-
mainder of his childhood consisted of an adult regimen: wake up
before dawn, put in a full day at the spool mill, and return home
after sundown.
Put yourself, for a moment, in young Percy’s shoes. You
have no memories of your biological parents. Your mother left
you when you were an infant. Your uncle, who was like a father to
you, died when you were in second grade. And armed with only a
fifth-grade education, you now spend every workday performing
manual labor. It wouldn’t be surprising if your sense of trust in the
world around you began to erode. “Everyone who loves me either
ends up dying or leaving,” you might start to reason. You might
even go as far as to blame yourself for the disasters that occurred:
“Why is this happening to me? Why did my mother abandon me?
Is my life always going to be filled with hardships?” Eventually,
even a hardy soul can lose strength.
Difficult life events can take a psychological toll on an indi-
vidual. Indeed, the notion that traumatic life events cause psycho-
logical harm seems so obvious that for many years psychologists
assumed that it was virtually always the case. Experience a signifi-
cant hardship, the belief went, and your life will be impacted for
the worse.
This harm-leads-to-distress model of human psychology
became a truism in the field—that is, until psychologist Emmy
Werner came along. A newly minted Ph.D. with a specialty in
developmental psychology, Werner had no idea she was about to
throw her entire discipline into disarray. As a young professor,
Werner spent most of her time performing statistical analyses on
a project that tracked mothers and their babies living in Kauai,
the westernmost island of the Hawaiian archipelago. When the
project’s chief researcher retired, Werner inherited the project’s
data. For a developmental psychologist, it was a gold mine. The
first thing she did was to broaden the study’s scope and follow a
cohort of children from birth onward, tracking their performance
over the course of their lives. Instead of observing participants in
did not fare well. Their grades were poor. They acted out in school
or got into trouble with the police. Many of these children even-
tually dropped out of school and became teenage parents. Unfor-
tunately, that is what Werner expected to find.
But, surprisingly, that wasn’t the case with all of the Kauai
children who lived in deprived environments. Some of them man-
aged to buck the trend. To Werner’s—and eventually the wider
psychological community’s—surprise, about a third of the kids
who came from disadvantaged backgrounds blossomed to lead
rich and successful lives. They performed well in school. They
formed healthy connections with their teachers and peers. As
adults they were mentally strong and had successful careers. It’s as
if their tough upbringing had left virtually no mark on how they
turned out.
It’s worth pausing for a moment to consider what a radi-
cal shift Werner’s findings presented from the psychological or-
thodoxy. Her study called into question the most basic tenet of
psychological behaviorism: that there’s a solid cause-and-effect
relationship between the events in our past and our current psy-
chological well-being. If the Kauai data were accurate, it meant
that psychologists would have to redefine everything they thought
they knew about basic human psychology.
At first, psychologists weren’t sure what to make of Wer-
ner’s results. Could it be that these miracle kids were just a fluke?
Or perhaps there was something unique about the island or cul-
ture of Kauai that made it easier for disadvantaged kids to thrive?
Even Werner was a bit dubious of the results. “I was wondering
He quickly reached for the candy and sure enough, the peanut bar
was turning liquid. Further investigation identified the culprit as
a magnetron, a high-powered vacuum tube that generates elec-
tromagnetic waves. The lab manufactured the magnetrons for use
in radars, so nobody gave a second thought about the machine’s
power to melt food. Intrigued, Spencer sent someone to fetch
popcorn kernels. When Spencer placed the kernels close to the
magnetron, they began to pop.
Spencer wasn’t the first person to realize that magnetrons
have the power to heat food, but he was the first one to follow
his curiosity through and investigate. Instead of sticking to what
he knew, he decided to seize on the challenge and explore the
possibilities. He slightly modified the magnetron and invented
the “radar range,” or what we more commonly know today as the
microwave oven. Every time you heat up your lunch or warm up
your leftovers, you’re relying on a machine that was developed
thanks to the ingenuity of a tunneler.
Percy Spencer’s journey is unique, but most of us can iden-
tify tunnelers in our lives. Maybe it’s a relative with an amazing
life story or a friend who overcame harrowing circumstances. It
might even be someone you never met but whose journey has
inspired you. Think of Barack Obama’s unlikely life path to the
presidency; Sonia Sotomayor’s rise to Supreme Court Justice; or
Scott Brown’s ascent to the U.S. Senate after early-childhood
poverty and abuse. Look for tunnelers, and you’ll spot them in
the most unlikely places.
Take the high-fashion industry. We associate it with images
it turns out, rely heavily on the help and support of others. They
have at least one person in their lives whom they trust implicitly
and on whom they can count, someone who cares for them un-
conditionally.
There are two important things to realize about tunnelers.
The first is that they are not that different from the rest of us.
They’re not superhuman. It’s just that on the continuum of per-
sonality traits, their resilience, persistence, and ability to find ways
to overcome adversity are more pronounced. They’re at the more
extreme end of the spectrum. There is nothing to prevent any of
us from developing a similar mind-set, or making a similar shift.
The other important thing about tunnelers is the univer-
sality of the qualities that make them outstanding. The same
qualities that enable tunnelers to succeed in one context or set of
circumstances work equally well when facing a completely differ-
ent set of challenges. Tunnelers, whether young or old, starting
out their careers or on top of their field, rely on the same prin-
ciples to help them advance.
Our investigation into the nature of tunnelers starts with
an accidental discovery made by a psychologist who has grown
strangely ambivalent about his contribution.