Thanks to Stanley Milgram, I Can Never Run for Office.

A cautionary tale for all Psychology students…

Many of you know Milgram for his (in)famous “obedience to authority” studies:  under what circumstances will someone obey orders to shock another person against his will.  Fewer of you are aware of Milgram’s “lost letter technique,” but that study is responsible for my inability to run for public office.

Milgram was aware that it might be difficult to gauge public opinion accurately if the topic is controversial.  For example, if I were to ask people today how they feel about gay marriage, some might hesitate to be honest because of their concerns about how their opinion might color them in the eyes of others.  He reasoned that a method that measured public opinion without the knowledge of the people being measured might be desirable.  To test the idea, he “lost” many stamped and addressed letters around a large city and determined how many were returned.  Some were addressed to the fictitious “Mr. Walter Carnap;” many of these were mailed by people who found them. Others were addressed to “Friends of the Nazi Party;” few of these were mailed.  Milgram assumed that this reflected a desire not to help a disliked group – a reasonable assumption.

As an aspiring psychology undergraduate taking Social Psychology, I saw a potential confound: maybe people were more likely to open the Nazi letter out of curiosity, and having opened it were then less likely to mail it.  To test this my lab partner Camille and I decided to repeat Milgram’s study, with a twist: we would “lose” letters addressed to Carnap and to the Nazis, but the envelopes would be unsealed and the letters would be lightly glued into the envelopes.  Our hope was that we would be able to determine how many of the letters had been removed from the envelopes (and presumably read) before they were returned.

To conduct the study, we needed a post office box in the names of “Walter Carnap,” and “Friends of the Nazi Party” — here’s where the trouble begins.  Actually, this explains the title and could be the end of the story; taking out a post office box for the Nazis almost certainly put an end to any political aspirations I might ever have.  But there is more to it — it’s worth reading further.  Aware that this might cause problems, I explained to the postmaster in my small college town in suburban Philadelphia exactly what I was doing, “It’s for a psychology experiment.” Not wanting to take any chances, though, I contacted the FBI and the uber-Postmaster for the region, explaining that there is not an influx of Nazis, but that it’s just a couple of college students doing a psychology experiment.  I thought all was well… Cue the “Jaws” music.

My home town post office.

Camille and I went to our respective homes for Spring Break, each planning to type (yes, “type;” this was pre-computers and we wanted the letters to look authentic) a whole lot of letters and envelopes.  I volunteered to buy the stamps.  To set the stage for what happened next, you need to know that I grew up in a small town (population about 2,500), where the postmaster had known me since I was a little kid.  I went to the post office to buy the stamps, and asked Mr. Gutshall (who looked to me to be ancient – approaching 90 or so – but who was probably no more than 50) for a roll of stamps.  He obliged, handing me a roll of very nice, patriotic U.S. flag stamps.  Given the nature of our study, I realized that these probably wouldn’t work (would Nazis use U.S. flag stamps? I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t seem likely to me), so I handed them back and asked if he had anything else.  He could no longer contain himself.

Apparently in order for me to get the post office box in my college town, the postmaster there had to confirm my permanent (i.e., home) address by sending a card to my home postmaster.  Mr. Gutshall had gotten the card linking me to the Nazis.  It was his sworn duty to maintain the confidentiality of the postal clients, but this was just too much for him.  “JEFF!!! You’re getting mixed up with the wrong bunch of people down there at college!!!” He was beet red, and fighting to control himself.  I tried to explain that, “No, I’m not a Nazi – it’s for a Psychology experiment.”  He was not convinced.  I even went back later that day with a copy of Milgram’s original study to show him that it’s for an experiment; I am not sure he was convinced. He probably went to his grave (I’m assuming that he is no longer with us) thinking that I was a Nazi.

No, Mr. Gutshall.  I was just a curious Psychology student.  But if this guy who knew me and my family well would believe that I was a Nazi, there is no way that I could ever run for public office; as soon as my opponent found my Nazi past I would be doomed:  “Explain to me, dear opponent, why you had a post office box in the name of ‘Friends of the Nazi Party?'”  That’s all it would take.  Landslide.

And for those of you wondering how the experiment turned out, well, Camille and I spent a nice spring afternoon losing letters in Philadelphia.  As expected, far more of Mr. Carnap’s letters came back to us; we saw very few of the Nazi’s letters.  Many of the Nazi letters had messages written on the envelopes or on the letter itself; some contained biblical literature.  And how about our hypothesis, that more of the Nazi letters would have been opened and read? Unfortunately we couldn’t answer that — the small glue spot did not remain reliably intact, so we could never determine with certainty which letters had been opened.  If any aspiring psychology students are reading this, here’s your chance for an easy study.  Just make sure you won’t ever run for office.

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