Futility Closet - 344-Martin Couney's Incubator Babies
Episode Date: May 24, 2021For more than 40 years in the early 20th century, Martin Couney ran a sideshow in which premature babies were displayed in incubators. With this odd practice he offered a valuable service in an era w...hen many hospitals couldn't. In this week's episode of the Futility Closet podcast we'll describe Couney's unusual enterprise, which earned both criticism and praise. We'll also marvel over an Amazonian survival and puzzle over a pleasing refusal. Intro: The inventor of the Dewey Decimal System suggested that GHEAUGHTEIGHPTOUGH might spell potato. John VI of Portugal listened to visitors through his throne. Sources for our feature on Martin Couney: Dawn Raffel, The Strange Case of Dr. Couney: How a Mysterious European Showman Saved Thousands of American Babies, 2018. Janet Golden, Babies Made Us Modern: How Infants Brought America Into the Twentieth Century, 2018. Elizabeth A. Reedy, American Babies: Their Life and Times in the 20th Century, 2007. Mhairi G. MacDonald, Mary M. K. Seshia, and Martha D. Mullett, Avery's Neonatology: Pathophysiology & Management of the Newborn, 2005. Jeffrey P. Baker, The Machine in the Nursery: Incubator Technology and the Origins of Newborn Intensive Care, 1996. David M. Allen and Elizabeth A. Reedy, "Seven Cases: Examples of How Important Ideas Were Initially Attacked or Ridiculed by the Professions," in David M. Allen and James W. Howell, eds., Groupthink in Science: Greed, Pathological Altruism, Ideology, Competition, and Culture, 2020. Nils J. Bergman, "Birth Practices: Maternal-Neonate Separation as a Source of Toxic Stress," Birth Defects Research 111:15 (Sept. 1, 2019), 1087-1109. Betty R. Vohr, "The Importance of Parent Presence and Involvement in the Single-Family Room and Open-Bay NICU," Acta Paediatrica 108:6 (June 2019), 986-988. Claire Prentice, "The Man Who Ran a Carnival Attraction That Saved Thousands of Premature Babies Wasn’t a Doctor at All," Smithsonian, Aug. 19, 2016. "When Preemies Were a Carnival Sideshow," Modern Healthcare 45:32 (Aug. 10, 2015), 36. Judith S. Gooding et al., "Family Support and Family-Centered Care in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit: Origins, Advances, Impact," Seminars in Perinatology 35:1 (February 2011), 20-28. Magdalena Mazurak and Małgorzata Czyżewska, "Incubator Doctor and the Dionne Quintuplets: On the Phenomenon of Exhibiting Premature Infants," Dental and Medical Problems 43:2 (2006), 313-316. Elizabeth A. Reedy, "Historical Perspectives: Infant Incubators Turned 'Weaklings' Into 'Fighters,'" American Journal of Nursing 103:9 (September 2003), 64AA. Hannah Lieberman, "Incubator Baby Shows: A Medical and Social Frontier," History Teacher 35:1 (November 2001), 81-88. Jeffrey P. Baker, "The Incubator and the Medical Discovery of the Premature Infant," Journal of Perinatology 20:5 (2000), 321-328. Gerald M. Oppenheimer, "Prematurity as a Public Health Problem: US Policy From the 1920s to the 1960s," American Journal of Public Health 86:6 (1996), 870-878. Lou Ann Bunker-Hellmich, "A Case Study of Space Use and Visiting Policy in a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit," Children's Environments Quarterly 4:3 (Fall 1987), 25-32. Richard F. Snow, "American Characters: Martin Couney," American Heritage 32:4 (June/July 1981). Leo Stern, "Thermoregulation in the Newborn Infant: Historical, Physiological and Clinical Considerations," in George Franklin Smith, D. Vidyasagar, and Patricia N. Smith, eds., Historical Review and Recent Advances in Neonatal and Perinatal Medicine, 1980. Rutledge Rutherford, "Infant Incubators," Technical World Magazine 4:1 (September 1905), 68-73. Joanne Palmer, "'The Strange Case of Dr. Couney,'" Jewish Standard, Nov. 1, 2018. Heidi Stevens, "Saved by Science, Twins Displayed in Incubators at Chicago's 2nd World's Fair Are Now 84 and Nestled Happily in the Suburbs," Chicago Tribune, Aug. 30, 2018. Rick Kogan, "Mysterious 'Doctor' Couney Saved Thousands of Premature Babies -- and Put Them on Display at the Fair," Chicago Tribune, Aug. 25, 2018. Will Pavia, "Fairground 'Doctor' Who Saved Babies," Times, July 28, 2018. "How One Man Saved a Generation of Premature Babies," BBC News, May 23, 2016. Frank Eltman, "'Incubator Babies' Want Their Story Told," [Montreal] Gazette, Aug. 1, 2015. William Brangham, "How a Coney Island Sideshow Advanced Medicine for Premature Babies," PBS NewsHour, July 21, 2015. Michael Pollak, "The Incubated Babies of the Coney Island Boardwalk," New York Times, July 31, 2015. Michael Brick, "And Next to the Bearded Lady, Premature Babies," New York Times, June 12, 2005. Daniel B. Schneider, "F.Y.I.," New York Times, Dec. 13, 1998. "Martin A. Couney, 'Incubator Doctor,'" New York Times, March 2, 1950. "Incubator's Class of '39 Lifts Cups to Old Times," New York Times, June 15, 1940. Paul Harrison, "New York Letter," Brownsville [Texas] Herald, Aug. 8, 1933. "5,000 Babies Owe Their Lives to Gas Heat," Newark [Ohio] Leader, April 16, 1926. "Storks Are to Be Taken at the World's Fair Despite the Big War in Europe," [Clarksburg, W.Va.] Daily Telegram, Sept. 3, 1914. "Inventor Is Pleased," Minneapolis Journal, Aug. 4, 1905. Listener mail: Manuela Andreoni, "His Plane Crashed in the Amazon. Then Came the Hard Part," New York Times, March 28, 2021. Stephen Gibbs, "Crash Pilot Lives to Tell Tale of 38 Days Lost in the Amazon," Times, March 30, 2021. P.S.M. Chandran, "Why Age Fraud in Indian Sports Is So Prevalent," The Wire, May 6, 2020. Nagraj Gollapudi, "Age Fraud - BCCI Offers Amnesty Scheme to Players, Promises 'Stern Actions' to Curb Menace," ESPNcricinfo, Aug. 3, 2020. Shashank Kishore, "Indian Cricket's Age-Fraud Problem," ESPNcricinfo, June 28, 2019. "Afridi Reveals His Real Age – Sort Of," Cricket Network, May 3, 2019. "Shahid Afridi Reveals His Real Age in Autobiography," ESPNcricinfo, May 2, 2019. This week's lateral thinking puzzle was contributed by listener Jack McLachlan. Here's a corroborating link (warning -- this spoils the puzzle). You can listen using the player above, download this episode directly, or subscribe on Google Podcasts, on Apple Podcasts, or via the RSS feed at https://futilitycloset.libsyn.com/rss. Please consider becoming a patron of Futility Closet -- you can choose the amount you want to pledge, and we've set up some rewards to help thank you for your support. You can also make a one-time donation on the Support Us page of the Futility Closet website. Many thanks to Doug Ross for the music in this episode. If you have any questions or comments you can reach us at podcast@futilitycloset.com. Thanks for listening!
Transcript
Discussion (0)
Welcome to the Futility Closet podcast, forgotten stories from the pages of history.
Visit us online to sample more than 11,000 quirky curiosities from potato orthography
to a listening throne.
This is episode 344.
I'm Greg Ross. And I'm Sharon Ross. For more
than 40 years in the early 20th century, Martin Cooney ran a sideshow in which premature babies
were displayed in incubators. With this odd practice, he offered a valuable service in an
era when many hospitals couldn't. In today's show, we'll describe Cooney's unusual enterprise, which earned both criticism
and praise. We'll also marvel over an Amazonian survival and puzzle over a pleasing refusal.
And just a quick programming note, we'll be off next week, so we'll be back with a new episode on June 7th.
On an evening visit to Coney Island in 1939, an observer might have overheard a young man speaking in low tones to an audience on the boardwalk. He said, you may talk, ladies and
gentlemen, you may cough. They will not hear you. They do not even know you are here. Now,
this little baby came in nine days ago. It weighed only one
pound, 11 ounces, and we were afraid we might be too late. It was even bluer than that little
fellow over there in the other incubator. Yes, ma'am, it was a premature birth, a little over
six months. He was promoting a remarkable exhibition, one in which visitors could view
prematurely born infants displayed in incubators. Before these devices were invented, caring for
infants had been largely the responsibility of mothers. Most babies were born at home,
and doctors weren't involved to the extent they are today. As a result, the death rate among
premature infants could be as high as 85%. Infant incubators had been exhibited in Europe since the
1890s, but American hospitals were slow to accept them.
Experts in infant care in the early 1900s believed that premature babies were weaklings who would
likely pass on that trait even if they survived. At Martin Cooney's sideshow, babies were brought
in by both parents and physicians. They were smaller even than many hospitals in that era
were equipped to handle. Visitors paid 25 cents to watch nurses
feed or bathe the babies, which typically weighed only two or three pounds. One of Cooney's nurses
used to illustrate their tiny size by passing a diamond ring over a baby's hand and up the length
of its arm. Many in the medical establishment were uneasy at Cooney's practice, making a spectacle of
babies on the midway among freak shows and fan dancers.
They called him tawdry and unscientific, doubted his faith in incubators,
and suspected his motives in earning a living by displaying vulnerable infants.
He kept it up anyway.
For almost 50 years, the Sideshow toured fairs, amusement parks, and expositions around the United States,
with Cooney's slogan, All the World Loves a Baby, written at the door to every show. His machines were unsophisticated by modern standards, but most of his patients went home in a couple of months, and Cooney and his wife, May, would later
receive visits from grown-ups whom they'd saved, as well as invitations to their graduations and
weddings. The man behind all this was something of an enigma. Almost everything we know about his
early life comes from an interview he did in 1939 with A.J. Liebling of The New Yorker, and much of
what he said there, it appears, is false. He claimed to have come from Alsace, to have attended
medical school in Germany, and to have gone on to Paris to study with the pioneering obstetrician
Pierre Constant Budin. In truth, he seems to have been Polish. There is
no record of his education in either Leipzig or Berlin, as he claimed, and it appears that he
didn't even have a medical license. Boudin was real enough. He is regarded today as a founder
of modern perinatal medicine. He had discovered in particular that premature infants are crucially
vulnerable to cold, and he sought ways to interest the international community in
an early incubator that he'd developed. Cooney said Boudin had sent him to exhibit some of these
incubators at the Berlin Exposition of 1896. He decided the exhibit would be more compelling if
it included live premature infants, and he managed to borrow six from the maternity ward of Berlin's
Charité Hospital, whose director felt this was a small
risk since most of them were not likely to survive anyway. Before the exposition opened,
Cooney had to think of a German name for his exhibit, and he settled on Kinderbrutenschtalt,
which means child hatchery. That name inspired comic songs in the city, but it also spread the
fame of the exhibit, and Cooney's pavilion was soon thronged
with visitors, each of whom paid one German mark to look at the babies. In two months, they received
more than 100,000 visitors, and all six infants survived, a testament to the new technology.
By the time the Berlin exhibit closed, a British promoter had drafted Cooney to set up a similar
show to coincide with Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee in London.
The hospitals there refused to lend babies, but Cooney returned to Paris,
borrowed some from Boudin, and transported them back across the Channel in washbaskets,
warming them with pillows placed over hot water bottles.
When the exhibit went forward in 1897, its popularity surpassed even that of Berlin,
drawing 3,600 people a day. Cooney had found he had a
flair for this peculiar job, and he decided to become a professional doctor turned showman.
The following year found him in Omaha, Nebraska, at the Trans-Mississippi Exposition of 1898,
occupying a small white building under a sign reading, Infant Incubators with Living Infants.
Inside, the babies were cared for by a cadre of nurses whom Cooney supervised. The incubators with living infants. Inside, the babies were cared for by a cadre of
nurses whom Cooney supervised. The incubators were metal boxes with glass sides, a warm water
heating system kept each baby's mattress warm, and a ventilation system provided fresh air.
The show's reception in Omaha was indifferent, but three years later, at the Buffalo World's Fair,
it was a hit. Eight machines were arranged along the walls of the building, and visitors filed between railings as nurses held up the infants. Cooney would greet
each guest and pose for photos with the babies. This incubator station was already more elaborate
than that in any American hospital, but still the fair organizers placed Cooney's show in the
midway over his protests. This would become a frustrating cycle for his so-called
infatorium. Exhibiting in sideshows debased Cooney's reputation, and that reputation kept
him from advancing to more respectable venues. But he moved gamely onward from Buffalo to Topeka
and then to the Louisiana Purchase Exposition in St. Louis, and on from there. He would exhibit
infants at American fairs and expositions for the next
40 years, most famously in New York, where his yearly exhibition at Luna Park became the longest
running show at Coney Island, running from 1904 to 1943. Though it saved thousands of infants,
Coney's show was regarded more as a curiosity than as a valuable medical service. His exhibit
at Chicago's Century of Progress in 1933
was assigned not to the Hall of Science, but to the Midway, and at the 1939 World's Fair, it was
found not in the Health and Medicine Exhibit Hall, but behind the Parachute Jump. He was taken to
task continually for the seeming seediness of these venues. In 1903, the Brooklyn Eagle called
Coney Island the strangest place on earth for human infants to be fed, nursed, and cared for. It said the idea of
haranguing the passing throng in an effort to divert its shekels for a spectacle so serious,
not to say sacred, strikes one as questionable, almost repellent. The exhibition could be
surprisingly lucrative. At the Panama Pacific International Exposition in San Francisco in 1915,
it took in $72,000, nearly $1.7 million in today's money.
But Cooney used that money to defray the cost of the care
and to pay a good wage to the nurses who gave it.
No parents were ever charged for the service.
And his success rate underscored the value of his methods.
In 1905, the Minneapolis Daily Times wrote,
It is a matter of statistical record that previous to the use of the incubator,
only 15% of the prematurely born lived.
By use of the incubator, 85% are saved.
And he showed that being born prematurely did not make one a runt or a weakling,
as had previously been believed.
Liebling noted that one of Cooney's first American preemies, displayed at the Omaha exhibition in 1898, grew up to win a
Croix de Guerre in World War I. Despite the stigma, Cooney took his work seriously and
grew irate at the suggestion that he was merely a showman. He told Liebling,
All my life I have been making propaganda for the proper care of preemies, who in other times
were allowed to die.
When a competitor's incompetently run incubator show led to dozens of deaths at the St. Louis World's Fair in 1904, Cooney published an outraged open letter in the New York Evening Journal.
He wrote,
To place this affair in the hands of ignorant people, not one of whom has any technical
knowledge or experience in this line of work, is to deceive the mothers of this country,
whom they sent back with nothing but corpses.
Pediatrician John Zahorsky, who looked into that scandal, wrote,
The feeling of the medical profession is against the show of incubators.
We feel it degrading to human sentiment to make an exhibition of human misfortunes,
especially in the shape of tiny infants.
But he allowed that incubator shows could be beneficial.
They called
attention to the problems of premature birth in the United States, they provided a service that
the poor could not otherwise afford, and they could advance science. Still, prejudice stood
against them. When the Coney Island amusement park Dreamland caught fire in 1911, Coney's staff
managed to save all five babies in the exhibition, but still John D. Lindsay,
the president of the New York Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children, wrote an angry
letter to the editor saying that their salvation had been a mere chance. He called the show purely
mercenary, violating every principle of medical or professional ethics, and insisted that prematurely
born infants should be cared for in hospitals. The problem was, they weren't.
Hospitals couldn't spare nurses to devote attention around the clock to a child who was too weak to suckle.
As late as 1939 in New York City, a hospital might have a single incubator,
which new parents might learn was already in use or prohibitively expensive.
Cooney would accept the most desperate cases, offering 24-hour supervision for weeks or months, and return the baby to its parents when it had stabilized or
when his concession had to close for the season. To be sure, Cooney's incubators were primitive by
modern standards, and many babies still died despite their use. But by charging admission
to fairgoers, Cooney could offer to care for any infant free of charge. Some days a baby was lost,
but at least it had a chance. As he returned one baby to her parents in 1932, Cooney told a reporter, I think I love her as much as her parents. I can't understand why some people
still think these premature babies aren't worth saving. Incubators waned in popularity in the
second decade of the century. After 1910, Cooney didn't set up a show at a World's Fair until 1933,
working instead at amusement parks in Atlantic City, Denver, Chicago, and other cities. In 1917,
one pediatrician wrote that incubators are passé except at country fairs and sideshows.
The one bright spot in this decline was Cooney's friendship with Dr. Julius Hess of Chicago,
who would become the leading figure in American neonatal medicine
in the 1920s. Hess had taken an early interest in incubators, saw value in Cooney's work,
and supported him unwaveringly, accepting and adapting his ideas. When Hess published the
field's first textbook in 1922, he credited Cooney in the preface, and in 1933 he transferred babies
from the Infant Incubator Center at Michael Reese Hospital
to Cooney's exhibit at the Chicago World's Fair.
In 1939, when Cooney was exhibiting at the New York World's Fair,
has stopped by and wrote in the guest book,
My dear Martin, now that I cannot be with you in person,
may I be allowed to thank my great teacher in this wholly unsatisfactory way
for your great contribution to me and the medical profession.
Yours has not only been one of scientific leadership, but, equally important to progress,
a most ethical one in every respect, and you can look back on a life well spent.
Thanks to the efforts of Hess and others, hospital neonatal care made steady gains,
so much so that by the end of the 1930s, incubators seemed simply out of place in a sideshow.
In 1939,
a young boy stood outside Cooney's baby exhibit and warned customers,
they don't do no tricks, they just sleep. In 1943, when Cornell Hospital opened New York's first dedicated premature infant station, Martin Cooney closed his show, saying that his work was
done. When he died seven years later, hospitals were routinely
welcoming premature babies and caring for them in incubators. It cannot be said that Martin Cooney
himself inspired a revolution in neonatal care. Incubator technology evolved throughout his career
and would have done so if he hadn't exhibited. But he did provide a service when hospitals weren't
equipped to care for all the premature babies that were born, and he conducted it to a remarkably high standard.
E. Harrison Nickman, a pediatrician at Atlantic City Hospital, said in the 1970s,
It's the first time I ever saw oxygen piped into a series of units.
He had a pipeline just like we have now.
I've never seen a hospital as clean as that place.
Not only was the nursery clean, the place where the people circulated was clean.
Anybody that dropped anything, it was picked up right away.
Absolutely immaculate.
Of the 8,000 babies who passed through his incubators, Martin Cooney is credited with saving at least 6,500.
Richard Chandler, head of neonatal services at Cohen Children's Medical Center of New York, said in 2015,
We think this is a spectacle. We could never do this today. But at the time,
he was a leader, and I think we owe a lot of the very basic principles of neonatology to this
gentleman.
The main story in episode 161 was about a teenager in 1971 who survived falling from an airliner that broke apart in a storm and then undertook an arduous trek through the Peruvian rainforest to try to find help.
And two of our listeners recently sent a follow-up to that story.
Ken Somolinos wrote, Hi, Futilitarians! Saw this story in the New York Times and was reminded of Episode 161,
The Girl Who Fell from the Sky. Crazy anybody survives this kind of thing. And Pat Weedorn
said, Seems that having your plane crash in the jungle and walking out of it is still a thing
people do these days. Both sent a link to a story from March about Antonio Sena, a 36-year-old
Brazilian pilot who, due to lack of work during the pandemic, reluctantly accepted a job to fly
diesel fuel to an illegal mine in the Brazilian Amazon. Wildcat mining has been flourishing in
recent decades in parts of the Amazon that are supposed to be protected from human activities.
in parts of the Amazon that are supposed to be protected from human activities.
On January 28th, Sena took off in a 48-year-old small propeller plane and was 3,000 feet over the rainforest when the plane's sole engine stopped.
He aimed the aircraft toward a small valley and sent out a mayday message as he descended.
The crash was cushioned a bit by the tree canopy, and after hitting the ground,
Sena managed to grab a few items and scramble out of the plane,
which was carrying 160 gallons of diesel fuel, before it burst into flames.
He had a pocket knife, flashlight, two lighters, and a phone with a little battery left.
At first, Sena stayed near the charred remains of the plane,
thinking it was his best chance of being found.
But search
flights flew right over him without seeing him, despite his yelling and waving. So after fruitlessly
waiting for help for several days, he decided that he would need to try to find it for himself.
He used a mapping app on his dying phone to decide to head to the Paru River, about 60 miles away,
as it was the closest area that he knew that was inhabited, and he
started walking, slogging through the swamps and using the sun's position to head east towards the
river. He set up a campsite each afternoon on higher ground to try to avoid predators, and
struggled to build fires using mostly damp wood. His camps were frequently besieged by territorial
spider monkeys, which would try to destroy his homemade shelters,
though by watching the monkeys he learned about eating a small pink fruit called brew, which became his primary source of food. About four weeks after the crash, when Sena hadn't eaten for
the past three days, he heard a chainsaw in the distance. He had to make camp for the night,
fearing getting lost in the dark, but prayed that he would hear it again the next day, which he did briefly the next morning. He set off towards the sound, and in the afternoon
he found a campsite of villagers collecting Brazil nuts, who, luckily for Sena, had ventured deeper
into the forest than they usually did. Sena had lost 55 pounds, or 25 kilograms, over the four
weeks he was alone. He later said that he had gained a new appreciation for the rainforest,
which is being ravaged daily by the types of illegal mining operations
that he briefly worked for.
He said that if he had fallen into a different type of uninhabited terrain,
I wouldn't have water, shelter, or what to eat.
The Amazon is so rich.
That story is remarkably similar to Yuliana Kupka's.
I mean, broadly speaking,
following a river.
That really reminds me of her story.
It's kind of amazing that anybody could survive in those conditions.
In a follow-up on a
rather different topic, we heard from
one of our listeners who asked to be anonymous.
In episode 337,
you had a follow-up discussion
about people voluntarily changing their birth
date seeking to give themselves an advantage for one reason or another. You also mentioned that
this practice mostly occurred in the past. However, there's also other reasons to change
the date of your birthday to avoid being associated with bad events. A practice I can
tell you definitively continues in the USA even up to the near present day.
My niece, my brother's daughter, was born literally as the planes were crashing into the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001.
My brother was a doctor at the same hospital where his daughter was born
and conspired with the staff there to enter his daughter's birthday as September 12.
I can also tell you for a fact that my niece was far from the only child born at the hospital that day
whose legally filed birthday was changed to September 12th.
Keep up the good work, as always.
I hadn't thought about that, but that must be the case, you know,
that must affect thousands of people who were born on that day.
Yeah, I had mentioned in episode 328 that due to parents choosing baby's birth dates
to some extent with induced births and C-sections,
that you do see a drop in the number of births
on September 11th compared to the days after it.
But I hadn't thought of parents
just falsifying a child's birthday
to try to avoid that date.
Also because that day is remembered,
the events of that day are remembered by the date.
That's what they're called. Yeah, events that day are remembered by the date.
That's what they're called. Yeah, it's called September 11th. Yeah.
On the topic of changing your birth date, Alex Fensom wrote,
Hi, Sharon and Greg. Hope you guys are well. The latest episodes discussion about birthdays
reminded me of a well-known issue in cricket with players claiming to be younger than they actually
are. There are a number of reasons why people do this and different measures that are used to combat it discussed in these articles. It is
sadly particularly common on the Indian subcontinent. Sometimes that's because players
are from places where records are not well kept, but sometimes it's deliberate as discussed above.
It can be treated as a bit of a joke around the world of cricket, but sometimes it does mean you
have to treat age records with suspicion. There are some notable cricketers rumored to have falsified their age
knowingly or unknowingly. The Pakistani player Shahid Afridi supposedly scored his first
international hundred at 16, but has now admitted that he was at least three years older. The
Afghanistan bowler Rashid Khan, officially 22 years old, has also been surrounded by rumors about his age. He burst onto the scene as a 17-year-old, but many people have suggested he's a lot older than that. I doubt anyone will ever know for sure.
from May of last year titled, Why Age Fraud in Indian Sports is So Prevalent, written by PSM Chandran, a former director of the Sports Authority of India. Chandran states, the problem happens
with the blessings of parents, coaches, and school authorities and thrives because of the complacency
of sports governing bodies. Chandran notes that altering athletes' birth dates so that they can
qualify to participate
in competitions restricted to particular age groups is seen in all sports in India,
but that cricketers lead the pack in this regard. Falsification of documents is a criminal offense
in India, and while there have been cases of players, parents, and even club owners being
charged with a crime for this, often, sports governing bodies choose not to report these situations to the police and instead institute their own penalties. The Board of
Control for Cricket in India, or BCCI, has been taking at least some steps to try to curb the
problem. An article in ESPN Crick Info from August 2020 says that the board had suspended 236 players over the past two years for age fraud.
The BCCI stated that age fraud has long been a menace in Indian cricket for the different age
group levels, and at the time of the article, they were implementing an amnesty program where
players could declare committing age fraud and avoid suspension by providing their actual dates
of birth, but would face bans if they didn't
volunteer this information and were found to be in violation. Although the use of official birth
registration certificates has increased in India quite a bit in the last two decades,
such documents and others such as school records may sometimes still not be available,
especially for players from rural areas, or players may falsely claim the lack of
them, or their parents or officials may just falsify such documents. To try to overcome these
issues, the BCCI has been relying on the Tanner White House 3 Bone Maturation Test, which estimates
a person's age based on wrist x-rays. While this seems like it would be a good way to get around
any issues with missing or fraudulent documents, unfortunately the method is not infallible and is only useful for people up
to the age of 16. The use of the test is somewhat controversial, and apparently the rules are that
if the bone maturity age contradicts a player's documented age, it's the former that is used for
determining if a player is eligible for a particular age level.
Although it seems that the problem of age fraud in cricket is a rather acknowledged issue in India,
as Alex mentioned, there have been some notable instances in other countries.
One of Alex's example, the Pakistan cricket legend Shahida Freedy,
made a bit of a stir when he released his autobiography in 2019 and stated that he'd been born in 1975,
not 1980, as officials had claimed while he was playing. He had made a famous international debut
in 1996, where he scored a record-breaking 37-ball century, made all the more impressive
because he was supposedly only 16 years old at the time. Prior to that, Afridi had been playing for Pakistan's under-19 team,
while he apparently wasn't actually under-19. ESPN Crick Info also reports that a contemporary
of Afridi's, Eunice Khan, announced his retirement from international T20 cricket in 2009,
saying that at 34 he was too old for this kind of cricket. By his official records, though,
Khan should only have been 31 when he made that statement.
I never thought about that somehow.
If you're just presented with a human specimen, there's no way to tell reliably quite how
old they are.
Yeah.
I mean, there must be, I mean, I know in forensics, there must be some methods, but that's for
dead people.
I don't know how well it translates to living people.
That's an interesting problem.
Yeah, and to exactly pinpoint an age too, you know, because it matters if they're 18 or 19 or 20.
Yeah. In episode 335, I read an email from Skye Edwards, who wrote to say that Skye's friend Toby
hid a meteorite necklace for their partner in the Australian desert and revealed the location
determined by the geocoding system What3Words through a series of puzzles. We recently received a Futility Closet
coincidence follow-up on this from Sky. Dear Futilonauts, I had a surprise today,
and as appreciators of coincidences, I thought you might enjoy this follow-up.
Some months ago, I recommended Futility Closet to Toby, the mastermind behind our meteorite
escapades.
They finally decided to start listening by incredible happenstance at episode 335.
I was delighted to be told today by Toby that my anecdote was featured and stunned that Toby's first Futility Closet experience was hearing an episode that included their own puzzle.
Toby sends their warmest and most enthusiastic greetings, or to quote directly, they said,
Hi nerds! I can safely say that Toby, the puzzler, and Liam, the puzzle-ee, are, as of today, futility fanatics.
So, hi nerds to Toby and Liam, and I think futility fanatics might be a new term for us, or maybe for our listeners.
That is a big coincidence considering how big the archive is now.
I know that they started on just that episode.
Thanks so much to everyone who writes to us.
We always appreciate how much we learn from all of you.
If you have anything that you'd like to add,
please send that to podcast at futilitycloset.com.
It's Greg's turn to try to solve a lateral thinking puzzle.
I'm going to give him a strange sounding situation,
and he's going to try to figure out what's going on, asking yes or no questions.
This puzzle comes from Jack McLaughlin.
Alex sends a letter to her favorite brewery asking for a free sample.
The head brewer sends a letter back that says no.
Alex is happy as this is exactly what she wanted.
Why?
Does Alex work for the brewery?
No.
Okay.
Asking for a free sample of beer?
No.
Oh.
That sounds like a valuable piece of information.
Okay.
An ingredient that goes into the making of beer?
Yes.
That's what she's looking for? Yes. Is her occupation important? Yes. Okay. An ingredient that goes into the making of beer. Yes. That's what she's looking for.
Yes.
Is her occupation important?
Yes.
Okay.
And she doesn't work for the brewery.
Does she work for the government or some regulatory?
No.
For a competing brewery?
Yes.
Wow.
I'm doing really well.
You're doing really well.
Let's just acknowledge that before we go any further.
A competing brewery.
Okay. Is this, I'm trying to remember how beer is made.
Is this so she can, her company, her brewery can use it in making its own beer?
Yes.
So did I ask you if this is an ingredient of beer?
Yes.
So would you call this a free sample?
She asked for the free sample, and they sent a letter back telling her no, but she's happy
because this is what she wanted.
Okay.
When she contacted them, they didn't know that she worked for a competitor?
Is that fair to say?
I don't know.
But they may not have.
They might not have.
And she was happy that they denied that.
No.
It's always something you assume.
They sent her back a letter saying,
no, we deny your request for a free sample
of whatever ingredient this is.
Yes.
And you're saying she was happy at that.
You said she was happy. Yes. But now you're saying she wasn't at that. You said she was happy.
Yes.
But now you're saying she wasn't happy at the receipt of that letter,
at the knowledge that they were denying the...
That's not what made her happy, that they were denying her.
She was happy about the receipt of the letter.
Which is different.
Which is different.
Is there something...
Would this still have happened if they'd sent her an email or a smoke signal?
No.
Okay.
So had they inadvertently included something in the letter that gave her what she needed?
Yes.
Is it this ingredient?
Yes.
So they said no, but accidentally granted the request?
Yes.
Do I need to know more than that?
Well, I didn't know if you could figure out how.
What the ingredient is?
Or how that would happen with a letter.
Jack sent a hint that said that his high school biology teacher told the class this story,
if that helps you.
Yeah, I'm trying to think.
Is it the yeast?
It's the yeast.
Jack says, Alex is also a brewer and wants a sample of the yeast the brewery uses,
not a sample of beer.
Alex knows that anything sent from the brewery, like a paper, letter, or envelope, That's clever.
And Jack sent a link to an article about a brewmaster who's actually creating a signature beer using the yeast found in his own beard. Because apparently yeast is everywhere. So thanks so
much to Jack for that completely non-fatal puzzle, because I'm pretty sure that even the yeast get to
live. And if you have a puzzle you'd like to send to us, please send that to podcast at
futilitycloset.com. Just a reminder that we'll be off next week. In the meantime, if you'd like to Thank you. for the topics we've covered. If you have any comments or feedback for us, you can email us at podcast at futilitycloset.com.
Our music was written and performed
by Greg's eximious brother, Doug Ross.
Thanks for listening, and we'll be back in two weeks.