The Naked Society. Vance Packard
whether Mr. Probe, the lie detector, had fibbed to me.)
At any rate Mr. Probe had a marvelously relaxing, first-name manner with Bill. He sat behind a desk with a polygraph machine worth about $1300 built into it. In front of the desk there was a comfortable chair—its back to Mr. Probe—where Bill would later be asked to sit and be tested. But now they were having a pre-examination chat. Mr. Probe said, “Okay, Bill, I’ll go over several of the questions I’m going to ask beforehand.” (This is apparently standard procedure and is not done entirely as a courtesy. It helps give the subject a chance to confess voluntarily or to start worrying about questions that may be troublesome.)
Mr. Probe helped Bill light his cigarette and then said, “I know we all have skeletons in the closet, and I’m not trying to dig them up. I’m just asking you to be completely honest with me.” He gave as an example the fact that some people lie a little bit about their college backgrounds. Some say they attended college when they went only one semester, and others say they have never stolen before and maybe they have. Then he told his new friend Bill: “I want to be able to write that you have a good, clean, smooth indication of truth. I’ll be back of you all the way if that is the way it appears.” Then he said, “Okay, Bill?” And added: “If you can’t completely and honestly say ‘no’ to a question, let me know and perhaps I can rephrase the question.”
And so Mr. Probe began his pre-polygraph questioning. “Have you ever stolen from previous employers?” Bill shifted in his chair a little and said, “As far as stealing, the only kind I can remember is ten years ago I stole some stationery from a company where I was working.” Mr. Probe magnanimously waved this aside. He said: “I’m not interested in stationery and paper clips; there’s a little bit of pilferage in all of us.” Then he said, more solemnly: “Have you ever taken anything beyond what we discussed?”
Bill: “No.”
Mr. Probe: “Ever fired for cause?”
Bill: “Never.”
Mr. Probe: “Ever drink to excess?”
Bill: “I’ve been loaded a few times, but I guess that’s not ‘excess,’ so I’ll say no.”
Mr. Probe: “Any mental disorders?”
Bill: “What do you mean, mental disorders? I guess I’m nervous at times.”
Mr. Probe: “I mean anything mental that would impair your work and prevent you from being a good salesman for this company.”
Bill: “No.”
Mr. Probe: “Are you in good physical condition?”
Bill: “Yes, as far as I know, except for sinus trouble.”
Mr. Probe: “Are you seeking permanent employment?”
Bill: “Well, I guess. What do you mean?”
Mr. Probe: “Do you have any plans to leave in the near future if you get the job?”
Bill: “Not that I know of.”
At this point Mr. Probe explained that his client was not interested in spending $8000 to $10,000 to break in a man who would go to some other company. Of course, Mr. Probe said, no one can blame a man for going to a much better opening. “But right now do you have any other plans?”
Bill explained that he did have another job offer, in Boston, and he couldn’t positively state that he hoped to have a permanent career with the company to which he was applying, since he had not yet worked for it. But he said he hoped to get this job and at the moment had no other plans.
Mr. Probe: “Have you answered truthfully all the questions on the application?”
Bill paused and explained that there was that thing about having a college degree. He had attended two colleges in the Midwest for about four and a half years but had never, to be truthful, finally got the degree.
Now Mr. Probe began to explain the mechanics of the machine. He asked Bill to take off his vest, roll up his left sleeve, and sit in the subject’s chair. Mr. Probe strapped the accordion-like rubber tubing across Bill’s chest (to check his respiration), attached a blood-pressure-pulse band to his arm, an electrode to his hand to check the sweating of his palm and muscular movement.
“This machine,” Mr. Probe said jovially, “is a scientific instrument to record involuntary changes that occur when people lie.” (He was persuading Bill that the machine was infallible.) He added: “In conversation, I can sit here and tell you one lie after another, but we cannot lie to ourselves, and we know that nothing we can do will prevent changes from being recorded. It is an accurate instrument in the hands of a competent examiner. I know you are a little nervous now. We’re not measuring nerves: we are measuring changes. I will ask you some questions that are irrelevant I’ll give you two tests. Just answer yes or no.”
I could see that three needles on the recording machine in front of Mr. Probe were already starting to make their squiggling lines on paper: the first recorded breathing, the second sweating, the third circulatory responses.
And now the questioning began with the machine in operation. In addition to the ones given in pre-exam, Mr. Probe asked such irrelevant questions as “Do you ever watch TV?” These presumably are control questions. Twice Mr. Probe admonished Bill not to move about so much. At least two new questions, according to my notes, were:
“Have you ever been arrested for speeding or getting a ticket?” (Bill tried to explain something about an incident in Indiana.)
“’Have you ever done something that you are really and truly ashamed of?” Bill shook his head. My guide whispered: “That question will sometimes smoke out the homosexual.” When Mr. Probe repeated the question about ever stealing merchandise, Bill said, “No.” One of the needles drew an emphatic peak line and my guide murmured, “That doesn’t look so good.”
Now the machine was turned off and Mr. Probe was explaining that a couple of Bill’s responses did give him a little concern. There was a reference to stealing merchandise. Bill conceded he did feel sort of funny when that one came at him, and he said he had also become tense when asked about mental disorder. It sort of made him nervous. Also the drinking question. Mr. Probe talked reassuringly and said, “All right, let’s run through the questions again.” Now the needles were behaving more smoothly, and my guide commented on this. He called it “a smoother picture.” And then came the final question for the machine. Mr. Probe paused dramatically and said:
“Now, Bill, I’m going to have to ask you a very embarrassing personal question. . . . Bill, have you ever . . .” Long pause, while the needles fluttered to high peaks, then “. . . I guess that question won’t be necessary, Bill.” My guide whispered that this was a deliberate jolter designed simply to test out Bill’s “total reaction capability.” Presumably a good or pathological liar would have taken this unfinished question in stride.
Now Bill was unharnessed from the chair and there was a discussion of the test. Mr. Probe noted with approval that all the responses that had caused him concern in the first testing had “washed out” in the second. The examination seemingly was over, and Bill was looking for his hat. Then Mr. Probe said pleasantly, “Bill, one more question before you leave. There is nothing personal or offensive about this, but because of the kind of business you are going in and the fact you have been in the summer theater work, I think I should ask it. Are you inclined to be homosexual?”
Bill looked startled. He said, “No.” But the question so unsettled him that he felt compelled to explain his situation. “I have of course been surrounded by them in my work in the theater in the Midwest, and I’ve been exposed to this a lot in some of the bohemian areas where I’ve lived, and I have been approached. But the answer is no.” Mr. Probe didn’t explain why sexual status had any significant relevance to the job for which Bill was applying.
The question was outrageous not only on the ground of unreasonable intrusion but on the grounds of vagueness. As stated, it would cause a great many million U.S. males to ponder how to respond. Mr. Probe