A friend and colleague of mine spent many years of her life working with children who have various developmental disabilities, especially those with autistic disorders. She is not a music therapist, and doesn’t have a special degree for doing that work. You don’t need one to dress and bathe and feed and love these special children.

Deb and I were talking one night about music and healing, and she shared a few stories with me from the years that she worked with children in schools and residential homes. They moved me so much that I asked her to write them for me so that I could share them with you. This is one of them.

Jimmy and the Record Player

I worked for a while at a residential school for children who had multiple disabilities, physical, mental and emotional. I loved all the kids, but the ones who tugged at my heartstrings the hardest were those with autistic spectrum disorders.

Most people have seen “Rain Man” with Dustin Hoffman, and as wonderful as his performance was in that movie, it only barely touches on the profound distance that seems to surround these children. Many of them seem to be so lost in their own little worlds that they are unreachable. The one thing that I saw bridge that gap time and time and time again was music.

One of my very favorite children was a 13 year old boy who didn’t speak except in a very high-pitched garble that was completely unintelligible. His medical charts described him as ‘a very attractive and appealing young boy’, and he was.

Though the tests that they did showed that he functioned at the level of a two year old, I always saw a bright, sparkling and mischievous intelligence in Jimmy that tests couldn’t pinpoint. It was in his eyes and in his smile, and in many tiny things throughout the day that tests just don’t measure.

Jimmy loved record players - the old fashioned kind with turntables. One of his favorite rewards for good behavior was to be allowed to play with the turntable of an old record player in his room. He would put an album on the turntable, bend his head down close to it, and use his fingers to spin the record round and round and round. No speakers, no electricity, just spinning the disc with his fingers. His favorite album to play with this way was an album of classic songs from Sesame Street.

When we’d walk from the house to the school, Jimmy usually lagged a little behind, and as he walked, he’d be making sounds - his usual high-pitched, unintelligible garble. One morning, it suddenly struck me that there was something very oddly familiar to the sounds that he was making. I grabbed his hand, stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and said, “Jimmy, turn it down to 33 1/3.”

A huge grin split his face, he opened his mouth - and out came, “Suuuuuny day, sweeping the clouds away…” And then he burst into a delighted laugh and clapped his hands for me as if I’d just made an enormous discovery - and I had. All these years that we’d thought Jimmy was making nonsense sounds, he’d been talking and singing and trying to communicate with us - at 78 rpm in a 33 1/3 rpm world.

That was the beginning of a miracle. Our occupational therapist had some training in using music in therapy. I shared my discovery with her, and she decided to try an experiment. She made a recording of many of Jimmy’s favorite songs. In the recording, they started at 78 rpm, then were repeated again a bit more slowly, then again, and again, each time with the speed slowed just a bit more.

I know now that she was using a principle called entrainment, matching Jimmy’s speed with the recording at first, then subtly slowing it down and letting his mind adjust its speed a little at a time. Eventually, Jimmy learned from that tape - and many more that Jody made for him - how to consciously slow down his speed so that his speech could be understood.

Three years later, he spoke almost normally - though he’d still lapse into speed-talking when he was especially relaxed or nervous - and was able to get a job working at a local restaurant. His tastes in music had matured too - he’d outgrown Sesame Street, and the last I knew, his new favorite recording was The Flight of the Bumblebee - played at 78 rpm.

~~*&*~~

It’s so amazing to me that this little boy was able to break through the wall that separated him from the world with the help of music. My friend acknowledges that if it hadn’t been for the familiar tune, she might never have realized that Jimmy’s sounds were purposeful and consistent.

It’s the very regularity of rhythm in music that made it possible for Jimmy to learn how to slow his own speed down to match the rest of the world. Jimmy’s story makes me wonder how many others like him are out there - people whose internal speed doesn’t quite match the rest of the world’s, whose perceptions are just a little skewed.

The music therapist’s solution was ingenious - and far ahead of her time. Entrainment is a theory that has become more and more validated as a way of helping minds shift focus and mood. If entrainment with music could make such a profound difference in one little boy’s life, imagine how it can help you fine tune your moods when you need a lift - or an hour’s relaxation.

Try it next time you’re feeling stressed. Instead of reaching immediately for the ’soothing’ music, put together a playlist of songs that moves from energetic to relaxing in easy stages, and see if it doesn’t help you turn down your internal speed.

Love and Blessings,
Daniel