The worldwide expansion of psychiatry as a science at times followed pathways already laid by Christian medical missions to cultures seen as disadvantaged by sponsors. Interracial contacts were one outcome, and racial issues gained visibility in psychiatric inquiry and treatment. Richard S. Lyman gathered socially diverse psychiatric teams at Peking Union Medical College in the 1930s and Duke University in the 1940s, both programs funded by the Rockefeller Foundation. Bingham Dai, a Chinese-born theorist and therapist, and Leo Alexander, Holocaust refugee and later medical investigator for the Nuremberg prosecutors, worked with Lyman at both sites. These itinerant professionals repeatedly struggled to comprehend and influence localities. Lyman's liberal aim to integrate psychiatry succeeded better in China than in segregated North Carolina.
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TY - JOUR
T1 - Racial experiments in psychiatry's provinces
T2 - Richard S Lyman and his colleagues in China and the American South, 1932-51
AU - Rose, Anne C.
N1 - Funding Information: On the world stage, the most visible accomplishment in the 1940s of the Western-trained psych-iatrists who passed through Beijing was the investigative work of Leo Alexander for the Nuremberg trials of Nazi doctors in 1946–7. Their earlier regrouping in North Carolina may seem like a war-imposed detour through a regional backwater. In fact, paths among global communities understood to be on the periphery of modern medicine were well travelled by agents of missions and philanthropies. The career of Franklin McLean, MD (1888–1968), for instance, also included phases of service to China and the American South. Removed from leadership of PUMC in 1923 by Rockefeller administrators, he laboured at home. Based at the University of Chicago, McLean periodically toured the South to report on segregated medical institutions for their northern charitable sponsors. 49 He was troubled that racial separation blocked the flow of scientific information, and yet he was still fearful in 1953 that social protest would be medically disruptive. He mildly proposed ‘abandoning the policy maintaining “separate but equal” facilities for Negroes as soon as it is deemed feasible to do so’. 50 McLean’s political moderation did not diminish his strenuous devotion to black medicine, demonstrated as a board member for the Rosenwald Fund and the founder of the National Medical Fellowships to train African American doctors ( Wrist, 1975 ). 51 In 1940 a Rockefeller grant to establish psychiatry at Duke University similarly placed Lyman in the midst of racial segregation. Racial goals were prominent in the predictably sprawling agenda Lyman brought to Durham after several years in Meyer’s laboratory. In September 1941, as he began his second year at Duke and welcomed the first and only class of black ward assistants, he laid out ‘immediate projects of my own’ to a Duke colleague in sociology: ‘work relating to stimulation, in which some of the subjects are negro children in Durham, survey of projects in the south which bring academic, state, or federal and community interests together, … and the whole question of how to get “mental hygiene” to apply to negroes in the south’. 52 Although his regional ambitions and allusions to child nurture gave his list a vague tone, he identified the races with typical American clarity: black or white. Legal segregation of public space in North Carolina supported his view (see Fig. 2 ), and also suggested the magnitude of his task, even without the distractions of wartime psychiatry. Figure 2. Outpatient waiting area, Duke University Hospital (no date); it was official hospital policy until 1941 to maintain separate outpatient hours for the races: first whites, followed by African Americans (source: Duke University Medical Center Archives, Durham, North Carolina) Lyman’s interest in racial matters competed with staffing and treatment questions magnified by international war. Building the Duke psychiatry faculty meant resolving visa and licensing problems for its refugee members, as well as coping with the housing needs and military service of nearly all. Lyman corresponded widely and constantly on these subjects. In 1941, when he brought Alexander from Boston, he stepped in to support Alexander’s immigration case at the State Department and also found the family a house. 53 A year and a half later Alexander moved to Fort Bragg and later England as an Army psychiatrist, not long before Dai, who had been teaching at Fisk in Nashville, reached Durham with his family. Lyman himself spent much of 1944–5 working off-campus for the Office of Strategic Services (OSS). 54 In 1945 he and Dai went together to China, officially to conduct psychiatric interviews of Chinese men training as agents and privately to encourage Chinese medical friends to develop psychiatry. 55 Combat stress had indeed increased public awareness of mental health, and in the midst of the Duke staff’s comings-and-goings, Lyman’s correspondence documented an expanding array of psychiatric options ranging from hypnosis and psychoanalysis to electric and insulin shock ( Herman, 1995 ). In this setting, Lyman could not afford to be preoccupied with race relations. His ward-assistant training program that aimed at eroding the colour line disappeared, and yet Lyman and his coworkers did not forget about race. He demonstrated his pragmatism by moving on, once it was clear that the philanthropies, university and surrounding culture would not support the social risk of producing well-educated African American psychiatric aides. Nevertheless, institutional failure did not end these psychiatrists’ engagement with racial inequality at personal and intellectual levels. Lyman had shown in China that his ethical streak and outgoing temperament easily connected him with Chinese associates, and he revealed the same facility in the South. In later years he made it a personal goal to teach psychiatry at Rockefeller-funded segregated colleges. He contemplated a move to Tuskegee Institute in Alabama in the late 1940s, and when he retired from Duke in 1951 he spent two years in Nashville as a visiting professor at Meharry Medical College, the only medical school open to black students in the region. 56 Earlier at Duke, he was open and generous with his black trainees, but at the same time respecting racial conventions. When the year ended, he took pains to place his ward assistants, already graduates of the top segregated colleges, in social service jobs or medical schools. He wrote with refreshing candour to one woman who was blocked by prejudice from Johns Hopkins. The doctor there so obviously dragged his feet about allowing ‘“colored students who are not doctors of medicine”’ into his class, Lyman explained, repeating the doctor’s disparagaing phrase, that ‘I suggest that you do not plan just to drop in on’ him. 57 Although his no-nonsense recognition of racism took her into his confidence, he tolerated bias in practice. His letters of recommendation included the candidate’s colour, always ‘light-skinned’ or ‘of light complexion’, irrespective of the recipient’s race. 58 Outside the psychiatric ward, he was just a bit embarrassed by ‘the question of servants’. ‘I do not necessarily mean that the cook is a part of the fixtures of the house’, Lyman told Alexander, after confirming that the domestics employed by the former tenant agreed to stay on. 59 Lyman produced no scholarship about race during his decade in Durham, but the varied social meanings of colour were clearly on his mind. As in China, he comfortably crossed boundaries in relationships with educated co-workers. The difference in the USA was that after 1942 there were no professionals of colour on his ward, with the exception of Dai. Of these two men, Dai was far more the writer, and his anomalous situation as a Chinese intellectual in the segregated South positioned him to conceptualize black-white relations as one form of global cultural contact. Throughout a long career in the USA that extended to the 1990s, Dai adhered to a basic premiss: personality consists of ego construction influenced by social experience (Atkins, 1977). His steady stream of essays during his first years at Duke revealed his growing awareness of how diversified communities were. Interviews of 90 black students at Fisk in 1942 led him to argue that the ‘American caste system’ of racial separation elicits unhealthy responses ranging from compulsive status-seeking to habits that ‘narcotize their sensitivities’ to inequality ( Dai, 1946 : 189, 187). In another paper, presented at the prestigious interdenominational Conference on Science, Philosophy, and Religion in New York in 1944, he used his gift for self-observation to comment on the real-life complexities of nationality, ethnicity and race. He confessed that he and ‘his American-born and American-trained Chinese wife’ argue, because she ‘encourages our little girl to fight back when attacked’, contrary to Dai’s advice ‘to bring the dispute to me or other elders in the family for settlement’ ( Dai, 1944 b : 141). He did not say that the place of conflict was Durham, where his daughter was attending a white school. 60 In this and other instances Dai paid a personal price for his scholarly insights. In 1938 Leon Saul apologized for using him as a representative Chinese subject in Saul’s ‘very disguised’ published account of Dai’s psychoanalysis. 61 The black faculty at Fisk ‘had prejudices among themselves’, Dai’s wife recalled; ‘that’s why we left’. 62 By offering Dai a job in 1943, Lyman gave him no formal opportunity to study race in the USA. Living in the South was nonetheless an education. Dai’s sensitivity to American racial patterns contrasts with the absence of comment by Duke’s other refugee psychiatrists, most notably Alexander. Lyman’s commission to build psychiatry in Durham grew from the premiss that the South was medically deficient and required outside help. In 1947 he cited the accidents of wartime as the reason for his unusual reliance on ‘foreign-educated psychiatrists’: four trained in Vienna and one each in Germany, Holland, and Chile, in addition to Dai. 63 Some were specialists with narrow interests in catatonic states or insulin therapy. In contrast, Alexander soon became a symbol of human rights advocacy, and yet he left no record of concern about segregation. Alexander’s European orientation seemed to make him impervious to his residence in the South. He became a prolific author in the USA after his first English-language publication appeared in 1934, and he credited his American mentors with his appreciation of culture. Alexander (1953 : v) wrote in the acknowledgements of one book that Lyman taught him ‘the importance of social factors in eliciting, evoking, enhancing, or relieving mental disorder’. Alexander was nonetheless out of place at Duke, except for his whiteness. Among 62 officers in the 65th General Hospital unit of the US Army, formed by Duke doctors, he was the only person educated abroad. 64 The corps’ tone was also distinctly Christian, with one newsletter bearing the title, ‘There’ll always be an Easter’. 65 Caught in these cross-currents, Alexander did not use race as a concept. His postwar analysis of Nazism focused on the perpetrators’ behaviour rather than the Jewish victims’ supposed racial inferiority. Killing the innocent was a test of admission to the Nazi ‘criminal gang’, he explained in an essay borrowing sociological theory ( Alexander, 1948 : 301). Nor did he make racial observations privately. A letter to Lyman from Fort Bragg in 1943, where Alexander screened as many as 350 recruits daily, calculated the frequency of ‘psychoneuroses’ in different North Carolina counties, but it made no racial comparisons. 66 Alexander’s intention to return to Duke after the war suggests that he had no ethical objection to segregation sufficient to make him look elsewhere. He imagined North Carolina as a home base for his international research. When enquiring about his old job, Alexander wrote to Lyman: ‘I am convinced that more investigative work of a sociologic-neuropsychiatric nature, including personality studies of war criminals, should be done in Germany, and I should like to do it as a civilian consultant’. 67 Black-white issues did not figure in Alexander’s plan. In the midst of the psychiatrists’ diverse responses to the racial inequality on their doorstep, Lyman lost no time in replacing the black ward attendants with another controversial minority: white conscientious objectors (COs). The success of Civilian Public Service Unit 61 demonstrates how decisively race affected the outcome of a risky social policy. To be sure, the diplomacy Lyman learned from his earlier failure at racial reform now served him usefully. The Selective Service and Methodist Commission on World Peace, together securing about a thousand jobs for COs in mental hospitals by 1943, convinced Lyman that the public doubted the men’s loyalty and resented their freedom. As required, he approached Durham’s American Legion Post, composed of military veterans, and Duke’s student body for their consent. His argument centred on idealism and practicality: as individuals motivated by ‘religious ethics’, the COs would ‘relieve the acute shortage of help at Duke Hospital’. 68 He was socially, and especially racially, cautious. In Maryland, others established a ‘Negro-White Unit’ of COs, where, in the words of a circular letter to all locations, ‘they are making real progress in interracial relationships’. 69 At Columbia University, COs trained for ‘post war [ sic ] relief administration in foreign lands’. 70 Lyman’s proposal had no racial or cross-cultural goals. Although the men who eventually came had specialized skills and advanced degrees, they were no better educated than the black trainees, but they were white and did not disturb racial custom. In 1946 Lyman wrote gratefully to the Selective Service that the experiment ‘raised the standards of attendants in our hospital’. 71 He left no explicit evidence that at some point he privately concluded that to anchor psychiatry at Duke he needed to jettison racial reform. The facts indicate, though, that he accepted this trade-off. In 1947 he reasonably described his accomplishment to the Rockefeller sponsors as ‘solidifying the department’. 72 In a hospital of more than 600 beds, the number reserved for psychiatry grew modestly during his tenure from 17 to 18. 73 Therapeutic progress was not much more dramatic. Proud that Meyer Ward, named for his mentor, adhered to ‘the “total” approach to the patient … consistent with Meyer’s psychobiology’, he vaguely assured the Rockefeller philanthropy that current practice was not ‘a mere mirror image of his older psychobiological teachings’. 74 In Lyman’s favour, the initiative survived wartime, and yet its racial profile was static. There were some African American patients. In cases where psychiatric social workers assisted in 1947, 45 were black adults and children and 364 were white. 75 No black patient, however, could be admitted to the ward. The only African Americans on the staff were ‘ward helpers’, a category below ‘assistant’. All four were women, and two were ‘Colored’. 76 Segregation in the USA had never meant that blacks and whites would not cross paths, only that social privilege was clear. Duke’s psych-iatry department conformed to its racial culture. White-oriented in its professional composition and service, the North Carolina unit departed from the biracialism of Beijing. Lyman never doubted the superiority of Western medicine, but he behaved graciously abroad as a rather solitary guest amid Chinese colleagues and patients. At home he accepted the restraints he felt as a member of the white majority. Missionaries might have warned him that an international agent had some social freedom far from the judging eyes of peers. A Presbyterian missionary confessed: ‘The writer has himself preached frequently in public places in the Orient without too much of self-consciousness or embarrassment; but to stand on Peachtree Street, or Canal Street, or Monument Avenue, to be gaped at by passers-by, is a different matter’ ( Fulton, 1938 : 63). The specific race in question also curtailed Lyman’s options. To most of his white contemporaries, the Chinese on their native ground differed sharply from the descendants of African slaves. Where he found himself in the South, black signified degradation. A speaker from a court-sponsored ‘correctional school’ informed the Duke psychiatrists in 1944 that her white female charges resisted apprenticeships in households because ‘they would have the same position as a Colored maid’. 77 Lyman brought liberal racial attitudes to Beijing and Durham alike. But the details of place and race, variables equally affecting medical missions, made his work in Durham disappointing from the standpoint of racial justice. Although social uplift was always a collateral goal of both medical missions and scientific outreach, understanding race and transforming racial relationships were never explicit purposes and were often unwanted distractions. In this way, practising psychiatry was the focus for Lyman, Dai and Alexander, but racial matters were also to varying degrees a concern. Lyman retired when he was 60, mainly because he wearied of the bureaucracy connected with rising public acclaim of psychotherapy. When the State Board of Public Welfare asked him to file a card about each patient in 1946, he refused to betray confidences: ‘we have a great deal of difficulty in reconciling our type of psychiatry here with such a personal report on each patient’. 78 Protest did not stop the flow of official forms, however, and he left for Meharry in 1951 solely to teach. 79 Communism, in contrast, aborted Dai’s anticipated return to China. He stayed on at Duke, and because he was a respected theorist of the colour line, he was invited to endorse ‘The effects of segregation and the consequence of desegregation’, a statement submitted to the Supreme Court in 1952 by 32 social scientists in support of Brown v. Board of Education ( Rose, 2009 ). He was the only southerner to sign. For Alexander, the Holocaust refugee, returning to Europe in 1946 as a Nuremberg medical investigator was a moving experience. When he later returned to teach and practise in the Boston area, a keen sense of cultural variety informed his writing on Israeli psychiatry ( Alexander, 1968 ). Race became a live question for these psychiatrists precisely because they were practitioners at a time when global science and world conflict were advancing together. Their medicine was cross-cultural and, although it was impossible for them to ignore human differences, they remained unsettled about exactly what race meant and how variations in personality from one community to another should be handled by psychiatry as a medical specialty. All along, their attentiveness to race competed with other professional obligations. Nonetheless, they made race a psychiatric issue within limits imposed by their cultural situations and their own outlooks. My research has been generously supported by a Distinguished Professor Research Stipend, College of the Liberal Arts, Penn State University. I thank Andrew Fearnley, who set this work in motion; Susan Hautaniemi Leonard, for an opportunity to present my ideas; Johanna Shields, for her scholarly counsel; and archivists who contributed their expertise and enthusiasm, including Greta Reisel Browning, David Funderburk, Taffey Hall, Stephen Gateley, Marjorie Kehoe, Jessica Roseberry and Adonna Thompson. Special thanks to Meiling Dai and the late Vivian Dai, for sharing their recollections of Bingham Dai and for making his papers available to scholars. Archival abbreviations 65th GH: 65th General Hospital Collection, Duke University Medical Center Archives, Durham, North Carolina AM: Adolf Meyer Collection, Alan Mason Chesney Medical Archives, The Johns Hopkins University Medical Institutions, Baltimore, Maryland BD: Bingham Dai Papers, Special Collections, Belk Library and Information Commons, Appalachian State University, Boone, North Carolina FCM: Franklin C McLean Papers, Special Collections, Joseph Regenstein Library, University of Chicago, Chicago, Illinois RF: Rockefeller Foundation Archives, Rockefeller Archive Center, Sleepy Hollow, New York RSL: Richard S Lyman Papers, Duke University Medical Center Archives; FAAC: Folder African American Employees. SBHC: Southern Baptist Historical Collections, Southern Baptist Historical Library and Archives, Nashville, Tennessee SCCW: Scarritt College for Christian Workers Papers, Virginia Davis Laskey Research Library, Scarritt-Bennett Center, Nashville, Tennessee WHW: William H Welch Papers, Chesney Archives 1 Lyman RS, Letter to FD Wilkinson, 26 Oct. 1942. Box 2, FAAC, RSL. 2 Lyman RS, Letter to Theophile Raphael, 2 Oct. 1941. Box 2, FAAC, RSL. 3 Lyman RS, Untitled proposal, African American attendants program, c . 1940–1. Box 2, FAAC, RSL: 5. 4 Bousfield MO, Letter to Richard Lyman, 29 Apr. 1941. Box 2, FAAC, RSL. 5 Newbold NC, Letter to Dr John Ferrell, 27 Mar. 1941. Box 2, FAAC, RSL. 6 Lyman RS, Untitled lecture at North Carolina College for Negroes, c . 1943. Box 3, Folder Negroes (Address by Dr Lyman at N.C. [ sic ] College), RSL: 8. 7 Lyman, c . 1943 (see Note 6): 6. 8 Lyman RS, Letter to JB Rhine, 6 June 1942. Box 2, Folder Correspondence 1940–2, JB Rhine, RSL; Lyman, c . 1943 (see Note 6): 1, 6; also Ritterhouse, 2006 ; Woodward, 1974 . 9 Lyman, c . 1943 (see Note 6): 2. 10 Lyman RS, Letter to Adolf Meyer, 22 Aug. 1940. Folder I/2450/2, AM. All correspondence between Lyman and Meyer (1913–41) is found in the series of folders I/2450/1-25. In future references to this series, only the single folder number (the final number) will be cited. 11 Lyman RS, Letter to Adolf Meyer, 17 Jan. 1929. Folder 2, AM. 12 Welch WH, Diary 2, China and the Orient, 16 Sep. 1915–2 Nov. 1915. Box 78, Folder 2, WHW: 17 Oct. 13 Welch WH, Diary 2: 17 Oct. 1915. 14 Dai B, Thirty years of my life [typescript], 1932–3b. Series I, Box 1, Folder 8, BD: 7, 38–43; also Ravitz, 1960 . 15 Willingham EW, n.d., Medical Work in Mission Lands . Baptist Hospitals Collection (AR 171), Box 1, Folder 7, SBHC: 3. 16 Annual Catalogue , 1950, Woman’s Missionary Union Training School for Christian Workers, Carver School of Missions and Social Work, Carver School of Missions and Social Work Collection, 1928–61 (AR 19). Box 1, Folder, 4, SBHC: 8. 17 China, c . 1920s, Missionary photo albums (AR 551-5). Box 1, Folders 1-5, SBHC. 18 Annual of the Southern Baptist Convention , 1938, SBHC: 213. 19 Annual of the Southern Baptist Convention , 1954, SBHC: 111. 20 Willingham, n.d. (see Note 15): 4. 21 Bulletin , 1924–5, Scarritt College for Christian Workers, SCCW: 16. 22 Annual Catalogue , 1961–2, Carver School Collection. Box 1, Folder 7, SBHC: 27. 23 Annual of the Southern Baptist Convention , 1938, SBHC: 191. 24 E.g. Anonymous (1962) Carrie Benton, Leon Reed. Rebel Review 20(10): 5. Baptist Hospitals Collection (AR 171). Box 1, Folder 26, SBHC. 25 Bulletin , 1924–5, Scarritt College for Christian Workers, SCCW: 12. 26 Barnett AE, Letter to White Friends, 8 July 1943. Folder Benjamin Branch Case, Louise Young Files, SCCW. 27 Lyman RS, Letter to Bingham Dai, 15 Jan. 1935. Series I, Box 2, Folder 15, BD. 28 Lyman RS, Letters to Adolf Meyer, 17 Jan. 1929–27 Sep. 1932. Folders 2-3, AM. 29 Lyman RS, Letter to Adolf Meyer, 16 July 1933. Folder 4, AM. 30 Lyman RS, Letter to Adolf Meyer, 16 July 1933. Folder 4, AM. 31 Lyman RS, Letter to Bingham Dai, 3 June 1935. Series I, Box 2, Folder 15, BD. 32 Dai B, Diary of the seminar on the impact of culture upon personality [manuscript], 1932–3a. Series I, Box 1, Folder 5, BD. 33 Lyman RS, Letter to Adolf Meyer, 27 Sep. 1932. Folder 3, AM. 34 Meyer A, Letter to Richard Lyman, 24 Jan. 1935. Folder 6, AM. 35 Lyman RS, Letter to Adolf Meyer, 25 June 1937. Folder 6, AM. 36 Lyman RS, Letter to Adolf Meyer, 9 Dec. 1932. Folder 4, AM. 37 Lyman RS, Letter to Adolf Meyer, 16 July 1933. Folder 4, AM; also Woods, 1929 : 569. 38 Lyman RS, Letter to Adolf Meyer, 22 Oct. 1933. Folder 5, AM. 39 Lyman RS, Letter to Adolf Meyer, 6 Sep. 1934. Folder 5, AM. 40 Lyman RS, Letter to Adolf Meyer, 9 Dec. 1932. Folder 4, AM; also Schmidt, 2004 , 341. 41 Suh TH, Information sheet on TH Suh, Johns Hopkins, c . 1934. Folder I/3733/1, AM. 42 Kao CC, Letter to Richard Lyman, 14 Jan. 1941. Box 1, Folder Chun-Chun Kao, RSL. 43 Lyman RS, Letter to Adolf Meyer, 22 Oct. 1933. Folder 5, AM; also Lyman RS, Letter to W Horsley Gantt, 15 Apr. 1941. Folder General Correspondence, Richard S Lyman, 1938–47, W Horsley Gantt Papers, Chesney Archives. 44 Lyman RS, Letter to Bingham Dai, 25 Mar. 1935. Series I, Box 2, Folder 15, BD. 45 Dai B, Letter to Richard Lyman, 7 May 1935. Series I, Box 2, Folder 15, BD. 46 McLean FC, Letter to George E Vincent, 6 Jan. 1920. Box 17, Folder Correspondence, George E Vincent, FCM. 47 Lyman RS, Letters to Adolf Meyer, 22 Oct. 1933, 5 July 1935. Folders 5, 6, AM. 48 Lyman RS, Letter to Adolf Meyer, 9 Apr. 1937. Folder 6, AM. 49 McLean FC, Report on Meharry Medical College, 1934. Series 1.1, Box 135, Folder 1250, General Education Board Archives, RF; McLean FC, Untitled report on John A Andrew Memorial Hospital, Tuskegee, Alabama, c . 1953. Box 15, Folder John A Andrew Memorial Hospital, FCM. 50 McLean, c . 1953 (see Note 49): 3. 51 Although Franklin McLean was not a psychiatrist, his wife, Helen, was a psychoanalyst who specialized in the psychology of race (e.g. McLean, 1944 ). The McLeans met at PUMC, where Helen, who completed an MD at Johns Hopkins in 1922, was also a physician. In the early 1930s they welcomed the refuge psychoanalyst Franz Alexander to Chicago, where Helen became his first student and a founding member of the Chicago Psychoanalytic Society (Franz Alexander to Harry A Wilmer, 7 Dec. 1953, Box 1, Folder Franz Alexander, FCM). Like the Duke psychiatrists, the McLeans had international medical experience, relied on philanthropic connections, demonstrated racial concern, and explored the role of the mind in race and racism. Their example suggests that the ideas and activities of Lyman and his colleagues were part of a larger pattern. 52 Lyman RS, Letter to Ernest R Grove, 27 Sep. 1941s. Box 1, Folder Correspondence, 1940–2, Ernest Groves, RSL. 53 Lyman RS, Letter to the Department of State, Visa Division, 15 Sep. 1941. Box 1, Folder Correspondence, 1940–2, Leo Alexander and Regarding Leo Alexander, RSL. 54 Lyman RS, Letter to Leo Alexander, 25 Oct. 1945. Box 1, Folder Correspondence, 1942–6, Dr Leo Alexander, RSL; Lyman RS, Summary, 1947. Box 3, Folder Correspondence, 11 Oct. 1947, Report to the Rockefeller Foundation, RSL: 3. 55 Lyman RS, Report on impressions of neuropsychiatry in China, 1945. Box 2, Folder China, 1945, RSL; also OSS Staff, 1948 : 5. 56 Lyman RS, Letter to Alan Gregg, 11 Oct. 1947. Box 3, Folder Correspondence, 11 Oct. 1947, Report to the Rockefeller Foundation, RSL; also Ravitz, 1960 : 1055; Rose, 2009 : 69–81. 57 Lyman RS, Letter to Ollie Mae Butler, 30 Sep. 1941. Box 2, FAAC, RSL. 58 Lyman RS, Letter to FD Wilkinson, 26 Oct. 1942. Box 2, FAAC, RSL; Lyman RS, Letter to Anne Taylor McCormack, 22 May 1942. Box 2, FAAC, RSL. 59 Lyman RS, Letter to Leo Alexander, 15 Apr. 1941. Box 1, Folder Correspondence, 1940–2, Leo Alexander and Regarding Leo Alexander, RSL. 60 Rose AC, Interview transcript, Anne C Rose, Vivian Dai, Meiling Dai, 2005. Series VI, Box 1, Folder 3, BD: 8. 61 Saul L, Letter to Bingham Dai, 29 June 1938. Series I, Box 1, Folder 4, BD. 62 Rose, 2005 (see Note 60): 4. 63 Lyman, 1947 (see Note 54): 4. 64 Smith ON, Roster of 65th General Hospital Officers, 15 July 1942. Scrapbook, 24 Apr. 1982. Box 8, 65th GH. 65 65th Pulse Beat , 23 Apr. 1943, 1(32): 1, Box 1, Folder 5, 65th GH. 66 Alexander L, Letter to Richard Lyman, 8 Feb. 1943. Box 1, Folder Correspondence, 1942–6, Dr Leo Alexander, RSL. 67 Alexander L, Letter to Richard Lyman, 17 Oct. 1945. Box 1, Folder Correspondence, 1942–6, Dr Leo Alexander, RSL. 68 Anonymous (1942) Plans under way to work conscientious objectors at Duke, 14. Oct. 1942. Durham Herald , 14. Oct., clipping. Box 1, Folder Conscientious Objectors and Selective Service, 1940–2, RSL. 69 French PC, Letter to Richard Lyman, 11 Dec. 1942. Box 1, Folder Conscientious Objectors and Selective Service, 1940–2, RSL. 70 Boss CF, Letter to Richard Lyman, 15 Oct. 1942. Box 1, Folder Conscientious Objectors and Selective Service, 1940–2, RSL. 71 Kosch L, Letter to Richard Lyman, 12 Aug. 1946. Box 2, Folder Correspondence, 1946, Conscientious Objectors, RSL. 72 Lyman, 1947 (see Note 54): 6. 73 Meyer Ward census, 1 Jan.–30 June 1947. Box 4, Folder Correspondence, 1941–9, Statistics, Meyer Ward, RSL. 74 Lyman, 1947 (see Note 54): 7. 75 Cases referred to psychiatric social service, 1947. Box 4, Folder Correspondence, 1941–9, Statistics, Meyer Ward, RSL. 76 Meyer Ward nurses, attendants, and ward helpers, c . 1946–7. Box 4, Folder Correspondence, 1941–9, Statistics, Meyer Ward, RSL. 77 Ernst, Talk given by Miss Ernst, director of the Farm Colony, Kingston, North Carolina, to staff members, 6 June 1944. Box 2, Folder Correspondence, 1944, Farm Colony, Kingston, North Carolina, RSL: 2. 78 Lyman RS, Letter to Marion Stanland, 24 Jan. 1946. Box 4, Folder Correspondence, 1941–9, Statistics, Meyer Ward, RSL. 79 Lyman moved to New Jersey around 1953; he committed suicide there in 1959; Anon., 1959 .
PY - 2012/12
Y1 - 2012/12
N2 - The worldwide expansion of psychiatry as a science at times followed pathways already laid by Christian medical missions to cultures seen as disadvantaged by sponsors. Interracial contacts were one outcome, and racial issues gained visibility in psychiatric inquiry and treatment. Richard S. Lyman gathered socially diverse psychiatric teams at Peking Union Medical College in the 1930s and Duke University in the 1940s, both programs funded by the Rockefeller Foundation. Bingham Dai, a Chinese-born theorist and therapist, and Leo Alexander, Holocaust refugee and later medical investigator for the Nuremberg prosecutors, worked with Lyman at both sites. These itinerant professionals repeatedly struggled to comprehend and influence localities. Lyman's liberal aim to integrate psychiatry succeeded better in China than in segregated North Carolina.
AB - The worldwide expansion of psychiatry as a science at times followed pathways already laid by Christian medical missions to cultures seen as disadvantaged by sponsors. Interracial contacts were one outcome, and racial issues gained visibility in psychiatric inquiry and treatment. Richard S. Lyman gathered socially diverse psychiatric teams at Peking Union Medical College in the 1930s and Duke University in the 1940s, both programs funded by the Rockefeller Foundation. Bingham Dai, a Chinese-born theorist and therapist, and Leo Alexander, Holocaust refugee and later medical investigator for the Nuremberg prosecutors, worked with Lyman at both sites. These itinerant professionals repeatedly struggled to comprehend and influence localities. Lyman's liberal aim to integrate psychiatry succeeded better in China than in segregated North Carolina.
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UR - http://www.scopus.com/inward/citedby.url?scp=84869470676&partnerID=8YFLogxK
U2 - 10.1177/0957154X12450129
DO - 10.1177/0957154X12450129
M3 - Article
AN - SCOPUS:84869470676
VL - 23
SP - 419
EP - 436
JO - History of Psychiatry
JF - History of Psychiatry
SN - 0957-154X
IS - 4