How did Mary Brown convince UCLA’s professors to give her nonverbal son Woody two degrees when there’s video proof he can’t spell a single word?
In another article of mine, I reveal exactly where his finger hits on the letter board during his guest spot on “The Today Show” with his mother.
The amount of verbiage in her spoken translations far exceeds the number of times he taps at the board. This is evident at normal speed.
In the three separate, up-close shots of his tapping, at no point are any words spelled, even though at the same time, Mary is “reading” off what he’s pointing at.
When the video is slowed down to one-quarter speed, the viewer can easily see where his finger is landing.
The letters are nonsensical, entirely random. Many times he points to spaces between letters and other empty spots.
So you can bet the farm that in every single class, Mary made sure they were seated where nobody could possibly get a visual of where his finger was tapping.
How possible is it for a parent to fake her nonverbal, severely autistic son through years of college?
A mother determined to present her nonverbal, illiterate autistic son as a successful college student could plausibly manipulate a university system by framing every unusual request as a disability accommodation.
Colleges are generally cautious about denying accommodations for fear of violating disability law, especially under the Americans with Disabilities Act and Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act.
By invoking these protections, she could pressure administrators and faculty to defer to her claims about what her son “needs.”
First, she could present herself as a necessary communication facilitator. If she claimed her son used the rapid prompting method to express himself, she could argue that her presence in class was not optional but required for him to participate.
Because many professors lack training in autism communication methods, they might accept the explanation at face value, especially if disability services staff approved it.
Second, she could work closely with the university’s disability services office before the semester begins.
By providing documentation from sympathetic clinicians or therapists who endorse the RPM (yes, if you shop around enough, you’ll find clinician supporters), she could create an official accommodation plan allowing her to attend class with him, sit beside him and assist (or make it appear so) with communication.
Once accommodations are formally approved, professors are often told they must implement them without questioning the underlying medical claims.
So it’s very likely that most of the professors were highly skeptical and even an outright nonbeliever in Mary’s claims of what Woody could be capable of as a college student.
But they dare not whisper a word, lest they get in huge trouble by the university, possibly losing their job.
Third, the iPads playing silent cartoons could be framed as a sensory regulation tool.
She might tell the school that visual stimulation helps him stay calm and prevents meltdowns in a classroom environment.
Universities commonly allow assistive devices or sensory supports for autistic students, so faculty may hesitate to challenge something presented as a therapeutic strategy – even if it’s obvious that Woody barely looks at coursework laid before him.
Finally, the mother could carefully manage perceptions in the classroom.
By prompting her son quickly, confidently and especially subtely, she could create the impression that he is independently responding via pointing to letters on a plastic card.
Professors, focused on teaching and wary of appearing insensitive towards disability accommodations, would have every reason to avoid looking skeptical.
In combination, legal pressure, official accommodations, unfamiliarity with RPM, and the social discomfort of questioning disability claims could allow such a situation to persist without any challenge.
Inside the Classroom
Imagine that Mary raises her hand; the prof calls on her. She says, “My son wants to ask you about (fill in the blank).”
The prof says, “Sure, Woody, what’s your question?”
Mary then prompts Woody to jab at the letter board with his index finger. As he’s doing so, she asks the question.
The professor answers. Mary prompts Woody to tap away; she “reads” it out loud as, “Thank you very much; so appreciated.”
In actuality, Woody has been trained to tap upon a subtle prompt from Mary, who’s made sure she never sits him in front of any classmate who might be able to see where he’s tapping.
Mary makes up his questions and statements as he randomly pokes at the board.
Next, the professor calls on Woody to answer a question he or she poses to the class.
Mary prompts him and he pokes away. She “reads” off the answer – which is correct because Mom has been paying very close attention.
Turning in Assignments
It would’ve been very easy for Mary to have done all assignments, then just put Woody’s name on the paper or report.
To add a sense of authenticity, she probably gave him the paper or report to hand to the professor.
What’s the professor going to do, refuse to take the assignment and bellow, “I’m not gonna play along with this farce any longer”?
Of course not. They’re going to take the assignment, grade it and then return it – like they do with other students. And stay silent but in perpetual fish-smelling mode.
Taking Tests
A test might be multiple choice. Mom sets Woody up to appear as though he’s reading the questions.
She “works” with him in a way that appears as though he’s choosing the answers.
If the answers need to be written out, Mary simply prompts him to poke, then makes it appear as though she’s writing what he’s pointed at on the board.
Of course, the truth is that Mom has studied hard, and the written answers are coming out of her head and her head alone.
Defenders of this charade point out that there’s no way a major university would ever be in on such a hoax.
But the school wouldn’t have to be “in on it.” Instead, any skeptics would (for reasons already explained) stay mum and keep their suspicions to themselves.
But who’s to say that some years from now, a former employee of UCLA won’t write a tell-all book about this incredulous farce?
