WRITING ON THE WALD
Let’s talk about one of my favorite topics – famous statisticians! I bet that interests many people.
Abraham Wald was contracted by the Air Force during World War II. His task was helping determine where airplanes needed reinforcement against enemy fire. He painstakingly measured the locations where bullet holes punctured the fuselage of airplanes returning from missions.
Wald developed some very clever charting techniques. Using diagrams of planes, he denoted where the bullets pierced the fuselage, making sure to indicate where multiple holes were located. When he presented his findings, the bullet hole charts made it very clear where extra plating was needed to protect the vulnerable spots. The big brass concluded that the areas most frequently shot were where reinforcement was needed.
Wrong.
Wald cleverly deduced that since planes with bullet holes in observed locations returned from combat, the areas with no or very few observed holes must be the most vulnerable. Odds are planes hit in those locations were the ones that weren’t returning. Hence, where no bullet holes were found on the returning planes were the places to reinforce.
Sometimes the most obvious answer is too simple. We seek an easy explanation and when one presents itself that seems reasonable, we suspend our critical thinking. We let the simple explanation suffice.
For example, we do something and another person displays annoyance. We simply conclude the source of the person’s annoyance is our fault. We jump through hoops to rectify a situation which may have nothing at all to do with us. Perhaps some other issue arose to affect the person’s mood. Our attempts to correct something uncorrectable may then annoy them. This only makes a bad situation even worse.
Or, someone pays attention to us and we like it, so we assume that person must really have our best interest at heart. We literally devote ourselves to the person, but later find out our attention simply satisfied a need which fulfilled the other person’s desires. Once fulfilled, we’re dismissed, hungry for more, but left starving in our own self-induced famine.
Though it’s usually best to start by taking things at face value and offering trust freely, things are not always as simple as they seem. Sometimes we’re better served by entertaining other perspectives.
There is danger of driving ourselves crazy by trying to analyze every contingency, but by fitting every event into the storyboard created in our minds, we also risk danger.
Life is fraught with risks. We never have all the information needed to assess every situation. It all comes back to balance. Balance is a crucial concept which arises in every aspect of our existence.
Whether it’s performing statistical analysis or trying to assess an event in our lives, balancing risk with reward is a consideration. The greater the risk, the more caution is prudent.
Sometimes we really need to take a leap of faith and just take a risk. But other times critically evaluating a choice is called for. How do we know which is which?
Generally we call upon our past experience. This seems reasonable. However, following past patterns often lead us to the same results. If life was that simple, then the “that’s the way we’ve always done it and that’s how we’ll always do it” logic would be spot on. But, we have many, many examples to show us this doesn’t always work.
Picking up on subtle nuances and clues is another option. However, we know we’re prone to misinterpretation. So where does that leave us?
Well, both those strategies are useful, but a clear voice raises itself to offer guidance. That is our intuition, or as I refer to it, our “inner voice.” That’s the voice which speaks from a place of calm. In our hearts, we hear its truth ringing. Trust yourself to hear it.
Take it from Abraham Wald, reinforce those areas which don’t return to you when they go out on a mission. And I’ll add, take risks exposing yourself on those that do return.
If you're enjoying this over coffee, tea, or whatever, please consider buying me a cup!DINO DIG
I’m nuts about dinosaurs and Paleontology. As a kid, I hunted for fossils in our garden until I got yelled at for digging too many holes. One time, I boiled a lamb bone in the interests of scientific research to discover what a dinosaur bone might look like if I found it in the field.
At age ten, while digging in the woods, I found a small rock with an unusual fossil in it. The fossil had tiny raised bumps like those on a plucked chicken or your arm when you get goose bumps. I thought for sure it was Dino skin.
I’d found plenty of fossilized shells and sharks teeth, marveling at how they ended up at the top of what was now a mountain. Skin or soft tissue however, is rarely fossilized because it decays too quickly. A fact every fifth-grader knows. That made my find even more fantastic. I hid it in a shoebox away from prying eyes.
I showed my treasure to my brother, Mark. He said the fossil looked like a plant, nothing more. What did he know? He was just jealous.
I showed the rock to my friends, Mikey, Wolfgang, and Christa.
Mikey examined the fossil with a magnifying glass. He took out a big, fat book on Dinosaurs and ruffled through the pages excitedly. He said it was definitely the kind of skin you’d expect a nasty carnivore like Tyrannosaurus Rex (T-Rex) to have — coarse and crinkly. He showed us a close-up, artistic rendering of T-Rex’s hide.
But Wolfgang disagreed. He took the Dinosaur book from Mikey and turned to the section on plant-eating Dinosaurs. His opinion was the skin was that of a placid, enormous plant-eater like Brontosaurus. With T-Rex after him, the chance of Bronti losing some skin was higher. I didn’t know who was right. All I knew is that I had dead Dino on my hands.
Christa had no opinion, although she did try to steal my rock. I knocked her to the ground before she could get away with it though.
When it was my turn to do “Show and Tell” at school I displayed my rock with its mysterious fossil. I told everyone how a volcano had erupted long ago in Shrub Oak and buried a big Dinosaur (species unknown). The dead Dino was mummified.
This fossil of its skin was the only thing left. If you held the rock up close to your nose you could breathe in the scent of that old leathery hide. I passed around the rock. Everyone could smell ancient Dino except my teacher, Mrs. McIntyre.
I dreamed about going down to the American Museum of Natural History in New York City and showing my rock to the chief Paleontologist. I imagined his eyes widening in wonder and awe at my discovery.
My rock would be put on display, my smiling photograph nearby, a plaque (with my name on it) erected. I wouldn’t have to do chores at home for a week. A parade would be organized in my honor, putting the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade to shame.
The Mayor would present me with a key to the City and a check for buying anything I wanted at the FAO Schwarz Toy Store.
My face would appear on Mutual of Omaha’s “Wild Kingdom”. I’d let National Geographic print my story, but only if they got me box-seat tickets to a Yankee game.
One day, Mother threw out my rock “by accident” while she was cleaning. And that was the end of my fossil and dreams of glory.
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