Keith Williams, dressed in a suit and tie, smiled at the camera. He was fair-haired and pale-skinned. Unlike his father, he wore glasses. And unlike his father, whose photographs showed a man stern and unsmiling, Keith grinned easily. He was pleased, and thanked me, when I told him he looked like his dad.Keith taught in the physician-assistant program at Nova Southeastern University in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, and I caught him between classes in the lab. He shared with me his memories of his father. Keith remembered going to Yale with his dad one night, when he was about nine, to pick up a check from a Dr. Milgram. They parked in one of Yale’s side streets, and John told his son that he’d have to stay in the car. “He said I couldn’t come inside with him because it was secret. And I remember he left me sitting in the car, and it was dark, and all the buildings were stone with ivy growing on them; it was a little bit spooky.” I imagined the young Keith, circa 1961, sitting in the front seat, twiddling the radio knob, wanting to hear a human voice in the dark street—and never guessing that, in the building just a few feet away, some of the most famous and controversial experiments of the twentieth century were taking place and his dad was part of them.
