“Cheez,” I said. “Poor guy.”
“Yeah,” Cal agreed. “Do you think we should leave?”
“Let’s wait a minute,” Brooklyn said. “Seems kind of rude to walk away. He was trying so hard to save us from those wolves and all.”
We stood in the growing dark for a full ten minutes, thinking gloomy thoughts. Then the door opened again, and the nurse stepped out on the porch, pulling the door shut behind her. “He’s resting now,” she told us.
“Sorry,” I said, though I wasn’t exactly sure what I was sorry about. Mostly that this really great man, who had once won the Nobel Prize for physics, had turned into this frightened child in a shriveled-up body.
“You got something important you need to talk to him about? ’Cause if you do, he’ll be a lot sharper in the morning. It’s the Alzheimer’s, you know. He’s ‘sundowning’ now. Happens most every night, though not often this bad. Usually he just wants to go home—you know, to Nebraska, where he grew up. Wants to know where his mama is. But like I say, if it’s important, he’s more himself in the mornings.”
I wondered if there was any point in going all the way out there again. I mean, how much better could he be? Even at his morning best, Dr. Planck wasn’t going to be up to attending a board meeting, much less organizing an investigation or talking to the police. But, I thought, if he turned out to be a whole lot sharper in the mornings, we could show him the CD. Then maybe Beamer could film his shock and outrage, add it to the presentation. It was better than nothing.
“Is he really himself in the mornings?” I asked. “I mean, really? It’s a long drive out here.”
“Well, honey, that’s hard to say. Some things have stuck in his mind, you know, but some are gone forever. Most of the time, even when he’s at his best, he doesn’t remember that he ever had a wife—and they were married nearly sixty years. But he can recall his childhood like it was yesterday. And he talks about physics all the time—not that I understand any of it, though he seems to think I should. And he talks about that school he started. Funny that those things would be more important to him than the woman he loved.”
“The mind is a curious thing,” Brooklyn said. “But since it’s the school we wanted to talk to him about, it’s good he still remembers it. If we do come back, what would be the best time?”
“I’d say around nine. He’ll have had his bath and his breakfast by then.”
“We’ll try to make it,” Cal said. “It depends on whether we can get someone to drive us.”
“Well, I need to go back inside. You kids do what you want; come or don’t come, doesn’t matter. We’re not going anywhere.”
“That didn’t take long,” Ray said when we got back to the car.
“It wasn’t a convenient time, as it turns out,” Beamer said, loading his bag of equipment into the trunk of the car.
“What—you mean you didn’t have an appointment with this guy?” Ray was furious. “We drove all the way out here just on the off chance—”
“I know, Ray. Sorry. But we’ve got it all set up for nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow morning? You expect me to drive you out here again?”
Beamer winced. “Sorry,” he said. “But it’s really important.”
“Gaw!” said Ray, slapping the steering wheel in disgust.
“It won’t take nearly as long next time,” Brooklyn said. “It’ll be Sunday morning, so there won’t be any traffic, plus you know the way now.”
“We’ll have to get up at the crack of dawn,” Ray groused.
“How about we take you out to dinner tonight?” Prescott said, clearly hoping to put Ray in a better frame of mind. “I know this great Italian place in D.C.”
Ray seemed to think that might be all right. Eventually he calmed down. We had a delicious dinner, which Prescott paid for, and by the time we got to the cannoli, Ray had agreed to take us out to Chevy Chase the following morning.
17
The nurse from the evening before was still there. Apparently she lived in. I wondered when she managed to get any sleep.
“I’m Gloria,” she said, shaking our hands as we came in. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself last night. I was a little distracted, what with the ‘wolves’ and all. That was a new one, I have to tell you—though he did think Yao Ming was here once, after we’d been watching a basketball game on TV. Dr. P was very annoyed that Yao left without saying good-bye.”
She led us down the hall and into a beautiful sitting room. Dr. Planck, combed and neatly dressed, was settled in a wing chair, his head back and a serene expression on his face, listening to classical music. Sun was pouring through the window behind him. What a difference from our first sight of him! I couldn’t get over it.
“He won’t remember you were here last night,” she whispered. “But he’s pretty good this morning. You’ll want to speak up, though. He’s got the hearing aids, but he doesn’t like to wear them.”
Gloria introduced us to Dr. Planck, amazingly remembering all of our names. She said we were from the Allbright Academy and wanted to “have a nice little visit” with him.
“Sit down, sit down,” he said, his voice hoarse and thin.
“Thank you,” Prescott said, taking the chair nearest Dr. Planck while Beamer started up his laptop and inserted the CD into the drive. “Sir, we have a presentation we’d like to show you. It’s about the school—about the Allbright Academy. You can watch it on a laptop. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure.”
Beamer carefully placed the open computer on Dr. Planck’s lap. He pushed the “up volume” arrow, then started the show. All of us except Beamer got up and stood behind Dr. Planck’s chair, so we could watch it too.
Beautiful images of the campus appeared on the screen (photographed by yours truly) while Beamer’s voice began telling the history and the mission of the school—facts I had gotten straight out of an Allbright brochure. Close-ups of Dr. Gallow and Dr. Planck in their younger days came next, with a brief description of how they were cofounders of the academy. Now the camera focused in on Dr. Gallow and then pulled back out again, showing that the picture of Dr. Gallow had been part of a group photo of the Allbright administration. And standing right next to him was Dr. B, a good two inches taller than he was in her high heels, and looking stunning as always. Once again the camera came in closer. Now we just saw their two faces.
“The following conversation took place…” Beamer’s narration set the scene, leaving out any mention of a certain eighth grader hiding in the closet with a cell phone.
The voices began, in mid-argument, from the moment Cal had started the recorder. Beamer had done an amazing job with the sound. It was mostly very clear, but he had put subtitles in to make sure you didn’t miss a word. Dr. Planck seemed to be following it with rapt attention.
“Have you checked with the kitchen?” Dr. Gallow was saying.
“Of course I checked with the kitchen! Do you think I’m slow-witted? They’re still serving brownies, Horace. Nothing has changed. It’s almost like the kids’ bodies have somehow adapted to the moderation chemicals, and they’re no longer having any effect.”
At this point, Beamer had inserted a photo of a bag of brownie mix. “The brownies mentioned by Dr. Bodempfedder are served in the dining halls every day,” he said in the voice-over. “When the brownie mix, labeled ‘Recipe Variant II,’ was analyzed by a Johns Hopkins laboratory, it was discovered that three chemical compounds had been added to it.”
Now the lab results came up on the screen, while Prescott’s voice read the three formulas (Beamer had been afraid he’d botch those long names, and who can blame him?).
Dr. Planck leaned forward with intense interest.
We had argued about putting the formulas into the presentation. They would be meaningless to most people, I said, and it might break the spell of the narrative. But Prescott had argued strongly for including them. Dr. Planck was our target audience, and he was very
definitely not “most people.”
“Yeah,” I’d said, “but he’s been retired for years. I’ll bet he’s forgotten all that stuff.”
“No,” Prescott had said. “Absolutely not. Numbers and formulas are like a second language to scientists. Dr. Planck won’t have forgotten.”
And apparently he’d been right. The old man might have been gazing at pictures of his first sweetheart. Maybe, I thought, numbers and formulas really had been his first sweetheart. Maybe that’s how he’d gotten to be so good at science that he won a Nobel Prize.
Now we returned to the recorded conversation.
“Well, I’ll take a box of Variant One over there tomorrow morning,” Dr. Gallow was saying. “If that doesn’t set things right, I can triple the dose.”
“All right,” said Dr. B.
Once again we broke away from the conversation, and up on the screen came our first “smoking gun”: a document we’d found in Dr. Bodempfedder’s files, in a folder marked “HG.” We had assumed HG referred to Horace Gallow, and sure enough, it turned out to be a treasure trove of letters (and later, printed e-mails) that he had sent her. This one was dated 1986.
There was a cover letter attached to the document with a paper clip. In it, Dr. Gallow wrote that he had finally come up with a “strong moderation plan” that he felt would “meet the school’s needs” far better than their “current system” (whatever that was). He apologized wryly for the “whimsical names” he had given his new compounds and asked for her thoughts on the overall concept and “its potential as a tool for successful programming.”
The document was titled “Moderation/Modification Delivery Products,” and it went like this:
1. Recipe Variant I (brownie mix)—for use during the first two weeks of school and after long vacations (strong, starter dose). Contents:
(a) Golden Glow—general mood enhancement. The effect is one of overall well-being, promoting cheerfulness and counteracting both depression and elation. It should work extraordinarily well to moderate adolescent mood swings, producing a mellow, happy child. Very slight blue visual effects; this cannot be avoided.
(b) Straight and Narrow—behavior moderation (mitigates tendencies to restlessness, inattention, impulsivity, etc.) At the same time, Straight and Narrow provides remarkable intellectual enhancement, orderly thought, and very focused concentration. When combined with Golden Glow, the result is adult-like behavior, in the best possible sense. To prevent sleeplessness, it should probably not be given in the afternoon.
(c) Big Brother—causes profound receptiveness to any outside influence and/or programming. This is an extremely powerful drug, but it only stays in the system for a short time. Programming sessions will be most effective 1–3 hours after ingestion. Consequently, I suggest you arrange for the dining halls to serve the brownies at lunch, rather than at dinner (see above note about sleeplessness), and to maximize programming potential, I plan to move my weekly class lectures to the early afternoon, right after lunch, rather than first thing in the morning as is currently scheduled. The same goes for students’ meetings with their PD counselors and my in-service presentations to teachers, counselors, and staff.
2. Recipe Variant II (brownie mix)—for use during the remainder of the school year (normal, maintenance dose of Recipe Variant I).
3. Recipe Variant III (brownie mix)—for use over the shorter school holidays. We will send baskets home with the students. Variant III does not contain Big Brother (obviously, this is not a drug we want our students taking when they are away from campus, since we cannot control the influences to which they will become vulnerable, especially that of their parents and friends, which might run counter to our efforts at programming them at school). But we can still maintain and reinforce the improvements brought about by Golden Glow and Straight and Narrow. It is hoped that eventually, these behaviors will be so ingrained as to be part of their persona.
4. Multivitamins (standard over-the-counter daily vitamins)—to be given to current students for daily use during the school year. Not really necessary from a nutritional standpoint, as our school menu is healthy and well balanced; the actual purpose is to get them accustomed to taking a pill a day (see below).
5. Multivitamins (mood/behavior moderation, no outside modification effect; identical capsule to the over-the-counter vitamins)— for use by all students during summer vacation (those who don’t enroll in the suggested summer program). They contain Golden Glow and Straight and Narrow only. Like Recipe Variant III, they will reinforce their improved behavior patterns and enhance learning over the summer.
6. Big Gun (elixir)—to be used under special circumstances to strongly reinforce our programming. This is a much stronger variation of Big Brother. It has some unfortunate auditory side effects (especially an annoying, high-pitched, mosquito-like sound that comes and goes) and so I have rejected it for daily use.
7. Nuclear Option (elixir)—still under development. I hope this could be even more powerful than Big Gun, but without the problematic side effects. This would be the ultimate programming tool for special circumstances. There is even some possibility that it could be used on a daily basis, replacing Big Brother.
Under these headings he had also listed the formulas. We had decided to leave the page up on the screen for a fairly long time so that Dr. Planck could read them if he wanted to. Apparently he did—he was leaning close to the screen again, squinting, following as he read with his finger.
Then it was back to the conversation again.
“So what’s this about Toby Bannerman?” Dr. Gallow asked.
“Well, he called about the schedule for the board meeting. While we were on the phone, he mentioned that he’s getting married.”
Up came a picture of Toby, taken from the yearbook—a handsome dude, I had to admit. Then, as they discussed his alumni counselor, the possibility of hiring a detective to keep an eye on him, and the change in his marriage plans, we saw newspaper clippings about his various accomplishments over the years. Brooklyn had found them in Toby’s file in Dr. B’s office that night and made photocopies of them. They definitely added to the presentation.
Toward the end of the tape, where Dr. Gallow says, “It’s not really ready yet, the new stuff. It might not work. It might do a lot of damage,” Beamer had inserted the Moderation/Modification Delivery Products list again. Slowly the camera panned down to the last item, “Nuclear Option (elixir)—still under development.”
Finally the taped conversation ended and we returned to the beautiful Allbright campus. Beamer wrapped it up with feeling:
The Allbright Academy: the brainchild of two great scientists with a dream, a remarkable school where future leaders of America are given the finest possible education, preparing them to take their places on the world stage. (Rising music and a video image of an American flag flapping in the breeze.)
What has become of it now?
18
Beamer took the laptop from Dr. Planck and we all stood there, breathlessly waiting for his reaction.
He smiled. “Excellent work,” he croaked. We all relaxed. “Excellent.”
“Sir,” Beamer said, “would you mind if I videotaped you discussing the presentation? For my film class?”
He waved a papery hand in the air. “Not at all,” he said. “I’ve been on TV before,” he added. “Many times.”
“I’m sure you have,” Beamer said, opening his tripod in record time and setting up his camera. “The light’s great,” he added to no one in particular, “the way it hits the side of his face.” Then he pressed the start button. “Okay.”
“So, Dr. Planck,” Prescott began, “you have just watched our presentation. Can you tell us what you thought of it?”
“You did an excellent job,” he said, nodding enthusiastically.
“I mean, about the information it revealed? About the chemicals being given to the students at the Allbright Academy to change their personalities and make them docile and accepting of aut
hority?”
“Well, Horace is a brilliant chemist. I never doubted he could do it.”
Prescott stood there, his mouth hanging open, unable to say anything more. We had clearly miscalculated, where Dr. Planck was concerned. All the same, we might have just stumbled on a gold mine.
“Dr. Planck,” I said, stepping in as interviewer, since Prescott seemed down for the count, “did you help develop the compounds?”
“Oh, goodness, no! I’m a physicist, not a chemist. That’s Horace’s department. He won the Nobel Prize, you know.”
“Yes. We were aware of that.”
“I did too, of course.”
“Yes,” I said again. “And congratulations on that. But would you mind telling us—was it part of the original plan for Dr. Gallow to come up with chemicals that would be, um, useful at the school? Or was that something he came up with later?”
“Of course it was part of the plan,” Dr. Planck snapped. “And it wasn’t his idea, either, though he may like to take credit for it. It was mine. That’s why I went to Horace in the first place. I needed a top chemist.”
“But, sir—Dr. Planck—I was just wondering. With handpicked students, and all of them so smart and everything, why did you need the chemicals?”
“To control them—help us form their characters, and their ideas, and their habits, and their world views. I’ve explained this to you a thousand times, Clara.”
“Uh, sir—actually, I’m not…” Beamer poked me in the back and I shut up.
“Form their characters for what purpose, exactly?” Brooklyn asked.
“To save our country from democracy, which, as you know, doesn’t work.”
“Really!” I said, feeling like Alice after she fell down the rabbit hole.
“A ridiculous system. Everybody gets a vote, no matter who they are. Stupid people, uneducated people, crazy people, criminals, half-wits. The moderately stupid people vote their narrow self-interest. The really stupid people don’t even know what their self-interest is, so they just vote for the handsome guy with the good teeth or the candidate with the expensive ads. These people don’t know squat, of course, so they choose idiots to represent them, and those idiots just pander to the stupid ideas of the stupid people, in order to get reelected. That’s how we run this country. It’s abysmal, really.”
The Mysterious Case of the Allbright Academy Page 13