by Bob Nelson
An elderly lady with an angelic smile greeted me at the entrance. We introduced ourselves and, strangely, I felt somehow connected to her. Helen looked worn out; she had a pronounced hump on her back and thinning gray hair. Helen’s lips were pale, and her complexion was ashen white. She was also very thin, a side effect of the severe lung cancer that was slowly stealing away her life. She carried a huge wad of paper towels in her right hand and consistently coughed into it.
Through it all, she wore a radiant smile and a bright flowery dress and adorned herself with countless bracelets and a clunky necklace. Her sparkling eyes conveyed this beautiful lady’s fighting spirit as she projected an energy comparable to a wildfire. She was not going to give up the ghost without a fight.
Single-handedly, she had brought together people who embraced Professor Ettinger’s book and had gotten this meeting publicized on the radio. A frail little old lady had pulled off California’s very first meeting to promote cryonics.
This meeting was nothing like I had imagined. There were no scientists in white lab coats, no businessmen wanting to capitalize on this profound event. With so many elderly people, this appeared to be an old-timers’ storytelling group. I could see this was far from a scientific group of actual researchers but instead people who loved the idea of extended life. For me its purpose was tantamount to the first landing of an alien spaceship, intent on delivering control of aging and human immortality.
Professor Ettinger’s book stirred up a fire in all of us. We looked at one another with the same expectant expression, gauging the hidden wisdom each might extol. Everyone’s searching gaze communicated the same thought: Was this real?
I studied the other participants. Russ Stanley was a tall, thin, elderly man. He slouched over at the neck when he talked to me. He had an uncomfortable habit of getting his face close to mine as he spoke, and I could feel the spray on my face. Mixed with the saliva, however, was an encyclopedic knowledge of cryonics history from one of the world’s most enthusiastic advocates.
“All human beings are on a sojourn here on Earth,” he told me. “The most important part of this journey is to discover the revelations given to mankind by the Creator. Suspended animation is one of these great gifts.”
Russ played an audiotape of Professor Ettinger’s appearance on the Johnny Carson Show with Zsa Zsa Gabor. It was not easy for the physicist, since Johnny was poking fun and Zsa Zsa was injecting a sexy element into the mix. Nevertheless, he sounded brilliant. I’d not heard him speak before, and the professor’s passion and eloquence intensified my belief in low-temperature biology.
“This science is no different than any other discipline of technology,” Russ continued. “Human beings have advanced in every branch of science, and we continue to discover better ways. That will never change. We will continue to progress up and up and up forever—that will never change!”
Hearing Russ voice our shared philosophy, I knew I had found my people. I felt an immediate connection with this meeting’s participants.
Several college students were present, including Dennis Guiley, who, from what I overheard, knew a lot about cryonics suspension. I wandered over and asked, “How will science improve human suspension?”
Dennis waved that off as he wove his fingers through his dreadlocks. “I don’t really care about that; I’m more interested in the religious ramifications. I think we should first consider the effect on future world history rather than lab research.”
I nodded, chagrined. Dennis had an infuriating mind-set: no chutzpah, only deep, mind-altering discussions. I was frustrated—I wanted action and I wanted it now! I also found myself in the unexpected position of being among the most knowledgeable people at the meeting, since I had read Professor Ettinger’s book along with years of astronomy society articles.
Dick Jones was an attractive, articulate, middle-aged gentleman with a smiling face that made me want to laugh with him. Dick told me he had visited Michigan and met Professor Ettinger and likened the professor to Alexander Graham Bell or Thomas Edison. In time we became good friends, and he gave me passes to his comedy appearances with his partner, Jenna McMahon. They had written countless episodes for The Carol Burnett Show and won several Emmys.
I strolled over to a striking redhead, about forty years old, and my eyes kept veering toward her cleavage. Marcelon Johnson was an intelligent lady who impressed me with her broad knowledge. “As research continues, we should expect slow but steady advances as science freezes more biological organisms successfully. To not want it, I can understand. But not to see its inevitability, I cannot understand.”
After several rounds of Pepsis and tea sandwiches, Marcelon called everyone together and suggested we accomplish some business. She asked if anyone knew the legalities of forming a nonprofit group to support low-temperature biology. I stuck my hand up and responded that my dear friend and attorney, Stella Gramer, likely would guide us around any legal minefields.
As we were concluding, Helen answered a knock at the door.
Dr. Renault Able had arrived.
His singular appearance commanded our attention; we just stared with our mouths agape. Dr. Able glided across the foyer, preparing to hold court. He wore diamonds, rubies, and sapphires on almost every finger, elevator shoes, and a suit that looked spun with magical silk. He had intense eyes and extremely thin lips, the whole effect reminiscent of Batman’s nemesis, the Joker.
He spoke with a high-pitched voice and the showy, flowing gestures of an interpretive dance performer. “I have an interest and willingness to act as this group’s official medical doctor. I must depart forthwith to perform a very lengthy surgery, so I must take my leave at once. Nevertheless, I wanted to grace this organization with my appearance and voice my consent to be counted as a member.” With that, he proffered his business card, turned around, and sauntered out. Overcome with curiosity I ventured outside to see if his exit would be as dramatic as his entrance. He didn’t disappoint; he stepped into a gleaming Rolls-Royce and drove away.
That meeting was quite remarkable, considering it attracted such a diverse mix of people. It made sense though. Despite our differences, we all will die, and we all wish to preserve the fragile strings keeping us tethered to this life.
Fate touched me on the shoulder that night, and four weeks later I was elected president at our second meeting. I felt quite humbled by this responsibility bestowed upon me. These people felt that I, a TV repairman, was worthy of directing this very important mission. In that moment, I found the legacy of my life.
I responded that I was willing to accept the responsibility until a more-qualified professional became available. All I had to do was figure out how to defeat death—and convince the world to accept it.
Several months later I incorporated the nonprofit Cryonics Society of California after a visit from CSNY (Cryonics Society of New York) president Curtis Henderson and its secretary, Saul Kent. CSNY had existed for a year, and we adopted its infrastructure. Saul and Curtis gave us an enormous education on cryonics and advised us to find a cooperating mortuary along with medical and hospital officials that would respect a patient’s dying wish for interment. They were so helpful in getting the CSC started, and I have been indebted to them ever since.
I was elected president of the CSC; Dick Jones was secretary, and Marcelon Johnson was treasurer. During our third meeting at Helen Kline’s home, Dr. Able surfaced again. We were delighted to see a medical doctor, and this time he said he could stay awhile. After we briefed him on the developments of the past three months and he discovered that I was president, he expressed his displeasure that an ordinary engineer was presiding over such a controversial group.
I took a deep breath, bracing myself for his reaction. “You have been misinformed, Dr. Able. I am not an engineer; I am a TV repairman.”
Hearing this information, he went ballistic; his face turned as purple as his amethyst c
ufflinks. “I really must insist that someone with respectable credentials lead the society.”
I smiled. I was fine with having a new leader. “Whom would you suggest direct our group?” I looked around the room. “Russ Stanley?”
He was immediately dismissed.
“How about Dennis Guiley?”
“A college student? Of course not,” snapped Dr. Able.
A tiny smile flashed across my face. “Then that only leaves one logical person to lead our group, which is you, Dr. Able. Would you be so kind as to accept this role?”
Now his face turned from amethyst to aubergine. Obviously he would not subject his practice to the potential ridicule. Dr. Able stood up and paced back and forth, saying nothing.
He abruptly spun on his heel and announced, “I must leave. I will contemplate the necessary steps to address this situation. A television repairman as president of this organization is quite simply unacceptable.”
With that, Dr. Able left and never attended another meeting. He phoned us occasionally and reiterated his willingness to help, but he still felt embarrassed by the society’s choice of president.
Once we received our corporate approval and nonprofit status, Stella Gramer gave us a suite of offices in Westwood, California. Over the next six months, we appeared on several radio and television programs promoting cryonics and enlisted a prestigious scientific advisory board. All those tasks were to create the infrastructure for the action I so strongly craved.
Being elected president of the CSC was both humbling and ennobling. Before the first meeting, I didn’t think I was qualified even to attend, yet they had placed the entire operation in my inexperienced hands.
The honor brought me directly into the path of Professor Robert Ettinger. Once the CSC had raised enough funds, we petitioned Professor Ettinger to travel to California from Michigan and speak to our group about his thesis of extended life.
I was nervous about meeting the man who had changed the trajectory of my life. Never before had I so keenly felt the invisible cloak of my TV repairman job upon me. I worried that, like Dr. Able, he would find me wholly unsuitable.
Before Professor Ettinger arrived, I waited in Helen’s living room. Nearby there was a huge table with juices, doughnuts, and apples, but I couldn’t eat anything. I saw him enter, and since I’d always imagined him in a lab coat, his fine tailored suit was initially disconcerting. But it was a moment that will live in my memory for all time. How often does a person meet his hero?
Professor Ettinger had a commanding presence. When we shook hands, I felt this electric anticipation, and I hoped he didn’t notice my sweaty palms. His eyes were striking; they were friendly but showed a sharp awareness that noticed every detail. I knew I couldn’t participate in deep intellectual discussions about the intricacies of biophysics and cryonic research—at least not yet. We shared the same passion though, the same keen desire to move science out of the sterile confines of the laboratory and into the messy surroundings of life and death.
This brilliant physicist was a revelation. I learned a great deal from listening to him speak at the meeting. He had a way of simplifying complex concepts so that the layman could easily comprehend, and he did so eloquently. I later parroted many of his conceptualizations during TV and radio interviews.
He stayed as a guest in my home and addressed our group twice during his five-day visit. I realized how much we shared; he was called Bob by his friends and also married to an Elaine. In those few precious days, a complete metamorphosis occurred in my life. I was set free by Ettinger’s and my shared love of science and life. It now seemed okay to reach for the moon.
From that initial meeting, we forged a lifelong friendship that continued to his clinical death in 2011. He was a university physics and astronomy professor. My stepfather had cared nothing about astronomy and had scolded me for my interest. This antithesis of Big John was now the role model of my life; he understood and encouraged every goal I set. The “father of cryonics” became my second father. And that really was our relationship throughout the forty-five years I knew him. This scientist never considered me inadequate or found anything wanting in me. I brought him my successes and my failures, and he helped me with them all.
During that visit to CSC, Professor Ettinger and I went together on a talk show with Joe Pyne. The man had a reputation for being rude and confrontational, and I felt nervous and unprepared.
Pyne stayed true to style and opened with a bang. He looked at me and said, “Mr. Nelson, I want you to explain who gives you the right? By whose authority do you think you can go around freezing people?”
Wide-eyed, I sat on the couch, flustered and flummoxed, and tried to compose something coherent.
Professor Ettinger leaned forward and intervened. “What credentials are required for anyone to freeze people, including me? What credentials are needed for extended life?”
Gratitude, relief, and respect flooded over me. Taken aback by Ettinger’s measured response, Pyne then settled into a more cordial interview.
One evening during Ettinger’s visit, we met with some medical professionals. A few were supportive but most were opposed, and we debated with one particular doctor at length. Finally, he said, exasperated, “You just can’t change the world.”
Professor Ettinger replied, “The hell I can’t. I already have.”
I turned to look at him, this man I had idolized, and realized he was right. A simple book, if it contains a radical and logical thesis, can change the world.
My wife Elaine and I had reconciled since our last extended break, but she was struggling to show enthusiasm for this strange twist I brought into our lives. Nevertheless, she offered her hospitality to Professor Ettinger during his stay. Before he returned to Michigan, he thanked Elaine and in parting said, “I’ll see you again. If not in a year—well—in a thousand years.”
Cryonics was uncharted territory, and deciding what path CSC should take was crucial to its long-term success. Some cryonics groups were focusing on gaining membership; others were preparing storage for the expected flood of frozen patients.
I figured that if doctors were ever going to revive a frozen patient, we needed to protect the patient from damage caused by freezing. I decided that aggressive research would be our first priority.
Curtis Henderson and Saul Kent, the directors of CSNY, visited us in LA and arranged a meeting with Robert W. Prehoda, a medical researcher and prolific author studying cryobiology.
Meeting Robert at his home in Encino, California, was one of the most influential and informative conversations of my life. He was an expert in reduced metabolism and gave me a crash course in the underlying physics of cryonic freezing. Over the next several months, I went to college in his living room, and the coursework cemented my hope. I learned that on the evolutionary tree, man is not far from many natural hibernators.
I wrote Professor Ettinger about Robert and he wrote back that, yes, he knew of Robert’s work but didn’t have much respect for the man’s character. Robert had praised The Prospect of Immortality after its initial release; however, he retreated from his original support after the scientific community disputed Ettinger’s thesis. I saw Professor Ettinger’s point but felt that Robert was too valuable and accepted him into the CSC.
I scavenged through Robert’s brain for every morsel of information about the leaders in low-temperature biology. Slowly we established a bond, although he knew I was mainly after his knowledge and I knew he was interested in the potential dollars CSC could deliver from research grants. We had a mutually beneficial, though not particularly affectionate, relationship.
Robert created collaborations with other scientists working in reduced-metabolism research. Two months later, Robert set up a meeting at his home. Five colleagues were interested in forming a scientific advisory council for CSC because of the research’s potential for groundbreaking discover
ies. CSC would provide funding, and Robert would help apply for grants.
CSC Scientific Advisory Council
The council was happy to provide research into human suspended animation but wanted no part in actually freezing anyone. If the CSC did freeze someone, the affiliation would be irrevocably dissolved. At the end of our meeting, we all felt we had achieved a monumental step forward.
That evening, I went home and told my wife the news. I was still giddy and amazed that I, a nonscientist without a college degree, was collaborating with scientists in such a revolutionary field. I had come so far from my days as a homeless teenager and wanted Elaine to be proud of me. Ever since I had moved back home, she had kept herself involved with the children and firmly disconnected from cryonics.
“What do you think?” I prodded after I told her about the advisory council.
Elaine bit her lip. “Well, it helps, I suppose. I guess it sounds more respectable now than one of those groups obsessed with flying saucers or life on other planets.” She picked up Lori’s ripped book bag. “But truly, Bob, who cares? Will it fix your daughter’s backpack? That’s what I’m concerned about. I tried calling you at work a dozen times today, and you weren’t there earning a paycheck.”
“I had more important things to do than fixing someone’s TV set. Don’t you understand the potential of what we’re doing?”
“I understand that we could become destitute. It’s almost like a cult. You moved back home a few months ago, but are you really part of this family?”
Feeling equal measures of anger and guilt, I struck back, “Of course I am. Everything I do with cryonics is for our children—so that they can have a longer, better life. My parents thought I was stupid to want to reach for the stars. John, Lori, and Susan will know different because of the example I set.”
Elaine wouldn’t back down. “Don’t give me that. You’re not with your kids. When you’re not at work, you’re there. When you should be at work, you’re there. When you’re at home, you’re on the phone all the time. I even had to arrange a special code with my friends just so I would know they’re calling. And honestly, all this cryonics stuff is weird—just plain weird.”