Freezing People is (Not) Easy

by Bob Nelson

  Messiah? Murderer? Jail? I bit my lip, stunned, and drew back. I could see someone believing I was negligent or a zealot, but how could anyone possibly accept such lies? Did the jury think that too? I started breathing fast as I glimpsed how effectively Worthington had sunk his fangs into my legacy. He was willing to destroy me by distorting this case far beyond a simple contract dispute. These women were strangers, completely unrelated to the trial, and yet they were convinced I was a criminal.

  The women heard my loud exhale and turned toward me. I was seething. The blond’s eyes grew wide; she quickly motioned to her friend and they skedaddled toward the cops in the lobby.

  I collapsed on one of the hallway benches, completely dejected, and I sat there unmoving for the entire lunch break. My friend of twenty years, Sandra Stanley, was slated as the next witness and noticed me as she walked through the crowd. I couldn’t explain, and I didn’t need to; she wrapped her arms around my shoulders, gave me a quick hug, and led me into the courtroom.

  Awhile back, Sandra had told me that when she was forty she wanted to study law. I told her she was nuts and that she would never make it. “Pick another profession,” I had advised. Weeks earlier, Sandra had passed the bar exam on her first attempt, with the third-highest score of any applicant that year. Thankfully she never held my abysmal advice against me. Sandra had been a very strong supporter of cryonics since its inception. She was a fantastic writer and responded to thousands of inquiries to the CSC, published the cryonics newsletter, and cowrote my first book, We Froze the First Man.

  Winterbotham guided Sandra through all the years she volunteered for the Cryonics Society. He then asked her to explain what the organization meant for her.

  She replied, “We were participating in an epochal moment in which Professor Robert Ettinger had proclaimed to the world that the era of human death on Earth was about to come to an end.”

  He then asked her to comment on my character. She placed a hand over her heart and said, “Bob Nelson is one of the most sincere human beings I have ever had the pleasure to know in my life.”

  I gave her a half-smile, trying to forget the women in the hallway and instead focus on her words. She knew me and knew the truth.

  “Thank you, Ms. Stanley. No more questions.”

  Nothern began his cross-examination. “Ms. Stanley, as a very close friend to Mr. Nelson and a trusted member of the CSC, did you know what was going on at the storage vault in Chatsworth?”

  Sandra glowered and wagged her finger at Nothern. I had to grin—I’d wanted to do that a dozen times. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘going on.’ That cemetery vault is where the cryonics patients were interred.”

  “What I am asking you, Ms. Stanley, is did you know exactly which persons were frozen and which ones were not and why?”

  “At different times, I believe I did, but that constantly changed as equipment failed and patients were moved. Mr. Nelson did not want others involved in that quagmire.” Sandra was speaking fast; she had an agenda for her testimony and a lot she wanted to say. “His life’s goal was to save those patients; he considered them historically vital pioneers of the cryonics movement. If he had known he would be blamed if he failed, I think he would have done it anyway.”

  “Well, Ms. Stanley, how do you explain the loss of the Harrington brothers’ mother and the ten thousand dollars they gave to Mr. Nelson?”

  “The money was paid to the Cryonics Society of California as a donation supporting low-temperature biology and not to Mr. Nelson personally. It was certainly not a business deal, as you are trying to suggest.”

  “So what do you suggest, Ms. Stanley? Should we just accept this loss and let Mr. Nelson perpetuate this same scam on countless people across the country?”

  “Mr. Nelson never scammed anybody.” A strand of her long brown hair fell in her face, and she reached up to push it back. I could tell from her twitching hand that she needed a cigarette. “And he has resigned from CSC. Yes, there will undoubtedly be more losses in the future. However, you don’t stop great scientific effort because someone didn’t make it. Look at the first heart transplants. Look at the space program: They had losses, but no one gave up because of those failures. They took their losses, learned their lessons, and kept trying until they succeeded.”

  Nothern moved to align with the jury box. “It is clear, Ms. Stanley, that you have little compassion for these two young men’s suffering and their enormous loss. You are a true believer in this body-freezing craze, which has absolutely no support from the medical or scientific communities whatsoever.”

  I elbowed Winterbotham and he sprang to his feet. “Objection . . . I mean, counsel should be asking questions, not making speeches.”

  Before the judge could sustain, Nothern said, “I have no more questions.”

  Sandra shook her finger at him again. “Mr. Nothern, scientists began the cryonics movement, and they are leading us into a brave, new world—”

  “I said no more questions. You’re excused.”

  Sandra blew her hair from her face, obviously frustrated and disappointed.

  I looked at my attorney, hoping he would ask Sandra more questions on redirect examination. It didn’t help our case having Nothern’s statements ringing in the jury’s ears. As Sandra rose to exit the witness stand, I knew that was a lost cause. Winterbotham had resumed his habit of resting his chin in his palm and staring off at Lady Justice.

  Our next witness was Joseph Mendoza. Joe was the groundskeeper at the Chatsworth cemetery and had helped me with the vault. As he was sworn in, Joe was nervous and couldn’t keep his voice from shaking and his hands from trembling; I felt bad that I needed him to testify.

  Winterbotham began by yelling at him. I groaned. Of all our witnesses, Joe needed kid-glove handling. Yet Winterbotham continued, almost screaming. “What was your responsibility to the Cryonics Society?”

  It seemed Winterbotham thought that by shouting at him, Joe would understand him better. The problem was that Joe knew my name but was unfamiliar with the term “Cryonics Society.” He looked green, so I signaled Winterbotham back to our table; the judge ordered a half-hour recess.

  I was thankful for that the break. “Mr. Winterbotham,” I whispered, “Joe is our witness; you shouldn’t be shouting at him. The man is already scared to death just being here.” I spent most of the recess trying to counsel my attorney about the best way to handle Joe. When court resumed, the questioning went much smoother. He asked Joe how long he had known me and if I was a good guy. These questions settled Joe a bit before he launched into describing the painful capsule failure to the jury.

  When Joe finished his recounting of that sad day, he said, “I’m sorry for Mr. Bob; he’s a very nice man.”

  “Mr. Mendoza, did you see Mr. Nelson at the cemetery very often?”

  “I see Mr. Bob every day; sometime he come he stay all day. He work very hard to take care of everything.”

  “Your witness, Mr. Nothern.”

  Joe stiffened his shoulders, preparing himself for cross-examination.

  “Mr. Mendoza, did Mr. Nelson tell you what was inside those capsules?”

  “Well, he not tell me exactly, but I know what inside. We all know it’s frozen people.”

  “Did you realize when you did nothing after the pump stopped that the people inside were lost forever?”

  “I don’t know; those people are dead. They can’t die again.”

  “Was Mr. Nelson attentive to the capsules and the storage vault?”

  “He came every day, bringing the smoking ice. He pump the water out of the vault; he blow the fan inside down there. He work very hard every day.”

  “Did you see other people trying to find out what is going on inside that vault?”

  “People from the TV station came with a big camera. They break the lock and open the vault. We call police. I didn
’t like them for that.”

  “I have no more questions, sir.”

  Our final witness was a character to behold. Frank Farrell had been indispensable to me for years and a genius at resolving the never-ending problems at the vault.

  Ever since we met, Frank absolutely would not conform to any kind of dress code. Regardless of the occasion, he wore outfits like green pants with a purple-and-pink shirt. Once I noticed he had on one red sock and one yellow sock.

  Just for fun, I commented on it. He replied, “I know. I have another pair exactly like them at home.”

  I had pleaded with him to wear a suit to court. I explained that his entire credibility would depend on his appearance. As Frank walked to the witness stand, my face broke from apprehension into a big grin. I beamed with pride to see him dressed properly. His blue tie matched his blue suit, but it was tied so that it hung backwards. The whole ensemble looked as though he had just taken it out of the washing machine and wrung it out by hand, but it was a suit.

  Winterbotham first asked Frank to tell the jury about his background and experience in the business world. Despite his appearance, Frank was quite a qualified engineer with an impressive education.

  Winterbotham asked him about his connection to me. “I’m a fan of Bob Nelson and his effort to revive the people who were in cryonic suspension. He brought that vault into existence, and I know someday he’ll be recognized for his great contribution to the world.”

  “Did Mr. Nelson pay you for your work?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  Winterbotham transformed; he yelled at Frank. “How did he pay you, with CSC money or his own check?”

  Frank’s eyes got wide, but he maintained his calm. “Nope; I don’t accept checks because I don’t have a bank account. He always paid me in good ol’ cash on the barrel.”

  Winterbotham shouted again. “Were you ever in that vault?”

  “Hell, yes, about a thousand times or better. Whenever it was time to replace the dry ice on different patients, I was the one that helped him. I pumped water out of the facility at least once a week, and I helped him move bodies.”

  “What was your role?”

  Frank paused because he’d just answered that, and Winterbotham shouted even louder than before. “I’m asking you a question! Don’t you understand? What did you do?”

  Frank drew back, surprised at the ferocity. This was just too crazy. I stood up and motioned Winterbotham back to the table. “What are you doing?” I whispered to him. “He’s our witness.”

  That seemed to work. Winterbotham switched back to normal and spoke calmly to Frank. “So you’ve actually seen these frozen human beings?”

  “I sure have, and Mr. Nelson took care of them as if they were his own family.”

  “May I ask you, Mr. Farrell, what does a frozen person look like after years of being frozen?”

  “Compared to what? I mean, they certainly don’t look alive, but they look like they could be revived if we only knew how to revive them. I guess that’s what the CSC is all about. I don’t know anyone else in the world who could’ve done the job that Mr. Nelson has done, and done it with hardly any money. I have a great respect for him and his effort. That’s why I have always been there for him, and that’s why I’m here for him today.”

  “Is there anything you can think of that Mr. Nelson could have done to prevent this tragedy at the cemetery?”

  Frank fidgeted and tugged at his tie, uncomfortable in his court duds. “Sure, in hindsight I could think of a lot of things; you could do that about almost anything. Bob was running this operation by the seat of his pants. Always hoping someone would come along and provide some help in the form of money. Hell, he had a beautiful thirty-man capsule sitting up on that hill in Chatsworth manufactured by real cryogenic fabricators. That unit cost one hundred thousand dollars retail and sat on those grounds for three years. All he needed was the money to purchase a bigger vault and then get that capsule up and running. CSC would have been solvent for many years if they had not frozen a dozen people for free. We worked our butts off and gave it everything we had. We did a job we can be proud of.”

  “I thank you, Mr. Farrell. I have no more questions.”

  As Nothern made his way to the witness box on his crutches, he asked, “While Mr. Nelson was back East for two weeks, why did he not leave you in charge of checking those capsules every day, as he had typically done?”

  “I guess you’d have to ask him that, but I venture to guess that since I live in Santa Monica and have no automobile, it would be a real chore and expense for me to go back and forth to the cemetery every day. It was about fifty miles and a drive through Topanga Canyon. Mr. Nelson always picked me up, and that was one hell of a trek. I wouldn’t want to do it solo.”

  “Were you, Mr. Farrell, aware that the first capsule placed in the vault had failed and was no longer being filled with liquid nitrogen?”

  “I was.”

  “What did Mr. Nelson say about that?”

  “As I understood it, Mr. Nelson had been filling that capsule for a year or two. The capsule became less and less efficient, until it was just impossible to find the money to continue filling it. These Cryo-Care units were just not holding up like they needed to. It was a learning curve. We were just hanging in there until we could get that big beauty of a capsule up and running. Had that happened, none of us would be here today.”

  “Did you know when the second capsule containing the seven-year-old child and my clients’ mother failed?”

  “Yep, but I never heard from Bob after that loss. I think he just reached his breaking point and gave up. Then you guys came running after him for money. I guess that was the last straw.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Farrell.”

  That was the end of testimony.

  In Summation

  Nothern gave his closing argument first. He made even more of a performance than usual of getting himself up on his crutches and moving over to the front of the jury box.

  Before he began, he first made eye contact with each jury member. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen; it’s a pleasure to see your bright and smiling faces this morning. I’m sure each of you is pleased to see the end of this case so that you can return to your family and your regular daily activities. I promise I will not keep you very long, and I sincerely thank you for being such an attentive group. Well, my friends, what we have here is a TV repairman posing as a great scientist. He was able to scam Terry and Dennis Harrington out of their entire inheritance left to them by their beloved mother.

  “There is nothing else you can call what Mr. Nelson did to these two brothers that had just lost their mother, their most precious treasure, to cancer. Mr. Nelson descends on bereft, grief-stricken families and promises to take away their pain and loss.”

  He paused—wanting that little tidbit to sink in. I saw a few jurors exchange glances and raise their eyebrows. “This miracle group’s leader set himself up as the General and claimed he could save the Harrington brothers’ mother from death. Yes, the General had the power to bring back the dead! Now the only other person I know who could bring people back from the dead was Jesus Christ, and he doesn’t look anything like Jesus Christ to me. Does he to you?”

  Nothern raised his voice, and from his tone, he reminded me of one of those TV preachers. He pointed his forefinger at me, accusing me, smiting me. I could feel the stares from the jury. “As a matter of fact, he was better than Jesus Christ. He could bring everyone back from the dead—all he needed was your money.”

  Nothern stopped to let that little gem, the cornerstone statement of his entire case, sink into the jury’s psyches. My blood went cold. I finally glimpsed their strategy—how every question, every fabrication, had built up to this deduction.

  “Mr. Nelson not only promised he could bring Mrs. Harrington back from death, he said he could make her
young again. Yes, can you imagine that he was going to make Mrs. Harrington twenty-one again?

  “So they gave the General their last penny, all their trust, and their precious mother to care for until, the General promised, he would bring her back alive as a twenty-one-year-old beauty. He promised he could do all that for ten thousand dollars. The problem is, my friends, this is the biggest bunch of nonsense I ever heard in my life.”

  No, I thought, this is the biggest bunch of nonsense ever.

  “I mean it. I could never even imagine that anyone would stoop so low as to fabricate such a preposterous pile of crap and then dupe grief-stricken survivors into buying it. The General was starting a new kind of religion, with himself as the leader and with the power to decree who shall live and who shall die. Just let your money do the talking. What do you think, ladies and gentlemen, do you think the General was, as Sandra Stanley put it, sincere?” Nothern slowly shook his head, answering his own question.

  “So, my friends, what do we do here today? Do we give the General a pat on the back and say, ‘Good job, General; go get some more poor fools’ money’? Do we encourage this kind of treatment of our fellow Americans across the country? Because that’s where these folks will take this insanity; they have even started cryonics societies in England, France, and several Latin American countries.”

  I heard a clatter of whispering behind me, but Judge Shelby didn’t raise his gavel.

  “This is your opportunity to send a message to these swindlers, these cold-blooded liars. I beg you, my friends. Don’t send them back into the world with your blessing, but rather send them back into the streets with a sound thrashing they will never forget.” He paused and flashed a smile. “I thank you for your kind consideration.”

  What an incredible crock of deceptive garbage. I felt nauseated. Nothern had given a brilliant summation—a stunning delivery by a man possessing an uncanny ability to almost caress the jury in his arms. This was a master attorney, and I knew I had just had my ass kicked.