Freezing People is (Not) Easy

by Bob Nelson

  I was just about to sign the document when Nothern dropped what he tried to represent as a minor detail. Marie Brown wasn’t willing to settle, so this agreement excluded her; that left me still owing her sixty-five thousand dollars. I stood up and paced the room in disgust—even now, there was more deception and more greed from these people. Sandra quickly reminded Nothern that the agreement was the dismissal of the entire judgment, which included Brown. This last-minute change was not acceptable; we left, papers unsigned. That tiny victory gave me a microscopic measure of happiness. The lawyer’s charm hadn’t worked this time.

  Nothern eventually talked Brown into accepting the settlement, and I finally agreed as well. He also sued my attorney, Winterbotham, for me and received sixty thousand dollars; I got nothing. While I waited on the settlement, the court extended the deadline to file briefings. Sandra never filed, and we allowed the appeal to die on the vine. On January 25, 1983, the following judgment was handed down: “Pursuant to appellant Robert F. Nelson’s request, the appeal is dismissed.” It was over.

  With the signing of the settlement papers, I banished cryonics from my mind and heart forever. All my love and passion was gone, robbed from me in a courtroom by people who cared only about pilfering a buck.

  Chapter 17

  Closed Doors, Opened Windows

  I had one asset left—my electronics repair business, California Video Repair, in Huntington Beach. At least I could sleep and eat in the back of the store. After suffering an almost lethal blow to my soul, I reverted from using my biological father’s name back to my stepdad’s name, Robert Buccelli. I simply wanted Bob Nelson to disappear. Whenever I received any requests for an interview, I hung up the phone without saying a word. Bob Nelson was on another planet.

  Slowly I crawled back into the world of the living. I found a home in Huntington Beach and started life over again. For the next three years, I worked at my repair business day and night. All the energy that I had invested in the vault now went into the store.

  It wasn’t until 1987 that I recovered from the cryonics fiasco. I went home one evening and cooked myself a big filet mignon. With a glass of fine red wine, I retired to my backyard to watch a gorgeous mountain sunset. I thought, Wow, I am pretty lucky. I’ve got it all. Then I heard a voice taunting me: “Is this really it Bob—a big steak, a new Honda Prelude, a nice home? Are you really happy now?”

  I knew almost at once that I was kidding myself. I was missing one of the most important elements of being alive—that of being in love.

  Several months later I was driving to my store in Huntington Beach. Just before the freeway entrance stood a bakery where I occasionally stopped for coffee and blueberry muffins.

  As I entered the bakery, I noticed a breathtaking Asian woman working the counter. She was a petite, smiling beauty with silken black hair to her knees. After gazing too long at her, I managed to say, “Hello.”

  I ordered my coffee and muffin. All week, I couldn’t stop thinking of this beautiful lady who glowed with an enormous inner radiance. She certainly had attracted my attention. Though not worldly, her eyes revealed a startling awareness that was utterly enchanting.

  I stopped in the bakery every morning, but I was making zero progress. I learned that her name was Moeurth and she was thirty-three. She had emigrated from Cambodia and had lived in the United States for five years. After the first week, I invited her to lunch at a restaurant a block away. She said no and explained that she had never been on a date. In her country, her father picked her husband, and she was not yet ready.

  By the second week I was becoming frustrated. She always waited on me with a big smile, remembered my order, and asked me sweetly, “How are you today? You go to work?” However, I couldn’t make the slightest progress, so I decided to appeal to her younger sister for help. Penny also worked at the bakery, was more Americanized, and was excited to play matchmaker. In the third week, Moeurth handed me a bag with two blueberry muffins instead of my usual one.

  She gave me a shy smile and said, “The other is for your wife.”

  I was thrilled she thought of me. “I’m not married, ma’am. I’m too young.” We both just smiled—very warm smiles. It was a good day.

  The next day Penny told me that Moeurth had agreed to lunch, but she would drive her own car the two hundred yards to the restaurant.

  I thought it was strange but was happy with whatever I could get. At lunch she ordered only a Coke.

  “How can I become your friend?” I asked.

  “That is my parents’ decision,” she replied.

  “How can your parents consider me if we haven’t met?”

  “I don’t know, but I will ask them.”

  Two days later, Moeurth said her parents had invited me to their home in Pomona. I was excited; this quest was like climbing a mountain, but I was doing it.

  When I arrived at her home, I saw that it contained many small rugs and several lovely, colorful sheets hung from the ceiling to partition off different parts of the rooms for privacy. Her mom greeted me with some kind Cambodian words and then handed me a huge bowl of fruit and gestured for me to sit on a worn-out couch. Her mom and I exchanged big smiles and a few words during my two-hour visit. When I used the bathroom, I counted thirteen toothbrushes. This was truly a loving family, struggling to keep their way of life intact.

  The next week I met her father at the Pomona Buddhist temple, where he was serving a six-month commitment as a monk. The temple was a converted three-bedroom house, retrofitted with stained-glass windows and gold-plated steel horns on the four corners of the roof. Orange and yellow rugs covered the floor of the spartan room, and pictures of great monks and mountains adorned the walls. The four Cambodian monks wore ochre robes over one shoulder, and they all had shaved heads. I felt quite honored and nervous when they welcomed me, but I quickly felt their acceptance.

  Her father gave his permission for our first date at Knotts Berry Farm. After about two hours of blissful togetherness, I took a bold step and reached out to hold her hand. She was shy but didn’t pull away and soon relaxed.

  “I’m so happy to have this chance to take you out.”

  “This is very new for me and not at all the Cambodian way.”

  “Yes, but you’re in America now. You are now both Cambodian and American, so you need to learn how to integrate this exciting new world into your precious life.”

  Moeurth nodded. When things were explained logically, I realized that she and her family were quite willing to adapt.

  Against her wishes, I bought her a jacket. She was confused about how to handle the difference in cultures, while I tried to be sensitive to this strain on her conscience. I was falling in love.

  On our third date, as we ate a meal of fish and clams, Moeurth said, “Bob, I need tell something important.” In her beautiful broken English, she told me that after three dates, we couldn’t see each other again.

  She explained that Cambodians do not allow any more connection without an engagement agreement. I sat there stunned. I wasn’t thinking about engagement; we’d only just started dating. I balked at the all-or-nothing prospect, but I was scared to lose her entirely.

  When I brought her home before dark, Moeurth said, “Not to worry about us. We enjoyed each other’s company. Thank you so much for our wonderful friendship.”

  No hug, no kiss, not even a handshake, just good-bye. She closed the door, and then she was gone forever. I stood outside, staring up at her house, and wondered if this supposed Cambodian custom was merely a pretense for breaking off our relationship. Had I been in love alone?

  On my drive home, I gripped the steering wheel and tried to console myself by thinking I would simply move on to the next woman. I wasn’t a bad catch, I thought. But Moeurth had morals and honor such as I had never before encountered. And my heart would not listen to this “other woman” nonsense; it knew wh
om I loved. Each morning I drove by her bakery, and I felt a painful longing to call her.

  Still reeling from the lies and duplicity of the trial, I was attracted to her genuine and innocent heart. I knew she wasn’t a delicate child; her life hadn’t been sheltered. Moeurth had been a happy girl in Cambodia. They never had electricity or running water, but they had a cow she doted on, and her father carved her any toy she wanted from wood. As a teenager, though, she had been placed in a Communist prison camp and forced to work in the rice fields every waking hour for three and a half years. Guarded by soldiers dressed all in black with machine guns on horseback, she witnessed them executing her friends and family by slashing their throats or bellies with their long knives. But through all her hardships, she had maintained her serenity and sweetness. I had become cynical after the cryonics trial, but Moeurth had never lost her optimism and never would. She would have been an amazing wife.

  Two weeks later, when I could not endure her absence any longer, I called her and asked, “Moeurth, can we meet to talk about engagement?”

  After a pause she said, “I must speak to my parents. They must give their permission if we are to talk about marriage.”

  I was shocked at the string of difficulties. With cryonics, I had wanted to take a time machine into the future. With Moeurth, it felt like I was taking a time machine into the past. It didn’t matter though; I’d follow her anywhere. I asked, “What if they don’t approve of our marriage?”

  “Bob, I came into this world through the love of my precious parents. They are like God to me, and I have been taught to respect their guidance and wisdom. I will honor whatever they decide.”

  Moeurth called me the next day and explained her father’s stipulations for the marriage. They would convene the entire family in two weeks for everyone to have an opportunity to meet and question this American. They would determine whether I was worthy of marrying their beloved Moeurth. Additionally, I needed to bring at least ten character witnesses who would speak for my character and sincerity in this engagement.

  On the day of the examination, about forty Cambodian people came to Moeurth’s house. One of Moeurth’s brothers-in–law, Sarinn, sat the family on the front lawn in a circle with one chair in the center for me. Moeurth was beautifully dressed in a long golden gown, her knee-length jet-black hair piled on her head.

  An elder Cambodian began the discussion by asking my supporters to introduce themselves and express what they felt about Bob Buccelli to the friends and family. After all their compliments, the attention turned to me.

  “Will you join Moeurth’s family or try to keep her unto yourself?”

  “I have honestly grown to care for her family. It would be an extreme honor to be considered part of this family. I would love to learn and participate in your customs.”

  This seemed to please most, except for one gentleman who wanted to delve into my personal relationships and my ex-wife, who had been remarried for nearly ten years and had a daughter with her new husband.

  Although I had expected difficult questions, I began to feel upset when another brother interrupted. “Bob, please don’t get frustrated. We are just trying to be as careful as we possibly can. Moeurth is a grown woman, but we love her immensely and want her safe and happy. Please understand that.”

  One of the friendlier brothers asked, “Robert, why do you wish to marry a woman of another culture?”

  I turned to look at Moeurth and paused to choose my words carefully. “She is a flower and more beautiful than words can describe. Inside I have found an even finer soul. I will treasure her all of my days.”

  With that came a round of applause and one last question. Because of the language difficulty, I thought they were asking when I wanted their decision. I said firmly, “I want that right now.”

  The entire group roared with laughter.

  The leader explained, “We were asking when you would like to marry if the group approved—not when we would give our decision.”

  After dinner, Penny announced that the family would happily accept me as the husband of their precious Moeurth. “From this moment on until you become man and wife, you are both just like birds locked in a cage and waiting to be joined together. You are a lucky man, Robert.”

  Amid the cheering, I went to Moeurth, whom I was still not allowed to touch. For the first time I said, “I love you.”

  Now we could speak daily by phone or go out for a brief meal if the outing was related to our wedding plans.

  The marriage could not occur until the dowry of five thousand dollars was paid to her father. Moeurth explained that usually an engaged couple would work together, sometimes for years, to save the money. She suggested that with us both working and saving, we could get married within a year or two. I told her, “I have the money, and I don’t want to wait.” Moeurth then asked me for one special favor; her mother wanted an authentic Cambodian ceremony, which lasted two days and required eight costume changes for me and ten for Moeurth.

  I happily honored her mother’s request, although I had no idea what it would entail. We were married on June 16, 1990. The celebration began at 9:00 a.m. on the fifteenth, and the first day ended at 6:00 p.m. The ceremony took place in the back of Moeurth’s home. Thirty people filtered in throughout the day. Everyone in the family was busy cooking, preparing the next performance, and helping with the costume changes. Both days Moeurth and I kneeled on a dais and soaked in the spectacle. I couldn’t understand the words or the reenacted symbolism, but our wedding was filled with a stunning pageantry of colorful rented costumes and professional dancers in golden sedge hats and surrounded by red and gold paper decorations. Moeurth wore a matchless gown of gold sequins that accentuated her long silken hair. No matter how much my knees ached during those long hours kneeling on the floor, one look at my angelic bride revitalized me. The music and the dancers were entrancing; at times I felt as though I had died and gone to heaven. The only thing missing was my children. They were invited of course, but their own problems prevented their attendance.

  At the end of the first day ceremonies, I was absolutely exhausted and asked, “Are we married now?”

  Moeurth’s younger sister, Penny, answered, “No Robert, but we’re getting close.”

  Giving thanks for another day of loving

  The second day was another marathon of singing, posing, and professional dancers. About noon, Penny rather unceremoniously hollered across the room, “Bob, she’s yours now.” I will remember that sentence forever as one of life’s finest.

  At six o’clock on the second evening, we finished our Herculean wedding. This princess would be coming home with me. What a joy! That night we attended a ball in our honor with over three hundred people joining in the celebration of our union. It was a spectacular eight-course feast of fried rice with shrimp, vegetables, whole carp, soup, and a wider variety of fruit than a farmers’ market.

  It wasn’t long before someone asked to see us kiss.

  “Finally,” I said, “we will share our first kiss.” As I took her in my arms for the first time, I closed my eyes and readied myself. I was once again frustrated when my lips touched the side of her cheek. She had turned her head at the last second. Everyone at the table laughed hysterically at my disappointment.

  People at the next table again asked to see us kiss; this time I put my hand under her chin and guided her lips to meet mine. Time stopped in that magical moment. It was done. We had made it all come true just like she wanted, and now my ravishing wife would come to our home.

  Over the past twenty-two years, Moeurth and I have enjoyed a marriage of love and respect without a single fight. We have brought two wonderful half-Italian–half-Cambodian girls into the world. We have certainly had disagreements, but through our deep admiration, we have managed to resolve them with calm consideration for each other. Only once did we come close to
angry words over parental control of our two daughters. After I strongly had my say, Moeurth looked at me with a tear rolling down her cheek and then walked away without saying a word. I of course was brought to my knees by that tear and profusely apologized.

  There was one exception during my twenty-five-year hiatus from the world of cryonics. I had left the cryonics movement without offering any justification, so in 1991 I granted Mike Perry, historian for the Alcor Foundation, and his two associates a forty-five minute interview.

  I had never mentioned my cryonics past to my wife, and I felt I owed her that explanation after we had been married one year. She was intrigued by my past but not bothered. Compared to surviving a Pol Pot concentration camp in Cambodia and adjusting to American life, my delay in revealing this bit of history seemed minor to her.

  Cryonics was beyond Moeurth’s ability to understand. She was confused and I dare say frightened by the concept. She had seen so much death in her life and couldn’t comprehend how a person might possibly come back. She often said, “Honey, me no want freeze, OK?” I always chuckled under my breath and replied, “Okay, darling, don’t worry; I won’t freeze you.”

  Almost two decades later, I decided to write my story. Word had gotten to Sam Shaw, a producer for This American Life, and I agreed to an interview. Shortly afterward, Moeurth came to me and said, “Honey I have something to say. Please listen clearly. After many years of consideration and learning, now I want freeze. Now I understand.”

  Chapter 18

  Ted Williams—The Story of One Recent Suspension

  When news broke that beloved baseball player Ted Williams had been cryonically preserved, I watched the Williamses’ family drama unfold from the sidelines, still in self-imposed exile from cryonics. I was amazed by how far the technology had advanced in those years, yet the ensuing controversy was eerily familiar.