Freezing People is (Not) Easy (22 page)

Winterbotham looked at the jury as though he didn't understand, hoping they would question the seeming contradiction.

“Tell us about the next freezing.”

“That was Mr. Russell Stanley. Russ was the Cryonics Society historian. He had collected every written word about cryonics from across the country and talked to every person who even thought about cryonics.”

“When was Mr. Stanley suspended?”

“That was on September 6, 1968.”

“And how much money did the Society receive for Mr. Stanley's suspension?”

“CSC received a ten-thousand-dollar donation from the Stanley estate.”

“What did CSC do with that money?”

“Over the next three years, we paid out in excess of ten thousand dollars for replacement of dry ice for the temporary storage of Marie Sweet, Helen Kline, and Russ Stanley.”

“Tell us about the next suspension.”

“That was Ms. Mildred Harrington.”

“Was there anything unusual about the Harrington suspension?”

“Nothing other than that she lived in Des Moines, Iowa, and her sons didn't have enough money for perpetual care. CSC agreed to do the complete suspension, including placement in a capsule, at which time the brothers agreed to make a monthly donation of one hundred to three hundred dollars. This was not mandatory, but the commitment was part of our agreement.”

“What did CSC do with the money it received from the Harringtons? Was it a donation or a private business deal between you and Terry Harrington on the side?”

“No, it was just like every other suspension. I couldn't proceed otherwise. We had many expenses with Mrs. Harrington—creating the dry ice container, furnishing it with dry ice, making the vault safe to store a dry ice box down in it, placing Mrs. Harrington in a capsule when we were fortunate enough to receive it, replenishing the liquid nitrogen.”

“Will you examine these documents, Mr. Nelson, and tell me if these are the papers you and the Harrington brothers signed, donating the body of Mrs. Harrington and the ten thousand dollars to CSC?”

“Yes, those are the exact documents we signed in Des Moines.”

I watched the faces of each juror.
Don't they understand?
This was a basic contract. We had the same protection afforded to medical students dissecting people in their gross anatomy class.

“Who was the next cryonics patient, Mr. Nelson?”

“Genevieve de la Poterie. She was a seven-year-old child from Canada. She was dying from a Wilms tumor on her kidney. Her parents had no money, and I just fell in love with this sweet little girl. At that time I had a daughter just two years older than this beautiful angel.”

“How much did CSC receive from that suspension?”

“Not a penny. In fact, I donated one thousand dollars of my own money for her suspension.”

Winterbotham paused, hoping that testimony would be remembered in the jury room.

“Well, Mr. Nelson, something is missing here. Where is the scam part, the part where you con everyone out of their fortunes? So far it looks like you're the one being conned. You're the one receiving tons of work, responsibility, and debt along with horrible accusations that you're stealing unbelievable sums of these people's money.”

As Winterbotham said that, he slammed his book down on the defense table. Then he screamed, “Where is the money, Mr. Nelson? Where are you hiding it?”

Judge Shelby pounded his gavel, several people in the gallery woke up, and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It was bizarre, but I think he made his point. A little nutty maybe, but well done!

“So, Mr. Nelson, you've got all these people frozen in different locations. Who's paying for all these expenses—pumps, liquid nitrogen, dry ice, traveling every day to the vault and then to Buena Park and the temporary storage facility? Capsules breaking down, meetings, fly here, fly there. Who is paying for all this activity, Mr. Nelson? Who's paying all these bills?”

All his questions made me defensive and I stammered, “I did the best I could for as long as possible.”

“Mr. Nelson, tell us about the day you returned to the Chatsworth vault to find the pump not running and the capsules hot, sitting in a hundred-degree-plus sun. Who was in the capsule at that time?”

“Mildred Harrington, Steven Mandell, and Genevieve de la Poterie. I was quite worried about the capsule and its patients. I had made arrangements with the cemetery's groundskeeper to call the Gilmore cryogenic company if there was any problem.” I stopped for a minute; it was tough recounting that horrible day.

“When I drove up to the capsule, I could see that the pump was off with no vapor discharging from the valve. It took me a long time to muster the courage to touch the exhaust. Finally I got up enough nerve to check; the pipe was hot, and I mean burning hot. I gasped and fell to my knees and cried. I had failed them, all of them.” I stopped to take a breath. “I failed them.”

“Your witness,” Winterbotham said.

It was now Nothern's turn to twist the knife. I actually looked forward to it. After all, if I was the horrible person that he claimed, it should be simple for this sharp attorney to chew me up. I was ready for him.

“Mr. Nelson, how are you today, sir?”

“I've had better days.”

“Well, sir, you're holding up very well. This must be a great strain for you.”

He caught me off guard with his concern. He was playacting for the jury or had something quite sinister waiting for me.

“Mr. Nelson, I understand that after Mrs. Harrington had been frozen for over a year, you and Mr. Klockgether allowed Terry and Dennis Harrington to have a viewing for the family and friends of their mother.”

“I believe ten or so guests came to California for that event, and, might I add, they were profoundly comforted by it.”

“Was that to your knowledge, Mr. Nelson, the first time in history that a person who had been deceased for over a year had been viewed publicly?”

“With the exception of the Russian leader Lenin and Disney's Sleeping Beauty,” I checked the jury to make sure they got my joke, “I believe it was.”

“And, Mr. Nelson, if I understand you correctly, you claim the Harrington brothers had promised to make monthly donations to help with their mother's liquid nitrogen costs, is that true?”

“Yes, that is true.”

Nothern leaned over the witness box. I could see the glint in his eye and half-hidden smile. Despite his impeccable manners, he enjoyed the hunt as much as Worthington. “I believe the preparations for the memorial were quite elaborate. It involved fabricating a new cryogenic system that sprayed liquid nitrogen to keep the body cooled enough for two hours.”

“Yes; Mr. Klockgether worked hard to make the service as perfect as possible.”

“How did Mrs. Harrington look, Mr. Nelson?”

“Her sons had taken a great deal of effort to prepare her; they spent hours getting her ready. Several times I had to shut the casket to allow it to cool down again.”

Nothern got a twinkle in his eye, and I braced myself for his punch line.

“Well, Mr. Nelson, if you claim the Harrington brothers promised to make donations each month and never made even one, why would you go through all this trouble and expense on their behalf? And why would you not even mention this failed promise?”

I easily countered his coup de grâce. “It was not a problem since, at that time, she was in temporary storage. The donations were not scheduled to begin until Mrs. Harrington was placed into a capsule. Also, we charged the Harringtons an additional five thousand dollars for the memorial services, which they paid in advance. It was an exceptional event, and they got more than their money's worth.”

Nothern had tried to sandbag me, but even with my easy deflection, he managed to look unscathed. He asked me next if I thought there could have been some simple misunderstanding about Mrs. Harrington being donated to CSC. “I mean, you were asking them to not only give away ten thousand dollars, but you asked for their mother as well.”

I glanced over to Winterbotham for his silent direction, but he wasn't listening. Instead he was drinking glass after glass of water.

“We made the same presentation to everyone across the country who wanted our help for a cryonic suspension. It is the only legal structure that will provide some degree of protection against these types of lawsuits.”

“Thank you; that is all.”

Winterbotham then called his next witness, Marcelon Johnson, who had been the treasurer of CSC and had become my good fairy when she took over as president when I had to resign. Winterbotham asked about her duties as the CSC treasurer. She explained she kept track of membership dues and planned speaking engagements.

“We were an all-volunteer society. We knew our president, Bob Nelson, was honest, hardworking, and a true believer in the science of cryonics.” She stopped and flashed me a gorgeous smile. “The cryonics time machine can bring us to a future generation who can save our precious gift of life.”

Nothern on cross-examination asked only two questions of Ms. Johnson: first, whether she was aware if I ever used my own money to pay for cryonics expenses. She said, “Yes, we have all done that.”

The next question concerned what she knew about the financing of the long-term storage vault at Chatsworth and how many people remained in that vault.

She answered, “I have no idea. That was something Mr. Nelson handled exclusively. He did not want others involved because of its highly experimental nature.”

With that, Nothern had no further questions.

The next witness was the great Marshall Neel. Marshall was deeply involved in every aspect of the cryonics movement, and I still saw him often.

“Mr. Neel, what was your involvement in the Cryonics Society of California?”

“I was a business advisor for the program. I am now a teacher and public relations director for the Long Beach Water Company. I have long lent my expertise to benevolent organizations that I support in my private life.”

“Is cryonics an organization you support with your whole heart?”

“Yes, I can say yes to that.”

“What do you think of Mr. Nelson's contribution to CSC over these past years?”

“I think Mr. Nelson gave CSC all he's got and more. That dedication and drive is what landed him in this courtroom today. There comes a time when you have to let go of a burden if you want to survive.” Marshall's words rolled out like silk. “Mr. Nelson would not let go.”

“How much money were you paid by CSC?”

“Nothing. Nor was any other member.”

“Do you intend to be frozen yourself, Mr. Neel?”

“That, sir, is my personal business, and I respectfully decline to answer that question.”

“What was your contribution to CSC?”

“I was simply available whenever an opinion on a particular action was needed. I often gave talks for membership promotion.”

“What was your official position?” Winterbotham asked, and then he started laughing. Marshall looked surprised, while Joseph and I exchanged questioning glances. My esteemed attorney kept tittering as he walked back to the defense table and sat down. No one wanted to laugh with him, and the awkward moment stretched out interminably as the moments clicked by. Finally I elbowed him in his gut.

“Right,” Winterbotham said as he hopped out of his chair with so much energy, his feet came off the floor. He took a big gulp of water from his glass and bounded back to the witness.

“Mr. Neel, tell me about Cryonic Interment, the for-profit corporation started, I believe, by you and Mr. Nelson? What was its purpose?”

Marshall sat tall in the witness chair. “CI was a legal structure to assist CSC in purchasing equipment and offering cryonic services.”

“Whatever became of Cryonic Interment?”

“Nothing. CSC never got far in obtaining patients who could afford to have their bodies cryonically suspended. All but two of CSC's patients could not afford the procedure.”

“So did CI conduct any business at all?”

“No, there was never a single transaction whatsoever by CI. There's not much use having a for-profit corporation when there aren't any
profits
.”

“What role did you play in CSC's decision whether to freeze a patient?”

“I never offered advice. This was Mr. Nelson's decision alone. No one else wanted any responsibility for the frozen remains of people who did not arrange adequate financing for their suspension.”

“Were you in any way consulted about the Mildred Harrington cryonic suspension?”

“No, I was never asked about any cryonic suspension.”

“No more questions.”

Winterbotham's next witness was the great lady herself, Stella Gramer. She glided to the stand, statuesque and proud, with a crown of beautiful red hair and dressed in one of her many impeccably tailored suits. Although Stella was in her mid-eighties, she had a regal finesse and mental prowess that proved ageless.

I was honored to call her a great friend. Worthington had spent months trying to draw her into this lawsuit. He had subpoenaed her, deposed her, had private investigators spy on her, and attempted every possible dirty trick but never came close to entangling her in his shameful lawsuit.

Winterbotham introduced her by summarizing her illustrious career. She had been the youngest female attorney to pass the bar in California and had won the first huge judgment against the railroad for using illegal workers. She was a multimillionaire who had lived next door to Marilyn Monroe and was saddened by the apparent suicide of such a sweet woman.

He asked about our relationship. She said we had met at Holmby Park in Beverly Hills some twenty years before. She was watching her two young grandchildren play on the monkey bars, and I was walking my German shepherd puppy. The grandchildren and the puppy bonded instantly, as did we.