Freezing People is (Not) Easy (8 page)

Freezing the first man: Dr. James Bedford

There was one rather bothersome detail I recall, fortunately not important for Dr. Bedford's preservation. Six hours later we moved the container to Robert's garage, a temporary storage location until Norman decided where to store his father's body. I opened the top of the container to see how the good doctor was faring with all this movement. When I removed the lid and checked him, I was concerned about a ten-pound block of dry ice, ten inches square by two inches thick; it was directly on top of his face, squishing the nose. Unfortunately, he was already frozen, so his nose would stay bent over for perhaps hundreds of years. I thought how dumb I was to not think about his nose and made a mental note for the next time. Other than that, he appeared to be in good condition. He was just a little bit dead, but he wasn't lost forever.

The next morning Robert's wife learned about the frozen body stored in her garage. Claudette screamed at her husband, calling him every derogatory name that her good breeding would allow. She gave him six hours or promised to call the police. Robert called me and ordered me to remove Dr. Bedford. I convinced my first-class hippie secretary, Sandra Stanley, and her easygoing husband, Shelby, to keep Dr. Bedford in their Topanga Canyon home. She smiled and shrugged, “What the hell; that's what friends are for.”

I moved Dr. Bedford's body into the back of my Ford Ranchero pickup and then drove through the treacherous twisted roads of Topanga Canyon. I probably broke some laws—misdemeanor or felony, I couldn't be sure. However, a life was at stake.

About a week later, Norman wanted his father's body delivered to a mortuary service, which would transport Dr. Bedford to the Cryo-Care Equipment Co. in Phoenix, Arizona, for long-term placement in a cryogenic capsule.

Once again I drove Dr. Bedford in the back of my pickup the twenty miles through Topanga Canyon onto the Ventura Freeway to Balboa Park in the San Fernando Valley. With perhaps a hundred people milling about this enormous, plush green park and the sun perched high overhead, we transferred Dr. Bedford's huge, 350-pound dry-ice chest into the waiting black hearse. This was a first in world history—and no one noticed.

I waved him off as the hearse drove away. All the while the smoky vapors of dry ice billowed in the wind, declaring to the world, “Yes, I may be dead, but I'm just a little bit dead. And I will be back.”

Headlines splashed the story of Dr. Bedford's freezing across the country and throughout the world. Professor Ettinger flew to California for a press conference with the CSC, and we gave at least thirty news media and television interviews and prepared for the lead story in an issue of
Life
magazine.

Professor Ettinger appeared on the
Johnny Carson Show
and most of the other top celebrity talk shows. Over time I appeared on
The Phil Donahue Show,
with
Regis Philbin four times, and several others. While we were welcomed and treated with respect, the audiences seemed suspicious of greatly extended life and misconstrued cryonics as a replacement for an afterlife. Of course there can be an afterlife, be it heaven, nirvana, or the happy hunting ground, even if death is delayed.
*

The scientific advisory council disintegrated. Robert told me that one of the researchers called after the freezing and said, “Don't mention our name; we want no part of this. It's over. Good-bye.” They never phoned me. They wanted no association with the president of the body freezers.

Over the next twenty years, Dr. Bedford traveled a circuitous journey before he was donated to the Alcor Foundation in September 1987. They have since placed him in a state-of-the-art “Bigfoot” capsule that stands nine feet tall and holds several other patients, safely immersed in the -320°F chill of liquid nitrogen, making decay negligible. Because of Dr. Bedford's distinction as the first person cryogenically frozen, Alcor has pledged to maintain him until his reanimation, perhaps hundreds of years from today.

Immediately after Dr. Bedford's freezing, Dr. Able convinced Norman Bedford to create an independent partnership to conduct cryobiological research by informing him that the CSC was a bunch of amateurs. However, the partnership never was established. Young Bedford took custody of his father's body and had no further connection with CSC. He never paid for any of the services or material expenses extended by CSC in the freezing. The cost of this first freezing ultimately was covered by dues paid by CSC members, who nevertheless were honored to have participated.

What became of the three hundred thousand dollars left by Dr. Bedford to cover his expenses into perpetuity was a mystery to me for a long time. I now know that Norman used it in legal defense against other family members, who wanted to remove Dr. Bedford from suspension and acquire those funds for themselves. His relatives continued until the money was exhausted, which evaporated their incentive as well, so Dr. Bedford fortunately remained frozen. Norman deserves commendation for his dedication through all this, regardless of his financial standing with CSC.

I was delighted to learn that during the many years Dr. Bedford had been secretly moved from place to place, he had never thawed. Square-shaped ice cubes originally used to cool him were still intact. Therefore, we were confident that he stayed frozen during his entire suspension. This was enormously important to Alcor's decision to continue Dr. Bedford's suspension. Since then, he has remained safely immersed in the subzero chill of liquid nitrogen.

Dr. James Bedford was the first, but he was certainly not the last. Humankind continually strives to grow in the knowledge and revelations of our ever-changing universe. For us it might take more than a lifetime; but for the frozen patients, it requires only an instant.

Chapter 5

The Early Pioneers

After the calls for interviews decreased
and the furor died down, we entered a nebulous stage following Dr. Bedford's freezing. The scientific advisory board was gone, and while people were curious or titillated by the idea of cryonics, there were no patients and no significant donors. Being president of the CSC in search of donations made me feel like a serial dater—I was a man with an endless string of encounters, kissed at the end of the evening but never meeting someone willing to commit. The freezing of Dr. James Bedford had established our path: The CSC would continue finding patients who wanted to be frozen. We had brought the future to reality. The next time someone like Walt Disney called, we would be ready. In the aftermath, I was struggling to bring the CSC down the new direction I had forged.

That goal brought us together with a mortician, Joseph Klockgether, who saw that cryonics had the potential to grow into a worldwide phenomenon by changing the very definition of death. He discovered the CSC through a mortuary newsletter, which explained cryonics as an alternative form of interment. Joseph thought that cremating a person was a terrible waste and that cryonic suspension made more sense. He was exactly the type of mortician we needed.

After our initial conversations, Marshall Neel, our public relations director, and I went out to Rennaker Mortuary to meet with Joseph. He was in his early thirties and stood about five foot six, elegant and good mannered. I admired him because he wasn't concerned about what other people thought.

He greeted Marshall and me in the lobby of his mortuary and gestured for us to follow him to his office in the back. We walked past a chapel, three occupied visitation rooms, and a fully equipped embalming room, where he performed his typical duties in addition to autopsies. I looked around his office, found it practical but pleasant, and was intrigued by an old photograph of a horse-driven hearse over his desk; the driver wore a tall black hat and was dressed in formal attire.

Joseph told us that he was excited about cryonics and gladly would help with anything we asked. Since mortuaries tended to not return my phone calls, Joseph's willingness to help us was surprising.

Through cryonics, I was privileged to meet many passionate people with unconventional life stories. These kindred spirits became my friends, and we forged bonds far deeper than many I'd developed with my real family during my childhood.

In the car on the way to Santa Barbara, my good friend Sandra Stanley told me a little about the woman we were about to meet. “Marie's a leader in the feminist movement and involved in countless causes—the ACLU, the National Congress of American Indians, the Committee for a World Constitution, and the NAACP. She's interested in adding cryonics to the list.” Sandra turned and looked at me. “Thank you so much for this trip. She's a mesmerizing woman, and I think she could do great things with us.”

Back when Professor Ettinger was looking for someone to publish his book, he had sent out a hundred unsolicited copies of the manuscript to prominent scientists and activists listed in
Who's Who.
Marie Sweet had received one of these advance copies of
The Prospect of Immortality
and had been devoted to cryonics ever since.

As we drove up to her ancient brick house with a breathtaking ocean view, Marie came out the front door to greet us. “Hello there.” She caught me in a full-on hug and said, “I've heard so much about all the amazing work you're doing, I'm just thrilled to meet you. I'd adopt you if I could. Would you let me?” Marie gave me a sly smile and then moved on to a tighter, longer hug with Sandra.

Marie didn't fit my mental image of a feminist. She was an elderly lady who looked rather spent, but she offered to help any way she could. With her vast experience and sharp mind, she would prove invaluable.

Marie Sweet

While Sandra and Marie talked about their various foundations, I wandered into her husband's blacksmithing workshop, complete with a fiery kiln and giant anvil. Russ Le Croix Van Norden charmed me; he had a lilting walk and wore a black French beret slightly askew over his long silvery hair. Although long past retirement age, he still built ornamental iron gates. When I mentioned Marie, a smile lit up his face. I could easily see how devoted he was to his wife and, by extension, to her causes. It touched my heart to see such tenderness in this elderly couple—the culmination of a lifelong love affair.

Both Marie and Russ joined our group and wanted to be frozen after their death. Marie worked miracles and convinced twenty scientists to write papers in biology, physiology, and space exploration and present them at the First National Cryonics Conference. Sadly, Marie never saw the presentations. On August 26, 1967, she traveled to Santa Monica and checked into a hotel for conference business. The next day she was scheduled to meet Sandra but never showed up. Sometime during the night, Marie died alone in the hotel room from heart failure.

We didn't find out for two days. During that time, the mortuary staff struggled to find her next of kin. Unbeknown to anyone, her husband was working in Salinas, and no other family could be found. Finally someone noticed the medical alert she wore on her wrist. The wristband identified her as a full body donor to the CSC, and the mortuary called me.

Abandoning all our conference duties, Sandra and I were frantically looking for Marie. When I learned the truth, I was spurred to quickly begin the freezing process. I tried contacting Joseph Klockgether, but he was out of town. He needed at least a day to get back to Santa Monica. Too much time had already elapsed, and she needed a perfusion soon to have even the slightest hope of being revived in the future.

I called Dr. Dante Brunol, who had performed the perfusion on Dr. James Bedford. He agreed to help, but he needed equipment and assistants. I then called Jeff Hicks, an apprentice at the California College of Mortuary Science. He told me he could bring equipment from the school and could assist. The next challenge was finding an operating room. The mortuary holding Marie's body wanted nothing to do with us, and we didn't want to waste time hunting for a willing mortuary.

I settled for an available operating room instead of a legal one. I called Jeff and said, “We have all the chemicals at our office in Westwood. Come here and we'll perform the perfusion on the desk.”

Jeff and a fellow apprentice, Dennis Walker, picked up an embalming machine, ice, and all the other necessary equipment from the college. They took custody of Marie's body at the mortuary and then brought her to the CSC office.

We moved two big wooden desks side by side and covered them with green surgical sheets; then we removed Marie's body from her ice-filled body bag and placed her on the makeshift operating table. I laced up my surgical gown and triangulated myself between Marie, the office door, and the window overlooking the street below. Leaving the medical procedures to the doctor and the apprenticing morticians, I played the lookout, determined that they would finish the perfusion uninterrupted. Despite our precautions and protocols, I knew we couldn't legally perform the perfusion in this office building we shared with accountants and lawyers. Nervous and constantly playing with the ties on my surgical cap, I imagined the horrific headlines we'd see in tomorrow's newspaper if we were discovered.

I tried not to dwell on the wisdom of my rushed decisions over the past several hours, as this was neither the ideal location nor an ideal candidate for a perfusion. My heart dropped when I noticed that her abdomen was bloated and had turned a disturbing pale green.

Jeff noticed me staring at Marie's stomach instead the door. “It's the first part of the body to show decay after death—bacteria. We're lucky it hasn't been any longer. Once it starts, the decay process isn't pretty.”

Her blood had pooled due to gravity, causing her back and sides to appear burgundy while her face was a ghostly white. I couldn't stomach the idea of that ultimately happening to me. Although natural, it seemed so unnecessary.

Jeff interrupted my thoughts. “I don't see any signs of insects. That's good.”

I nodded and wished for an invisible mask of detachment to fall across my face. I wasn't optimistic about her future but wanted to continue the perfusion anyway. Ultimately, Marie's husband would decide whether to maintain her in an imperfect cryonic suspension or have her cremated. At least we could give him the option of suspension and a chance to fulfill Marie's wishes.

A cardiac pump machine was placed over her heart, forcing the blood to circulate and flow out of the body. Jeff started the embalming pump, which had a three-gallon reservoir of the perfusion liquid: mostly glycerol and dimethyl sulfoxide. These chemicals replaced the blood and would protect the patient's tissues when we cooled her body temperature below the freezing point of water. The formation of ice crystals would damage her cells and make it extremely difficult for future doctors to bring Marie back from her long ice nap.

Dr. Brunol picked up the scalpel, ready to make the first cut on Marie's carotid artery. For two hours he performed the perfusion while Jeff and Dennis kept her cooled. During the long procedure, I stole glances at the three men and felt in awe of their skill. Dr. Brunol's hands were deft and precise. This was only the second perfusion ever performed, and yet the apprentices expertly aided the doctor, anticipating his needs and having every tool ready as he called for it, although they'd never been taught this procedure at school.

When the operation was complete, they placed Marie in an aluminum casket liner and covered her with ice. They didn't completely fill the container until they brought her downstairs to the hearse.

We transported Marie to Joseph Klockgether's mortuary in Buena Park. Joseph was still out of town, but I grabbed the hidden key from underneath the flowerpot. We moved her into the empty garage and replaced the ice with dry ice to cool her to subzero temperature.

When it was all over, my hand lingered on the casket, feeling the cold aluminum. I now had the opportunity to mourn. “Goodbye, Marie,” I said softly. “Dream not about today but of tomorrow.”

Later, sinking into the front seat of the hearse, I dropped my head into my hands as the adrenaline drained away. Despite the roller coaster of that day's events, I just felt grateful that Marie rested on property legal to keep human remains. Marie Phelps-Sweet was the second person cryogenically frozen and the first woman. Allowing that thought to settle in my mind, it felt right. It seemed like a fitting coda for a woman who'd lived such an extraordinary life.

Dr. Dante Brunol and two apprentice morticians perform the perfusion on Marie Sweet in our Westwood offices, and then we place her inside the dry ice to keep her cold.

The media attention and drama surrounding the freezing of the first man, Dr. James Bedford, was absent this time. Her husband didn't even know she was dead yet.