Spring Break
Into the deep freeze. . .
Members of Michigan's Cryonics Institute believe they could one day come back to life after years on ice
Brian Coburn
Issue date: 5/11/09 Section: Wildcard
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People in Star Trek outfits and Furry costumes recently packed a hotel in Romulus for a weekend blast hosted by a group of science fiction fans and Linux users. Most of the people here don't seem like dummies, far from it, but if you couldn't tell by the description, a lot of these folks are awfully geeky-and remarkably fat. It's as if for these overgrown kids, adulthood simply meant Mom didn't get to say no to the Oreos anymore.
But for the Cryonics Institute (CI) in Clinton Township - which stores dead bodies at freezing temperatures in hopes of ultimately bringing them back to life - this is a recruiting ground. Seeking those with wild imaginations when it comes to Sci-Fi, CI President Ben Best has thrown one of many Friday night room parties at the hotel to inform anyone who wants to pop in the open door how they could one day come back to life and experience the distant future.
"These things never seem to have that much success, but we try to get ourselves out there," said the sheepish Best while lying on the room bed and waiting for people to flow in.
It's not an uncommon practice for CI recruit at such Sci-Fi shindigs, and it makes sense since Cryonics (often confused with cryogenics - which is the study of all things frozen, not human bodies) started as science fiction. Hell, for more than 20 years it existed as merely an idea in the pages of Sci-Fi novels and newsletters before it became an actual practice whose merits remain highly disputed.
Frozen in time
The basic concept of Cryonics has been well-documented, largely due to the publicity over baseball legend Ted Williams having his head frozen after death for future purposes. There was a rumor that Walt Disney is also in the deep freeze waiting to be reanimated, though that one was shot down by Best as an urban legend. And as a long-time Cryonics enthusiast and representative, he would probably know.
What's important to know is that the practice is rooted in fantasy as much or more than actual science.
The recognized Godfather of the Cryonics movement is Robert Ettinger, a 90-year-old Detroit native and former physics teacher
who founded CI, where his mother and two deceased wives are being preserved. Like many interested in the idea, he grew up a Sci-Fi fan, devouring pulp mags and dreaming about all the future possibilities they explored.
One story in particular, "The Jameson Satellite" by Neil Jones, turned him onto the idea of bringing someone back to life. In it, a character goes into earth orbit and is found millions of years later by aliens who revive him.
"It was obvious to me that (Jones) had missed the main point of his own idea because if it made any sense at all that advanced technology might revive a frozen person, why wait millions of years for aliens to do it? Why not do it ourselves, right away, for everyone who wants it? That was the germ of that."
Years later, while recovering from an injury he suffered in World War II, Ettinger read about frogs being bred from frog sperm that was preserved by freeze. He thought it was evidence toward the possibility of humans being brought back to life in a similar way and assumed the idea would catch hold.
It did not. In 1960, he sent a newsletter out to a "who's who" of scientists he thought would be interested in the idea. They were not.
Two years later, he had "The Prospect of Immortality" published. The book laid out all the basics and is considered the bible of the movement, which itself is a fleeting enterprise. It also got Ettinger credit as its creator.
"This is something that required a book-length explanation," he said.
Hope - with no promises
While rooted in some scientific theory, the logistics of Cryonics are largely built around optimism., "We're waiting for future science" is Best's favorite answer to questions about potential holes in the idea.
At the Institute, which is the second largest of its kind behind only Alcore in Arizona (proud home of Williams' head) and legally viewed as a cemetery by the state, 92 bodies of the deceased are kept in its tanks.
Not a freezer per say, the tanks are non-electrical and twice a week are given doses of liquid nitrogen to make sure the bodies are at -321 degrees Fahrenheit to prevent decay.
Before they are placed in the tank, the deceased goes through a procedure much like an embalming, where the blood and water in the body are extricated and replaced by - get this - anti-freeze. The same stuff you put in your car.
Detractors of the practice most often point to this act as the one that makes a reanimation impossible, claiming the liquid would cause bodily injury even in the case of resuscitation. Cryonics believers merely say that's a matter of dispute.
The prevailing hope among Ettinger and Co. (they make no promises) is that if bodies are kept that way long enough, cures for the
diseases they died from will be developed, nano-technology will be so advanced it will become known how to successfully unfreeze a body, and the person will be cured retroactively.
Best also said he believes that one day a way can be realized to rejuvenate the bodies, bringing them back in a more youthful state.
So what does it cost?
The board room at CI is filled with pictures of faces of people now in the tank. When asked to describe the profile of a typical cryonics member or patient, Ettinger said he had done research and found that a doctor is nine times as likely as someone from the general public to be involved with the movement in some way.
He also said people who work in computers are "overrepresented" and that the body count at CI has doubled in the last five years because of the reach of the Internet.
But it's safe to say that a lot of them are into science fiction, and to say the least, a bit eccentric. If you don't believe so, know that CI doesn't just store bodies, but also pets that once belonged to enthusiasts. In hopes that their animals will come back to life, people have checked in dogs, cats and even fish (yes, fish).
In addition to the patients, there are 350 members at CI - those who have their signed up to have their bodies turned over after death. The Cryonics Institute is a non-profit organization, but that doesn't mean it doesn't cost a pretty penny to reserve a seat.
The standard fee for storage is $28,000, but it is $60,000 to get "standby service." Like so many other things in Cryonics, the merits of having the procedure done immediately after death are disputed, but nevertheless some pay a lot extra to have a team waiting by their bed when the time is near. Should they not pass then, they still have to pay for the service, and will have to again should they want to do it in the future.
A couple members came up to the room party in Romulus to mingle. One of them is Alex Marsh of Ypsilanti, who at just 36 probably has a long way to go before he goes on ice. As most members do, Marsh - adorned with a big pirate hat this night - got a life insurance policy that names the Institute as the beneficiary.
He isn't sure how likely it is that he'll one day be brought back to life, but calls it an "above-zero chance" and that's good enough for him. He considers the money a small sacrifice, something he says he is currently putting just $30 a month toward, for such an enticing prospect.
Death is merely a concept
Since reading "The Door Into Summer"-an idealized novel about Cryonics-as a kid, Marsh has wanted to do this.
"I figure I have to try - there's no reason not to," Marsh said. "Think about it. Let's say I die tomorrow - in 20 years I'm not very interesting. In 100 years, I'm a pretty interesting guy. I'm a decorated vet, a dotcom entrepreneur. In 500 years, I'm (expletive) fascinating! . . . They will
work very hard to bring me back if that is possible."
Ettinger practices what he preaches; he's going in like all the other members when he dies. He admitted to one day expecting to see a breakthrough in his lifetime (or
as he might prefer it to be said, this lifetime) and is slightly disappointed that he will likely pass before that happens.
Saying the idea that Cryonics is all a scam to somehow make money is "nonsense," he remains titillated by the idea of one day coming back, which would affirm his hope that death is merely a concept, not a permanent.
"If you're body is being frozen and preserved, as technology advances, there's going to be a chance for you," he said. "If you go into the ground and the worms get to you - guess what? - there's no chance."
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