Chapter Eight. Betty, 1964
CHAPTER EIGHT
“[In] a typical Ganzfeld experiments … translucent Ping-Pong ball halves are taped over their eyes … Measures are taken to reduce external noise and place participants in a comfortable, dreamy state of awareness.”
—The British Psychological Society
Betty had seen the girl on campus before, walking arm-in-arm with her husband. They were impossible to miss, with their sleek blond hair, bright smiles, and gorgeous faces. Everyone called them the Pepsi-Cola kids, because they looked like they could be models in the advertisements.
And now the girl was here at the Trimble Institute, seated across from Betty in the main testing room. She was even more stunning up close, like a platinum-blond Ann-Margret.
Dr. Trimble made the introduction. “Betty, this is Kathleen. She’s another volunteer.”
The fear gnawing at Betty abated. If Kathleen—the gold standard for girls for looks and poise—was a part of this, it might be fine, after all. Bad things didn’t seem to happen as often to beautiful people.
Kathleen beamed. “Your dress is so smart!”
Kathleen’s tweed shift was more stylish, of course. She was being generous. Betty liked her instantly.
While she chatted with Kathleen, Betty observed two men coming into the testing room. Both had on dark-framed glasses and short-sleeved dress shirts, but only one of them made Betty smile: Douglas.
“That’s my husband,” she whispered to Kathleen.
“Ooh, you lucky duck! He’s dishy!”
Betty tilted her head closer to Kathleen. “So is yours. I’ve seen you two walking around campus.”
They burst into giggles. Then Dr. Trimble cleared his throat, and their laughter stopped. “Shall we begin?”
It wasn’t bad at all, with Kathleen seated across from her and Douglas observing. They played dozens of rounds of the Zener card game. When it was time for the next test, Dr. Trimble exhaled burnt vanilla air from his ever-present pipe.
“I want you to look at these pictures,” he instructed Betty, handing her a file. “Keep your mind absolutely focused on what you see and try to transmit the images to Kathleen.”
“Yes, Dr. Trimble,” she said.
Then Douglas took Kathleen to the far side of the room so Betty couldn’t see or hear her.
Betty turned to the first image—of a single pink flower on a white background—and studied it until her eyes burned.
Then she turned to the next image. Dr. Trimble kept adding more images, stretching out the test until Betty’s body began to feel weary, even though she was seated.
“I’d like to intensify this experiment,” Dr. Trimble announced. He instructed everyone to follow him. Douglas’s face was blank; it was as if he had been ordered to remain expressionless. Betty tried to catch his eye but couldn’t. A strange new distance seemed to be edging its way between them.
When Dr. Trimble walked toward an interior door in his office, Betty knew what would come next: the blackout room.
As Betty glimpsed the lone recliner in the ink-black space, she heard Kathleen’s breath catch. She stole a quick glance. Kathleen had gone so pale she looked like she might faint.
“Dr. Trimble, would it be possible for us to have a lunch break first?” Betty blurted. “I didn’t pack one because I wasn’t sure how long you’d need me.”
Dr. Trimble was visibly annoyed, but he finally said, “Fine. But come straight back.”
Kathleen reached for Betty’s hand and squeezed it. Betty didn’t need another test to know Kathleen was sending her a silent message: Thank you.
Kathleen knew the best place in town for a ladies’ lunch special, a small diner on the outskirts of campus.
They took Kathleen’s car, a snappy red Sunbeam Tiger.
Even though the early fall day was cool, Kathleen drove with the top down after tying her hair back with a patterned silk scarf. She offered one to Betty, too.
“I always keep an extra in the glove compartment for my friends,” she said, and Betty felt a warm glow despite the chill of the October day.
Kathleen wore chic leather driving gloves with cutouts on the back and drove with her left hand resting on the car frame. It looked so daring; Betty would have to remember to try it.
When they stopped at a red light, a carful of boys pulled up next to them, with one dangling half out the window.
“Hello, hot stuff!” the boy shouted.
Kathleen just threw back her head and laughed and roared off when the light turned green. Betty felt as if they were in a film as the little car hugged the curves of the road and the boys honked their horn, trying in vain to catch up.
Once they were seated across from each other in a booth, Kathleen smoothed out her hair. “Oh, Bets, I must look a sight!”
Betty shook her head. “Not at all! The scarf saved your hair.”
They chatted about inconsequential things until the waitress delivered their lunches—cottage cheese on beds of iceberg lettuce ringed by canned peach slices. No wonder Kathleen stayed so trim, Betty thought.
Afterward, Kathleen took out a pack of Chesterfields and offered one to Betty. They lit their cigarettes, sharing the single ashtray on the table.
“It’s silly, I know. But I’m scared of the dark.
I’ve been like that ever since I was a girl.
” Kathleen paused to smile up at the waitress in the pink uniform who came to remove their plates.
“I know Dr. Trimble is going to put me in that room again and I just hate it. It’s where he does the Ganzfeld experiment.
He makes me wear this blindfold made out of halves of Ping-Pong balls.
I have to keep my eyes open and it’s just so strange, like I’m in the middle of a snow blizzard, almost blinded by the whiteness.
He told me the blindfold is a necessary part of the experiment because it creates a dreamlike state for the mind but”—she gave a little shudder—“I get so unnerved I can’t see much of anything beyond these strange flashes of lights. ”
“Dr. Trimble is so serious. But he’s such an important man,” Betty said.
Kathleen nodded. “My husband, Ronald, is proud I’m doing this, even though sometimes dinner is late because I’ve spent so many hours in the institute. I have to find a way to get through it. The other tests aren’t bad.”
“I’ll do everything I can to help you,” Betty promised. “Right after you get out of the dark room, we’ll pretend we need some fresh air and we’ll go outside together.”
Kathleen’s face tightened. “Just don’t leave me. I might be able to do it if I know you’re on the other side of the door, Bets.”
“I’ll be right there.”
She was so focused on Kathleen’s palpable fear that she never once considered the other possible scenario.
When they returned to the lab, Dr. Trimble beckoned to Betty.
She was the one he wanted to isolate in the blackout room.