Milky Way Trailer Park, Hobble, TN 1400hrs. It's shady--enough to give the impression of twilight even though it's afternoon in the South. A governmenty-looking black sedan drives up to a booth with the word "INFORMATION" painted in block letters over a screen door. The paint is faded inside and out, and there are leaves and squirrels inside the booth.
General Tompkins barks at the squirrels.
Dan: Easy there, General! These ladies have to help us find Doctor Gardener. Looks back at General Blaine. Cuz there ain't no one else around here who can tell us where he's parked. 'Sa dang ghost...trailer park, sir.
Blaine: Well, it certainly looks that way. To Greenberg and Cho. You sure we have the correct location? I enjoy a chopper ride as much as the next military man, but we haven't got time to waste.
Cho: Notably nervous, cleaning his glasses. Sir, these are the doctor's last known whereabouts.
Greenberg: The Tennessean published an op-ed Gardener wrote about solar flares in May of last year. They have Milky Way Trailer Park as his return address.
The squirrels scamper out a window and General Tompkins follows.
Dan: Hey, General! Get back here! Runs after General Tompkins.
General Tompkins chases the squirrels through some sad-looking bramble and around two decrepit motor homes and stops in a clearing. When the men catch up, Dan, then Blaine, then the two scientists who are out of breath, they see a smallish, old, twinkie-shaped trailer. It's been painted dark blue with house paint, which is peeling, and covered with glow-in-the-dark star stickers. On the roof, such as it is, is an inflatable kiddie pool covered in aluminum foil and resting on a stack of pizza boxes, angled towards the sky. The doctor's mailbox is shaped like a rocket ship with a chaise lounge on top. It's full of unopened letters and surrounded by more.
Dan: Well, I reckon we won't be needing to ask them squirrels for directions.
Blaine: You lab-coats said this man was a doctor! It looks like a lunatic nine-year-old lives here!
Greenberg: H-h-he is, sir. Once very well-respected...
As Greenberg speaks, there's a slow zoom-in on the trailer.
Dr. Stanislaus Gardener received his doctoral degree from an experimental university in Oxford in 1967. At the time, many American scientists were entrenched in the campaign to get an American man on the moon. Combining this with general open-mindedness of the 1960's, and perhaps to a small extent, the extreme open-mindedness of the physicists, engineers, and astronomers who were attempting to aid in the space race and in the study of the effects of experimental LSD, meant that Dr. Gardener was accepted into the community. Of course, there were some older psychologists and astrologers, mostly on the East Coast, who thought Gardener's theories were, well, insane. He postulated that the physical systems which governed the movements and behaviors of cosmic bodies and groups were so complex, that it was beneficial to treat these systems as part physical and part metaphysical: similar to the way we regard the human brain.
Unnoticed by the men, and old, gnarled hand sticks out of a doggie door/flap holding a piece of kielbasa sausage. General Tompkins sniffs the air.
Of course, psychologists were displeased because they had struggled for nearly a century with the perception that theirs was not a true science. The astronomers laughed at his theories, considering them too absurd for response, but Dr. Gardener could still find willing audiences, even up until 1975. At that time, he published a paper: "The Benefits of Electroconvulsive Therapy in Regulating Moon Phases." One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest was released the same week, and the tide of public opinion turned against "shock therapy," as it's called, and scientific opinion turned against Dr. Gardener. He lost his post at NMU, his colleagues, friends, and it's said he forswore humankind. Some of his papers, old and new, are occasionally re-run or published, but generally in the April editions of the periodicals in which they appear. That's in time for April Fool's Day. He hasn't been seen in public for 15 years. I, uh, don't want to, erm, alarm you, General, sir. But there's a chance he might not speak to us at all.
General Blaine begins to fume, but before he starts shouting, General Tompkins runs at the doggie door and goes inside.
Dan: General Tompkins! Runs up to the door and starts banging on it, turns to Blaine Sir! That crazy doctor has my dog!
General Tompkins barks at the squirrels.
Dan: Easy there, General! These ladies have to help us find Doctor Gardener. Looks back at General Blaine. Cuz there ain't no one else around here who can tell us where he's parked. 'Sa dang ghost...trailer park, sir.
Blaine: Well, it certainly looks that way. To Greenberg and Cho. You sure we have the correct location? I enjoy a chopper ride as much as the next military man, but we haven't got time to waste.
Cho: Notably nervous, cleaning his glasses. Sir, these are the doctor's last known whereabouts.
Greenberg: The Tennessean published an op-ed Gardener wrote about solar flares in May of last year. They have Milky Way Trailer Park as his return address.
The squirrels scamper out a window and General Tompkins follows.
Dan: Hey, General! Get back here! Runs after General Tompkins.
General Tompkins chases the squirrels through some sad-looking bramble and around two decrepit motor homes and stops in a clearing. When the men catch up, Dan, then Blaine, then the two scientists who are out of breath, they see a smallish, old, twinkie-shaped trailer. It's been painted dark blue with house paint, which is peeling, and covered with glow-in-the-dark star stickers. On the roof, such as it is, is an inflatable kiddie pool covered in aluminum foil and resting on a stack of pizza boxes, angled towards the sky. The doctor's mailbox is shaped like a rocket ship with a chaise lounge on top. It's full of unopened letters and surrounded by more.
Dan: Well, I reckon we won't be needing to ask them squirrels for directions.
Blaine: You lab-coats said this man was a doctor! It looks like a lunatic nine-year-old lives here!
Greenberg: H-h-he is, sir. Once very well-respected...
As Greenberg speaks, there's a slow zoom-in on the trailer.
Dr. Stanislaus Gardener received his doctoral degree from an experimental university in Oxford in 1967. At the time, many American scientists were entrenched in the campaign to get an American man on the moon. Combining this with general open-mindedness of the 1960's, and perhaps to a small extent, the extreme open-mindedness of the physicists, engineers, and astronomers who were attempting to aid in the space race and in the study of the effects of experimental LSD, meant that Dr. Gardener was accepted into the community. Of course, there were some older psychologists and astrologers, mostly on the East Coast, who thought Gardener's theories were, well, insane. He postulated that the physical systems which governed the movements and behaviors of cosmic bodies and groups were so complex, that it was beneficial to treat these systems as part physical and part metaphysical: similar to the way we regard the human brain.
Unnoticed by the men, and old, gnarled hand sticks out of a doggie door/flap holding a piece of kielbasa sausage. General Tompkins sniffs the air.
Of course, psychologists were displeased because they had struggled for nearly a century with the perception that theirs was not a true science. The astronomers laughed at his theories, considering them too absurd for response, but Dr. Gardener could still find willing audiences, even up until 1975. At that time, he published a paper: "The Benefits of Electroconvulsive Therapy in Regulating Moon Phases." One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest was released the same week, and the tide of public opinion turned against "shock therapy," as it's called, and scientific opinion turned against Dr. Gardener. He lost his post at NMU, his colleagues, friends, and it's said he forswore humankind. Some of his papers, old and new, are occasionally re-run or published, but generally in the April editions of the periodicals in which they appear. That's in time for April Fool's Day. He hasn't been seen in public for 15 years. I, uh, don't want to, erm, alarm you, General, sir. But there's a chance he might not speak to us at all.
General Blaine begins to fume, but before he starts shouting, General Tompkins runs at the doggie door and goes inside.
Dan: General Tompkins! Runs up to the door and starts banging on it, turns to Blaine Sir! That crazy doctor has my dog!
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