Survival Of The Fittest

32

Seven-thirty a.m. I was at the doors to the Biomed library when they opened, barely awake, showered but unshaven, still tasting gulped coffee.

I worked for two hours, finding only one reference to the group called Meta. But it was enough.

Wire-service piece, three years old, carried locally by the Daily News.

GENIUS GROUP EDITORIAL

CAUSES CONTROVERSY

NEW YORK- Opinions supporting selective breeding to improve genetic stock as well as mercy killing of the retarded, published by an organization of self-described geniuses, have raised controversy among members of social-advocacy organizations and put the group under an unaccustomed spotlight.

Meta, a little-known Manhattan-based club founded ten years ago to provide information about creativity and giftedness, now finds itself accused of fascism.

The article under fire was written by Meta director and attorney Farley Sanger in The Pathfinder, the group's quarterly newsletter. In it, Sanger calls for a “new utopia” based upon “objectively measured intellectual ability” and questions the value of providing special education and other services, including medical care, to the developmentally disabled, whom he labels meat without mentation.

Sanger also suggests that those lacking the ability to reason and care for themselves are not fully human and, thus, do not merit constitutional protection under the law. “An effective social-policy analogue,” he argues, would be “animal-protection statutes. Just as sterilization and euthanasia are widely held to be humane policies for cats and dogs, so should they be considered for those “quasi-human' organisms whose genetic makeup causes them to fall well short of the intellectual goalpost.”

The article, published several months ago without fanfare until it was brought to the attention of the press, has generated a predictably hostile reaction from advocates for the mentally retarded.

“This is fascism, pure and simple,” said Barry Hannigan, chairman of the Child Welfare Society. “Ugly stuff reminiscent of Nazi Germany.”

Margaret Esposito, director of the Special Children Foundation, an advocacy group for the retarded, said, “We've worked so hard to erase the stigma associated with developmental delay only to see something like this come along. I can only hope we're talking about a fringe group and that reasonable people will see it for what it is.”

Similar sentiments were echoed by clergy, social scientists, and jurists.

“Reprehensible,” said Monsignor William Binchy of the Manhattan archdiocese. “The Church believes only God should play God.”

The editor responsible for publishing the article in The Pathfinder, Wall Street securities analyst Helga Cranepool, was unfazed by these comments. Admitting that Sanger's essay contained “some push-the-envelope phraseology and adventurous notions,” Cranepool defended them on free-speech grounds and “the right of our members to be exposed to a wide spectrum of opinions. Two characteristics of very bright people are a willingness to take reasonable risks and an unquenchable curiosity. We're not for everyone, nor do we claim to be. We'll continue to do everything in our power to stimulate and challenge ourselves through an unfettered exchange of ideas.”

Author Sanger, reached at his Midtown law office, refused to comment beyond saying, “The writing speaks for itself.” Both he and Cranepool declined to offer the names of other Meta members, with Cranepool describing the group as “small and selective. We don't seek publicity.”

The chairman of the Manhattan chapter of the better-known high-IQ group Mensa, Laurence Lanin, described Meta as “one of our wackier imitators. There are lots of them, but they rarely endure.” He estimated Meta membership at no more than a few dozen.

As with Mensa, sources say admittance to the group is based upon scores on a self-designed IQ test. Mensa membership is based upon an upper 2 percent score and Meta is believed to be more selective. When asked if Mensa members shared Sanger's views, Lanin said, “I can only speak for myself but I find them repellent.”

I photocopied the article and searched local phone books for Meta listings. None. Big surprise.

How did they recruit members?

Mensa imitator… the better-known group was listed. West L.A. number, no address.

A recording listed the time and address for the next meeting and said messages could be left after the beep.

I said, “My name is Al and I'm an East Coast transplant looking for info on Meta. Are they out here?” and left my number.

Next, I reached Milo at his desk.

“Just the one article?” he said.

“That's it.”

“So maybe that was Ponsico's club, too. Maybe Sharavi can find something on his computers.”

“You're going to call him?”

“He called me. Seven A.M., gotta give him points for industriousness. He said he'd been working all night with the foreign police and Israeli contacts- zippo. I think he was telling the truth, I know that pissed-off tone of voice. Now that we have a name, maybe he can pull something up. I'll arrange a meet at his place this afternoon but first I've got a lunch appointment with Malcolm Ponsico's first girlfriend. Sally the scientist, more than eager to talk about Zena the clerk. She's working out in Sherman Oaks now, near the burn center, and I'm supposed to meet her at an Italian place on Ventura and Woodman. In the mood for pasta?”

“The stuff I've been reading lately has killed my appetite,” I said. “But the company sounds fine.”

33

Sally Branch speared a piece of mussel from a nest of linguini and stared at it clinically.

She was thirty-one but had a teenager's eager, nasal voice- Valley Girl inflections overlaid on long, articulate phrases- thick, wavy chestnut hair, a broad, plain, freckled face, brown eyes, and a knockout figure enhanced by a black knit dress. A white lab coat was draped over her chair.

She said, “Malcolm was never a very communicative person but he got worse after he met her.”

“How long before his death did you have contact with him?” said Milo.

“A few days before, we had lunch in the PlasmoDerm cafeteria.” She colored. “I saw him and sat down. He seemed preoccupied but not depressed.”

“Preoccupied by what?”

“His work, I assume.”

“He was having work problems?”

She smiled. “No, on the contrary. He was brilliant. But every day something new comes up- specific experiments.”

Milo smiled, too. “You'd have to be a scientist to understand?”