Doctor Pete's Conclusions

And then the scientists arrived. Strange things had been happening in the area, things that couldn’t be chalked up to pure chance. People were falling down, getting run over, stepping into moving traffic, running in the street with their arms flapping up and down, and other inexplicable behaviors of a similar nature. The three men of higher learning appeared in their white lab coats, knocked at the door. They’d determined, through complicated data analyses and long equations, that the source of this tremendous stupidity was most likely coming from this one house. They had to investigate.

They identified themselves as Doctor Mike, Doctor Pete, and Doctor Wilbur. They’d tried introducing themselves using the more usual surnames, but this caused immediate confusion within the household, owing to the difficulty of pronouncing some of the names, and a certain commotion amongst its inhabitants ensued. Some water was spilled, and someone forgot to take a pot off the stove, resulting in some burned rice. When the scientists told those residents that they could simply use their first names, things got more or less back to normal. They got all the house people to come along by telling them they were doing a study on a new kind of breakfast cereal, and that they would be needed for the entire day. The residents came willingly, as they’d been promised all the cereal they could eat.

At the grounds of the mental hospital, the lawns were lush and the green expanses neatly mowed.
“We’ll be testing the cereals in that building,” Doctor Wilbur said, pointing to a large brick structure with bars on the windows. “Since there’s so many of you, we’ve reserved the gymnasium.” The idea was to get them all together and observe them during some controlled tests. Their normal interactions would be observed, and some additional tests would be administered. At the end, the scientists would find out just how stupid the whole bunch really was, and if they were most likely the cause of all the strange happenings. Things got off to a bad start, as some of the younger ones, and a few of the grownups could not be counted on to follow directions. As soon as they stepped off the special bus, the group dispersed, with about fifteen adults and children wandering about the green and lush fields. Finally, they were all rounded up, except for one adult—who was found stuck in a hedge and trying without success to extricate himself. He was a little scratched and scuffed here and there, but not much worse than before he’d gone in the hedge. When he was finally pulled out, he cried a little at his bad luck, said he’d never seen such a hedge, and what was this place, anyway? The scientists reassured him, said he’d soon join the others, and there would be plenty of cereal for everyone.
“Is the cereal good?” The hedge-man asked.
Now it was Doctor Pete who spoke up: “The cereal is very good here,” he said.

Back in the gymnasium, they were all together at last, but no greater order or discipline was to be seen within the group. Some of them had managed to get into the kitchen, which was just adjacent to the gymnasium, and had opened packages of ice-cream bars. First the grownups ate the bars, one after the other, and—when the younger ones started to make some noise—more ice cream was distributed to them as well. One of the smaller children got trapped inside a trash can, and another was high up on a rope, unable to get back down. One had crawled into a heating vent and could be heard crying plaintively. When the scientists managed—with great effort—to finally get the group more or less stabilized and together, their testing began.

The tests were to take the entire day, with brief pauses in between to give everyone a break. Instead, Doctors Mike, Pete, and Wilbur found the results they were looking for after only one hour of testing.
Doctor Wilbur peered over his slim spectacles: “No sense in going on,” he said. “I think the evidence is conclusive.
“How can this be?” Doctor Mike was incredulous. “I’ve…I’ve never seen anything like it. These results can’t be accurate!”
Doctor Pete heaved a sigh. “You’ve seen them now for an hour—or maybe a little less. You observed their behavior on the bus, their language. You were there when we got that one unstuck from the hedge. Please tell me you are not doubting these conclusions.”

What the scientists had discovered was this: That all of the members of the house-clan put together had not even the intelligence of one person’s brain—and not a very high-performing brain at that. If you added together the intelligence from the different members of the clan, used a complicated “cumulative intelligence” equation, and looked at that number, it did not compare favorably to one stupid person’s brain.

“I still don’t see how they manage,” said Doctor Mike. “I mean, simple tasks—like opening and closing the fridge, selecting a piece of cheese, taking off a bottle top—these should all be beyond their abilities.” Doctor Wilbur pointed out that in fact some of these simple tasks were beyond their abilities. The other doctor was silent then, nodding in reluctant agreement, still not wanting to believe the evidence before him.

“Listen,” Doctor Pete spoke up, “There is before us, at this very moment, evidence that suggests that these individuals may be responsible—either directly or indirectly—for the MSEs that have been reported in their general area. The abbreviation MSE had been agreed upon in the previous year of happenings to designate a phenomenon they’d dubbed “Mass Stupidity Episodes.”
Doctor Mike was still in a state of bewilderment, but mustered this: “Indirectly? How’s that?”
“Bear with me for a moment, please. I beg your indulgence—but this may explain these episodes,” Doctor Pete continued. “In the field of physics, there is a general acceptance of a theoretical phenomenon that suggests that light—which normally cannot be swayed from its path—will in fact be affected by a tremendous force, something they refer to as a ‘black hole.’” The other two doctors were listening, taking in Doctor Pete’s words. “Now—if you were to find a tremendous concentration of stupidity-- in an extremely localized fashion, it could very well influence the ordinary reason and stability that for the most part prevails.” He paused for a moment, drew a breath to buy some time and to formulate his concluding words. “In other words, gentleman: If light were able to be bent from its path by some infinitely strong force, so must it be that reason and sanity can be warped from its normal path by a terrific concentration of numb-minded behaviors, that these behaviors may in fact affect that general area and have a spreading effect that extends beyond what even we may be able to calculate.” He pointed to the group, some of the members huddled under tables, others sitting on top of other ones, said finally, “These individuals, collectively, represent a black hole of stupidity.”
Doctors Mike and Wilbur were silently nodding their heads, taking in their colleague’s conclusions. For the moment, there was only quiet, interrupted ocasionally by some of the test group’s munching on cereals. The doctors had discovered—gratefully—that the promise of more cereal had a fairly good calming effect on the group.

“So this unprecedented concentration of stupidity may spread out into the general population, creating a warping of reason?” This was Doctor Wilbur.
“Precisely,” replied his colleague, his arms folded before him, his expression one of satisfaction. Behind him some cereal spilled, and the younger members of the group scrambled to eat up the fallen morsels—even though there was an abundance of the food in good, clean boxes. A smaller subject had again gotten stuck halfway into a heating vent. It was the same member as before.

“I’ve got a headache,” Doctor Mike said finally. “I can’t bear any more of this. Can we get this group transported back to where they’re from, just get them away from here?” He was holding the sides of his head, trying to block out the noise from the heating vent, the crunching of the cereal.
“Yes, agreed,” said Doctor Pete. I can still make it to the golf course since our day was shortened here. A pity to waste such a nice day.” He glanced over at the group, saw that one of them was pushing the other farther into the heating vent.

On the bus ride back to the house, the group was not overly rambunctious, trying only once to escape through the bus’s back door while it was moving at high speed. The members were mostly drowsy, with bits of cereal stuck to their chins and lips, some of them moving pudgy hands to their faces to scrape off the residual food, scavenge for leftovers there. When they got to their house, they recognized the place, spilled out of the bus in a jumble, tripping over each other, then running in all directions, even out into the street, where some of the members started jumping up and down.

The driver closed the bus doors, stepped on the accelerator, the smooth and quiet bus heading back to the hospital.

Over at the house I spoke to the Half-Wit. “Maybe your grandkids shouldn’t be using my new sidewalk as a skating rink,” I said, pointing to the scarred and beat-up surface. I put a lot of time and effort into that.”
She was chewing contentedly, looked at the little urchins. “Oh, them’s don’t come ‘round all that much,” she said. She pointed to the shiny white car, the one she was always turning the hose on. “See how shiny and smooth? Feel how’s that’s got real smooth.”