Reese
Reese is another important figure in the story.
Reese was a rhesus macaque. Simply put, he was a monkey.
Our lab required the use of animals for experiments, an unfortunate but necessary sacrifice to the god of Progress. Not that there was such a literal god, but indeed we treated progress like one. And not that I would have said such a thing back then, but I am more honest with myself now.
There was a compound where we kept dozens of these little primates. Some experiments, especially those involving cognitive ability and the brain, required primates rather than mice to better anticipate the impact of drugs on humans.
You have no doubt seen the rhesus macaque; they have been present in every age even if not in every place. They seem able to adapt to a great many climates and geographic settings, much like humans.
I always thought they looked like small wise men. Short brown fur streaked with gray surrounded Reese’s hairless face, and a few lines in the skin of the forehead added to his sage-like appearance.
Reese came to my attention on one of my rare trips to the Forest, as it was known. This was several months before the children converged on the sea banks. Over half of the Forest was covered with trees, the rest being an open space with a structure at one end. This building looked somewhat like a house and included the entry/exit door to the Forest.
Reese was in the open space with a tennis ball. He would throw the ball against the wall of the house, let it bounce once, and then catch it. This seemed immensely entertaining to him.
Being a little less than two feet tall, the tennis ball was about the equivalent of a basketball to me. He handled the ball quite well. And being a guy, I thought a little game of catch might be a nice diversion from my morning of reviewing data.
When I came through the house into the Forest, Reese was about ten feet away. He saw me just as he caught the ball after its first bounce.
“Hello,” I said, as if he were a person.
He held out the ball to me. He wanted to play, too!
I held my hands cupped together as if waiting for the ball to come into my hands. He bounced the ball once in my direction and I had to move my hands only a little to catch it.
He held his hands open expectantly.
I bounced the ball back and he caught it. We did this perhaps a dozen times and it seemed he would probably keep going indefinitely. I, however, had places to go, people to see, and things to do.
Holding my hand out palm toward him as a signal to stop, he did not throw the ball. I said, “Goodbye, Reese,” and exited through the house.
Human interaction with the macaques was very limited. The makeshift house was sometimes a place for taking physiological readings on them, and this was also their exit to an experiment from which they would never return. Interaction was generally limited to those two events.
The little game with Reese actually had provided me with a nice diversion and I emerged in a much better frame of mind than when I had entered. Perhaps the interaction had helped me to put the work in a slightly different perspective.
Late in the morning on most days, there seemed some reason to pass by the Forest. And I would enter and look for Reese.
At first, finding him among the other monkeys was a bit difficult. They all looked alike, after all! But soon I could easily distinguish which one was Reese. When he saw me, he would go get his ball and we would play catch.
Once I lobbed the ball straight to him without a bounce. He cackled with delight and returned it directly to me. Occasionally I would introduce another such variation. In spite of his love of routine, he seemed to enjoy the changes immensely.
One of the techs had a miniature basketball goal on his trashcan. The floor around the can gave a pretty good summary of how his accuracy was for the day. It spurred me to get one of these little goals for the Forest and I mounted it on the side of the house near where Reese had been bouncing the ball the first day.
Reese watched me silently as I installed the goal. I walked about ten feet away from the goal and held my hands open for him to toss me the ball, which he did.
I tried a two handed overhead shot, but the ball bounced off the rim and came back to me. The second shot was a swish.
Reese clapped and held his hands out for the ball. He missed on his first shot, also, but took the rebound and sank the second. He got the ball and tossed it to me. He was ready for a new game!
It occurred to me that I might be training him incorrectly. He might think he was supposed to miss the first shot and make the second! Taking my time, the first shot hit the rim, but it fell through the net.
Reese clapped and held out his hands, waiting for me to get the ball (after all, I had not thrown it to him!).
And so over just a couple of weeks we were diversifying the game quite a bit more.
Some of the other macaques would come and watch occasionally, but while I was there, it was just Reese and the human. And when time came for me to be there, Reese would be alone shooting hoops, waiting for me. This became a part of my schedule and I rarely missed our late morning games.
One day several of the guys met me as I arrived at the entrance into the house. Paul was carrying a small bag, which he handed to me.
“Henry brought a picture to me and we thought you might like to see it, so I had it printed for you.”
I took the bag wondering what they were up to. I reached in and pulled out a pullover shirt. As I unfolded it, a photo of Reese poised to shoot his little basketball was ironed onto the front.
I laughed. “And so begins Team Reese!”
The shirt was an extra-large, but that was probably so I could wear it over my clothes. I slipped it over my head and pulled it down over me.
“Let the games begin!”
Everyone laughed and I thanked all of them, Henry, in particular, for their support of the athletic program at The Forest.
When I proceeded into The Forest, I made a point of revealing the picture on my shirt to Reese. He came and put a hand on it, probably seeing the likeness of one of the other macaques.
Never having seen a picture, this was a new puzzle for him. He looked at me with what I suppose was a simian questioning expression.
I just shrugged and pointed at him and then at the picture. “This is you, Reese.”
He looked back at the picture and then gave that cackling laugh as when we played a new game. I think he understood to some degree. He was pretty smart.
But that is when things got tight on time.
Data from one of the competing teams had fallen into our hands and I had to blend our data with this new information. I did not ask how we got the information since it was probably not a legitimate channel. And, as always, there was a deadline looming.
One day, Paul (called the Quartermaster, but more on him later) stuck his head into my work area and said, “Reese is looking for you. He has missed you the past week.”
“You of all people know the situation, Paul. I can’t spare time at the moment.”
“It wouldn’t take 20 minutes, Evan.” His voice trailed off as he added, “The poor guy looks so dejected.”
Frustrated with an inability to resolve some issues between our results and the new information that had arrived, I snapped back, “Why don’t you spend 20 minutes with him, Paul?”
I tried to add some levity. “You seem to have time for monkeying around.”
In his ever calm voice, Paul said, “A little monkeying around is good for the soul. But I am no substitute for you in Reese’s eyes. He just chatters at me when I try and my interpretation is that he wants you.”
A bit embarrassed by my response, I backed off.
“Maybe later, Paul.” I sighed deeply and leaned backward, stretching my arms above me. “Demetrius has demanded that I explain how the other group’s data and ours are contradictory. He wants to know before I leave today. Even if that means 11:59 P.M., I am not sure I can meet his deadline.”
Paul nodded. If there was any one thing upon which all the staff agreed in this project, identifying Demetrius as something of a tyrant would be that common point.
“Alright. Can I pick up some lunch for you when I go out?”
I smiled. “That would be great. Thanks, Paul.” And I went back to work on the frustrating papers spread across my workspace as Paul exited.
Next chapter
Reese is another important figure in the story.
Reese was a rhesus macaque. Simply put, he was a monkey.
Our lab required the use of animals for experiments, an unfortunate but necessary sacrifice to the god of Progress. Not that there was such a literal god, but indeed we treated progress like one. And not that I would have said such a thing back then, but I am more honest with myself now.
There was a compound where we kept dozens of these little primates. Some experiments, especially those involving cognitive ability and the brain, required primates rather than mice to better anticipate the impact of drugs on humans.
You have no doubt seen the rhesus macaque; they have been present in every age even if not in every place. They seem able to adapt to a great many climates and geographic settings, much like humans.
I always thought they looked like small wise men. Short brown fur streaked with gray surrounded Reese’s hairless face, and a few lines in the skin of the forehead added to his sage-like appearance.
Reese came to my attention on one of my rare trips to the Forest, as it was known. This was several months before the children converged on the sea banks. Over half of the Forest was covered with trees, the rest being an open space with a structure at one end. This building looked somewhat like a house and included the entry/exit door to the Forest.
Reese was in the open space with a tennis ball. He would throw the ball against the wall of the house, let it bounce once, and then catch it. This seemed immensely entertaining to him.
Being a little less than two feet tall, the tennis ball was about the equivalent of a basketball to me. He handled the ball quite well. And being a guy, I thought a little game of catch might be a nice diversion from my morning of reviewing data.
When I came through the house into the Forest, Reese was about ten feet away. He saw me just as he caught the ball after its first bounce.
“Hello,” I said, as if he were a person.
He held out the ball to me. He wanted to play, too!
I held my hands cupped together as if waiting for the ball to come into my hands. He bounced the ball once in my direction and I had to move my hands only a little to catch it.
He held his hands open expectantly.
I bounced the ball back and he caught it. We did this perhaps a dozen times and it seemed he would probably keep going indefinitely. I, however, had places to go, people to see, and things to do.
Holding my hand out palm toward him as a signal to stop, he did not throw the ball. I said, “Goodbye, Reese,” and exited through the house.
Human interaction with the macaques was very limited. The makeshift house was sometimes a place for taking physiological readings on them, and this was also their exit to an experiment from which they would never return. Interaction was generally limited to those two events.
The little game with Reese actually had provided me with a nice diversion and I emerged in a much better frame of mind than when I had entered. Perhaps the interaction had helped me to put the work in a slightly different perspective.
Late in the morning on most days, there seemed some reason to pass by the Forest. And I would enter and look for Reese.
At first, finding him among the other monkeys was a bit difficult. They all looked alike, after all! But soon I could easily distinguish which one was Reese. When he saw me, he would go get his ball and we would play catch.
Once I lobbed the ball straight to him without a bounce. He cackled with delight and returned it directly to me. Occasionally I would introduce another such variation. In spite of his love of routine, he seemed to enjoy the changes immensely.
One of the techs had a miniature basketball goal on his trashcan. The floor around the can gave a pretty good summary of how his accuracy was for the day. It spurred me to get one of these little goals for the Forest and I mounted it on the side of the house near where Reese had been bouncing the ball the first day.
Reese watched me silently as I installed the goal. I walked about ten feet away from the goal and held my hands open for him to toss me the ball, which he did.
I tried a two handed overhead shot, but the ball bounced off the rim and came back to me. The second shot was a swish.
Reese clapped and held his hands out for the ball. He missed on his first shot, also, but took the rebound and sank the second. He got the ball and tossed it to me. He was ready for a new game!
It occurred to me that I might be training him incorrectly. He might think he was supposed to miss the first shot and make the second! Taking my time, the first shot hit the rim, but it fell through the net.
Reese clapped and held out his hands, waiting for me to get the ball (after all, I had not thrown it to him!).
And so over just a couple of weeks we were diversifying the game quite a bit more.
Some of the other macaques would come and watch occasionally, but while I was there, it was just Reese and the human. And when time came for me to be there, Reese would be alone shooting hoops, waiting for me. This became a part of my schedule and I rarely missed our late morning games.
One day several of the guys met me as I arrived at the entrance into the house. Paul was carrying a small bag, which he handed to me.
“Henry brought a picture to me and we thought you might like to see it, so I had it printed for you.”
I took the bag wondering what they were up to. I reached in and pulled out a pullover shirt. As I unfolded it, a photo of Reese poised to shoot his little basketball was ironed onto the front.
I laughed. “And so begins Team Reese!”
The shirt was an extra-large, but that was probably so I could wear it over my clothes. I slipped it over my head and pulled it down over me.
“Let the games begin!”
Everyone laughed and I thanked all of them, Henry, in particular, for their support of the athletic program at The Forest.
When I proceeded into The Forest, I made a point of revealing the picture on my shirt to Reese. He came and put a hand on it, probably seeing the likeness of one of the other macaques.
Never having seen a picture, this was a new puzzle for him. He looked at me with what I suppose was a simian questioning expression.
I just shrugged and pointed at him and then at the picture. “This is you, Reese.”
He looked back at the picture and then gave that cackling laugh as when we played a new game. I think he understood to some degree. He was pretty smart.
But that is when things got tight on time.
Data from one of the competing teams had fallen into our hands and I had to blend our data with this new information. I did not ask how we got the information since it was probably not a legitimate channel. And, as always, there was a deadline looming.
One day, Paul (called the Quartermaster, but more on him later) stuck his head into my work area and said, “Reese is looking for you. He has missed you the past week.”
“You of all people know the situation, Paul. I can’t spare time at the moment.”
“It wouldn’t take 20 minutes, Evan.” His voice trailed off as he added, “The poor guy looks so dejected.”
Frustrated with an inability to resolve some issues between our results and the new information that had arrived, I snapped back, “Why don’t you spend 20 minutes with him, Paul?”
I tried to add some levity. “You seem to have time for monkeying around.”
In his ever calm voice, Paul said, “A little monkeying around is good for the soul. But I am no substitute for you in Reese’s eyes. He just chatters at me when I try and my interpretation is that he wants you.”
A bit embarrassed by my response, I backed off.
“Maybe later, Paul.” I sighed deeply and leaned backward, stretching my arms above me. “Demetrius has demanded that I explain how the other group’s data and ours are contradictory. He wants to know before I leave today. Even if that means 11:59 P.M., I am not sure I can meet his deadline.”
Paul nodded. If there was any one thing upon which all the staff agreed in this project, identifying Demetrius as something of a tyrant would be that common point.
“Alright. Can I pick up some lunch for you when I go out?”
I smiled. “That would be great. Thanks, Paul.” And I went back to work on the frustrating papers spread across my workspace as Paul exited.
Next chapter
