biological  weapons specialist  named   Frank   Olson   in  1953;   a   few days
later,  Olson   supposedly  jumped  to  his death   from    the thirteenth  floor   of
the Statler Hotel   in  New York.   (Others believe Olson   was pushed  and that
the CIA’s   admission,  embarrassing    as  it  was,    was actually    a   cover-up    for a
crime   far more    heinous.)   It  could   be  Olson   whom    Al  Hubbard was
referring   to  when    he  said,   “I  tried   to  tell    them    how to  use it, but even
when    they    were    killing people, you couldn’t    tell    them    a   goddamned
thing.”
A   regular stop    on  Hubbard’s   visits  to  Los Angeles was the home    of
Aldous  and Laura   Huxley. Huxley  and Hubbard had formed  the most
unlikely    of  friendships after   Hubbard introduced  the author  to  LSD—and
the Hubbard method—in   1955.   The experience  put the author’s    1953
mescaline   trip    in  the shade.  As  Huxley  wrote   to  Osmond  in  its aftermath,
“What   came    through the closed  door    was the realization .   .   .   the direct,
total   awareness,  from    the inside, so  to  say,    of  Love    as  the primary and
fundamental cosmic  fact.”  The force   of  this    insight seemed  almost  to
embarrass   the writer  in  its baldness:   “The    words,  of  course, have    a   kind    of
indecency   and must    necessarily ring    false,  seem    like    twaddle.    But the fact
remains.”
Huxley  immediately recognized  the value   of  an  ally    as  skilled in  the
ways    of  the world   as  the man he  liked   to  call    “the    good    Captain.”   As  so
often   seems   to  happen, the Man of  Letters became  smitten with    the Man
of  Action.
“What   Babes   in  the Woods   we  literary    gents   and professional    men
are!”   Huxley  wrote   to  Osmond  about   Hubbard.    “The    great   World
occasionally    requires    your    services,   is  mildly  amused  by  mine,   but its full
attention   and deference   are paid    to  Uranium and Big Business.   So  what
extraordinary   luck    that    this    representative  of  both    these   Higher  Powers
should  (a) have    become  so  passionately    interested  in  mescaline   and (b)
be  such    a   very    nice    man.”
Neither Huxley  nor Hubbard was particularly    dedicated   to  medicine    or
science,    so  it’s    not surprising  that    over    time    their   primary interest    would
drift   from    the treatment   of  individuals with    psychological   problems    to  a
desire  to  treat   the whole   of  society.    (This   aspiration  seems   eventually  to
infect  everyone    who works   with    psychedelics,   touching    scientists, too,
including   ones    as  different   in  temperament as  Timothy Leary   and Roland
Griffiths.) But psychological   research    proceeds    person  by  person  and
                    
                      frankie
                      (Frankie)
                      
                    
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