Miller's Crossing

"The Berlin Wall's coming down -- we've solved the aging of cells," he says. "So when will we see an effect on human life span? I guess what I'm really comfortable saying is that I believe we will see a measurable effect on human life span in the lifetime of people now living. What are Miller's chances? I just don't have a crystal ball that's clear enough to predict that."

For his part, Quarles anxiously watches the action from the sidelines, applauding the breakthroughs and excoriating any kind of feet-dragging by bureaucrats. He feels he doesn't have time to wait out the debates on the ethical nuances of these brave new technologies. Watching friends like Purl Vickers buckle under the tide of age forces him into sober assessments of his own chances to live on indefinitely. He wants action now.

The millennium came and went with plenty of hoopla -- but no fountain of youth. Quarles grudgingly withdrew his offer of $100,000 to any scientist who might find it. (He now says Mike West may have a valid case for getting the award because of the success with the cloned calves.)

He still sees West as his best hope for immortality. Lately his thoughts have centered on having himself cloned. Since none of his three daughters has children, a clone might be the only way for Quarles to have his DNA line perpetuated, he says.

He says West extracted cells from his arm several months ago and is actively at work trying to clone him. West denies it. His company is exploring therapeutic, not reproductive, cloning, he reiterates.

"I'm certainly not working on cloning Miller," West says.

Quarles says his friend's denials are understandable given the fears that the novel technology arouses in government officials and the general public. "Well, it would be silly for him to say that he was [trying to clone me]. It is so controversial," he says. "We'd appreciate it if you don't just start a big uproar that we're trying to break the law and things like that."

Quarles has been using his columns to advocate the cloning of exceptional human beings to help solve the world's troubles. He says his old Cal Tech professor, the late Linus Pauling, who won the Nobel Prize for both chemistry and peace, would have been a perfect person to clone.

"There are so many problems right now in the world that are not solved. It seems that we need more and more smart people to help try to solve them," he says. "Smarter people are going to concentrate on keeping the earth intact, keeping it cleaner. You've got to have some brains to do that. Stupid people just go and eat all they want and play all they want and die early. So we need some intelligence to solve the problems. Otherwise we're doomed."

Those comments by Quarles evoke images of Brave New World. When asked who would decide who should be cloned, he offers no answer. And wouldn't mass-producing a genius like Pauling diminish his uniqueness?

"Gosh, I'm not trying to diminish his uniqueness. I'm trying to solve the problems of the world. And we're not doing it very well," he says. His faith in reason and intelligence is absolute.

"The human brain is easily recognized as the greatest miracle of all time," his articles say. "Let's show our Supreme Being that the humans He has created can do the job He has planned for us. Let's thank Him only for the miraculous spirit residing in our brain and vow to enhance it through learning and health until we can achieve a true Heaven right here on Earth."

For critics who contend that doubling life spans would exacerbate global overpopulation, Quarles has a ready answer. Set strict limits on birth rates and possibly create a vaccine against pregnancy, he says. These are the kinds of bugs the smart people will work out. For Quarles, a fountain of youth represents humankind's best shot at achieving a paradise on earth.

He envisions a world run by wise elders -- in their ever-youthful incarnation. In a society where people lived to be 200, individuals would think more about the long-term consequences of their actions and take better care of themselves and the planet, he says. As the symptoms of aging disappeared, people would stay productive longer. Education would flourish. And, Quarles believes, people would at long last make love, not war.

He has little tolerance for anyone who would forgo this earthly utopia for the promise of an afterlife that nobody can prove exists. He points out in one of his columns that the dearly departed have sent no postcards from heaven that read, "Arrived safely; weather is fine; wish you were here."

For all of his ballyhooing of organized religion, however, Quarles often seeks out the companionship of religious folks. Woelfel, his second wife, is the daughter of a Baptist minister and remains active in the faith.