Nothing Is Impossible by Christopher Reeve Read Free Book Online Page B

I was living in my own apartment on the Upper West Side and in rehearsal for
A Matter of Gravity
, a Broadway-bound play with Katharine Hepburn. I had just turned twenty-two and was rather proud of myself. And why not? I had earned a B.A. from Cornell, been a graduate student at Juilliard, appeared in several off-Broadway productions, and gained notoriety as a likable bad guy on a daytime TV series. In my spare time I was taking flying lessons and fully enjoying my life as a young bachelor in the Big Apple.
    One afternoon on my way to the grocery store, I came across a young man standing next to a sign on thesidewalk that read, FREE PERSONALITY TEST, NO OBLIGATION . Figuring I had nothing to lose, I followed his directions to the sixth floor of the prewar apartment building behind him. The door was unlocked, so I opened it and found myself in the New York headquarters of the Church of Scientology.
    The whole place was buzzing with energy and activity. In the main office area about thirty people were working at their desks or gathered in small groups, engaged in quiet but intense conversation. They all appeared to be in their late twenties or early thirties, ethnically diverse, clean-cut, and neat. The men wore shirts and ties and the women were dressed in modest skirts or slacks. In a far corner, six Scientologists sat facing each other in two rows of three. None of them spoke; everyone stared intently into the eyes of the person opposite. They were clearly not distracted by the ebb and flow of workers in the office behind them. I was amazed by the apparent depth of their concentration, even as I wondered what the purpose of staring at each other was.
    A young man much like the one I’d met on the sidewalk, of medium height and build, wearing a crisp white shirt and a conservative pinstriped tie, came forward to greet me. He gave his name, shook my handwarmly, and never broke direct eye contact as he asked how he could help. I told him I was interested in the free personality test, to which he replied, “Of course. One moment, please.” He stepped away briefly into the office area and came back with a form for me to fill out. The next thing I knew, I was seated at a desk in the reception area writing down my name, address, phone number, social security number, profession, date of birth, mother’s maiden name, and more. In answer to the question “Are you affiliated with any other church?” I wrote “none.”
    I handed back the completed form and waited while he looked it over and conferred with several of his colleagues in the office. They must have reached a consensus fairly quickly because in just a few moments he came back with another form, which turned out to be the actual personality test. He invited me to return to my seat and respond to all the questions carefully, thoughtfully, and truthfully, taking as much time as I liked. There were no right or wrong answers.
    As I looked over the test, I wished it were multiple choice. I wasn’t expecting to have to write twenty short essays about myself. I wondered who would grade the paper: Was there an official tester who was solely responsible for evaluating the personality of every passerby who came in the door? I reminded myself thatthe test was free and there was no obligation, so why not just fill in the blanks, get the results, and make a quick exit.
    It turned out not to be quite so easy. I spent forty-five minutes actually trying to do my very best. When I turned the test in to my host, I thought I had submitted quite an objective assessment of myself. What more could I do, especially considering that there were no right or wrong answers?
    I had hoped to get the results that afternoon, but I was told that there wasn’t enough time for them to review my test before the office closed for the day; I would have to come back tomorrow, but not before eleven A.M. Luckily my call time for rehearsal the next day wasn’t until after lunch, so I was free to return. In