Mensans search for other intelligent life

By Marshall Allen

Thursday, July 27, 2006 | 7:38 a.m.

Terry Smithwick is a bulky 6-foot-6, and the poem on his T-shirt begins, "One quark, two quark, red quark, blue quark." It's his tribute to particle physics, and most of us would never understand it.

The 47-year-old electronics technician is setting up chairs for what is perhaps the highest concentration of brain power in Las Vegas on this Sunday afternoon. This is Mensa, an organization for people who are quantifiable geniuses. Smithwick has just joined, and while he's representative of the group, he's not typical. There is no typical Mensa member.

He and eight others gather around a table amid the bookshelves at Barnes and Noble in Henderson, and soon enough the conversation will turn to whale vomit.

Las Vegas isn't known for its intelligentsia, but the Southern Nevada Mensa chapter has hundreds of dues-paying members. Over the years they have included construction workers, professors and hookers. Smart hookers.

And if they've concluded anything, it is that Las Vegas can be a frustrating place for masterminds. They say it thrives on impulsive decisions, not rationality. That might be because Las Vegans are undereducated compared with the rest of the country. That's what the census tells us. Only 18 percent of Clark County residents age 25 and older have a bachelor's degree or higher, compared with 27 percent nationally.

Las Vegas promotes street smarts, not book smarts. A high school graduate can buy a home and support a family by parking cars.

Where might we turn for mental stimulation? Casinos "stultify original thought," Smithwick says. The sounds and lights in casinos are designed to put people in a meditative state, he says, and turn them into "slot monkeys."

If nothing else, Mensans are not slot monkeys. So they turn to one another for intellectual stimulation.

And they gather for the promise of robust discussions. At this Sunday meeting there's no agenda, so the conversation evolves as it skips around the table like a ball on a roulette wheel. Different strings of conversation unravel and intersect over a two-hour period.

At one point the group discusses the meaning of "intelligence." Larry Fosgate, a former merchant mariner, suggests Mensans are people who wonder about unusual subjects. For instance, he said, what would be the value of beachfront property if whale feces floated?

That prompts Smithwick to mention the historical use of ambergris - whale vomit - in perfume.

(Such random banter is called a "babble of Mensans.")

Later, Smithwick is asked to explain what ambergris is. "It's a waxy substance whales give up when they're sick," Smithwick says. "You find it floating, or harvest a whale and find it inside."

To which another person elaborates: "It was a big part of the whaling industry in the 17- and 1800s."

"And all of us know this," Smithwick responded, laughing at the absurdity that others at the table really do know this.

"At work, if I want to talk to somebody it's about their car, their family, the sports they like or maybe work," he said. "Most people have a limited range of conversation topics. Here I can bring up whale spit."

When they get back to defining intelligence, the group generally agrees brain power can be compared to the processing speed on a computer. It's not about knowledge, because vast amounts of information that can't be processed are worthless.

Let's process this: Mensa was started in England in 1946 and the name is Latin for "mind, table, month." So yes, these mindbenders gather around a table, although on a weekly basis. There are about 100,000 Mensas worldwide, and 52,000 in America. Members qualify by scoring in the top 2 percent of the general population on an IQ test at least once in their lives. Annual dues are $52.

They call George Appleton, 80, the "founding father" of the Southern Nevada Mensa chapter, although the retired schoolteacher finds the title ridiculous. Appleton, who laughs easily and has a grandfatherly air about him, started the group in 1965 because he wanted to socialize with other intelligent people.

The chapter began with three other local members: an airline stewardess, a lawyer and a millionaire. It has grown by about 20 percent in the past two years, to 320 members.

The Mensans dispel several stereotypes about the supersmart. They may use big - er, polysyllabic - words and have vast stores of knowledge, but they aren't snobs. Visitors are welcome at Mensa meetings. And while people assume that because they're brilliant, they are probably wealthy, there's no correlation between IQ and income, they say.

They also don't sit around comparing IQs or even discussing intelligence tests. Some acknowledge that they may be good test-takers but have little applicable knowledge. And many don't tell outsiders about their Mensa membership.

Some Mensans are fittingly employed. Harvey Wallman is an associate professor of physical therapy at UNLV. He's earned multiple degrees, is published in academic journals and has dedicated his life to his career.

On the other hand, Mensans boast that former members have run phone-sex businesses, worked in brothels and at least one was a dominatrix. (Their memberships lapsed after they moved. Like the rest of Las Vegas, Mensans are transient.)

Fosgate, 58, who spent 30 years at sea, has bounced between half a dozen jobs in the past six months. Maybe it's because he has a habit of showing his bosses how to better do their jobs or he simply gets fed up with a poorly run system and leaves. So now, Fosgate works for himself, salvaging appliances from condemned apartments.

Mensa members say the group is a haven in Las Vegas. Buck Nunnally, a retired carpenter who speaks with a Kentucky drawl, compares seeking intellectual engagement in Las Vegas to searching for good apples in a poor orchard.

"To find any rational or intelligent dialogue you have to sift through people and find those who will think a bit and have a flexible attitude," he said.

Mensa members are frustrated by the inability, or unwillingness, of people to think critically. Nunnally calls these people MOWRONs -"Men or Women, Rational on Nothing." He says there's a big difference between a moron - who unfortunately suffers from a birth defect - and a MOWRON, who pitifully is not exercising his mind.

"So many people can't think rationally about anything," Nunnally says with frustration to the group sitting around the table. "I think it's a learned dumbness from our education system."

"It's a 'learned dumbness?' " a woman interjects. "You're giving them too much credit."

"I'm trying to be delicate," Nunnally says.

Living in Vegas can be a struggle for the incurably intellectual, but the situation isn't dire. Joyce Patterson-Rogers, the local Mensa membership coordinator, said that while Las Vegas attracts more than its share of what she calls "plastic people," there are bright spots for those who want to engage their minds.

She enjoys showing visitors the unexpected side of the city: places such as the Valley of Fire State Park, performances by the Las Vegas Symphony and the plays and free lectures at UNLV.

Like all the Mensans at Sunday's meeting, Patterson-Rogers, 71, said she spends little time or money gambling. A few Mensans have tried to break the bank in previous years, they said, but any intelligent person can see the system is designed for the casinos to win.