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Patrick's field of study was a grisly offshoot of the automotive safety industry known as "human impact survival research." You are perhaps wondering, as I did: Why didn't they use crash-test dummies? This was the other side of the equation. A dummy could tell you how much impact a crash was unleashing on various dummy body parts, but without knowing how much impact the real body part can take, the information was useless. You first needed to know, for instance, that the maximum amount a rib cage can compress without causing injury to the soft wet things inside it is two and three-quarter inches. Or that the speed required for a human skull to penetrate a circa-1964 windshield is 12.9 mph. Things like that.

Mary Roach Mary Roach's column appears in Salon Health & Body every other Friday. + Biography + Archives

Although Patrick would admit to nothing beyond getting "a little sore," he and his students endured a stunning amount of pain in the name of improved automotive safety. His 1963 study "Facial Injuries" includes a photograph of a young man who appears to be resting peacefully with his eyes closed. Closer inspection hints that, in fact, something not at all peaceful is about to unfold. For starters, the man is using a book titled "Head Injuries" as his pillow (uncomfortable, but probably more pleasant than actually reading it). Hovering just above the man's cheek is a forbidding metal rod identified in the caption as a "gravity impactor." The text informs those of us injudicious enough to actually read it that "the volunteer waited several days for the swelling to subside and then the test was continued up to the energy limit which he could endure." Part two of the study sought to examine "the mechanism of fracture," the aforementioned fracture being delivered not by our friend the gravity impactor, but by high-speed, pneumatically driven rotary hammer blows to the face.

There is only one kind of human that will put up with this, and that is a dead one. God help you if you lived in the vicinity of Wayne State University in the mid-'60s and you donated your body to science. Patrick and his men would take as much as they could, and then, as he put it, "we continued on with cadavers up into the injury range." In the name of safer commutes and road trips, the dead have been strapped into deceleration sleds and crashing automobiles, hit in the head with steel pendulums, sent through windshields and mowed down at mock intersections.

I asked Patrick, who is 79 now, if the public was outraged over this particular scientific usage of the dead. There was a pause between all our communications, as if he were speaking to me from some third world nation that was only now getting around to installing overseas phone lines. It was just the way he spoke, neutrally and somewhat formally, as though he were reading from a script for a '50s propaganda film. "Some were, yes ... But the testing was done under strict regulations ... The cadavers were treated with respect ... Their faces were covered and they were dressed."

I asked him what kind of outfit the cadavers wore for the occasion. The pause was slightly longer this time. "They were dressed in a leotard." I tried to imagine Patrick muscling a 170-pound corpse into a Danskins leotard. I wanted to know more. I wanted to ask what color the leotards were, and whether the researchers ever busted out laughing at the absurdity of it all. But I couldn't. It wasn't in the script. I said, "I see."

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