Where Were You on the Night of ... ?I did it and I'm glad, you hear? Gladby Ian Shoales Back in 1983, there was a television show called "Lie Detector," hosted by attorney F. Lee Bailey (always described as "flamboyant," for some reason; an adjective that should be reserved for Sir Elton John). The program asked its participants to spin tales. Later, contestants were strapped to a polygraph and quizzed by an expert. Guests included Ronald Reagan's barber, who said he didn't dye the president's hair, and Melvin Dummar, who claimed Howard Hughes left him money in his will. The barber, according to the polygraph results, told the truth, but poor Melvin lied through his teeth. Unfortunately, the premise of watching random people with strange claims get pinned to a machine and interrogated, while fascinating to me, just didn't warm the fickle hearts of American viewers. The show only lasted one season. And it looks like the season of the lie detector itself may soon be over. Certainly, polygraphs are still employed by law enforcement officials, but their results are usually ruled inadmissible in court when a trial rolls around. Most state courts have made polygraph inadmissibility official. Since 1988, federal law has prohibited using polygraph tests as a tool for most private employee screenings. Lie detectors can still be used to screen federal employees and contractors applying for sensitive or classified jobs, especially in the CIA, FBI, National Security Agency, and the Defense Department. But that may end soon, too. In October, the National Academy of Sciences, after lengthy study, released its grim findings to the world: Lie detectors are unreliable. Take That, Evil Villain!When I was a young boy, my friends and I earnestly discussed how you might beat a lie detector, should you be a spy, for example, and captured by Ernst Stavro Blofeld. Techniques included self-hypnosis, the ability to control deception indicators through sheer force of will, and — the old standby — destroying the machine with a wristwatch laser, then flying out the window using a rocket belt. The polygraph seemed then like a device poised for a permanent place in a trim technological future, on par with lasers, supercomputers, and spaceships. Close-shaven men with square jaws, white nylon shirts, and skinny neckties would operate these lie detector machines, ferreting out crimes, stopping subversive intruders, and planting little flags on alien planets. The rest of us would be left to marvel discreetly while sipping highballs by the barbecue. Humdrum Truth Be ToldLasers are mainly used for eye surgery these days, and we have neither the will nor the budget to colonize Mars. Computers, on the other hand, are officially everywhere, although we tend to view them with as much trepidation as awe. Well, I do anyway. Now the lie detector's days are numbered. Its tragic flaw is that it doesn't actually detect lies. It measures the physiological symptoms said to accompany them. Symptoms of lying — sweaty palms, rapid heartbeat, palpitations, and eye twitches — are just as easily attributed to being cross-examined by close-shaven men with square jaws, white nylon shirts, and skinny neckties. As for exposing spies, I suspect that real spies have learned to control their deception indicators through sheer force of will, self-hypnosis, and the skillful administration of pocket lasers. Who Is That Debonair Man?Then again, spies themselves have seen better days — James Bond is being usurped by Vin Diesel, who wouldn't know a pocket laser from a vodka martini, frankly. Progress is marked when objects of wonder come and then go. Player pianos, sewing machines, VHS, and push mowers recede as things of the past. Now lie detectors join electric treadmills, Intellivision, and Ford Escorts on the scrap heap of history. I predict, however, that in the near future the scrap heap will be supervised by close-shaven men with square jaws. The Gap look is kind of played anyway, and nylon shirts may be due for a comeback. Ian Shoales lives in San Francisco. Honest. Cross his heart.
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