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         MindNet Journal - Vol. 1, No. 97A * [Part 1 of 2 parts]
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         V E R I C O M M sm                 "Quid veritas est?"
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    The views and opinions expressed below are not necessarily the
    views and opinions of VERICOMM or the editors, unless otherwise
    noted.

    The following is reproduced here with the express permission of
    the author.

    Permission is given to reproduce and redistribute, for
    non-commercial purposes only, provided this information and the
    copy remain intact and unaltered.

    Copy formatted in ASCII. Netscape mail reader format:
    "Options/Mail & News Preferences/Appearance" = Fixed Width Font.

    Editor's Note:

    The following is an excerpt from an upcoming book, tentatively
    entitled "Andrija, Aliens and the Square Wave."

    A copy of the patent for the radio tooth implant described in
    this article was reproduced in _Mass Mind Control of the
    American People_, by Elizabeth Russell-Manning, pg. 84. It is
    patent No. 2,995,633 for a "Means for assisted hearing."
    Originally filed Sept 25, 1958.

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    RATTING OUT PUHARICH

    By Terry L. Milner

    Copyright 1996 by Terry L. Milner

    December 1996

    ----------------------------------------------------------------

    On February 5, 1996 the Chemical and Engineering News carried a
    buzz-making three paragraph quote of an article appearing in the
    South China Morning Post. An assistant professor at the
    University of Science and Technology filed a hundred million
    dollar lawsuit against the US Government.

    This particular unhappy Asian, Huang Si-ming, is distressed over
    having had a mind control device planted in his teeth during a
    root canal operation. Not only does the device talk to him, he
    asserts, but it can read his mind as well.

    Shades of paranoia, schizophrenia, bipolar big elf disease! Rush
    that man some heavy shock hits of psychiatric betterment
    processing. Where do people come up with ideas like this?

    Surely these ramblings however couched in legalese they will be,
    are a candidate for an upcoming X-files episode. Perhaps
    something the sultry Scully-agent with the doubtful mind, picked
    up on an alien vessel when those half remembered gray entities
    (or-are-they-really-government-agents?) started messing with her.

    Andrija Puharich, unusual inventor who was also a doctor,
    parapsychologist, and veteran let's-see-what-this-drug-will-do
    guy died back in January of 1995 after taking a header down the
    stairs. He could have told you a lot about implants capable of
    putting voices in your head. He did much of the early work on
    them.

    In my often tedious, but never boring research, I have
    encountered dark whisperings as to whether he was pushed down
    those rickety stairs or fell accidently. Some
    dear-friend-mutterings as to whether or not he had a heart
    attack and fell or fell and had a heart attack. Grave doubts
    expressed, in the muttering circles about Susan Mandell,
    supposedly Puharich's creature-comfort-girl who had looked
    after him during his last years.

    Kind of fitting he went out that way with lingering doubts and
    questions giving future researchers endless incomplete chapters.
    Truly, the area has enough first class spookery to satisfy a
    thousand Unsolved Mystery episodes.

    Starting At The End

    The services for the seventy-six year old, righteously dead
    Andrija Puharich were attended by only a few friends and a couple
    of his children. All in all about a dozen people or less. A
    really poor showing considering the roster of children,
    associates and woman that one might have expected to be there.

    Uri Geller, that old spoon bending psychic from Israel could not
    be there to see him off. If he opted to use some of his amazing
    powers he would have seen Puharich's ashes being poured from an
    urn into the Mitchell river that ran through the Josh Reynolds
    estate where Andrija had been hiding out. You can drop by some of
    Geller's massive and self-congratulatory web pages if you are at
    all curious what he has to say about Puharich.

    Fair is fair. Geller owed much of his prominence, whether
    deserved or not to Andrija Puharich.

    Geller and Puharich were no longer close which might explain the
    amazing dirth of material about Andrija in amongst all that
    puffery. "Uri is not a nice man." was Andrija's statement which I
    guess more or less summed it up for him without saying anything
    useful.

    Barbara Bronfman, once part of the Seagrams
    We-are-really-really-wealthy whisky family couldn't make it
    either but did think to send a note. She had become somewhat
    enamored with Puharich way back when and was involved enough to
    support the fugitive Ira Einhorn after he took it on the lam. If
    one can believe all that is written she finally got convinced
    that Iran Einhorn really did kill Holly Maddux and stuff her body
    into a trunk which he hid in his closet for a couple of years.

    Chris Bird, Puharich's old pal was not there either. He too sent
    along kind words. I had tried to talk to Chris Bird, intending to
    ask about his CIA days and Puharich but by the time I dug up his
    telephone number he had undergone a throat operation and had his
    larynx removed. Now he is dead, and the story I was curious about
    has gone with him.

    Wealthy, Henry Belk was there. He knows where the bodies are
    buried, and the data is in danger of disappearing with him. Belk
    declared to me that he would never commit, or have his life
    committed, to paper because people simply would not believe.
    Belk had pretty much given up on Puharich, but the former naval
    intelligence man has unbelievable class and showed up for the
    funeral.

    Bep, Andrija's second wife who got a divorce way back in 1965
    was there with two of the children, Andy Puharich, who actually
    poured his fathers ashes into the river and Yvonne. Children is
    used in the loosest sense as both of these are way grown adults.
    I don't know Yvonne but Bep and I have had some curt
    correspondence. "I feel that I must warn you to be careful what
    you write. The children and I will not tolerate any slander
    about Andrija." Brrr!

    Elizabeth Rauscher, the interesting nuclear physicist, was there
    and Bill Van Bise. Of course those two aging scientists would
    attend, after all they had been living gratis on the same
    estate thanks to the largesse of Josh Reynolds when he was
    alive. In spite of everything Norwood Robinson an attorney
    could do to get them off the property they absolutely refused
    to leave.

    "Ain't going to do it," they more or less declared but seemed to
    have left it open for negations, having filed a claim against the
    estate for $40,000. You gotta admire the sense of play of a woman
    of Rauscher's high education who tacks up a picture of Perry
    Mason and declares that he is her attorney in these matters. Very
    cool.

    Her companion William Van Bise, was reported to be working on an
    electronic device for the enhancement of extrasensory perception.
    More X-files!

    Good old Josh Reynolds had supported Puharich for about seventeen
    years. He was the grandson of the founder of Reynolds tobacco.
    Ricky Morell, staff writer of the Charlotte Observer, called Josh
    "a quirky, private man." Well, Josh is quirky no more having
    begun his dirt nap about six months before Puharich tumbled down
    the stairs.

    One of Puharich's finely honed and most excellently tuned
    abilities was garnering monetary support from the rich. He
    excelled at it, Josh Reynold being merely the last in the chain
    that wends its way back to the late 1940's. "He was a brilliant
    man, who, in order to get money for his research needed the rich,
    who used him for entertainment." Bep avowed to me in the same
    letter in which she growled that I had better mind my P's and
    Q's.

    Puharich, brilliant man, was one of those kind of in the military
    and kind of not in the military back in the late 1940's. During
    the planetary blood letting known as the second world war the
    army had picked up a number of promising individuals to
    participate in what was then called the Army Specialized Training
    Program. This group would provide the doctors and dentists to
    replace those that got shot up or to augment those already in
    place. Huge casualties were expected and advanced planning was
    the order of the day.

    Andrija received his medical education compliments of the United
    States Government who picked up the tab. He was officially given
    the rank of private during his tutelage. By the time he had
    gotten smart doctor-wise the war was over. By the time he had
    completed his residency at Permanente on the west coast the Army
    Specialized Training Program was dropped.

    His medical education took place at the ever-lovely and most
    diligent school of big data, Northwestern University. Andrija
    busied himself there easing animals into sleep with low frequency
    square waves and then operating on them.

    Throughout his life Andrija performed many outrages on four
    legged inhabitants of earth, slicing and dicing them as he saw
    the need to do so all in the name of science. Dogs were a
    favorite. One of life's little mysteries is why he belonged to
    the Kennel Club, but he did.

    It was while he was at Northwestern that Andrija put his
    mental-pedal to the mental-metal and came up with his Theory of
    Nerve Conduction. The theory proposed that the neuron units
    radiate and receive waves of energy which he calculated to be in
    the ultrashortwave bands below infrared and above the radar
    spectrum. Therefore the basic nerve units -- neurons -- are a
    certain type of radio receiver-transmitter. Hot spit!

    The theory got passed around and glimpsed by various high
    personages of 1940's scientific importance. Among them was Paul
    Weiss, a neurophysiologist at the University of Chicago. Jose
    Delgado, the guy who tortured animals by putting electronic
    implants into their brains to influence their behaviour, liked
    Paul Weiss and you can find his grateful acknowledgment to the
    man in his 've know vat's goot for you' book "Toward a
    Psychocivilized Society."

    While his nerve conduction manuscript was thusly circulating,
    Puharich headed out for California to do his internship as a
    medical researcher.

    He spent a year or so at the Permanente Research Foundation.
    During that time he carried out research into the effects of
    digatoid drugs which was funded by Sandoz Chemical Works.
    Sandoz, isn't that the same name as the famous
    LSD-In-Your-face pharmaceutical company?

    Andrija's wife Virginia who had been an editor at the office of
    War Information during the war came with him and worked at the
    same facility. She got busy involving herself in pain study
    research while Andrija practiced another skill which he honed to
    a high degree over the years -- seduction. He took up with
    another doctor-soul by the name of Jane. A lot of hot sex
    between the two is now lost in the mists of history.

    By May of 1947, the Nerve Conduction Theory was presented to the
    Zoology Graduate Seminar of the University of California at
    Berkeley. This resulted in a meeting with Dr. Paul de Kruif, who
    was interested in the far-out implications of the theory. Paul de
    Kruif was a bacteriologist, who made his fortune writing books
    which successful illustrated the lives and personalities and
    methods of various individuals who had made great medical
    discoveries.

    Paul de Kruif arranged for Puharich to meet with one of the most
    famous scientific personages of the day, Charles F. Kettering. In
    his day Kettering held over 200 patents and had invented
    everything from self-starters for automobiles, high octane
    gasoline, cash register components, to bits and pieces of guided
    missiles -- Kettering had little pieces of it all. More than
    that, the man, sitting at General Motors, had his hands on the
    purse strings. In later years when reminiscing about this blip
    in his life Puharich referred to him as "Boss Kettering." A lot
    of people did.

    Shortly after his meeting with Kettering, followed by an
    appearance and talk before the Society of Junior Fellows arranged
    by the highly illuminated Dr. Herbert Sheinberg, Puharich fell in
    with a bunch of subversive, fellow traveling, red sympathizing
    ne'er-do-wells wherein the oddities in our story grow ....

    Andrija claimed that he had met the new left bunch via his father
    who had insisted he call the world famous violinist Zlatko
    Balakovic on the telephone while Andrija was in New York tending
    to his upcoming future. This was before he had actually spoke
    before those Junior Fellow guys over at Harvard. As it turns out,
    this fact is somewhat important therefore I labor over it on the
    readers behalf.

    "Call the man. He'd be interested in a nice Yugoslavian boy's
    coming and goings." Franjo Puharich had insisted. "OK, Dad." I
    have put all this in quotes although it is likely the words, if
    truly spoken, were different. Puharich dialed the man up not in
    NY as he had been told but in Camden, Maine. "Come on down,"
    Zlatko spoke into the receiver. "Stay a couple of days."

    To an ambitious young man wanting to climb to the top of Mount
    Success these words would have been like receiving a summons from
    Sir Edmond Hillary, the intrepid conqueror of Mount Everest.
    Zlatko you see had a lot of things going for him. He had married
    extremely well. His pretty and accomplished wife Joyce hailed
    from the mighty Borden family, which many of you are familiar
    with from having dairy products in your refrigerator as well
    as glued things in your basement workshops.

    Balakovic originally hailed from Yugoslavia but got out of there
    riding on his abilities as a first class violinist. In that
    capacity he toured the world often getting from place to place on
    his yacht. He had adventures ... almost getting snapped up by a
    crocodile on one occasion and received many awards. When the
    second world war fell upon the planet he did his bit by
    performing and raising money for war bonds.

    As a performer with a Stradivarius, which he played with
    tremendous skill, he had become friends with many of the heads of
    state around the world. He especially was a friend of, and liked,
    Marshall Tito. It was OK to like Tito during the conflict because
    the man kicked Nazi butt and did it good. During the cold war,
    however, some hefty faces in D.C. would raised some heavy
    eyebrows over such sentiments.

    The very year that Andrija met the Balakovics the couple had
    completed a four month tour of Europe where Tito held a glitzy
    dinner in their honor. They had also dropped by Bulgaria where
    Zlatko was given The Order of the 9th of September medal by
    President Kolaroff of Bulgaria, which at the time was the highest
    honor that country laid on heros.

    As head of a number of Yugoslavia fraternal and relief
    organizations located in the United States, Zlatko gathered up
    various goods and equipment to ship overseas as a charitable
    action. All their good work got fired upon when it was discovered
    that cast in with the material to be shipped were of all things,
    surplus radar equipment. Now how did that get in there? The state
    department frowned, did some teeth gnashing, and made grave
    announcements.

    Actually the Federal Bureau of Investigation had known about the
    improperly enclosed radar before it left port. This fact raises
    some amazing questions, which we will mull over later.

    The American Slav Congress and the American Committee for
    Yugoslavian Relief (Zlatko's organizations) got labeled as
    subversive in 1948 by the Attorney General, Tom Clark.

    The newspapers who picked up on this set up a mighty yowling:
    "Tried to subvert 10 million people!" "Zlatko Balokovic," an
    article sneers on, "was bitten by the communist bug in 1943,
    after several unsuccessful concerts in this country he decided
    to become a professional revolutionist."

    Andrija says he got snowed in with the Balkovics and instead
    of spending a couple of days spent two weeks there in Maine.
    All in all a fine story but a crucial part, as he related it
    over the years, was spoken with a forked tongue. He credits
    them with having introduced him to the subject of ESP. Forked
    tongue stuff insofar as I have a document which clearly states
    his intent to investigate the area prior to meeting the
    Balakovics. This document also reveals that he was already
    familiar with J.B. Rhine's explorations in the area.

    The violinist, Puharich said, made an offer to support his work
    to the tune of $200 per month and a place to work, which he
    accepted. After returning to California, instead of fulfilling
    his military obligation, which he was expected to do in return
    for the bucks, time and training heaped on him by the
    government, Puharich managed to get a discharge.

    Summing up: Training financed by U.S. Army under the Army
    Specialized Training Program. Puts dogs into anaesthetic sleep
    utilizing low frequency square waves while at Northwestern.
    Writes a paper proposing a new theory of nerve conduction. Is
    sent to Permanente Research Foundation in California for
    internship in medical research. Travels to Maine and meets the
    soon-to-be-declared-subversive Balakovic who offers financing,
    which he accepts. Discharged from army without actually serving
    and sets up a research facility in Maine.

    I had started the laboratory in 1948 in a barn in the woods which
    a grateful patient had loaned me. Thus wrote Andrija in his book
    "The Sacred Mushroom." He was writing upon the establishment of
    his Round Table Foundation. Before we get back to the left-wing
    fellow-traveling commie guys we will pause and examine this
    statement, as well as other not-to-be-excluded matters.

    The Round Table Foundation was not The Round Table Foundation
    when first it saw life. Indeed not! It's correct, full and most
    honored name was The Round Table Foundation of Electrobiology.

    The question then, when approaching the crafty Andrija's history,
    becomes, was there really a barn in which he began his life as a
    parapsychologist, researcher guy? The answer is yes, most
    definitely. There were trees in the area but one would hardly
    call the location as being "in the woods." When I gazed upon a
    1949 picture of it, I counted a mere three trees.

    When built, some years before he arrived, the foundation of the
    barn took five cement mixers five days to pour. 42 inches at the
    base, 36 inches at the top, with steel girders for main beams
    and angled iron in all the corners to increase the strength.
    This was one big barn coming in at 100 ft., by 50 ft. or 5000
    square feet at its base. It had a basement, as well as another
    floor above the first.

    The U.S. Navy leased the barn for storage of valuable Navy
    equipment during the war. Whatever the equipment was that needed
    storage included firebrick. Tons of it. The brick was stored in
    the barn rather then left on the ground outside. So much of it
    was placed within the structure that it snapped a large steel
    truss rod.

    Sure enough, giving the devil his due, there was also a grateful
    patient. His name was Roy Hines, an Australian by birth, Hines
    had been chief steward to Cyrus H. K. Curtis before the
    millionaire publisher's death in June of 1933. Hines decided to
    build the barn two miles outside of Camden.

    First, he installed a smaller barn, then poured the foundations
    for the larger barn as well as one for a house. His intentions
    were to use the larger barn to store the materials that would be
    used to build the house. Apparently, he was concerned about its
    eventual collapse from all that storage, considering the mighty
    42 inch base and reinforced structure.

    By then the war came along and Hines, not in the best of health,
    had other responsibilities. Among those was his need to care for
    the Curtis estate as well as the Bok estate (publisher of the
    Lady Home Journal, a Curtis publication). Hines therefore put the
    planned house building on hold, and, as we said above, the Navy
    came along and leased it.

    At some point forward in our fine story, an out-of-state
    newspaper, which happened to be heaping praise on Puharich at the
    time, mentioned that big barn and commented that it had never,
    ever been used by anyone until Puharich took it over. Thus it
    seems that its prior use by the Navy and all that firebrick was
    unknown outside of the small resort town of Camden.

    When he had arrived for permanent rooting, in the picture
    postcard village, Puharich proclaimed that his decision to locate
    himself there was based on the fact he had been looking for a
    community which a group of fellow students and he had talked
    about as being suitable for starting a small hospital. His
    decisions had not been without sacrifice, he claimed. He had to
    turn down not only a possible leading position at a planned
    Neuromuscular Institute in Santa Monica, but a Public Health job
    in cancer research at University of California, a job with the
    Atomic Casualties Committee doing research in Japan and a job
    researching polio at the University of Illinois.

    Not long after he got there Hines allowed as to how he had this
    unused barn, and, if Andrija so desired, he could go ahead and
    use it for two years at no charge. The only thing Hines expected
    was that the kindly doctor would administer to his medical needs
    for a like amount of remuneration.

    Many of the citizens of that small town, especially those who
    were members of the local boat club, fell in with the spirit of
    the thing. They marched right on out to that barn and began
    hammering and sawing and getting it into decent shape, which
    might have prompted Puharich's additional statements that
    another reason he had moved there was that "the people were so
    nice and friendly." Indeed, they had taken to calling him "Dr.
    Hank" and he had begun blending in by smoking a corn-cob pipe.

    Not to confuse the reader at this late point in our story, it
    is incumbent upon me to mention that Puharich's full and actual
    name was Henry Karl Puharich. He did not get to calling himself
    Andrija (Croatian for Henry) until later in his life.

    Certainly worthy of mention, although it never was by Puharich,
    is that another business was located in that tiny town. The
    enterprise, at that time, was one of only three such plants in
    the country. Not only was it special in being a one-of-only-three
    endeavor we find that the man who ran it was well an experienced
    professional at carrying out secret work.

    This successful and accomplished inventor, Dr. Raymond C.
    Tibbets, had invented such items as the first combination radio
    and record player. The first electric icebox, the first electric
    ice cream unit and the first electric water cooler.

    Of more interest to our story, he ran a manufacturing facility
    right there in Camden which turned out sound converting crystals.

    By 1945, Tibbets had already carried out confidential war time
    work for the U.S. Signal Corps, the British Ministry of Supplies,
    the National Defense Council, as well as the University of
    California, General Electric Co. and RCA Mfg. Co.

    His research work was given priority AA1 by the War Production
    Board. This designation had been assigned to a limited number of
    facilities throughout the United States and can be taken as an
    indication that his endeavors were considered important -- big
    time.

    Raymond Tibbets' son George graduated from Harvard in 1946 and
    joined his father in the business.

    In 1948 when Andrija came to town, the plant, then three years
    old, was turning out 50,000 crystals a year from a 7000 square
    foot facility. Thirty employees, the majority of them woman,
    worked at the benches earning an average of about $20.00 per
    week -- in 1940's money. The crystals were piezoelectric; that
    is to say, they generated electricity when sound waves struck
    them.

    The average thickness of each crystal was 12/1000th of an inch,
    about the size of three sheets of paper pressed together.

    The lions share of the output went into hearing aid microphones
    although the crystals could be, and were, used in any kind of
    radio.`

    Considering the type of projects Andrija would be getting up to,
    one would have to consider that plant very handy.

    I hear voices, but there is no one there!

    In 1948, while the big barn was getting sawed and hammered into
    shape, suitable for laboratory use, Andrija began popping up in
    New York. He was in the company of a nasty piece-of-work
    psychiatrist named Warren S. McCulloch, whom he knew from his old
    days at Northwestern when McCulloch had been an instructor.

    A real intellectual-ugly who had worked over at Bellevue hospital
    years earlier, McCulloch is written up in history as one of the
    prime founder guys of Cybernetics. Now if ever there was a
    subject that the Soviet Union took to heart, Cybernetics was it.
    Defined by one of its own scientists, V. Trapeznikov of the
    Institute of Automation and Telemechanics, "The science of
    control, the organization of purposeful action in living
    organisms, in man-made automatic machines and in the society in
    which we live."

    Cutting to the heart of it, Cybernetics gets rid of that most
    distressing, theory-upsetting, science-messing factor of the
    human spirit or soul, and likens all to a machine whether it be
    weapons, people, organizations, or society as a whole -- merely
    machines needing to be organized by those with the "right stuff"
    upstairs.

    Little Cybernetic organizations and research facilities popped up
    in that country much like measles pop up on the face of a
    stricken child. Lest I sound improperly informed, let me hasten
    to add that the Cybernetic measles spread in the United States as
    well, but not with the same ferocity it invaded the body politic
    in the Soviet Union.

    McCulloch, by then, had chaired a number of conferences on
    "Circular Causal and Feedback Mechanisms in Biological and Social
    Systems," sponsored by the Josiah Macy, Jr. Foundation. This
    foundation is internationally notorious for funding directly or
    acting as a conduit for US and British funding of discreditable
    mind-control experiments.

    If nothing else McCulloch was a realist having claimed that the
    members of the psychiatric profession actually came from the
    lower third of their class. Mostly these
    bottom-of-the-intellectual-ladder types headed out for jobs in
    state hospitals and there deteriorated faster then the inmates
    -- so he said.

    He also thought implants would be kind of a cool thing. "So much
    for implanted electrodes. They are here to stay. Through them we
    will record activities in structures heretofore inaccessible,
    locating the "Womb of Fancy." Through them we will stimulate --
    begetting Fancy. With them, we will destroy whatever generates
    or mediates the diseases of Fancy. To do less would be unethical.
    Confess you'd rather wear them in your head for years than let
    the cigar-clippers nip your frontal poles. He was a gem.

    McCulloch had a interesting list of organizations that wished to
    spur on his creative endeavors by providing him with money. Those
    of you interested in such things, and don't want to bother going
    to the library, may drop me a line requesting same.

    Hearing voices within the confines of your very own, and most
    private, head is a definite psychiatric "no-no." Throughout
    history various cures for this most serious of conditions have
    been attempted. The English, you might recall, cured Joan of Arc
    of this malady by burning her at the stake.

    In some manner, never fully explained, the story according to
    Andrija was that he and McCulloch got wind of the fact that a
    patient right there at Bellevue, in the mental ward, was
    professing that he too was hearing voices. The pair went on over
    to look into this situation.

    After much prodding about, consultation and data taking it was
    discovered that the man had been working at a job grinding metal
    castings against Carborundum wheels. The dust generated by that
    activity coated the individuals metal fillings turning the teeth
    into radio receivers. The individual was tuned very precisely to
    station WOR in New York City. A fine story, and certainly an
    interesting one, when it falls upon your ears for the first time
    as it did mine. That first version I encountered put these
    happening in 1953, not 1948 where they properly belong.

    Speaking to a doctor, who had worked on getting Puharich's tooth
    implant smaller some years later, he recalled to me that Andrija
    had told him that this whole thing happened in coal mining
    country and that the patient was a coal miner who had gotten coal
    in his teeth.

    The earliest version of the story that I have come across written
    by Puharich himself, has a slightly different sequence of events.
    In this version there is not one patient at the mental ward but
    two. In addition there is a dentist along for the ride and it all
    occurred in 1948.

    Not only were there two patients, but the kindly doctors cleaned
    their teeth and put those guys in a cage constructed of closely
    meshed copper wires designed to screen out ambient radio
    frequencies -- a Faraday cage. When thusly placed in the
    enclosure the voices stopped.

    Perhaps, like myself, your forehead is puckered up into a frown
    now as obvious questions are left hanging like recently washed
    linen is left to hang upon a clothes line.

    If these poor unfortunate mental patients were receiving station
    WOR would it have seemed so mysterious to them? After all, radio
    stations do give out their call letters. Would they not have
    said, "I hear a radio station but there is no radio around."
    Would there not have been music as well as voices? How did these
    patients come to be committed to a mental ward? Did they run
    screaming to a psychiatrist, "You gotta do something. A radio
    station has gotten into my head!" You also got to wonder what a
    Faraday cage was doing in the mental ward at Belleview.

    Picking up radio stations via the teeth was not an unknown
    phenomena. Frank Edwards in his book "Strange World" makes note
    of just such a case, which he unfortunately does not date. Here
    a factory worker who lived in Bridgeport Connecticut visited a
    dentist and had work done. Some of the filling material lodged
    between his teeth and he began to hear music and voices from a
    radio station. The cause was discovered and corrected, and no
    one was committed.

    Andrija usually advanced the stories in explaining how it was he
    came to be applying his research talent and theory of nerve
    conduction to a tooth implant, which he said he hoped to make
    into a hearing aid.

    His statements of what occurred, changing though it may be,
    completely rules out any idea that those patients were being
    experimented on. It certainly would never occur to me that they
    were putting voices into heads rather then getting them out.

    Andrija was involved, in 1948, with another individual, thought
    to be a communist, who got into keeping the heads of dead humans
    in his basement in crockery pots. We'll have to save just who
    that man was and how he fit in for the next part of our story.

    Summing Up: Arrives in the small resort town of Camden, Maine
    which he proclaims fits the bill for starting a new hospital. Is
    given a specially reinforced barn with unusually thick foundation
    for two years at no charge. Local citizens, mostly from the boat
    club began to get barn into shape. Town has one other significant
    industry. A facility which produces piezoelectric crystals, run
    by a man who had done secret war work. Puharich, in company with
    Warren McCulloch are doing something with patients at a NY mental
    ward which involves teeth and radio signals.

    The police, having received a disquieting report that upset their
    doughnut munching, rushed over to verify what they had been told.
    Sure enough, just as reported, a human head, most improperly
    detached from whatever body it had been original equipment for,
    lay in the tall grass on Dr. Samuel Rosen's property. The
    left-wing Rosen. The Communist, Rosen.

    Off they went to arrest the fuckin' political outcast, who was
    then in bed at his summer residence in Katonah, New York.

    That head had previously resided in a earthenware pot in a root
    cellar which belonged to, the
    soon-to-be-more-infamous-then-he-already-was, Rosen. He kept his
    collection of heads there for the coolness a root cellar offered
    -- so he explained to the police.

    Furthermore all the people from which all the heads came had been
    nicely and properly dead before he obtained them. True, what he
    did was a crime, but in no way did it rise to the level of
    murder.

    How had the head gotten out of his root cellar? Maybe a dog got
    in and took it ... was the only explanation the baffled Doctor
    could come up with.

    The heads were used to practice certain surgical procedures on,
    and they had to be human. Rosen therefore had bribed a certain
    person, the fellow who was in charge of the bodies at an unnamed
    hospital morgue, called a diener. That greedy attendant had seen
    to it that he was well supplied. Well, then the cops demanded,
    give us the name of the fellow.

    Whatever Rosen's reply to the cops was, it added up to, "can't
    do that."

    The cops thought they had best report back to the station to let
    the interested parties there know what had transpired. Rosen,
    sure that they would soon return to arrest him, waited at his
    residence glumly. The cops, unexpectedly did not come back, nor
    was Rosen ever arrested or questioned further about the incident.

    [Continued to part 2]
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