Chapter 1
An introduction to metal-bending: involvement of the author
In retrospect, it seems curious that it all started in the mid-seventies
of
the twentieth century.
· Has it been going on unnoticed for centuries, or is it
something quite new, brought on by our advancing technology and
social system?
· Does it really happen at all? Are the claimants merely
frauds?
· How rare is it, and who is really responsible? Can it
be pinned down to the responsibility of one person, or is it just
a fact of nature, a sort of local disease?
· Can it be developed or taught?
· How long does it last, and how frequently do the attacks
come on?
· Is it a symptom of something else?
· Do other phenomena accompany it?
· Can any use be made of it? Is it likely to have much effect
on human society?
We cannot answer all these questions in concise sentences; but
at least we can describe the researches which will find answers
for the most agonizing question of them all:
How is metal-bending possible within the framework of the physical
science that we have come to accept?
The essential phenomenon is this: a very few people appear to
be able to deform and fracture pieces of metal, and occasionally
other materials, just by stroking them between their thumb and
fingers, or even without actually touching them.
At first the household cutlery becomes deformed, no one knows
how; perhaps a spoon or fork is seen to bend on its own. Usually
the phenomena are first noticed after a television appearance
by Uri Geller, the best known, first and 'strongest' of all metal-benders.
When the household first becomes aware of the bendings, it is
often not known who is responsible. Nearly always it is one of
the children, who finds that if he or she strokes a spoon between
fingers and thumb it sometimes softens and bends.
It is apparent that metal-bending should be classed as a 'psychic'
phenomenon, to be grouped together with such things as water-divining,
telepathy, faith-healing, mediumship. I cannot claim to be a
life-long authority on these things (I have always found physical
science more interesting and more immediately important), but
I have come to regard them as worthy of serious study. What has
really led to my taking an active part in 'psychic research' is
simply that it is very difficult, and therefore very important,
to reconcile psychic phenomena with physical science. Of course
this is why many scientists, probably the large majority, refuse
to believe in the reality of psychic phenomena at all. The area
must be classed with others, such as the workings of the brain
and the origin of the universe, in being only speculatively interpreted.
Within our present society there are strong social overtones to
psychic phenomena; it is possible to make money, and even to achieve
some power, through their use. Therefore there have been some
who have eked out their sparse psychic effects with fraud, and
some who were entirely fraudulent. Naturally this has led to
much scepticism among thinking people, and it has been scepticism
not only of mediums but of investigators. It is useless for a
person who has experienced psychic phenomena merely to claim that
this scepticism is of the 'closed mind' variety.
There are all sorts of sociological reasons for these strongly-held
attitudes, even within science itself. In such a field, any seriously
interested person must start by finding things out for himself,
without paying too much heed to the opinions held by others.
My own initial attitude was: 'Believe nothing that you hear and
only half of what you see', and it is only more recently that
I have come to reaise that I was perhaps arrogant in ignoring
some good investigations that previous psychic researchers have
made. I have seldom taken this attitude in other fields of science.
Yet proportionately there has been almost as much bad science
done as there had been bad psychic research. Some years ago there
was an outcry when a National Bureau of Standards physicist working
in atomic processes claimed that 90 per cent of the published
papers in this field were wrong (at least in the sense that the
real data were subsequently found to lie outside the published
error bars). We must concede that it is easier to make mistakes
in psychic research than it is in physics. Nevertheless, although
opportunities may be lost, the community of scientists (and this
includes the psychic researchers) will always get there in the
end, by virtue of sheer persistence.
My first target was to answer to my own satisfaction the question
of whether there was anything in paranormal metal-bending worth
investigating at all - i.e., was it a real phenomenon? And in
this I was very lucky in obtaining reasonably good evidence at
the very first attempt; I doubt if the single instance described
would be sufficient on its own, if nothing subsequent had happened;
but at least at the time it was sufficient to prompt me to start
a serious research programme. My account of what happened reads
naively in the light of all the scorn that has since been heaped
on such observations by some sceptical sciencewriters; indeed,
no publisher would even consider publishing this account back
in 1974. But I stand by every word of it, and have been unable
to find any errors of fact in the account which follows.
First observations with Geller, 5 February 1974
It was already five o'clock. There was a television camera in
the. hotel lobby, fixed so that anyone walking in would be photographed.
I had never seen this in an English hotel, but perhaps one day
it will be nothing to notice especially. I was told that the
hotel was popular with Israeli airline pilots, who needed security.
But it made the evening seem a little unreal to me.
David Bohm and I were on our way to meet Uri Geller, the young
Israeli who was visiting England and bending spoons on the television.
I had seen his interview on the David Dimbleby 'Talk-In' show,
and, sure enough, a spoon had apparently become quite soft in
his fingers.
I am an experimental physicist, and David Bohm is a senior theoretical
physicist; he developed the concept of the hidden variable in
quantum theory. We had both come by taxi from the laboratories
at Birkbeck College, which is part of the University of London.
In my pocket I had four polythene envelopes each containing a
brass latchkey, cleaned up and carefully examined for scratches.
When I was an undergraduate, my laboratory training in chemistry
included months of gravitational analysis, making weighings of
chemicals to verify that 'matter can neither be created nor destroyed'.
So I developed the usual skill at handling chemical balances,
and thought I would use this skill on the latchkeys. If they
weighed the same after they had been handled by Geller, something
would be learned.
This was my first venture into anything that could be described
as 'psychic research', and I think this applies to David Bohm
as well. The whole field is contrary to the huge weight of experiment
and experience which make up the physicist's life. The history
of psychic research is spattered with doubtful reports and contradictions.
What is one to believe?
I made up my mind, as most physicists would do, to take nothing
on trust and believe nothing that I had not actually seen clearly
myself. What a state of affairs! How fast would physics advance
if we had to restrict ourselves to this cautious attitude? The
young scientist is taught (in the words of Newton) that he has
the advantage of 'standing on the shoulders of a giant'. What
if the giant had lied to him? On the other hand, I had often
told my research students to take nothing on trust.
We found the hotel suite and were introduced to Uri Geller by
Brendan O'Regan. Brendan is a research consultant who had met
Geller at the Stanford Research Institute in America. It was
he who at the instigation of Californian physicists Fred Wolf
and Jack Sarfatt had persuaded Geller to talk with Bohm and myself.
But he was more or less unknown to me, and I thought at first
that he might be a colleague of Geller's; this suspicion was helped
by what happened next. David Bohm and I took seats, and Brendan
and Uri went off together for a minute or so. I wondered what
they could be cooking up, and tried to think how I could keep
my eye on Brendan as well as Uri. But when they returned, Brendan
kept well in the background, whilst Uri sat between David and
myself around a plastic-topped wooden coffee table; I had already
looked underneath the table and found nothing there. After all,
spoons do not bend when they are stroked, and people were already
saying that Geller was a very clever conjuror.
There was another scientist present - Dr Ted Bastin; he had with
him a piece of electronic equipment which was not working; Uri
Geller put his hands on it and tried to heal it but without success.
I had the impression that Uri was rather nervous and unsure of
himself in the presence of a new crop of scientists (he had already
spent some weeks working with physicists at the Stanford Research
Institute in California). So we started by talking about what
Geller had been doing at Stanford, and after that he tried to
receive telepathic messages from us. We drew pictures on paper,
which he could not see and he tried to guess what they were; but
I had already decided that I would not investigate claims of telepathy
at all seriously, since I had no experience, and the conditions
were poor. I was waiting for the opportunity to produce my latchkeys.
I judged that Geller had to he feeling confident before he would
agree to try. I also wanted to make sure that the conditions were
just right, so that David Bohm and I could get a really close-up
view. I hoped that nothing would go wrong, and although I was
in a mood of suspense, I tried not to let this be communicated
to the others.
At length Geller said he would try, and asked for a hotel spoon.
But I produced two latchkeys in polythene bags before he had
a chance. I took them from the bags and laid them on the table.
Many spoons are so weak that anyone with moderately strong hands
might bend them. But latchkeys, particularly the large ones issued
by the Automobile Association, are much tougher, and I know few
people who can bend them between the fingers; it is, however,
not very difficult to bend them with one hand pressed against
a hard surface. Also I knew all about my latchkeys, and my knowledge
of the weights would enable me to test for chemical corrosion
and abrasion.
Geller was quite happy with the keys, and at once took one in
each hand, holding it lightly between the forefinger and thumb;
I did not take my eyes off them once, not even for a moment.
I can affirm that I did not see Geller's other fingers touch the
keys (except at pick-up) and that he did not move them more than
about an inch from the table surface; they were in my field of
vision the whole time. Nothing happened for about forty seconds,
and then Geller put the keys flat on the tables about two inches
apart and stroked them gently, one with each forefinger. All
the time Geller was talking, but I never took my eyes off the
two keys and I am certain they never left the table for a surreptitious
bend to he performed. After one more minute's stroking, the end
of each key started to bend slightly upwards, one (the one stroked
by his right forefinger) distinctly more than the other. The
angles were 11 degrees and 8 degrees, as measured afterwards.
Geller picked up one key and held it a few inches above the table
to see if it would bend further, or if the metal would soften
extensively. But no more bending took place that I could see,
and when Geller handed me the key I quickly put it back in the
polythene bag and into my pocket. It was not even warm. During
the entire time this key had spent out of the bag its movements
had been very simple; table, Geller's forefinger and thumb, table,
pick-up by Geller, handed to me, back to the bag. I am quite sure
that I did not take my eyes off this key or the other, and I am
quite sure that Geller's handling of the keys was light and gentle.
Although the operation had taken little more than two minutes,
the strain of the close observation was beginning already to tell
on me. I do not think that I could have continued at this intensity
for very much longer.
The other key had only a smaller bend; Geller tried by stroking
to get it to bend further. We took it into the under a running
tap, but to no avail. It remained only slightly bent, and it
is my opinion that all of this slight bend (8 degrees) had the
table during the stroking. I dried the water off and put the
key back in the polythene bag; we said goodbye to Uri Geller,
who was happy about what had happened. He promised to come to
our laboratory when he returned to England, and David Bohm and
I went off into the hotel lobby, past the television camera and
out into the street. Altogether we had been in the hotel for
an hour and a quarter.
We caught a taxi straight back to the chemistry laboratory where
I had use of a balance, and I weighed both keys; next morning
I weighed them again. Within the reproducibility which I was
getting, there was no change of weight:
AA key EFG key
Morning 12.3264 g 12.5023 g
Afternoon 12.3267 g 12.5024 g
After bending 12.3265 g 12.5013 g
Next morning 12.3271 g 12.5023 g
One reason why I carried out this weighing routine was that I
had heard that paranormally bent or fractured specimens had sometimes
lost weight. This might be attributed to corrosion by chemicals
or to scratching or chipping; but if normal causes were ruled
out, something most peculiar must have happened. Metal can be
changed chemically, or vaporized, or filed away, but it cannot
just disappear, unless it is converted into energy, as in a nuclear
reactor. But I now had evidence that this bent key did not lose
appreciable weight. I was later to repeat the weighing - paranormal
bending - weighing observations more than twenty times, and with
one unreliable
exception, no specimen was found to have lost or gained in weight.
More recently a weight loss of 0.03 g has been reported by Dr
Sachiro Okada at Tokyo University in a spoon bent by Jun Sekiguchi:
this report remains unique.
This was my personal introduction to the metal-bending phenomenon,
and whilst it is obviously not worth very much on its own, the
conditions of the observation were sufficiently good for me to
claim that a conjuror could not duplicate exactly what I reported.
But no attempt was made to video-record the events, so that all
we have as a permanent record is my own testimony and that of
the other physicists present.(5) Such testimonies are perhaps
not worth very much in isolation, but when similar reports accumulate,
as they have done, they amount to more than video-records.
During the late 1950s the young Israeli Uri Geller had the following
experience. He writes:(6)
One time my mother had made some mushroom soup. There was good
white bread with the soup, and I dipped the bread into it and
ate. Then I started eating the soup with my spoon. I'm left-handed,
so I held the spoon in my left hand and took several sips of the
soup. My mother was standing by the kitchen stove. I was lifting
a full spoonful up to my mouth, when suddenly the bowl of the
spoon bent down and spilled hot soup into my lap. Then the bowl
of the spoon itself fell off. I was left there holding the handle.
I called to my mother. 'Look what happened!' She came over and
looked at me, then at the spoon. And then she started laughing.
'Well, it must be a loose spoon or something, she said. Now
I knew that was silly. You don't just have 'loose spoons.'
I laughed, too. But then I started to put two and two together.
Something was happening around me that was very strange, and
I had no way of explaining it or knowing what to do about it.
I only knew that, whatever it was, this kind of thing didn't
seem to happen to anyone else. And it was not comfortable.
Try to imagine such a thing happening to you as a child of eight
or nine. You have a spoon full of soup, and it suddenly breaks
and spills the soup into your lap. What do you do? The first
reaction is to jump back in surprise, then to get angry at the
spoon. And if it happens again the reaction is: Wait a minute.
What's going on here? What is happening? And then if it continues,
as it did with me, up to thirty or forty times a year, it becomes
disconcerting and worrisome, to say the least.
The worst part of it was that there was no place to turn for help.
Neither of my parents could believe what was going on, and I couldn't
exactly blame them. I didn't want to talk to my teachers about
it, and my classmates would either laugh or say it was all just
a trick. I was too ashamed even to ask anybody about it, because
I knew they would laugh at me.
In view of what has happened during the 1970s, we are forced to
wonder whether occasionally in the past there have been other
children who have had similar experiences, which, did not become
widely known, and which eventually ceased altogether, as has been
the case with nearly all those children studied more recently.
We shall discuss pre-Geller metal-bending in the next chapter.
Uri Geller, having a strongly outgoing personality and a talent
for performance, started to give public demonstrations of metal-bending
and other things in Israel. 'Having an audience even seemed to
help,' he wrote. But then:
When the manager urged me to add the magician's trick to the regular
demonstration, I didn't know what to do. He was very persuasive,
and I was young and inexperienced. He insisted that everything
was going to fail unless I added the trick material, I figured,
well it won't last much longer anyway. We'll soon cover all of
Israel, and that will be it. Maybe I'll be able to save enough
money to open up a coffee shop or something like that. I really
didn't have any conception about the gift that had been given
to me . . .
I finally gave in to the manager's pressure. I felt it was wrong
the minute I agreed. I didn't reaise, though, how big a mistake
I was making one of the most crucial mistakes of my life. After
all, the more I became known all over the country, the more controversy
would grow as to whether what I did was real or phoney. I added
the trick to the legitimate demonstrations and I hated myself
every time I did it.
Uri Geller's demonstrations in Israel did not convince the world
that a new phenomenon was occurring; but the news reached Dr Andrija
Puharich, a medical and electrons researcher in the United States,
and Puharich made two visits to Israel with simple physical equipment
and recorded various observations. At the instigation of astronaut
Edgar Mitchell, Puharich brought Geller to the United States,
via West Germany, in 1972. A number of physicists then became
involved in investigating the effects: Dr Karger of the Max Planck
Institute in Munich, Dr Targ and Dr Puthoff of the Stanford Research
Institute in California, and others.
Most of Uri Geller's activity was in the form of 'performance'
rather than laboratory investigations; the performance did not
convince everybody, but it was found that the community, including
scientists, polarized into every shade of opinion between complete
believers and complete sceptics. One could with some success
predict how a person would react if one personally knew him and
his background. What was more important, the scientific community
had now had their attention drawn to the metal-bending phenomenon,
and here and there some physicists and engineers started to make
more careful observations and even experiments.
In 1974 the 'induction effect' began to occupy attention. During
Geller's television performances other people both in the studio
and in their homes would find that a latchkey held gently in the
hand would bend of its own accord. In most West European countries,
as well as Japan, South Africa and others, the television companies
received letters and telephone calls reporting cutlery bending.
of its own accord in viewers' homes. Hundreds of such cases have
been followed up in West Germany, and in Britain by the Society
for Psychical Research; investigations were made by mathematical
physicist John Taylor,(7) who wrote of his experience with children,
the 'mini-Gellers' who could produce metal-bending effects on
their own. In nearly all cases the effects began during or after
the television performance. Moreover it is quite possible that
a deliberately faked performance or account has actually induced
real paranormal metal-bending.(8)
In January 1974 I became involved myself, and slowly developed
my research with Uri Geller, and more extensively with British
children. This will be described in subsequent chapters. In
1975 the first scientific conference to discuss the effect was
held, called by Andrija Puharich at Tarrytown, USA. At this time
certain professional conjurors and science-writers started what
has since become an organized campaign to convince the public
that the entire phenomenon was fraudulent.
In 1976-7, what might be termed 'second generation metal-benders'
made their appearance in Europe. These people, some of whom are
adult rather than children, came forward not as an immediate result
of Geller's own performances but rather as a result of their own
personal experiences that such a thing existed, and their gradual
realization that it was affecting, them to an extent that could
not be ignored. The onset of the bendings was a long time, as
match as three years, after the first Geller performances. The
Frenchman Jean-Pierre Girard and the Bernese Silvio Mayer are
examples of this second generation. The attitudes of the children
and of the second generation of benders are rather different from
each other and from that of Geller himself. There is no longer
much possibility, as there was with Geller, of becoming an international
'star' or entertainer. They do not spend their entire life demonstrating
the effect; they continue with their careers and as far as possible
co-operate with researchers and the media in their spare time.
At this time it cannot be said that thinking people, and especially
the scientific community, are convinced of the reality of these
phenomena. One important reason is that the phenomena do not
connect up with physical science, and that as yet there have been
no good hypotheses for such a connection. Hypotheses must wait
until definitive quantitative information regarding metal-bending
becomes available. To this information I attempt to contribute
in the forthcoming chapters; and I shall follow this with some
speculation about the possible physical basis of metal-bending.
Another reason for popular scepticism is that the metal-bending
is rare and spontaneous, and cannot be reproduced to order. Many
times I have been approached by television producers with the
request that one of the metal-bending children demonstrate his
or her 'powers' in front of the television camera. I have nearly
always advised the family not to allow such a 'performance', because
the chance of success is usually small. Nevertheless some successful
television recordings of metal-bendings by children and also of
strain gauge experiments (chapter 4) have been made, and have
appeared in various countries. But there have also been unsuccessful
attempts, and these have caused great frustration and unhappiness.
Nearly always the metal-bending effects must be taken to be 'spontaneous'
and not readily reproducible to order.
How did I reach the conclusion that the metal-bending phenomena
are genuinely paranormal, or inexplicable? By accumulation of
observations of events in which it was my good luck to participate.
A few of these I shall describe below; some are simply retained
in my notebooks.
When metal is bent paranormally the yield strength becomes temporarily
abnormally low; in other words, the metal softens. It is difficult
to observe this directly, because the effect does not have to
be large for bending to occur, and usually it is not such a large
effect that it is obvious to the observers. On rare occasions,
however, the metal becomes as soft as putty. The first time that
I saw such a phenomenon, it made a deep impression on me.
I wrote at the time:
Before he [Uri Geller] had been in my office for two minutes,
I spoke of my experiences with the children, and handed him one
of the stainless steel spoons which had been bent by the girl.(Valerie
P. Actually it was her brother, Graham P., who had bent it.) Geller
held the handle and did not touch the bend.( It has been supposed
that Geller performed the wellknown conjuring trick to prepare
a nearfracture by working the spoon to and fro, covering it between
the finger and thumb, and gradually revealing that the spoon is
bending.) Within a few seconds, and under my close scrutiny, the
bend in the spoon became plastic. It quickly softened so much
that the spoon could be held with one end in either hand and gently
moved to and fro. I had never seen Geller produce a really plastic
bend before, and I asked him to hand the spoon to me in one piece.
I took one end from his left hand into my right and one end from
his right hand into my left. The acute angle, about 60°,
was essentially unchanged in the handing over.( A photograph of
myself holding this spoon appears in Geller's book, My Story.)
I could sense the plasticity myself, by gently moving my hands.
It was as though the bent part of the spoon was as soft as chewinggum,
and yet its appearance was normal. I continued a gentle bending
movement for about ten seconds, and then decided that it might
be more interesting to try and preserve the spoon in one piece
than to pull it apart. As carefully as I could, I laid it on the
desk. It was not appreciably warm. I did not dare touch the bent
part for fear of breaking it, and it lay on the desk apparently
in one piece for a few minutes; but on attempting to move it I
was unable to prevent it from falling apart, a 'neck' having developed.
This was the first time I had clearly seen a really 'plastic bend',
since these are much rarer than the slow bends I had observed
previously. I do not think there can be any question of fraud
when a really plastic bend is produced under close scrutiny, unless
there is serious chemical corrosion, such as that produced by
mercuric salts. Even then, the metal behaves quite differently,
becoming wet, discoloured and brittle, but hardly plastic. Chemical
corrosion is accompanied by a change in weight; therefore I was
pleased that I had recorded the weight of this spoon as follows:
Original weight 24.3526 g
Weight after bend by child 24.3533 g
Combined weight of pieces after fracture 24.3529 g
These variations are within the limits of weight hanges, both
up and down, which have been observed in other bent specimens.
The errors are due to dirt and to moisture condensation and evaporation.
To be quite sure of such softening, one must be able to inspect
it at close quarters both with the eye and by handling.
A piece of metal that has been critically weakened by bending
to and fro can be held rigid at the weak point between finger
and thumb. A gradual series of bends can be made apparent by suitable
manipulation, but all the time the weak point is held firm, and
the movements are made against the restraining force of the flesh
of the ball of finger and thumb. The conjurer Mr Randi has demonstrated
this trick to me, and it is most effective. It caused me to pause
and think: was the Uri Geller spoonsoftening, or others that I
have observed, of the same character? No, the character was not
the same, in two important details: first, there had been no opportunity
for Geller to weaken the spoon by working it to and fro; and second,
the part of the spoon which softened and bent was clearly exposed
to view, and not held firm. In fact, I was able to hold the end
of the spoon myself, and sensitively probe the softening by movements
of the hands against the resistance of the metal. It was an uncanny
experience.
I have more recently obtained a videotape record of a vertically
mounted stainless steel teaspoon in a floppy condition. Metalbender
Stephen North succeeded in softening a point on the spoon without
even touching it. He then gently pushed and pulled the bowl about,
so as to demonstrate the floppiness. Eventually the bowl fell
off.
I have obtained similar videorecords of the bending of long thin
aluminium strips, which are mounted vertically by standing them
on pieces of Plasticine. Stephen holds his hand close to the metal
but does not touch it. Suddenly a softening at one point causes
a sharp bend, the upper end of the metal strip collapsing to one
side under gravity. This type of rapid metalbending event, which
can be seen on only a few frames of the videorecord, is not infrequent.
It almost seems as though metalbending takes place either too
slowly or too fast for the viewers to have an easy task observing
it. No doubt this has contributed much to the slowness of its
acceptance by sceptical people.
When a strange physical phenomenon is reliably observed and even
instrumented, the possible causes must be assessed. First, there
may be a natural physical cause, such as the relaxation of previously
developed internal stress. In many cases of metalbending, such
causes have been eliminated by previously annealing the metal.
Second, there may be the conscious or unconscious 'action', by
means as yet unknown, of one or more humans (or animals). Third,
such action may be brought about by one or more discarnate entities-'spirits'
of living or dead humans (or animals) or, alternatively, deities.
Finally, the action may be brought about by one or more inanimate
physical objects, such as haunted houses. In principle, any one
of the above, or any combination of more than one, could have
been the cause of the phenomenon.
It is difficult to see what proof might be offered of the responsibility
of these entities. Even if communications were received, repeated
demonstrations would have to be given, with the communicated message
before each one.
The most that can be expected at present is that a link with a
human can be established. Uri Geller is said to cause metalbending
because it happens frequently in his presence, and sometimes when
he thinks that he is intending it. But the phenomenon is said
to be 'spontaneous' because sometimes it occurs when he thinks
that he is not intending it.
A sudden event observed in an early session of Uri Geller in my
laboratory was the bending without touch of a discshaped single
crystal of molybdenum of about 1 cm diameter. This had been provided
by Dr Anthony Lee of the Cavendish Laboratory, and I personally
kept it secure in a plastic box in my pocket before its exposure
to Geller's 'action'. Physicists David Bohm, Ted Bastin, Jack
Sarfatt and also Brendan O'Regan were present as witnesses. Geller
asked for small metal objects to be placed for him on a large
metal plate, so we placed on the table a machineshop working plate.
I took the crystal from its box and put it absolutely flat on
the plate. Sarfatt extended his hand a few inches above the crystal
and the other objects on the plate. Geller moved his hand above
Sarfatt's, until a tingling sensation was reported by the latter.
Geller tried to 'concentrate his action', and it was suddenly
seen by the observers that the crystal had changed its shape,
and was now slightly bent, through an angle of about 20°.
I could not swear that the bending was not accompanied by a tiny
metallic sound. But I was absolutely certain that neither Geller
nor anyone else had touched the crystal since I placed it on the
metal plate; nor did he drop anything on the metal plate.
I replaced the crystal in its box, which I returned to my pocket;
a physical examination of the crystal would be necessary. I eventually
found that a physical property (the magnetic susceptibility) of
the crystal was anomalous, but I have not previously published
this fact. It will be discussed in chapter 11.
Unfortunately a precise account of this event never appeared at
the time, partly because an unauthorised and imprecise account
was released to the press by one of those present. Sceptics had
a fieldday on the basis of this account, and even now it is doubtful
if many readers who remember it will be much influenced by my
own version. But I myself was impressed by what I had seen, and
was reasonably certain that it could not have been a piece of
conjuring. This is partly because conjurors do not know about
how to change the physical properties of very pure molybdenum;
nor could it have been known just what investigation I was going
to make.
But it must be admitted that there were no conjurors present at
our session, and that numbers of that profession have written
very sceptically about metalbending. Notwithstanding this, there
is a less vocal minority of conjurors who are convinced of the
reality of the phenomenon. Particularly is this the case in Frenchspeaking
Europe, where metalbender JeanPierre Girard has given many 'demonstrations'.
One of the deepest impressions I received came from the observation
of a bend by JeanPierre Girard. I had been asked by chemical physicist
Dr Wolkowski of the University of Paris to participate in a discussion
on the French radio, and the next day he telephoned to say that
as a result of the broadcast a young man had come forward and
demonstrated that he could bend metal. Girard was employed in
selling pharmaceuticals, but was interested in conjuring and had
performed as an amateur. He found himself able to concentrate
deeply on pieces of metal, so that eventually they would bend.
Very soon there was a television demonstration, of which I received
a filmed version. Girard was seen to handle metal rods which bent;
it was clear that manual force was not involved. Those of us who
watched the film immediately saw that it could have represented
a previously bent rod being slowly rotated so that the bend appeared.
Such a procedure would have to have involved the film technicians,
and when I mentioned this fact in a public lecture, the television
company threatened legal action. Although the film was perhaps
suspect, I determined to see Girard for myself. The opportunity
came as late as July 1977, when I monitored a similar filming
in Paris for Alan Neuman and the National Broadcasting Company
of America (NBC). We made sure that the protocol was tight; large
identified aluminium alloy bars were provided by the Pechiney
Aluminium Company, and a suitable one was chosen on camera; after
a filmed bending, it was returned on camera. The subsequent tests
showed that the manual force that would have been required to
make this bend was equivalent to 17 Newton metres (Nm) moment.
The average limit of human strength under these conditions is
25 Nm, but a case has been reported of a man achieving a 38 Nm
bend by force. The witnesses were unanimous that manual force
was not used, and the published film shows this clearly (NBC holds
the complete footage of the bending, and a report from me). Girard's
pulserate was monitored during the event, and at the critical
period it was as high as 160 beats per minute. The entire proceedings
took place with Girard sitting at a flimsy glass table, which
could very easily have been broken if strong force had been used
on the metal bar.
It is never easy to achieve a metalbending event under the conditions
required in the television studio. The delays and adjustments
which are necessary to the production contrive to develop an atmosphere
of excitement, impatience, confrontation and even stagefright.
If video evidence is desired, it is much better to allow a child
metalbender to accustom himself to the equipment for several days
in his home, and practise metalbending in view of the camera,
with one of the family operating the equipment. I have then been
able to visit and monitor (for example, from Stephen North and
Julie Knowles) the recording of stroking bends, and of bends without
touch; also of strain gauge records of the type described in chapter
4.
One very unusual record was obtained by my colleague David Robertson
of the action of the metalbender Julie Knowles on a very long
thin strip of aluminium (50 cm X 8 mm X 0.8 mm). Such strips can
be waved about flexibly and are bent very easily, so I have used
them for practice and encouragement of the metalbending children
whom I have studied. Julie held the strip upright by one end and
remained still; it soon became apparent that the top end was forcing
itself towards her, and then springing back again. She was able
to press the strip quite hard against this invisible force, and
also to move the strip about and turn it to the horizontal; it
was obvious from the videorecord that the 'invisible force' was
not in fact produced by a thread or 'moti', as it is called by
Indian conjurors. Eventually Julie forced the strip sufficiently
hard against the 'invisible force' to bend it right over in a
smooth arc of nearly 180°.
Here is a final example which illustrates well the spontaneity,
even capriciousness, of metalbending happenings; also the difficulties
that we encounter in bringing ourselves to come to terms with
them.
During 1978 a Japanese boy, Masuaki Kiyota, was invited by a television
company to visit London and attempt to 'demonstrate' some optical
phenomena of the type to be described in chapter 22. I decided
to examine his metalbending, and brought with me two freshly purchased
stainless steel teaspoons and two of my own household dessert
spoons; all of these I quickly identified by nicking their bowls
in various places, using wirecutters. I also traced their outlines
on paper and located their magnetic poles (chapter 11). I kept
them securely in my pockets during Masuaki's visit.
On the first day I pulled out a dessert spoon from my pocket,
quickly checked the identification by touch and offered it to
him during a break in the filming at Birkbeck College; he straightway
placed it in his lefthand trouser pocket and withdrew his hand;
I could see a bulge, presumably (but not certainly) made by the
spoon. No one else who might have received the spoon from him
came near us. He then asked to be shown to the toilet, so I took
him there myself, unaccompanied. Before we had reached the toilet,
while we were walking together along the basement corridor of
the College, Masuaki pulled a spoon from his pocket and gave it
to me; there was a single 180° twist in its neck, which appears
in Plate l.la (2). By touching the nick in the bowl, I found that
it was my spoon, and I kept it in my hands until I returned it
to my pocket. Of course I did not see the twist take place, but
my observation was that the necessary tools (such as hand vices
or wrenches) could not have been used on his person without my
noticing; therefore I deduced that Masuaki's twisting of the spoon,
whether carried out with two hands, with one, or with none, must
have involved local softening of the metal.
Similar twisting of the spoons shown in Plate l.la (1 and 3) took
place during Masuaki's visit, but I was not personally responsible
for observing them. The last teaspoon I continued to keep in my
pocket, and after checking the identification I offered it to
Masuaki two days later in a taxi while I was sitting beside him.
He played with the spoon onehanded, all the time in my field of
vision; within two minutes it became twisted (Plate l.la (4)).
It happened too fast for me to get a really clear visual image
of the happening. I again checked my nicking and returned it to
my pocket.
The identification of a spoon by touching the nicked bowl is easy
and quick, perhaps embarrassingly so. Later during the day I pulled
a teaspoon from my pocket without checking it and showed it as
evidence of the taxi event to another investigator. I had earlier
explained my identification technique, and he was able to see
that it was in fact another teaspoon altogether (Plate l.la (1))!
I pulled out the 'taxi' teaspoon and this time there was no trouble
with the identification. My face was undoubtedly red, but this
is no reason why the observation should be invalidated.
I describe these events in order to show the difficulties of observing
spontaneous phenomena. Had Masuaki been sat down in front of the
television cameras and invited to bend metal, there would not
have been a very high chance of success. But Nippon Television
in Tokyo have during 1979 achieved some good videorecordings of
twists.
My description of metalbending events will not in subsequent chapters
be arranged in correct historical order, but rather by classification
of the different types of physical phenomena and the experiments
necessary to obtain some understanding of them; these 'notouch'
experiments have mostly taken place in the homes of metalbending
children, to which I have carried portable equipment, attempting
to approximate to 'laboratory conditions' without removing the
child from his natural environment.
The chapters will read as though the sessions have been one continuous
success story, but in fact this has not been the case. There have
been many long hours of observations without any 'paranormal effects'
to show for them. My policy has been to set up the most suitable
social and psychological conditions for metalbending to occur.
I have no detailed recipe for success, nor do I consider that
public demonstrations are likely to be successful, except in rare
cases.
Plate 1.1a (Opposite above) Stainless steel spoons twisted
by Masuaki Kiyota Plate 1.1b (Opposite left) Enlargement of twist
in spoon 1
Plate 1.1c (Opposite right) Enlargement of twist in spoon 4
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