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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

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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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