by James Randi
“I Am Not a Messiah”
“Do you do any kind of meditation, or go into trances?”
“No I’m very ordinary.”
“Do you use any drugs?”
“No, not even alcohol.”
“How do people react when they see you do something that’s not supposed to happen?”
“Oh, man, it blows their minds. Most people are really excited and really are turned on. Some people just don’t believe it even when they see it with their own eyes. Some guy on the West Coast wrote that I had a laser beam concealed in my belt. Can you imagine that?” He laughed and shook his head. “A few people believe it and think it’s evil.” “What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, like that business with the projector on the plane yesterday. The stewardess was really flustered because she said that never happens. I told her it often happens when I’m on planes. I didn’t really mean to cause it; it just happened.”
Can you imagine a stewardess getting worked up over an event that “never happens”? Of course it may never have happened to that woman during one of her flights, but it’s occurred hundreds of times, and Geller wasn’t present. Or does he take credit for all the other occurrences, too?
And though I have no idea who the “guy on the West Coast” could be, such unfounded comments involving advanced technology, such as a laser, are very harmful. They make the critics sound like dummies. And when they make such stupid guesses, they are dummies.
“So then some of the passengers recognized me from television, and I bent a few forks for them. And then this big guy from Hawaii came over and identified himself as the security officer. It was very far out. He didn’t know what to make of it. So finally he relaxed, but then he asked me how did Iknow that what I was doing wasn’t from the Devil. He said the old Hawaiians believed powers like that were from the Devil.” “How does that make you feel?”
“Well, it makes me feel strange. I have these powers, and they just come through me. I want to show them to people. I want people to know that it’s real, that there are no lasers in my belt and no chemicals. I just say to the key, ‘Bend!’ and I feel that it’s going to bend, and it does.” “I imagine that could be heavy for some people.” “Sure, it’s heavy for them. But, look, I am not a Moses or a Jesus or a Messiah or anything. I believe in God and I think that everything comes from God, but I don’t think this has anything to do with God.”
I agree with that last statement. But when Geller cautions his followers not to think of him as a Second Coming of Christ, in spite of the fact that he was born in Israel on December 20,1 see full well what his game is. That’s exactly what you say to people when you want them to think of you as the Second Coming of Christ.
You don’t believe it? Okay, try not thinking—right now—of a purple ostrich. Convinced?
“Do you have any effects on living things?”
“Yes. One time in a press interview in San Francisco, they gave me a rose bud, and I put it in my hand and the bud opened.”
“How about on humans? Did you ever try to heal anyone?” “Just one time. When I was at Stanford there was this girl who had polio, and I put my hand on her leg, and it started to move for the first time in years.” “Really?”
“Yes. But that scared me. I wouldn’t like to do that again.”
Not true. Geller, asked by Merv Griffin if he has ever tried “psychic healing,” replied that he had not (but he had) and that he would “go into it when [he felt] ready.” Millions of persons heard him say it on television.
And where is this little girl so miraculously healed? No one knows.
Uri Bends a Key
At this point, the lawyer asked Uri if he would please try to bend a valuable old pin that belonged to his wife and was of great emotional importance to both of them. Uri said he would try later. “What if it really twists or breaks?” he asked.
“Believe me, Uri, it would mean more to us that way,” the lawyer told him.
“Well, maybe I’ll try this key again,” Uri said to himself. He picked up the key—it was a good solid house key—and held the head of it between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. With his right index finger he stroked the shaft of the key. I was about six inches from him, and the light was good. For a long time nothing seemed to happen. Then Uri shouted: “Oh, look! There it goes!” Several of us pressed closer. At first I saw nothing different about the key. But Uri insisted: “It’s bending! Yes, it’s bending!” And then I could see that the tip of the key was slightly curved. It had been straight.
Uri continued to rub the key. Now the bend was easily visible, and the key could be rocked back and forth when placed on a level surface. Uri put it down on the frying pan. “It will continue to bend slowly by itself,” he told us. And, after several minutes, the bend did seem to be more pronounced. “Usually, they keep bending by themselves for 24 hours, so by tomorrow morning it will be even more bent. It’s as if they have a kind of life for a short time.”
For an interesting detail on this “continuing-to-bend” nonsense, refer to the detailed discussion of the Time magazine episode (Chapter 7). For a good conclusion of the key-bending as just witnessed by Weil, see Part 2 of this same article. You have some surprises coming.
Now Uri felt “hot.” He correctly received two drawings sealed inside opaque envelopes—one of a cross, the other of a Star of David.
The lawyer wanted Uri to deform his wedding band, but the idea didn’t carry. The lighting director offered Uri a heavy gold ring, set with stones. Uri examined it carefully. He asked the man to support the ring on its edge with his forefinger. Uri then held his hand over the man’s hand and finger, without touching the ring. After trying out several positions on his hand, he settled into one he seemed to like. Again, I was only a few inches from the demonstration.
Suddenly, the ring sagged into an oval shape. Uri exclaimed, ‘There! Look at that! Did you feel anything?”
“I felt a strong tingling over the whole back of my hand, definitely some kind of energy,” was the reply. Uri held the ring for all to see. It was no longer circular, and would not fit back on its owner’s finger.
A Fork Like Melting Wax
Flushed with success, Uri took on another house key, and within less than a minute had it bent to about 25 degrees. He assured us that by the next morning the angle would be considerably greater.
Later, someone asked Uri to try to bend a fork. He said he didn’t like to work with silverware because it was too easy to bend. As he spoke, he picked up the fork by the middle in a casual way, just to play with it. Suddenly, the fork looked like melting wax and drooped over Uri’s hand. “My God! Look at that!” Uri said. “I wasn’t even trying to do it.” The fork was bent at a grotesque angle. I picked it up. It wasn’t even warm.
By now the company was about to break up. I wanted badly to see Uri work on something of mine that I knew wasn’t gimmicked. The only metal thing I had on me was a heavy brass belt buckle. I offered it to him. “I never work with belt buckles,” Uri said flatly.
There was little doubt in my mind that I had seen genuine psychokinesis—something I had always believed in but never witnessed. I left the apartment feeling absolutely elated.
Remember the fork? Way back at the beginning of this article, the silverware was sitting on the table, and when Geller was asked just now if he would try bending it, he declined. Then we are treated to a spontaneous miracle.
One of the basic tenets of the conjuring profession is that we never tell the audience what is going to happen, or when. They are thus confronted, at an unexpected point in time, with an unusual event that they are unable to correctly witness and analyze. Somehow, I suspect Geller is more than casually aware of this principle.
There was ample opportunity to get a fork off that table and to prepare it for stardom. And, I wonder, was the ubiquitous Shipi Shtrang there at Geller’s side during this demonstration? Andy Weil doesn’t recall, but I’d put money on it. Andy also does not r
ecall if Geller made one of his often reported trips to the bathroom. He visits the bathroom so often that there is a suspicion he suffers from bladder trouble. It is my considered belief that his bladder is perfect, but, I’m getting personal, I fear.
By August of last year, Uri Geller was even more famous. He appeared on the “Tonight Show” but wasn’t able to accomplish much. He tried to detect, telepathically, which one of 10 metal film canisters contained water, and he tried to bend nails, but he couldn’t do either. Johnny Carson became impatient and urged him to try other things. Uri balked, saying he couldn’t be rushed. It was painful to watch. A few nights later, on the “Merv Griffin Show,” he bent a large nail very successfully. Griffin introduced him by saying that his failure on the “Tonight Show” proved that Uri was real, since a stage magician would succeed every time.
We already called that shot. It’s called Rule 1. Griffin, who I swear believes in the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny as well, accepted Geller’s failure on the Carson show by saying, “That’s all the proof I need!” But the reason for the failure on NBC is not hard to find. Carson’s staff was in touch with me the moment that Geller announced he wanted to appear on the show. Either he was not aware of Johnny’s magic background (who can forget “The Great Carson”?) or he figured that Johnny would “go along” with the gag.
Later on, we will discuss the reason that Geller failed on the Carson show. His own reason was that he was “nervous,” and that is partly true. He was nervous because he suddenly found that the tests were so well controlled that he would have to depend upon real psychic powers to accomplish anything. That would make anyone nervous.
Scientists Are Chumps
The possibility that Uri Geller might be nothing but a trickster didn’t enter my mind for quite a while. When it did, it came by way of a remarkable man named James (the Amazing) Randi, a stage magician and escape artist who lives in New Jersey and is known in New York from a radio show he used to do for children. I had heard that the Amazing Randi was out to expose Geller as nothing but a stage magician and that he could duplicate most of Geller’s demonstrations.
Excuse me, Andy, but the radio show was for adults, not kids. I was fired from radio station WOR when I stepped on a couple of sacred cows. Much like I’m doing right now, as a matter of fact.
“That guy is dangerous,” Randi told me over the phone. “He’s a good magician, nothing more, and he’s going to go on a Messiah trip or get into psychic healing. That’s what bothers me.” I told Randi what I had seen Uri do. “Of course, it looks real; that’s the point of magic,” he said.
“But how could Uri have bent the keys?” I asked. “He didn’t,” Randi replied. “They were bent already; he just reveals the bend by sleight-of- hand movements that make you think it’s bending.”
That didn’t sound very convincing. I had seen the key when it was straight and I had seen it in the process of bending.
“What about the scientific tests?” I asked. Randi guffawed. “Scientists are the people ‘least’ qualified to detect chicanery,” he said. “They’re the easiest to fool of all. If you want to catch a burglar, you go to a burglar, not to a scientist. If you want to catch a magician, go to a magician.
“Do you know why Geller couldn’t do anything on the ‘Tonight Show?’” Randi went on. “Because Carson used to be a stage magician, and I got to Carson, and we figured out exactly how to safeguard the props that were going to be used. All Geller needs is 30 seconds alone with those props and he can tamper with them. But we fixed him good.”
A few days later, I met with Uri privately at his East 57th Street apartment. I asked him what he thought about people who said he was a mere stage magician.
“I am not a magician,” he said vehemently. “Look, the people who are supposed to see these things will see them, and those who don’t, don’t. I don’t care if people say I do magic tricks. I know that it’s real. And it’s all good publicity.”
On a Friday afternoon in mid-September I went again to Uri’s apartment. This time I came equipped with several keys, a threaded steel bolt and a stopped watch. The watch hadn’t run for a long time; if jarred it would go for a few seconds and then stop.
Five reporters were there when I arrived, four of them from the “Rolling Stone” and one from Boston’s “Real Paper.” The table was littered with bent spoons, a bent key, a gold ring on a piece of paper, a watch; drawings of geometrical figures, and several tape recorders.
Uri seemed tired but enthusiastic. He told me to ask him anything. I said I’d prefer to sit and listen first. The talk focused on astral projection and flying saucers (Puharich has described seeing Uri enter a flying saucer in Israel) but also included many questions I’d heard before. When did Uri first notice his powers? Did he meditate? Could he heal people?
One of the “Rolling Stone” reporters asked if Uri could teach his powers to other people. “How can I?” he answered. “Where would I begin?” I asked him if there were any verification of the bendings reported by home viewers of his television appearances. “Oh, yes,” he replied. “Just last week I heard that in the Texas attorney general’s office in Austin, a secretary was listening to a tape of a radio show I did there, and a fork started to bend in the presence of four witnesses.”
A woman from the “Rolling Stone” told me that he had fixed the watch on the table just by holding his hand over it. The “Real Paper” man reached for the watch. Suddenly he became excited. “Has anyone reset this?” he asked. Everyone looked at the watch and gasped. Apparently, it was now four hours ahead of where it had been. Uri picked it up and exclaimed: “My God! Look at that!” He put it down. Moments later it had advanced again. “It’s always like that,” Uri explained. “You never see the hands moving; you just find them in a new position.”
I can hardly believe that Uri said that. It’s quite true, of course, because that’s the only way it can be done. I’ve taught the trick to many other magicians, and they agree that it’s a pussycat of a trick. It’s easy to do, and has a great effect on the audience. We’ve coined a name for it. We call it “Urianalysis.”
. . . I said I had a broken watch with me, but as I drew it out of my pocket I had a funny feeling that it would already be running. And so it was, quite steadily. Uri took credit for this, even though he hadn’t known the watch was in my pocket. I wondered to myself if he had mobilized my latent psychokinetic ability. We correctly set both watches and left them side by side to see what would happen.1
Manic Atmosphere
The “Rolling Stone” people told me that the ring on the piece of paper had levitated earlier, or at least had dropped from mid-air onto the table. They had also seen a key bend. I took out my collection of three keys and my long bolt and put them on the table. The bolt rolled a little—I think because I bumped the table. “Who moved that?” Uri asked, very excited, grabbing me by the shoulder. “Did you touch that?” I said I didn’t know, and it became another miracle.
I asked Uri if he would try to bend one of my keys. He took up a short brass one. “OK, I’ll try, but don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t work. I’m very tired and I don’t know whether I can do it now.” He stroked the key while I watched over him. Nothing happened. “No. I’m too tired. Maybe later. I had to do two early morning performances in Cleveland on television, and I’m exhausted.”
The phone rang. It was someone in Denver who wanted Uri to do a show for 10,000 people. Jascha Katz took the call. The atmosphere was almost manic now, and the “Rolling Stone” reporters began get headaches. “There’s a lot of energy in this room,” one of them said.
We’re about to hear about the previously touted stunt with Abend. Using your new expertise, analyze this, class.
Then the director of the Channel Five (WNEW) news arrived, together with Martin Abend, a political commentator for the same channel. The news director had spent the early part of the afternoon with Uri and was now a solid convert. Uri had detected metal in film cans, caused a
key to bend, and succeeded at ESP. Channel Five was going to do a feature on Uri that night and wanted Martin Abend to comment afterward.
Abend seemed unsure about all this. “It’s not my line,” he kept saying. But the director kept telling him that he would have an amazing experience if he would just suspend his doubts and watch.
“But if it is real, I can’t say that over the air,” Abend protested. “Do you know what kind of a storm we’d stir up?” He frowned. The “Rolling Stone” people urged him to be openminded and told him proudly that they had always been believers. “Just try to help him—you’ll see.”
Pretty soon the reporters left, leaving me with Uri, Martin Abend, and the news director. The director was keyed—up, anxious for Uri to convince Abend. Abend drew a geometrical figure and Uri looked away; but Uri was not able to reproduce the figure. Then he tried to bend a key and failed. Finally Uri sent the news director away, saying, “You’re making me nervous.”
Abend drew two intersecting circles. Uri received two circles tangent to each other, then two circles, one inside the other. Abend was impressed. “That’s really something,” he said. “I can do much better when I’m not tired,” Uri told him. “No, that’s ‘good’,” Abend replied. There was another unsuccessful attempt at key-bending.