It Looked Good on Paper

by Bill Fawcett

  By March 31, the NBC telecast of the match between the Chicago Enforcers and the NY/NJ Hitmen, the home teams of the league’s two most populous markets, set a new ratings record. The event received a 1.5 rating—the lowest audience share for a primetime network television broadcast ever.

  Shortly thereafter negotiations began as NBC frantically worked to get out of their multi-year commitment to the already floundering sports franchise, and on May 10, 2001, three months after its audience-grabbing (and alienating) debut, the network announced that there would be no second season for the XFL.

  Though several of the players did go on to the NFL, none ever achieved any level of stardom. Perhaps the only lasting contribution the project made to broadcast sports (besides providing the perfect example of a bad idea and the nadir of sports broadcasting) was the use of the so-called sky-cam to provide broadcast with an up-close overhead view of game play.

  Malpractice Assurance

  Few things are more important than health and few fields have seen stranger ideas than Medicine. In the last few centuries we have been able to combine the desperation of trying anything that might cure you with the absurdities of modern technology.

  “The art of medicine consists in amusing the patient while nature cures the disease.”

  —Voltaire

  High-voltage Medicine

  E. J. Neiburger

  In 1888, Nikola Tesla invented a new form of electricity called alternating current. He also invented a high-voltage generator humbly named the Tesla Coil. This electric device was made from a series of two nested coils of insulated copper wire with an electric vibrator switch that rapidly opened and closed the electric circuit, thus creating high-voltage energy (25,000 volts/cycles) at low amperage. When this was connected to a vacuum (Geissler) tube containing a small amount of argon gas, ultraviolet light and electric discharges were produced. This created heat (through diathermy), smelly ozone gas, and caused minor neuromuscular contractions when placed upon a patient’s skin. The effect was caused by electric arcing going from the tube to the patient’s skin and then into the ground.

  The phenomenon was descriptively called “The Violet Ray” after the purple color produced in the vacuum tube. The Violet Ray generators originally were made as a two-part system: the electric coils and the gas-filled electrode tube. After 1920, a single-unit machine was sold with the coils and replaceable electrode combined in the form of a 12-inch torpedo-shaped, bakelite unit. It had a cord that plugged into household power (110 VAC-220 VAC). The machine operated with an adjustable screw and an electric vibrator creating rapid voltage fluctuations. This caused the two coils to create high voltage (20,000 VAC) with low amperage. It was tuned, using a screw knob at the base of the unit, to the optimum vibration (voltage) desired. A low-pitched audible buzz signaled maximum power. The electrode glowed with a violet color and produced ozone as the high voltage electricity and ultraviolet radiation crackled off the electrode.

  The electrode was then applied to the area of the body where treatment was desired. As the electrode (tube) approached within 1 cm of the skin surface, electric arcing began, varying in intensity depending on how well the patient was electrically grounded. A snapping sound could be heard as hundreds of small bolts of electricity arced from the electrode to the skin causing a prickly sensation. As the electrode touched the skin surface, the arcing diminished and the subject felt a warm sensation. This heat gradually increased, and required the movement (usually circular) of the electrode in order to avoid burning the tissue by diathermy. In effect, the electrode was rubbed on the skin creating strange lights, sensations, sparks, and pungent smells—great theater.

  The usual treatment consisted of rubbing the electrode on the skin or “inner” tissues for five to ten minutes, followed by rest. To avoid over-treatment, the Violet Ray generator would overheat after 15 minutes’ use and have to be unplugged for a cooling period. There was no limit to the number of times you could reapply the cooled electrode to your body.

  In the late 1800s and early 1900s, life was hard, death often came early, and medicine was quack-ridden and brutally primitive. The average man/woman could expect to live to forty-two years of age if they survived childhood. If you were sick or injured, you had a 50 percent chance of being helped or harmed by a visit to the physician. The impressionable population was receptive to many “quack” devices and treatments because, in part, professional health care was incompetent. At this time, germ theory (disease was caused by germs) was hotly debated among doctors. People were constantly looking for cheap, easy-to-understand cures for the rampant tuberculosis, syphilis, typhus, and other infections that emptied out cities and towns across the nation. Two favorite treatments, electric shock boxes (e.g., the Violet Ray) and radium water (radium salts in water) fulfilled this need, becoming very popular for general preventative and curative treatments of medical illnesses. Both systems used new technology (electricity and atomic radiation) in an age where “new” and “scientific” were considered synonymous with “good.” Many people also relied on the old proven feel-good remedy of opium and alcohol tonics such as Ma Grass Celery Compound. The opium killed the pain and the alcohol made you feel good. It was unfortunately an addicting and temporary cure.

  Numerous companies sold a variety of Violet Ray Generators in a wide assortment of shapes and sizes with prices starting at five dollars each unit (1910 prices). Physicians and dentists could purchase the more powerful, glitzy, and expensive professional models housed in polished oak boxes with numerous chrome knobs and dials (costing $45). In those days, the average worker earned about a dollar a day, so the average family could usually afford the cheapest of these devices that could be used by their relatives and neighbors too. There were dozens of Violet Ray “electrodes” (Geissler tubes) available, each with its own shape, use, and name. For example, there were electrodes for the left and right sides of the mouth as well as a separate tube for the front teeth, all of which were devoted to treating pyorrhea (gum disease). There were electrodes for numbing the nose (named the cocaine tube), for anal insertion (for hemorrhoids), deep vaginal insertion (for cervical cancer), hair growth stimulation, penis enlargement, rosy complexion, etc. If there was an orifice, there was a tube made to fit in it and a mythical series of treatments that one might follow in order to affect a cure or prevent future illness. It all seemed logical, in theory as well as on paper.

  The Violet Ray machines were recommended for treatment and prevention of numerous maladies from asthma to zinc deficiency. Instruction manuals included with the machines recommended regular treatments for diphtheria, hair loss, sore throat, consumption (tuberculosis), rectal fissures, toothache, pyorrhea, flat feet, lagging libido, and lower back pain. There was little research into the efficacy of these treatments but, spurred on by lurid and miraculous anecdotal reports, they maintained their popularity for more than fifty years. This was because of the novel technology used, affordability, placebo effect, and some antibacterial properties of the resultant high voltage, UV light, and ozone. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day.

  The Violet Ray could be administered by one’s physician, dentist, friend—or oneself. It could be applied with or without undressing—an important consideration in Victorian society. It was inexpensive; it tingled, flashed, buzzed, sparked, glowed, made medicine-like smells (ozone), and relaxed muscles (over-stimulation of nerve endings by the high voltage). It was relatively safe; no one was ever reported killed or injured. It was just what a fearful, traumatized, diseased, superstitious, and medically ignorant populace wanted. Sales were brisk for more than fifty years and availability ranged from the corner drug store to the big catalog stores like Sears and Montgomery Ward.

  In the 1950s, the Federal Food and Drug Administration sued manufacturers for fraud and terminated manufacture and advertising of most Violet Ray generators, with the exception of its use for dermatological treatments (it did help with psoriasis). The Violet Ray became just another historic, quack d
evice, occasionally used by counterculture therapists or erotic sex devotees (the high voltage was applied to nipple rings, etc.). It looked good on paper and felt great, but swindled thousands out of their hard-earned money. Money they thought they spent for a cure, not a show.

  “[Medicine is] a collection of uncertain prescriptions the results of which, taken collectively, are more fatal than useful to mankind.”

  —Napoleon Bonaparte

  Radioactivity Is Good for Your Health

  E. J. Neiburger

  In 1896, an amazing new power was discovered by Emile Becquerel and was called “radioactivity.” People quickly embraced the novel concept, certain this discovery could be adapted to improve their health. It seemed logical, to the mind and on paper, that this new energy, seeming so powerful and wonderful, need only be applied to the body in order to cure the ever-present diseases of the times. More than that, radioactivity probably, if not entirely, could prevent disease. Considering the vast pantheon of terrible and generally untreatable conditions (tuberculosis, cholera, syphilis, diphtheria, cancer, etc.) which awaited everyone in the early 1900s, there was a great need for a simple and cheap “cure.” What wondrous times befell the people living at the turn of the century. They were just blessed with the benefits of mass production, cheap over-the-counter narcotics, electricity, and now radiation—or so they believed.

  By the early 1900s, it was known that naturally occurring well water was sometimes found with radium dissolved in it. The radium, a radioactive element, and its radioactive decomposition gas, radon (often called “radium emanation”), came from mineral deposits deep in the earth. This radioactive water flowed to the surface in wells and was often found in natural hot springs—the hot springs then in vogue at resorts, spas, and hospitals. The healing effects of these popular hot springs were well known, even coveted. And the discovery of radiation in some of the health spring waters gave credence to the notion that the radiation was probably one, if not the main, source of the curative effects seen in spa bathers. It was not too great a leap of faith to conclude that since the radiation cured diseases, it could also prevent diseases. This was just like the belief of most everyone in those days that the curative effects of hot spring waters were real and medically proven.

  At least on paper, it was logical to conclude that if the radiation-bearing waters of the most expensive hot spring spas were beneficial, then applying radiation directly to the body must also be beneficial. The public bought it hook, line, and sinker. Around 1910, U.S. Surgeon General George Torney, M.D., said that relief from gout, rheumatism, neuralgia, poisoning, diarrhea, etc. could be attained from hot springs treatments. Other experts expounded on the effects of hot springs radioactivity in killing bacteria and other microbes (which it did), stimulating cell activity, throwing off evil waste products and other medical buzz word phrases.

  Some even claimed that water without radon dissolved in it was “dead water” and useless as compared with “live water” containing health-promoting radioactivity. The radioactivity cured diseases and stimulated increased health and vigor. Radiation was magic and everyone wanted some. The only hitch was that everyone, especially the poor folk, could not go to a spa or hot springs. Unfortunately, the natural occurring radium/radon that leached into the water decomposed and did not remain in the water long enough to bottle, ship, and sell as an efficacious product. The demand was there, but no means of delivery existed.

  American ingenuity bubbled up with brilliant ideas on how to solve this problem and save humankind. Though radioactive water was short lived, radioactive ores and minerals, especially when they were concentrated, held their radioactivity for years—thousands of years. By exposing fresh water to radioactive minerals, some radium/radon could be transferred to the water, rendering it radioactive. The treated water could be immediately consumed. Thus began the radon water generators.

  One of the first was the Revigator (1912), which described itself as a “radioactive water crock” and “perpetual health spring in the home.” It sold for $29.95. The lucky owner would fill the Revigator crock with tap water, then let it stand overnight absorbing the radioactivity from the radioactive minerals in the ceramic walls of the container. The water was ready to be consumed the following day—for day after day. It was self-generating and a long-lasting investment. An entire flood of these devices became popular, such as the Radonite Jar, Curie Jar, Radium Spa, and Vitalizer Water Jar.

  Numerous radiation-containing knockoffs like the Radium Eminator, the Thomas Cone, and the Zimmer Eminator used large teabag-like ceramic balls or cones containing radioactive materials which were dropped into a container of water instead of surrounding it. The concept was well accepted. There was even scientific regulation. The American Medical Association (1916–1939) approved these “radiation eminators” if they produced two microcuries of radon per liter of water per 24-hour day. Some did, others did not, and a few products claimed to be radiation generators but did not have or produce any radiation at all. They were labeled fakes or quack devices.

  Radium water was only one product. There were many more that you could apply and/or ingest. In the 1920s, you could get radium-containing tablets, bread, seltzer bottles, bags, soaps, suppositories, chocolates, ear plugs, pads for sore muscles, toothpaste (radioactivity fought tooth decay microbes), contraceptives, digestive supplements, beauty creams, lotions, jockstraps (for sexual virility), cigarette holders (reduce the harm from tobacco smoke), cigarette pack inserts, comforters, jewelry, coasters, pillows, greeting (health) cards, and nose cups (the Radium Nose Cup was worn over the nose and purified the air you breathed). Some radiation pads, like the Degnens Radioactive Solar Pad, unscientifically claimed to be recharged by exposure to sunlight. The Ray-Cura pad was advertised as being filled with radium ore and, if applied to the affected organ, could cure cancer, tuberculosis, epilepsy, and other diseases. This modality continued to be sold up to 1965 when the Gra-Maze Uranium Comforter (La Salle, Illinois) and related products were confiscated and production stopped by the FDA (Federal Drug Administration).

  Other, more damaging radiation sources were actively sold. Why buy a radiation generator when you could just buy raw radium? The Radithor was a half-ounce liquid solution containing, guaranteed, two microcuries of radium salts. Some people drank several half-ounce bottles a day! With all this exposure to radiation and pie in the sky claims of health and well-being, there were increasing reports of radiation poisoning and sickness.

  These cases multiplied, receiving notoriety in the press as tabloid reports and lawsuits multiplied with them. Industrialist and champion golfer Eben Byers bragged that he drank three bottles of Radithor a day to boost his health and golfing. After many years, he developed radiation-induced osteoradionecrosis, which painfully rotted his face, jaw, and throat before he died in April 1932. The lurid tales and lawsuits of the dying Radium Girls—five factory ladies who painted radium watch dials (and licked their paintbrushes frequently), then slowly succumbed to radiation-induced cancer—gave the alarm that all was not good with radioactivity.

  Increased reports of X-ray radiation injuries and sickness in overexposed patients and radiologists, plus the illnesses of radon imbibers, gradually educated and turned most of the public away from radiation-based medicines. The use and testing of atomic and H-bombs persuaded many that radiation was harmful. The flood of B horror monster movies featuring radioactive creatures clinched that impression. Just look at what it did to The Thing or Godzilla. Still radiation devices persisted. The Gra-Maze Uranium Comforter (circa 1960) and the Endless Refrigerator/Freezer Deodorizer (which purified the air in your fridge using radioactive thorium ore, circa 1985) were sold up to present times. Today, the Healing Uranium Health mines of Boulder, Montana, are doing a brisk business. Many new radiation devices can be purchased on-line from the Far East (especially Japan).

  Radiation as a health promoter had a good run. It shortened or ended the lives of many thousands of people, gave many more hope an
d some psychological feelings of well-being. Radiation in the form of scanners, diagnostic and therapeutic X-ray machines, implanted seeds and isotopes is still used in medicine, but is now applied more carefully. In fact, half of the radiation we receive each year is from man-made medical devices. Who can say we are or are not harming ourselves in new, enlightened ways? Radium seemed to be a good idea in its time. What “cures” are killing us now? Why should it be so much different in this new century?

  “Orthodox medicine has not found an answer to your complaint. However, luckily for you, I happen to be a quack.”

  —A cartoon caption by Mischa Richter

  “X-ray the Feet; It Sounds Really Neat!”

  E. J. Neiburger

  The discovery of the X-ray has proven a boon to medicine, but X-rays have also had some unusual applications. One of the bizarre applications of X-ray technology was the shoe store fluoroscope. This device consisted of a box, four and one-half feet high and three feet wide, which contained an X-ray tube, a fluorescent screen, a timer, pointer stick, milliamperage dial, and three viewfinders to look inside the box. The subject (patient?) placed his feet in the machine and set a timer, which would energize the 50 KVP X-ray tube. The radiation passed up through an aluminum filter, the feet, the shoes, and showed an image on the fluoroscopic screen which glowed with a yellowish green color. In the image one could see the outline of the shoes and the bones of the feet. The image was in real time and one could wiggle his toes and see the bones move. Usually the subject (the child), his or her mother, and the salesman looked, at the same time, through the three viewfinders. The salesman (there were very few shoe saleswomen in those days) used the imbedded stick-pointer to identify anatomic areas in the image.