In 1951, Eric Shipton photographed footprints of “the abominable snowman” in the snow. Dr. Wyss-Dumant’s expedition discovered similar tracks in 1952. In the following year, Sir John Hunt was told by Tibetan monks that they saw the snowmen occasionally, the last time being four years before. One of the foremost lamas of Tibet, Tsultung Zanbu, met a snowman face to face, who passed by without incident.
The yeti, which is the popular name for the creature in Tibet, was seen in a mummified state by Chemed Rigdzin Dorje Lopu, a noted lama—or so he firmly claims. His description was that they (he saw two) were very monkey-like, about eight feet tall, with thick flat skulls, and dark brown hair covering the entire body.
In 1954, Charles Stonor found more yeti trails which were somewhat smaller than most of the earlier reports. During the following twelve months Abbe P. Bordet, geologist, photographed more tracks, and a couple of months after that British Wing-Commander A. J. M. Smyth spotted others. In 1956 there were reports that head-hunters had killed and eaten a snowman on the Chinese border.
Tom Slick, well-known American oilman, led an expedition into the Himalayan mountains in search of the creature in the spring of 1957. He seems to have been thoroughly convinced of the existence of the yetis from the data he dug up. His information indicated that they are large, ape-like things, with pointed heads who walk upright. It seems that it’s strong enough to kill a yak, but it doesn’t eat them, preferring small field animals and roots and herbs. His conclusion regarding the yeti are most fascinating regarding the “types.” It’s his conviction that there are two species. One with reddish or auburn hair about man-sized, the other almost eight feet high with coal black hair. Other size distinctions are pretty common. One set tells that there are not two, but three types. The first about fifteen feet high, one about eight, and the last man-size.
And so the stories grew and changed, developed and twisted, always finding supporters, and always finding sceptics. In the late Fifties the noted zoologist and explorer of unquestioned background and integrity, Ivan Sanderson, stepped to the forefront of the snowmen investigators. Then the world-famous conqueror of Mount Everest, Sir Edmund Hillary, turned his attention to the mystery. He led an expedition into the Himalayas to establish once and for all if there was or wasn’t such a thing as an abominable snowman.
Beginning with a definite scepticism, Hillary spent four months trying to track down the truth, or find evidence to support his doubts—I don’t really know which. Although he himself had found what his guide had called a tuft of real yeti hair on a trip in 1952, he tended to disagree with the many explorers and scientists who suspected, or were sure, that there was something to the legends.
Again the subject of how many and what kind comes up, and according to Hillary the Sherpas, the fabulous mountain guides of the Himalayas, claimed that there were three. The first he refers to as the “clutch.” It’s supposed to be sandy and black haired, about eight feet tall, a vegetarian, and not unfriendly unless annoyed. The second type he calls the “mitch”; it’s about four-and-a-half feet tall, with a high pointed head, and the feet are said to be backwards. This variety is reported to be very dangerous, and likely to eat any humans who come his way. The final of the trio is referred to as the “thelma.” He’s quite small, about eighteen inches high, and, unlike his mountain brothers, lives in the jungles. He’s rather human in appearance.
Hillary heard that there was a yeti skin in one of the villages the expedition passed through and decided to trace it down so that he could examine it. After much investigation and a number of rupees it was uncovered. But, to the disappointment of all, the group agreed that the hide was nothing more than a fine specimen of a rare Tibetan blue bear skin.
As the days passed, the expedition pushed further on in their search for the yeti. After a couple of weeks had passed, they came upon tracks which their Sherpa guides insisted were authentic yeti footprints. However, Hillary claims that later the group found prints of a wild fox, and that this animal, when running very fast, produced “clusters” of pawprints which were very close together. When the sun melted these a little, the effect was “as fine a yeti track as one could wish.” This “evidence” the noted explorer offers as disproof of all the previously seen, and photographed tracks of abominable snowmen.
Progressing through other Himalayan villages and talking with the natives, Hillary assures the outside world that he not only never found anyone who had actually seen a yeti, he had never even found anyone, including two ancient lamas, who had ever heard of anyone who had seen one. All of this is in complete disagreement, of course, with many other notable reports on and by the inhabitants of this region of the world.
Among other evidence found by his company were yeti “scalps.” These were like pointed hats with reddish and black hair, and seemed extremely ancient. Upon careful examination, Hillary and his associates could find no indication of seams, or stitching, or, in general, that they had been tampered with. However, apparently they all quickly agreed that it might have been the molded skin of some other animal. They attempted to duplicate this “possible process” and were satisfied that the results showed that such a manufactured scalp of a yeti was feasible.
Upon having both the skins and the scalps examined by zoologists and anthropologists selected by him, Hillary tells us that they came up with the conclusion that the skin was definitely the blue bear and the scalp was a piece of molded goat-antelope hide. And so the sum total of Hillary’s expedition seems to have been to prove what he seemed to have been pretty sure of in the first place, and that is that there—ain’t no such animal.
That, you might think, pretty well completes the story, at least the superficial story, of the abominable snowman. But it’s only half of the tale.
Quite probably the leading authority on these amazing myths is the famous zoologist, animal collector, explorer, author and personality extraordinary, Ivan Sanderson. Having spent years investigating the legends and reports, he is firmly convinced that there is more than “something” to them. That is, he believes that there not only are snowmen, but several kinds. Different ones in different parts of the world. But possibly the most unbelievable Sanderson opinion is that we have yeti-type creatures right here in our own country. Abominable snowmen in California!
It started, more or less, back in August of 1958, when a man named Gerald Crew was out driving along a desolate and barren section of California countryside. Crew, a level-headed, tee-totalling church-goer, was crossing a section of the state whose total area was over 100,000 square miles, but which had almost no human living in its tremendous space. It was here that Crew discovered a number of naked-footprints, human in shape, and 16 inches long! Measuring the stride, he found that it varied from 45 to 60 inches. Twice his own.
The highway construction crew, with which he was working at the time, was divided between those who thought it was a hoax and those who didn’t. But it gave them all something to think about at night. Several weeks passed and nothing else happened to add to the original tracks. Then one morning fresh tracks appeared near the camp. After that, the prints would sometimes show up for several mornings in a row, then there wouldn’t be any for a few days, and then they would come back.
It was around this time that Sanderson was told about “Bigfoot,” as they had begun to call him, through a letter from another zoologist. He discounted the whole report because he thought that the location had been mistaken, or misprinted. Sanderson knew there were strange things in the Himalayas, and in Mozambique, but not California.
The second series of happenings which caused a good deal more commotion was the moving of heavy objects from one place to another. Objects so heavy that one would think that a strong man might have considerable difficulty with them. But a full 55-gallon fuel drum was apparently thrown through the air, as was a 250-pound length of steel pipe.
One night one of the workers and a hunter decided to go out and see if they could find any fresh trace of the “thin
g” that was causing all the trouble. As they drove along the isolated and deserted road their headlights suddenly exploded upon a giant figure that seemed to be human, or, at least, humanoid. It appeared to be both ape and man, or something in between, and covered with brown hair or fur. Leaping from their car they saw the creature disappear into the underbrush. Immediately they sent the dogs they had brought with them after the “Bigfoot.” And that was all for the evening, since they heard nothing more from it or the hounds. However, one story goes that a few days later the dogs were found dead, looking like a sack of shattered bones.
When Sanderson got into his personal investigation he discovered all sorts of remarkable things. A report of a husband and wife who had seen the “Bigfoot” below them as they flew low over the territory in their private plane. Another statement he came across was of two doctors who had met such “snowmen” in 1958. Another report was of a woman and daughter who saw them feeding on a hillside. The same lady claimed that she had seen the things since her childhood, in the Hoopa Valley of California. An old Indian of the area merely commented: “Oh, have the white men finally gotten around to them.” And so the stories piled up, many dating almost a hundred years back.
In August of 1959, more tracks of the creatures were discovered, as well as many dark hairs up to 10 inches long found on the trunks of trees, 6 1/2 feet off the ground.
So read the highlights of the California “snowman,” called the “Bigfoot.” Ivan Sanderson suggests that three explanations are possible. That the entire series of events were caused by an abnormal human being, by an animal, or by something in between man and animal. If it were a human he would have to have feet over 16 inches long, take strides of up to five feet wide, and weigh in the neighborhood of 750 pounds, plus being extremely agile and fast. These added to other restrictions seem to eliminate that as a possibility. The second, that it’s an animal, is out of the question logically and scientifically. The third, that it’s a humanoid, is, to quote Sanderson, “unthinkable.” But when we’re made aware of the discoveries of anthropologists like the 8 to 12-foot prehistoric human-like ape-man called Gigantopithocus of southern China, we wonder. Which explanation do you prefer? What do you think of the stories, the legends, the reports, Hillary’s opinion, Sanderson’s opinion—what do you think about the “Bigfoot,” the yeti, and/or the Abominable Snowman?
The world is still filled with millions of square miles which are dark, dangerous, and unknown. The depths of the Amazon, beyond the Himalayas, and even in our own mountains, plains and swamps. Who knows who, or what, may live there? Who can guess who shares this still only half-known earth with you and me? Who and what?
CHAPTER 10—HAPPY MEDIUMS AND THEIR NOT-SO-HAPPY CLIENTS
“I am listening for the voices
Which I heard in days of old.”—Caroline Norton, Lady Maxwell
ALTHOUGH THE gullible have been buying the spiritualism and life on other planets bit for as long as mankind can remember, no one seriously began checking up on the occult operators until the end of the last century. At that time, around 1882, a group of men in London founded the British Psychical Research Society. Some very big names were tied in with the organization. Two world-famous scientists, Sir William Crookes and Sir Oliver Lodge, had a piece of the action, and so did Henri Bergson, possibly the leading philosopher of his time. These great thinkers had made up their minds to settle the question of mediumship and spiritualism once and for all.
The Society investigated and tested one medium after another, and one after another was awarded the uncoveted “Faker 1st Class Medallion” for his demonstration of “communication with the dead.” The one exception might be called the founder of modern spiritualism. He was one of the few to convince highly intelligent people from all over the world that he was an authentic medium. His name was Daniel D. Home (pronounced Hoom).
The claims for Home were, and still are, so fantastic that it’s hard to believe any rational person could accept them, but it must be admitted that all attempts to discredit him proved unsuccessful. He convinced hundreds of the best minds of his time that his powers were genuine, and he alone, among all of the mediums who were tested, was never condemned as a fraud. A record that remained clean even though he submitted to the Society’s investigations over and over again.
One really amazing incident is reported to have occurred in 1868, during an afternoon séance. Home is supposed to have risen from his chair, walked across a second floor parlor room, and stepped out of a window onto—nothing! No balcony. No ledge. Suspended some twenty or thirty feet over the thoroughfare below, he floated along beside the wall of the house and around a corner of the building. Moments later he re-entered the parlor, floating in through another window.
The Earl of Crawford, other celebrities with titles, some military men, and a few plain people watched this happen. Or so the story goes. Lord Adere, who was supposed to have witnessed the entire bit, claimed to have seen Home do many other fantastic things like burying his hand in a flaming bed of coals or putting his face into the fire—all with no ill effects. Anything any other medium ever did, he seemed to have been able to do better, but most of the time what he did no one else could do at all. Then, or to this day. He was the king.
On one occasion Home walked into a house he had never seen before to conduct a séance in the broadest daylight. The climax of this particular performance was the medium’s causing a full-size concert grand piano to elevate to the ceiling, hang for several moments and gently return to the floor. As usual, a large audience is supposed to have seen it all happen.
Many, many writers have tried to offer explanations for his “phenomena,” saying he might have done this, or that, or the third thing. Often the complaint is made that he was not investigated by magicians, that they would have exposed him. But the truth is that almost every approach was used to prove that D. D. Home was a fake. Scientists, philosophers, magicians, doctors, soldiers and police—all kinds of people tried to show up Home for what he was. Maybe they did, maybe they didn’t. It all depends on just what he was.
Two other famous mediums of the turn of the century were Anna Eva Fay, who was another favorite of the scientist Sir William Crookes, and the great Italian wonder worker, Palladino.
Then, in the Twenties, the United States came up with the sensational “Marjory.” The prominent wife of a Boston surgeon, she was supposed to do just about anything occult—automatic writing in languages she didn’t know, apports—that is, the sudden appearance of physical objects, often living ones such as birds. She demonstrated her power to levitate tables, conjur up visions, receive spirit messages, and materialize spirit forms. In other words, Marjory went all the way; she did the whole bit.
However, being an across-the-board operator wasn’t her only virtue. She was also very shrewd in the publicity department. With this two-way combination going for her, it’s no surprise that she was a national figure in a couple of years. Then the perfect opportunity came along for her to top herself. The Scientific American magazine offered a considerable amount of loot for any medium who could pass all of the tests imposed by a group of investigators selected by them. Marjory jumped at the chance, sailed through the tests with colors flying, and came out with the big numbered check in her hot little ectoplasmic hand. The headlines of the time announced that at last a medium had been proven authentic, and she was Marjory.
That began one of the most famous spiritualism, if not spiritual, battles of all time. Out of his own brilliant limelight into hers came the greatest escape artist who ever lived, master magician, and by far the foremost debunker of mediums of his time, Harry Houdini. He claimed that no one really had the ability to judge the talents of the blonde from Boston, that only a master of trickery, such as himself, was able to tell whether tricks were being performed or not. He, Houdini, personally offered a forfeit of a thousand dollars if he couldn’t prove that Marjory was an out-and-out fake.
The contest was arranged, the séance to be h
eld in Boston with Marjory conducting, Houdini debunking, and a group from the Scientific American refereeing. The results were conclusive. Of course it depended on where you stood as to what was concluded. Houdini, and a large body of people, agreed that the great magician had proven positively that all of the medium’s effects were achieved by extreme cleverness and misdirection, that she was a fascinating illusionist, but no contactor of the spirits of the dead. On the other hand, Marjory and her faithful followers contended that Houdini was so anxious to prove fraud against her that he, himself, was guilty of deception and trickery. They claimed that he had faked evidence!
Today, when you look back on the great controversy, there seems to be little doubt that Marjory was far more clever than psychic. Of course, just why the wealthy and prominent wife of a famous surgeon left herself wide open to charges of fraud and exposure to ridicule no one ever explained. The whole action was pretty weird, and I certainly can’t give you an explanation to it where all the experts failed.
A very well-known medium of our own time, Arthur Ford, once claimed to have made spirit contact with Houdini. It is even said that the great magician’s wife OK’d the contact. However, it’s also said that she didn’t, and frankly the whole bit was so spiritual I never really made any sense out of it.
One of the strangest men I ever met was Frank Decker. This mysterious medium lived in a high walled and shadowy house on a dark side street of Greenwich Village in New York. The famous and wealthy from all over the world came to consult him and obtain his services for seances. Before I actually met Decker I heard absolutely fantastic reports about his psychic abilities. Telekinesis, levitation, materialism and not only double, but triple simultaneous voices! Almost every time I had a medium on the show I’d get calls and letters telling me that my guest had proved nothing (with which I must admit I usually agreed), compared to the amazing Frank Decker. Finally one night I had a “great psychic” on the show, but his act wasn’t going so well. As my panelists were sort of toying around with the operator I got a call on the “beeper phone” from Decker, who said that the guy was making his profession look ridiculous and giving it a bad name. Immediately I jumped at the chance to invite the famous medium up to the studio to conduct a complete séance on the air. I even offered to let him set up his own conditions, within reason. Decker made a counter offer that he would show me a completely successful séance, with the whole routine, if I’d like to attend one of his performances at his studio. I told him that that wouldn’t give me much of a radio show, but suggested again that he accept my offer to stage his entire bit in my studio at WOR. Unfortunately, Decker declined, and that was as close as I ever came to seeing the psychic wonder work. However, I can’t deny that I have met thirty or forty people who saw him perform, and they all claim he was really amazing. If a copy of this book comes to Frank’s attention in that spirit world he lives in now, I hope he’ll reconsider and visit me on a show some early morning. Let’s face it, if my regular guest happened to be a so-called medium it might scare him out of his quick wits, but, neighbors, it would make for a sensational show.
Long John Nebel Page 17