Now, the crew of the Eldridge was in limbo, shall we say, for four hours. I want to interject a few pictures which I think are appropriate to put in at this point. . . .
This picture was taken on board the Eldridge on the ninth of August, 1943, three days before the fatal test. And was a final briefing for interested parties, scientists, and a few Navy people. Almost all of them in this picture were civilian. The man giving the lecture I do not currently have the name of, but he was a specialist in subatomic particle physics. He was from India, and this was his lecture all of the people there were listening to him. The man in the foreground on this side, in the Navy uniform, was Dr. Oscar O. Schneider, the medical doctor who was officially in charge of the medical aspects of the experiment.
And next to him, slightly over towards the middle, is a man that looks like he has green hair. And of course, it’s a black-and-white [photo]—it’s not grey [hair]. It’s a very strange individual by the name of Don Thor. He was holding a sheaf of papers in his hand, as you may note. He was a civilian, and we do not know all of his history, except it is alleged that he, as his brother, Val, were from Venus. And why he had an interest in this experiment, we do not know to this day—nor why he was there. We do not know to this day.
Dr. Vannevar Bush (1890-1974), head of military research and development
Many other people. A scientist we cannot identify in this picture is Dr. Vannevar Bush, advisor to the president, and he’s lost in the crowd in the the background. The man I’m referring to is Vannevar Bush, the one right above my finger. [Head of the U.S. Office of Scientific Research and Development (OSRD), through which almost all wartime military R&D was carried out, including important developments in radar and the Manhattan Project.]
And again [UI] is Dr. Oscar Schneider in his captain’s uniform of the United States Navy. He had a very strange history. The official Navy version says that Dr. Schneider was born in 1905 in Chico, California, went through U.C. Berkeley, got his pre-med, went to Harvard for his medical school, took his internship, and then after he had completed his work and became an MD he joined the Navy, and went up through the ranks in the Navy, and became eventually a captain in the United States Navy as a medical officer.
The story which he told to his son, Phil Schneider, approximately two weeks before he died of cancer, was a bit different. Schneider’s story, unofficial story, is that he was born in Germany before the days of the Nazis. Went through school, was a master machinist at the age of 14, eventually enlisted in the German Navy, and worked his way up in the ranks, became a captain of the Navy of a submarine. And in the early stages of WWII, according to Mr. Schneider, or Captain Schneider, had 68 kills to his credit—that is ships sunk. The Wolf Pack fleets were very busy in those days. He was captured by the French, approximately 1940—’39 or ’40: I’m not sure when now from when it was told to me. Was held by the French for a time, and after the United States was involved with it, the Third Army was in France and he was turned over to them. Some negotiations took place, and he wound up in the United States Navy with the same rank of captain as a medical officer. I do not know how this came about, nor does Phil Schneider. He says, suddenly he was an MD, and there was no indication from his father Oscar’s statement that he ever went to medical school. [Phil Schneider was murdered by the NSA in 1996, under Bill Clinton, who was selected for the presidency by George H.W. Bush. – Editor]
It’s also peculiarly of interest that of the notebooks of Oscar Schneider that I’ve read, he had a very good grasp of mathematics, including time equations. I find that somewhat strange for a person who was alleged to be an MD. I’ve never known an MD that knew math, and he certainly did. This may have been the real reason why he was brought into the United States to work on this project, because he was brought straight into it. And as a medical officer, of course, it was a good cover. Of course, there were other medical people around that probably could cover him if he got into difficulty. I never met the man after this whole sequence was over. I had the opportunity, but unfortunately I did not get to see him before he died.
I have some other things I want to show, but I’ll wait until after the story that I’m in the middle of has been completed—namely, what happened to the Eldridge and the crew.
The ship came back. It came back to the same spot from which it had left. And it was quite obvious from the observers that were on the deck of the carrier that something was very much wrong. First, they could not raise anyone on the radio. Secondly, through binoculars, they could see the special antenna on the top of the main mast—that is, the one that was used for Project Invisibility—was broken. There was some other superficial damage visible on the ship; but the most important thing was that they saw sailors milling around on the deck, and they could get no response on the radio.
A boarding party was told to board the Eldridge, which it did, and that is when they found the real extent of the damage. They found two sailors buried in the steel deck, dying. Their bodies were intermingled with the steel, and of course nobody could understand how that had happened—not at that point. Two more were found upright, but they were in the steel bulkhead. One of them was our younger brother, Jim. We had a younger brother by the name of Jim, six years younger than Duncan, enlisted in the Navy in 1941 after Pearl Harbor. And one could say he drew the short straw and became part of that second fateful crew—and he was dying. This was what was observed. And one of the men, a fifth man, had a hand up to his wrist buried in the steel bulkhead. And he lived; they cut his hand off and gave him an artificial one later.
There were also found some very strange activities. A number of sailors were running around on the deck; I should say milling around rather crazily on the deck, totally disoriented, totally out of it, and to all intents and purposes could be considered as quite insane. They certainly were oblivious to their location, their whereabouts, and what was going on. And, with all of this, of course, the radio communication from the boarding party, they put a second boarding party in to take the ship back up the harbor and back into that section of the yard. And then, of course, after that was accomplished, then the sick ones and the dead were removed. The dead were removed complete with steel plates and buried complete with steel plates in this unmarked cementary south of Wellington.
The Navy, of course, during this period, four days following, had a board of inquiry. [UI] of those boards of inquiry; and t hen, of course, they pulled up everybody possible: What happened? They wanted to find out, quite obviously. Several officers gave their testimony, and I gave mine. They didn’t believe me after I gave my testimony. John von Neumann gave some testimony, but he didn’t really see what happened. And after all of this, von Neumann took me aside. I might add, Duncan, my brother, was missing. He was not there among those available to give some enlightenment as to what had happened.
Last Test on the Eldridge
After all of this there was a decision made by the board some days later. They decided they wanted to do another test with the Eldridge, a third test. There was a lot of destroyed equipment on board the Eldridge at that time when it was returned to the harbor and went into the back section of the Navy yard. And they replaced it. Over a period of time, they removed it all. They had spare systems in storage because they expected everything to be fully operational and to be fully a success. About ten sets of spare equipments, complete, were available. So they ripped out the damaged equipment, replaced it with some good working equipment, did some system and sub-system tests. And on some day late in October of 1943, they took the ship back down—much further below where they had been in the wider part of the harbor, at night, put it on station, removed all of the personnel, and ran over the equipment remote-controlled through very long cables—something between 1,500 and 2,000 feet—to an adjacent ship, where controls were set up. And this took quite awhile to set this whole setup, to design it, build it, and get it in place.
With the return of the Eldridge from this late-night test down the harbor, in the very broad part of the bay, the ship returned, and they found again burned-out equipment on board the ship, that is, the equipment related to the invisibility test. And at that point the Navy threw up their hands, decided to scrap the entire series of tests, return the ship to the Navy yard with orders to remove the heavy equipment and re-outfit it as a standard vessel of war. Because they were very short of Navy ships at that time in the middle of the war in 1943, and they couldn’t afford to leave one laid up someplace. So, the ship was re-outfitted; the second gun turret was replaced—the wooden dummy with a real turret—and about 1 January of 1944, it went out to sea. And it saw war service through the period of 1944, 1945, and 1946. In 1947 it was put in mothballs—not decommissioned—it was put in storage along with many other Navy ships. And in 1951 the Eldridge was taken out of mothballs along with her sister-ship and given to the Greeks for whatever purposes.
At the time it was stated that they were giving these ships under the lend-lease program established by Harry Truman, then president, and it wasn’t stated that they were under loan: it was merely stated they were given to them under lend-lease. The Greeks kept the ship for many, many years. And one of the peculiarities of this whole thing that turned up was that the ship’s log, required by maritime law to be started on the day of commissioning, and be kept with the ship until it is decommissioned, must be complete. And when the ship is decommissioned, of course, the log can be given to somebody else, to whomever might be an archivist, or whatever the case may be. The Greeks inherited the ship, and they found that every page in the log prior to January 1, 1944, had been ripped out—a total violation of maritime law, but nevertheless that was the way it was. So, the Greeks could not establish anything as to what had happened to the Eldridge prior.
The Eldridge remained with the Greeks for rather a long period of time, up until about 1995. And at that time, I’m not really sure what they used it for, but it was used primarily as a training ship; it was left at dockside most of the time at a port in Greece. And the Navy then approaches the Greeks and says, “We want the Eldridge back.” “But you gave it to us.” “Oh, no, we just loaned it to you. We want it back.” So, the Greeks had to clean it up, scrape the decks, do whatever preparations that were required by the Navy. There are photos of this preparation; they appeared, strangely enough, in the Greek Playboy Magazine, of which I have a copy and the photos.
Now before it was turned over back to the Navy, the United States Navy, an individual who had been involved with the Eldridge back in the days when it was being outfitted for the Project Invisibility, and knew the interior [UI] and wiring and such, decided to go over and see if this Eldridge was the same one which he had known, which was part of the Philadelphia Experiment. I’ve forgotten the name of the man who made this trip, but he did tell me, and he went over there, looked at the Eldridge, went through it, and found out it was the same ship. He recognized the bundles of cabling, which had never been removed by the Navy even though they were totally unnecessary for the normal functions of the ship and were literally an accessory. The Greeks didn’t know what they were there for. They saw them and they wondered about it, but they, of course, did nothing about it.
The Eldridge was towed across the Atlantic; it was not seaworthy at that point and the hull was in terrible shape. But they towed it across the Atlantic to the Norfolk, Virginia, Naval Yard, overhauled it, gave it a new hull, cleaned it up, made a few changes, of course took all of the strange old wiring out, and today, looking like a brand-spanking-new ship with the same number, DE-173, and the same name, USS Eldridge, it is now parked in the Washington, DC, Navy Yard at the dockside of the Office of Naval Research, their special facility. And it makes periodic trips up and down the Long Island Sound for unknown purposes.
The USS Fogg: DE-076
They would not scrap the ship: they rebuilt it completely. Rather strange. No reasons have ever been given by the Navy, and of course, the Navy denies that the Eldridge ever took part in experiments like we’ve described. They say that never happened. They never denied the existence of the Eldridge. They, apparently, have never denied the existence of the USS Fogg, DE-076. It took place as part of the Philadelphia Experiment series, not in Philadelphia Harbor, but in the Norfolk, Virginia Navy Yard, in the same time-frame. Whether it was the same day or not I don’t know. But the reports I get from the son of one of the sailors who was on board the Fogg in that period of time, his father insisted, and his son said directly to me and I had it in writing in a letter from him, that the Fogg, when it was now put under test and had all the equipment turned on, disappeared from the harbor of the Norfolk, Virginia, Navy Yard, appeared in the yard known as the Philadelphia Navy Yard for a period of time, and then returned to the yard in Norfolk, Virginia. And he swears up and down—that is, his father did—that this actually happened; he was on board when it happened and he saw it.
Now, testimony like that, I’m not inclined to doubt it. But in terms of the Eldridge, the same claims have been made over a period of years: that it disappeared from the Philadelphia Navy Yard, appeared at Norfolk, Virginia Navy Yard, and then reappeared in Philadelphia. Now, this would be on the second test, and prior to its total disappearance. I have no proof of the statements about the Eldridge. I’ve never been able to find anyone who was actually a witness to this happening, or who was on board the ship and saw it reappear in the Norfolk, Virginia, Navy Yard. I’m not discrediting it, saying it could not have happened, but I have no proof whatever that it did happen.
But what did happen that is of record to the Eldridge is something else. I might add, there was a third ship involved in these tests: the DE-013, name unknown to me right now. And it was tested out in the Azores—they were truly at sea—and it sank with all hands. That’s as far as I know; the Navy never attempted to salvage the ship. Now why the ship in the Azores sank I have no idea. There have been some strange stories and rumors, and, of course, the only one that is really well known is the one of the Eldridge.
Now, to go back to the Eldridge and the aftermath, that is, immediately after the tests were over and it was for some time sitting at dockside, and then, of course, disappeared out to sea in the normal sea-service, Mr. Schneider, that is, Captain Schneider, wrote a series of letters to various people in and out of the Navy regarding the whole event of the Eldridge. Now, I’m going to show you these letters on the screen here. But understand that this is of a ship which allegedly never took part in anything like the Philadelphia Experiment; but here’s the chief medical officer describing the problems. The fourth and last letter is the most interesting of all.
How I acquired these is very interesting: they came from Phil Schneider, his son. And I’m showing the first one here. I will not attempt to read it through the back of the book, but he makes one error: he refers to DE-173 as the USS Feurseth. He did not do it after that. The Feurseth was the commercial merchant ship. And it shows that there was a great problem regarding security, and that this was of great concern to him and a number of other people for a number of years. And that was letter number-one, written on 12 December, 1944. And, as you may have noted, U.S. Naval Air Station, Pensacola, Florida—official Navy stationery, for the nonexistent test.
Letter number-two, 17 April, 1953, is written again by Dr. Schneider, to Lieutenant General Nathan F. Twining, regarding the lack of precision in the search for artifacts aboard the Eldridge in trying to determine exactly what happened during the period of the test and its aftermath. You will probably have noted in reading this that on 21 April of 1953, J. Edgar Hoover got into the act, requiring maximum security in personnel evaluation of psychological unit at the Quantico, Virginia—Quantico, of course, being a Navy and Marine Corps base.
Letter number-three, 23 April, 1953, just a few days after the third one, to a Dr. E.U. Condon, regarding, again, the whole problem with the Eldridge, and Hoover’s involvement, and so forth. And this is another rather interesting letter.
Autopsy of sailor finds alien implant in his brain and three more in his body
The fourth and final letter is the most interesting one of all. This one was written to a superior in the Navy’s medical department, a man by the name of Thare nborough, MD, and a violate section-coding. And the date on this is 6 March, 1955. When one of the sailors died, a crew member number-nine, they did an autopsy. And in the process of this autopsy, they found a strange object buried in the guy’s brain, which he shows an illustration of: approximately an inch and a quarter long, a quarter-inch in diameter, metal tip, with some very strange coded markings on it, which were not normal in English or normal Earth language, apparently. He had no idea what it was. He said, “It appears to be an implant.” And it was in his brain. I emphasize that because even today we cannot implant an object like this in a human brain and have the person survive. But there it was: it had been there for quite some period of time, along with three others, and notes the fact that there were four implants in this one person’s body. “What is it? Do you have any idea?” he asks the superior in the service.
This last letter was, I think, the most important of them all because it answers a question which I had had in my mind for many years. And at the time, right after the experiments . . . were completed, there were rumors among the sailors, while the ship was in hyperspace, that something very strange happened, and there were extraterrestrials running around on board the ship and on the deck. Apparently those below deck, no one ever reported any such incidents, but those who survived on deck did report strange incidents. I dismissed them; I didn’t believe them. But after reading these letters, as Al Bielek, as I never saw them until a few years ago, it now answers that question: Were there extraterrestrials on board the Eldridge in hyperspace? And the answer appears to be, yes, because those objects were not something we had any technology whatever to replicate in 1943. Implants at that time were unknown.
Now, what actually happened? I told you what happened on the outside, and in that period of time, as noted by people watching the Eldridge disappear and reappear, and then I gave my testimony. Now, what was my testimony? At this point it gets perhaps a little bizarre to the ears of some people, but it needs to go into the record.
On the inside of the ship, where Duncan and I were running the equipment for this test on 12 August, 1943, on command we turned everything on. Everything seemed to be working, functioning, in a totally normal manner, and we didn’t notice anything unusual for about thirty seconds. Then things started to happen. At that point a very strange phenomenon appeared in the control room, which appeared like high-voltage arc-overs from the equipment. And there was no high-voltage equipment in that compartment. Therefore, it was all the more strange to us, because while it resembled high-voltage arc-overs, there was no high-voltage equipment. It was in multiple colors, too, by the way, which would follow some types of high-voltage discharge.
And we tried to get someone on the radio. The radio had nothing but static on it, so, we didn’t know at that point what to do. We had no one on the outside to give us instructions, so we were on our own. And, of course, we had been instructed: if you are on your own, it something goes wrong, it’s up to you to make the judgments as to what to do. If you have to, shut the equipment down. So that’s what we attempted to do.
We found that the main control handles for the AC power coming out of the large 8-megawatt alternator, diesel electric, we could not budge them. They were frozen in place. As conditions started to get worse, and other conditions started to show, namely that the 3,000 6L6 tubes which drove the field [UI] of the two alternators, the standard old-fashioned glass-bulb types— Stand about this high; smaller ones have been built since, but they were about that high. I’m sure anyone that knows the electronics around the beginning years, the ’30s, 40s and the beginning years after the war, knows what a glass 6L6 looks like. They get rather hot. And they have a very pleasant glow to them from the heat of the filament inside of the cathode.
Well, with 3,000 of them you generate quite a bit of light and quite a lot of heat. That was one of the problems with keeping that compartment cool. But they started to glow in a very strange manner. And they started to waver. Instead of it being a constant level of illumination, which could be expected, they got brighter and then they got weaker, and they were doing a fluctuation type of thing in terms of the illumination level.
We considered this as very abnormal, because we had never seen aphenomenon like this before, and the amount of power involved, with 3,000 of these, in terms of [UI] the power was quite sizeable. And with the [UI] and the inability to shut the equipment off, we decided it was time to get out of there. We ran out, and I opened the bulkhead door, ran out on deck, saw sailors milling around. Nothing then—did not see anything abnormal. We went for the railing. We both had the same idea at t he same time: let’s jump overboard and swim ashore; there’s nothing we can do.
Everything appeared normal to the railing and slightly beyond. It was— a short distance beyond the railing, there was nothing but a solid gray fog. And we didn’t think anything about that. And we said, “Let’s jump overboard,” and we did. And we didn’t say this verbally—this was, shall we say, simultaneous mental thinking.
We jumped overboard, and we never hit the water. We were good swimmers; we weren’t worried about the height. Never hit the water. We started to fall. The sensation was like falling down an elevator shaft with no bottom. And down we went, and down we went, and suddenly we were, shall we say, perhaps panic-stricken. We didn’t have enough time to worry about being panic-stricken, but we were totally dismayed. We had not the foggiest idea what was going on. We were more or less side-by-side. And this went on until what we estimate was about two minutes later. We arrived at a very strange location, at night, standing upright, next to a chain-link fence. And it was dark; we didn’t know where we were, but we knew it was a military base in all likelihood because the chain-link fence was of a military design.
We jumped overboard, and we never hit the water. We started to fall. The sensation was like falling down an elevator shaft with no bottom.
At that point, very suddenly, a very bright spotlight came in and beamed down on us, illuminated us very brightly, and we wondered what that was, Well, we knew what search-lights were, but it was on a helicopter and helicopters were unknown to us because in 1943 there were very few—they were experimental. But as it turns out, this was a production-type helicopter, as we learned later. But military police came out of someplace and grabbed us and took us to a building. Into the building, onto an elevator, down the elevator shaft. The door opens. We see a lot of military personnel, and a very elderly civilian in a gray business suit, white hair—what was left of it—on the side of his head, walking toward us. And he looks at us and says, “Gentlemen, I have been expecting you; I’m Dr. John von Neumann.”
So, we look at him and Duncan says, “You’re who?” And he said, “I’m Dr. John von Neumann.”
“You couldn’t be: we left him approximately an hour or so ago, and he’s a much younger man. He couldn’t be you.”
And he looked at us rather sternly and he says, “Gentlemen, this is not 1943: this is 1983. I am the same Dr. von Neumann you knew in 1943 except I’m forty years older. Welcome to the Montauk Air Force Station.” Or words to that effect.
Now, we didn’t know whether to believe him or not; we didn’t know what was going on. And he took us for a quick tour. But, this tour included IBM 360 and 370 computers, tape recorders, all the paraphernalia of the 360 and 370—disk-drives— digital displays which were special for the facility, and many other pieces of electronic equipment unknown to us. And then, of course, after this little tour, we happened to go past the room where there was a large-screen color television set on display—operational. We came back to that later, but he took us all over, and as it became dawn, he took us upstairs and let us look around the base, and then we were taken off-base. He let us sit down and relax a bit and says, “Why don’t you watch TV for awhile?” So we did.
And he looked at us rather sternly and he says, “Gentlemen, this is not 1943: this is 1983. I am the same Dr. von Neumann you knew in 1943 except I’m forty years older. Welcome to the Montauk Air Force Station.”
Now, from the standpoint of 1943, we had only ten-inch black-and-white television sets, the most standard chassis being the RCA 630-TS, which any of the older aficcionados will know. I worked on many of them afterwards. That was all there was then in ’43. If you were looking at a large-screen color TV, a 27-inch type or something like that, good sound, color; and, of course, we watched some of the news shows and other things. And they showed traffic jams on the freeways. What was a freeway? There weren’t any in ’43, except the Pennsylvania Turnpike, which was the first in the country. And advertising which made no sense to us. But what really and finally got to us, and convinced us that maybe the old man was right, was an ad by American Airlines saying, “On your next vacation trip to Hawaii, why not fly with us in our 747 jet?”
Now, if you think we might have been confused at this point, you’re absolutely right. To take it back a little bit, all through the period when we were working on the equipment for the test, we didn’t know whether it was going to work properly or not before the first test for the Eldridge. Though the prior equipment in 1940 worked very well, but it was a different design and at much lower power. In the first test everything went well, and we didn’t fully believe that it would work, but it did. In the second test, we had a fairly good idea it was probably going to work; but we had just prior to this test, for three days, that is, starting approximately 9 August, this terrible queasy feeling in our stomach, which I previously mentioned. And we simply didn’t know what was coming down; we felt something was wrong. But up to the point where we emerged at what we were told was Montauk Air Force Station in Montauk, Long Island, we didn’t really know that there was something wrong. We didn’t have time to think about it as we went falling through this tunnel, if you will. Then we arrive at the point where we were completely surprised, we were completely overwhelmed, and then we were taken to the underground facility. We were completely dumbfounded and totally disoriented . Disoriented and completely flabbergasted, because nothing fit anything that we knew. And then we sat down in front of a color TV, and from a ten-inch black-and-white to some 27-inch color TV there’s a bit of a jump for what was to us perhaps ten minutes—ten minutes in terms of the time-reference.
We were very, very confused at this point. Emotions were going through our heads, and everything else, and we simply didn’t know how to handle it, if you want to put it bluntly. We didn’t know what to do about it; there wasn’t anything we could do about it. But at this point while we were discussing it between ourselves, and quite thoroughly concerned, dismayed, whatever, John von Neumann comes in again. Dr. von Neumann says to us, he says, “Gentlemen, we have a problem.” We said, “Oh, okay.” “Your ship, the Eldridge, locked up with experiments we’re doing here at Montauk. And so, the equipment is very similar—though it’s more high-powered here—and the concepts under which we were operating are very similar to what the Eldridge did. They’re both involving use of time and time equations, and this sort of thing,” which we understood.
But he said, “The problem is that the Eldridge locked up with the station, and it was on the 12th of August in 1943 when the Eldridge was yanked out of the harbor and into hyperspace. We know it’s there. The hyperspace bubble, which is considered artificial, actually, is being fed by the generators aboard the Eldridge and is growing. We’ve got to shut it down, but there’s no way we can do it. We can shut down our equipment here, but that bubble is being fed by the equipment aboard the Eldridge. And unless the fuel runs out before, we estimated, about 30 days, or equipent breaks down, this thing can keep running for 30 days, and that bubble will grow, and we don’t know big it may get.” He said, “Theoretically it could engulf the Earth. We can’t have this happen. You have to go back there and shut the equipment down.”
And I looked at John, and I says, “Are you trying to tell us that we’re going to go back to the Eldridge, and we don’t even know how we got here in the first place?” And he says, “There is no problem, gentlemen.” He says, “Here at Montauk we have complete control over space and time; we can send you anywheres we want at any time we want.” That, of course, is referring to the functions of the Montauk Project, which I’ll get into later.
But true to their word, they sent us back to the decks of the Eldridge. And they put us in radiation suits—something similar to what you see on the various shows today in the sci-fi shows, and, of course, what the astronauts have worn out in space—and sent us back to the decks of the Eldridge. Now, what they did we didn’t understand, except we stood by an opening in a wall, and we were sucked into it and we wound up on the decks of the Eldridge. This is, of course the Montauk time-tunnel, which I will go into at length later.
We arrived on the decks of the Eldridge, take off our helmets. The instructions were “Smash the equipment, destroy it, whatever you have to do to shut it down”—it didn’t matter. We arrived back on the decks, we see sailors milling all over the place, obviously quite distraught. We went in the control room, we found axes, and started smashing everything in sight with axes. Insulated gloves on our hands, of course—that was part of the suit. So if glass flew or high voltage arced out at us, at least we were protected. After we smashed enough equipment, of course, particularly that equipment which was driving the field-coils of the two big alternators, and all of the control functions for the alternator, they started to wind down. But they were very massive, and of course we knew it would take two or three minutes before they wound down totally, and they might be putting out field energy in the meantime—that is, energy to the field of the tor— coils on the deck.
So, when this was done, we went out on the deck. We figured it’s over. At that point we saw two sailors buried in the steel deck, two more buried upright—standing upright—in the bulkheads, one of them my younger brother, Jim, who was in the process, as were the other three, of dying. The fifth man had his hand in a steel bulkhead; he wasn’t dying and he lived, and they cut his hand off at the wrist and gave him an artificial hand. As to the others, that was a very, very sad and tragic thing to see them. They could do nothing whatever about them, what was happening to them. Because what do you do if a body—as the later examination showed—what do you do if a body is completely embedded in the steel, and the steel molecules are embedded in the physical body? In other words, the molecules of flesh are mixed and intermingled with the molecules of steel, something which we had never seen before, we had never heard of before, and hopefully nobody’s ever seen since.
But that was what happened on the Eldridge, and, of course, at a later date those bodies were removed. But at that particular point, one of them, Jim, was still quite conscious. I walked over to him and put my arms around him. And Duncan in the meantime took one look at this scenario, in which there were other sailors running around totally crazy. Some were fading in and out of reality, or that’s what appeared to be happening. Duncan heads to the rail, looks at me, and [as if to say] “Aren’t you coming along?” And I wasn’t about to because I was trying to comfort Jim. And he jumped over the rail and disappeared. He was no longer in the reality of 1943. Of course, at that exact point, he wasn’t in 1943, either. And of course, the ship was not yet fully returned to that point in the harbor from which it had left—12 August 1943.
Shortly after that, the fog cleared, and we saw the harbor and everything like it had been, and then, of course, the other observer ships, primarily the carrier, and then the boarding party came. They were rather dismayed themselves to see what had happened, and the rest is more or less history as what I have said. The Eldridge with the boarding party was returned from the harbor to the Navy yard, and then, of course, the board of inquiry.