Bad Science Page 9

  These popular British concoctions quickly made their way to her colonies, as well. Anyone reading Benjamin Franklin’s newspaper, The Pennsylvania Gazette, on June 26, 1732, would have seen the advertisement touting Godfrey’s Cordial as a cure for “Cholick, and all manner of Pains in the Bowels, Fluxes, Fevers, Small-Pox, Measles, Rheumatism, Coughs, Colds, and Restlessness in Men, Women, and Children; and particularly for several Ailments incident to Child-Bearing Women and Relief of young Children in breeding their teeth.” (But did it do windows?)

  In the spirit of patriotism, the Revolutionary War set American pseudo-pharmacists to work on our own brands of the British mixtures, so we could poison our children without any foreign intervention. Each new mixture developed had different levels of opium (or one of its derivatives, morphine) so parents switching to a stronger brand could easily give their child a harmful overdose—if they hadn’t already put them permanently to sleep with the first brand.

  One of the most popular American teething remedies was Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup, introduced in the 1830s. This syrup contained enough opium that, “Few children under the age of six months would not be poisoned to death, were they to take the syrup as directed,” a California physician reported in 1872.

  Unwitting parents turned their babies into addicts, overdosed them into comas, or tragically, killed them. It is impossible to tell how many children died from these opium remedies, but in 1776 in England, it was already estimated that thousands of children were inadvertently killed each year. Considering that consumption of opium remedies did not reach its peak until 1896 in America, the actual numbers of accidental deaths would no doubt be staggering.

  Even more tragic was the fact that many children were given these drugs not because of pain or illness, but simply to keep them quiet. Opium became a poor mother’s babysitter—by giving the child a large enough dose to put it in a stupor, the mother could go off to work to earn money to feed the child she was putting at deadly risk. Less scrupulous parents would even drug their children so they could go out on the town and have a good time without having to worry about what mischief Junior might be getting into.

  Many fortunes were made at the expense of children’s lives and health. Even after the dangers of opium and other narcotics began to be more fully understood in the 1870s, manufacturers continued to churn out their poisons into the 20th century.

  Teething is still as painful today as it was a thousand generations ago, yet the simplest remedy remains the safest—earplugs for the parents.

  Washing your Mouth Out with What?

  The first modern antiseptic mouthwash was Odol, which began being sold in 1893 by the German entrepeneur, Karl August Lingner, and it is still on the market today. Listerine had been introduced in 1880 by the Lambert Pharmaceutical Company, but it was originally sold as just a general antiseptic. Only when sales were waning after World War I, did the marketing team at Lambert come up with the idea to use Listerine to combat bad breath, sending sales sky high and creating one of the world’s most recognizable products.

  Some of the ancient remedies to promote fresh breath and avoid tooth decay would be unrecognizable today, and that is a very good thing. The Greeks rinsed their mouths with donkey milk, but that’s nothing compared to what the Romans used.

  Urine.

  Human urine.

  Preferably Portuguese urine, if you could get it.

  Seriously.

  While most people today would rather let every bicuspid and molar rot and fall out of their bleeding gums before they would take a swig of urine, the Romans had quite a trade developed in collecting and importing barrels of the golden liquid waste product. Portuguese urine was most sought-after, as it seemed that for some reason, their population’s pee was more potent and had a higher acid content, which apparently kept it fresher during transportation. After all, who wants to rinse their mouths with stale, weak urine, when you can have fresh-tasting, robust Portuguese Pisswash.

  As disgusting as this all is, there was actually some method to this madness—the ammonia in urine does have antiseptic properties. In fact, ammonia is still used in some mouthwashes today, although most brands now use alcohol, instead.

  Of course, there was that whole bad taste issue with ammonia, so to try to mask the pungent ammonia flavor, over the centuries different ingredients were also added, such as honey and eucalyptus. While these pleasant ingredients make perfect sense, others were quite baffling, such as lizard livers and ground up rodent heads!

  So tomorrow morning when you roll out of bed and reach for that bottle of mouthwash you take for granted, just remember what people used to do to avoid bad breath and prevent tooth decay. And if your mouthwash happens to be a yellowish color, no one will blame you if you decide to switch brands.

  Dim Bulbs

  Comments on the incandescent light and Edison’s improvements on the light bulb:

  “When the Paris Exhibition closes, electric light will close with it and no more will be heard of it.”

  Erasmus Wilson, Oxford professor, 1878

  “...good enough for our transatlantic friends...but unworthy of the attention of practical or scientific men.”

  British Parliamentary Committee, 1878

  “Such startling announcements as these should be deprecated as being unworthy of science and mischievous to its true progress.”

  Sir William Siemens, inventor, 1880

  “Everyone acquainted with the subject will recognize it as a conspicuous failure.”

  Henry Morton,

  President, Stevens Institute of Technology, 1880

  Disconnected

  “It’s a great invention, but who would want to use it anyway?”

  President Rutherford B. Hayes,

  Commenting on a demonstration of Alexander Graham Bell’s telephone, 1872

  “This telephone has too many shortcomings to be considered as a means of communication. The device is of inherently no value to us.”

  Western Union, 1876

  “The Americans have need of the telephone, but we do not. We have plenty of messenger boys.”

  Sir William Preece, British engineer and inventor, 1878

  Geology, Paleontology, Archaeology(and other things found in dirt)

  Stone Blind

  Be not arrogant in your knowledge, for wisdom is found

  even among the slave girls at their grinding stones.

  - Ancient Egyptian saying

  Arrogance has been the downfall of many great political and military figures. The academic world has also had its share of scholars convinced of the infallibility of their own minds. One such scholar was Dr. Johann Beringer, whose blindness to the truth proved that he was clearly a man who had his head firmly planted up his own assumptions.

  Born in Germany in 1667, Johann Bartholomew Adam Beringer was the son of a prominent professor. Following in his father’s footsteps, he became Senior Professor of the University of Würzburg and Chief Physician to the court of the local prince. When the fossilized bone of a mammoth was unearthed near Würzburg in 1710, it was Dr. Beringer who declared that it absolutely was not the leg of a giant man from the time of Noah, as the uneducated populace thought. In fact, the highly educated doctor asserted with authority, he was certain that it wasn’t even a bone—it was a lusus naturae, or “prank of nature.” Apparently, he believed that God got a kick out of making rocks that simply looked like plants and animals. As ridiculous as this seemed, what god-fearing man would dare question the Almighty’s sense of humor?

  Fortunately, there were a few men who did strongly disagree with the stupid theory, and unfortunately for Beringer, these men were also at the university. Professor of Geography and Algebra, J. Ignatz Roderick, and the university’s librarian, Georg von Eckhart, both agreed with the theory held by Leonardo da Vinci two centuries earlier, that fossils were the result of plants and animals so ancient that their remains had turned to stone. However, this common sense explanation was far too common and
far too sensible for a man who had spent his entire life in school, and Beringer treated everyone who disagreed with him with contempt.

  Roderick and Eckhart decided it was time to teach the high and mighty professor a humbling lesson. They knew that Beringer had hired diggers to search the countryside for fossils, but for years had found nothing. Then one day in 1725, the diggers were going over ground previously searched and suddenly made a spectacular find—in fact, too sudden and too spectacular to be believable.

  What they uncovered was a treasure-trove of stones bearing detailed carvings of plants, birds, insects, fish, mammals, and every manner of living creature. There were also “fossils” with scenes of comets, the Moon, and the sun! Impossible subject matter aside, they showed too many signs of having been recently carved. They were unmistakably, blatantly, too unbelievable to be true. However, because they conveniently supported his theory, Dr. Beringer believed them.

  As the diggers continued for six months to uncover more stones, they came across some which were even more absurd—stones which contained inscriptions in Hebrew, Latin, and Arabic. Experts indicated that the inscriptions were all ancient names of God. Still not seeing the forest for the trees (into which he was about to run face-first), Beringer proudly announced to the world that here was finally the ultimate proof that fossils were the products of the hand of the Almighty, because God himself had signed some of his works of art!

  Beringer hired a famous artist to produce

  these drawings of the “fossils” of comets,

  spiders, and the names of God.

  Oblivious to the obvious, Beringer forged ahead. Roderick and Eckhart stated publicly that these stones were no doubt someone’s idea of joke (although they conveniently neglected to identify themselves as the someones), but Beringer chalked up their reaction to academic jealousy, since they never found anything signed by God.

  Then Roderick and Eckhart even admitted to carving stones which were sold to Beringer through one of the diggers. When word of this came out, an angered Dr. Beringer conceded that those few stones might be frauds, but all the thousands of others (which were carved in the same manner on the same type of stone) were absolutely authentic.

  Had Beringer just quietly lectured at the university about his stones, history might have let him slip into peaceful oblivion. However, despite sage advice from his peers, Dr. Beringer invested a substantial sum of his own money to publish his finds in Lithographiae Wirceburgenis. (The rough translation of which means “Look how big my mouth is and watch how far I can put my foot into it.”) Within the pages of the magnificently printed and bound book, Dr. Beringer actually states that the stones did bear “the unmistakable indications of the sculptor’s knife,” but adamantly insisted that sculptor was none other than God himself!

  The book was an immediate sensation across Europe as other gullible scholars eagerly purchased copies. However, as the illustrious Dr. Johann Beringer approached the pinnacle of success, he quietly began trying to buy back all his books. It wasn’t because he was so fond of them—he wanted to incinerate them.

  Gossip spread like a book-burning bonfire—Dr. Beringer had just uncovered a stone that had his own name on it, and finally realized what a world-class idiot he had been. The hoax revealed, the books became highly-prized collectors’ items and Dr. Beringer spent the rest of his life living with the eternal humiliation he had brought upon himself.

  The hoaxsters, Roderick and Eckhart, didn’t fare much better, as a court of inquiry revealed how they had brought shame to Würzburg’s famous hometown boy. The incident incensed the townspeople who felt their city’s name would become synonymous with stupidity, and Roderick prudently beat a hasty retreat. Eckhart kept his job at the library, but in the four short years left in his life, it is certain that university officials never discussed any career advancement plans with him.

  Today, many of the stones are displayed in museums, and Beringer’s book has been reprinted numerous times. On the bright side, not many authors can claim a three-hundred-year print run for their work!

  As for the years of disgrace that the arrogant doctor endured, we can feel little pity for him. He carved his own name into the fossil record of Bad Science.

  That the automobile has practically reached the limit of its development is suggested by the fact that during the past year no improvements of a radical nature have been introduced.

  Scientific American, 1909

  Skeletons in the closet

  While most people dream of winning the lottery or having their mother-in-law move to a retirement community in a remote section of the Andes, paleontologists dream of finding that one bone which will change all the textbooks—preferably by the addition of their own name. Dr. Albert Koch made one such discovery in 1838, but due to some rather large skeletons in his closet, the only book in which his name might appear would be in a course of Con Artistry 101.

  Koch’s discovery in October of that year in Gasconade County, Missouri, was indeed a legitimate landmark in the history of science—bones of the extinct giant sloth, together with stone knives, axes, and a plentiful supply of ashes from the sloth roast. This was of great importance, because the prevailing scientific beliefs of the mid-nineteenth century held that mankind had inhabited the North American continent for no more than 2,000 years. Dr. Koch’s revelation of the ancient barbeque should have pushed those estimates back at least 10,000 years. What could this enterprising German immigrant possibly have done to make the scientific community scoff at his claims?

  For starters, he had bestowed the title of doctor upon himself. This slight indiscretion might have been overlooked, had it not been for a couple of other things that were to set the industry standards for being indiscreet—e.g., the massive skeletons of Missourium and Hydrarchus. It seems that the self-anointed doctor unearthed the spectacular bones of several mastodons along the banks of a river in Missouri in 1840. In themselves, the bones were among the finest ever found, and for their discovery Koch would have attained respect and prestige from the scientific community. However, he was more interested in obtaining what was in the public’s wallets.

  Taking bones from several of the giant mastodons, Koch constructed a skeleton of an animal whose size rivaled only that of his ego. As the crowning touch, he purposely affixed a set of the huge tusks on the top of the skull to make it appear as if the beast had fearsome horns. Christening his creative invention the Missourium, Koch took the mythical mastodon on a tour and made a fortune from trusting and eager audiences in the United States and Europe. Legitimate scientists denounced the fraud, but since when has reason been able to compete with entertainment value?

  Remarkably, Koch’s triumphant three-year European tour ended on an even more prosperous note—the British museum paid him a mammoth sum of money for the Missourium (although after purchasing it, the museum’s scientists quickly rearranged the bones to their proper form).

  Returning to America in 1844, Koch was anxious to dig up his next trick. In March of 1845, he discovered a treasure-trove of fossils in Alabama and spent the next few months piecing together a new creature. Playing upon the public’s fear and fascination with sea serpents, Koch produced the 114-foot-long Hydrarchus, the alleged descendant of the Biblical Leviathan.

  Missourium and Hydrarchus

  The startling beast drew large crowds once again, despite evidence from the academic community that the creature had not sprung from the ancient, fertile seas, but merely from the fertile imagination of a marketing genius (which today, of course, would be a contradiction of terms). The British were less enthusiastic, however, since they had seen the smaller, de-horned version of Missourium and had realized they had been duped.

  Koch’s native Germany was far more accommodating and the Deutsche Marks rolled in. And since it’s always easier to travel without a 114-foot-long skeleton, (although it seems people still try to ram objects of similar size into a plane’s overhead compartments), Koch was doubly pleased to sell Hydrarchus
to no less than King Frederick Wilhelm IV.

  Koch was good for one more charade—a new Hydrarchus and yet another tour. But by the early 1850s, even he had enough of peddling frauds for fun and profit. Retiring to St. Louis, he tried for the remainder of his life to convince the scientific community that in 1838 he had indeed discovered evidence of mankind’s early habitation of the continent. Yet for some strange reason, bogus horned beasts and mythic sea serpents wreak havoc with one’s credibility, and no reputable scientist would believe his tales of sloth-bakes.

  It wouldn’t be until 1927, almost 90 years after Koch’s find, that irrefutable proof of man’s earlier habitation of the continent was finally uncovered by J. D. Figgins in New Mexico. However, even the purely legitimate Figgins was, at first, subject to the scorn of the scientific community, that body of learned individuals who often regard change to be a four-letter word. (See what a real Ph.D. does to you?)

  The Cardiff Giant

  George Hull didn’t do so well with his tobacco farm in Binghamton, NY, so like many men he decided to head west to seek his fortune. In 1868, he was visiting his sister in Iowa when he got into a dispute with a clergyman about the literal translation of the Bible. The clergyman insisted that such passages as in Genesis 6:4, which read, “There were giants in the earth in those days” was absolute fact. Hull strongly disagreed, but the argument gave him an idea.

  People were gullible. They believed in giants. People would spend their hard-earned money on stupid things. Gullible people would pay to see what they thought was a real giant, and George Hull would be happy to take their money.