Continued from Part 2
By the turn of the 20th century, there were new hucksters in the electrotherapy trade. Heracles Sanche (who proclaimed himself the "Discoverer of the Laws of Spontaneous Cure of Disease") began marketing a new device which he called the "Electropoise". According to his ads, "the Electropoise supplies the needed electrical force to the system, and by its thermal action places the body in condition to absorb oxygen from the lungs". Along with the healing power of electricity, Sanche also stressed that disease could be cured by forcing more oxygen into the body. His second great invention, "the Oxydonor" was basically a carbon-filled metal cylinder that supposedly emitted life-giving ozone for curing disease (ozone's healing powers were already well advertised).
The leading figure of 20th century electrical quackery had to be
Albert Abrams. Born in San Francisco in 1863, he earned his medical doctorate from the University of Heidelberg and became professor of pathology at Cooper College before it was absorbed into Stanford University Medical School (later skeptics disputed his medical
![Images[1]](https://drvitelli.typepad.com/.a/6a00d834523c1e69e2012875a4a90d970c-320wi)
credentials. Although his early medical career seemed orthodox enough, Dr. Abrams went in a different direction by 1910. After publishing two books focusing on the role of spinal treatment in curing disease, Abrams began training other doctors in
Spondylotherapy, i.e., manipulating the spine to treat various medical conditions (Abrams had a strong influence on the chiropractic movement).
A few years later, Abrams branched into electrotherapy. He proposed that every disease had a signature electronic vibration that could be measured with the right instrument. With the invention of the
dynamizer, Abrams was able to launch his Electronic Reactions of Abrams diagnostic system (ERA for short). Basically, ERA worked by putting drops of the patient's blood onto blotting paper (the blood was first "cleansed" by treating it with a horseshoe magnet) and then placing it into the dynamizer. A wire was then placed on the forehead of a second, healthy person who stood on grounded plates (this second subject was known as a "reagent"). The reagent was stripped to the waist and placed facing westward. When the dynamizer passed the vibrational frequency of the blood sample to the reagent, Abrams or one of his disciples tapped the reagent's abdomen. Based on the tapping, Abrams claimed to be able to pinpoint the nature and location of any disease in the patient's body.
Abrams didn't stop with simply diagnosing disease. His next great invention, the
oscilloclast, was a boxlike gadget with electrodes that he could place on the patient's body. Using his invention, Abrams claimed to cure patients by "duplicating and neutralizing the signature vibration of disease". Through aggressive marketing, Abrams recruited various "electronic practitioners" who treated disease using machines leased from Abrams' company. The actual training that these therapists (such as it was) would become a factor in later lawsuits.
It was quite a lucrative business for a while. Not only did Abrams become a favourite of osteopaths and chiropractors of the time, but he also made numerous friends in the media.His supporters included novelist Upton Sinclair and Pearson's Magazine. The years immediately following World War I represented the peak of Abrams' popularity and his electronic vibrational data was even accepted for evidence in a paternity suit. Abrams also found a way to profit from Prohibition when it began in 1920. He claimed that his devices could duplicate the vibrational frequency of alcohol to produce an "electrical high" without the hangover.
The backlash wasn't long in coming for Abrams' movement. The American Medical Association denounced Abrams' machines and declared him to be, "easily ranked as the dean of twentieth century charlatans". One skeptic took a sample of chicken blood to an Abrams-trained therapist who diagnosed it as being from a patient with cancer and tuberculosis. Other trials with bird and animal blood had the same result. Robert Andrews Millikan, prominent physicist and Nobel laureate, testified in a case that Abrams' machines had "no value whatsoever". When told that a researcher found no evidence of an electric current passing through one of his machines, Abrams reportedly laughed and replied, "Of course not, the machines are electronic, not electric". Scientific American launched an intensive, year-long, investigation into Abrams and his theories.
By 1923, Abrams had resigned from most medical organizations but was still active in defending his theories when he fell ill. He died of pneumonia on January 13, 1924, just days before being scheduled to testify in another case brought against him. His front-page obituary in the San Francisco Examiner declared that, "worry over attacks launched on his theories in all parts of the civilized world by members of the medical profession led to a breakdown in his health three months ago". Although Abrams had left instructions in his will to use his substantial estate to found the "Abrams College of Electronic Medicine", his family members broke the will and the planned college never materialized. Abrams still has
his supporters but the kindest epitaph for him came from one science writer who stated that he was, "a magician who believed in his own magic".
Abrams' passing also marked the end of an era for electrotherapy. The use of electricity in medicine led to legitimate (and some controversial) medical advances while the hucksters had more difficulty in selling their miraculous wares. The AMA and other medical organizations became more aggressive about investigating suspected quackery while the Food and Drug Administration began regulating medical devices in the 1930s. While improvements in conventional medicine made the electrical option less appealing, quack purveyors were forced to find new ways to separate desperate patients from their money.
For those of you who were wondering, I have no plans of using my new electrical toy with my own patients. Leaving aside issues of self-respect and professional reputation, there's just too much competition these days in the quackery industry.