Flim-Flam! Psychics, ESP, Unicorns, and Other Delusions - James Randi [134]
The edge of the sole of the shoe is placed under the tip of the table leg. These table legs are often equipped with a rubber "bumper" that raises the wood from its contact with the floor a distance about equal to the thickness of the leather sole. Thus the insertion of the shoe is quite easy. If no bumper is present the maneuver can still be done by jogging the table up momentarily onto the small shelf of the sole. Next, one hand is placed directly above the table leg used. By pressing down hard with the hand and raising the foot, the performer can cause the table to rise straight up, all four legs off the floor, for a short distance. If it then slips off the shoe and crashes to the floor, the effect is just as good as when a slow descent is made. And there are no gadgets to get rid of, no wires or hooks at all. The performer is "clean" and may be searched before and after the levitation.
The art of billet-reading, another standby of the spiritualists, is done in full light and using the simplest of ruses. Because it is so simple it is quite deceptive. The method used simply does not occur to the observer, who is looking for something very sophisticated.
The edge of the shoe is inserted under the tip of the leg of this light card table, the hand is pressed down hard, and the foot is lifted. The result is that the table rises straight up, with all four legs off the floor.
In 1960 I was invited by author William Lindsay Gresham to attend a meeting at Camp Silver Bell in Ephrata, Pennsylvania, a spiritualist stronghold from which Bill had gotten a report of visitors' mail having been opened at the hotel adjacent to the church. We were accompanied by Stewart Robb, a well-known writer and believer in psychic phenomena, to whom we were determined to demonstrate the truth about what he had always believed to be the genuine ability of mediums.
We tried to participate in some of the specialized seances, noting at some establishments a large board with chalked-in miracles such as "slate messages," spirits communicating in Egyptian (ancient, of course), and varieties of table-tipping and thumping about. But we were unknown to the very severe-looking guardians of these events and could not pass inspection. We settled for the regular all-welcome message reading offered in the main church. At the door we were asked to write on an ordinary file card a statement about something personal, then were told to place it in an envelope and tuck the flap inside. We were then to write our names on the outside and deposit the envelope in a huge basket. We all did so.
After much "Rock of Ages" singing, the main business was begun. (Oh, I almost forgot. A collection was taken to defray costs. A rather important and never-neglected aspect of all such religious activities.) An insipid little man came out on the platform, walked to the lectern bearing the basket of envelopes, and summarized what we had been asked to do. We learned, too late, that we were supposed to have written only our initials on the envelope, and the card was to have had on it a personal question that needed an answer. Having fouled up the procedure, we felt like idiots. But—and this is the important point—we wrongly assumed that everyone else had done the thing right—that the other envelopes bore only initials and questions.
To prove to Stewart the method of deception practiced at this gathering, we had prepared him and his envelope. The flap had been slightly moistened and stuck to the card inside, and his envelope had been sharply folded. That way, we could see plainly if his envelope came up in the sequence. We sat and awaited that possibility. The operator began by glancing at the first envelope, reading the initials, and holding the envelope above his head. He babbled on about ghosties and other bump-in-the-night things, finally