Wednesday, February 19, 2020

Was Dolores really Gretchen? -- The Woman Who Suddenly Spoke German

An Ohio man whose wife was suffering back pain in May 1970 suggested to her that he try to ease her suffering by using hypnotism, a craft he had practiced as a hobbyist for 16 years.

While Carroll Jay had his wife Dolores under hypnosis in their Mount Orab, Ohio home, he asked her a question, then was surprised to hear Dolores answer: “Nein.” Though he spoke no German, Carroll Jay recognized that as “no” in the language. Yet as far as he knew, his wife, who was in her late 40s and had been married to Carroll Jay since she was a teenager, also had never learned German.

Once awake, Dolores Jay confirmed that she indeed had no knowledge of the German language. Three days later, Carroll Jay again hypnotized his wife so he could gain some insight into whether that apparent answer was a fluke, or perhaps just a German-sounding mumble or groan from the back pain.

But instead of reassuring the couple that all was normal in their conventional household 20 miles east of Cincinnati, the second hypnosis session showed that the spoken “Nein,” was just what it sounded like – and the Jays were launched on a bizarre linguistic adventure that defied rational explanation.

This time, the hypnotized Dolores Jay was speaking entire sentences in German, even though for her entire life, she had been an English-only speaker. As Carroll Jay used a German language dictionary and his own wits to try to follow what his hypnotized wife was saying, he was able to determine that she was assuming the persona of someone else. Though details of her many sentences were beyond Carroll Jay’s grasp, he clearly picked up that his wife was identifying herself as “Gretchen.”
Carroll Jay decided to invite a few friends and acquaintances who spoke German to come to the couple’s home to listen in at more hypnotism sessions in mid- and late-1970 and on into 1971, relying on the visitors’ German proficiency and his language dictionary to try to learn more about this “Gretchen.” The German speakers told the Jays that she described herself variously as a 16-year-old, or as young as eight. At whatever age, the same “Gretchen” persona always manifested under hypnosis and kept doing so after the Jays moved to Elkton, Va. in 1973. But wherever she was hypnotized, Dolores Jay always reported after regaining consciousness that she did not recall Gretchen or anything her German speaking voice had produced.

Carroll Jay, an ordained United Methodist minister who had served in churches in Virginia, West Virginia, Alabama and Ohio, had never professed a belief in reincarnation. Though he and Dolores had associated with some people who believed previous lives were real, they had never joined any pro-reincarnation groups or attended any events or lectures on the matter.  Nor had they joined any hypnotism organizations; he practiced the craft primarily to help relieve people’s pain.

Carroll and Dolores Jay continued the hypnotism sessions, and they invited German-speaking researcher Ian Stevenson of the University of Virginia to converse with “Gretchen” during several of them. Stevenson wrote: “During the experiments it was possible to influence Gretchen to assume different ages between eight and 16. She did not like to be 16, however, and firmly refused to advance beyond that age. She said she had died at 16, but gave fragmentary and somewhat differing accounts of how she had died.”

In some accounts, Gretchen said she died of illness; other times she vaguely indicated that being imprisoned led to her death. Though Gretchen spoke in German only, she responded to questions put to her in German or English. Stevenson, a psychiatrist and researcher from the UVA Medical School’s Division of Psychiatry, reported these findings in a 1976 issue of the Journal of the American Society for Psychical Research.

Despite these variances, most of the story told by “Gretchen” was consistent in each hypnosis session – and it was elaborate. Stevenson wrote that Gretchen identified her family name as Gottlieb and said she was from the German town of Eberswalde. “Gretchen” said her father was Hermann Gottlieb, the town’s mayor. She said her mother was dead and her closest companion was “Frau Schilder,” her family’s housekeeper.

In keeping with the story of someone who died so young, life was not easy for this person, character, or voice -- Gretchen expressed fear of the “Bundesrat,” and identified the head of her religion as Pope Leo. Stevenson said those statements would place the persona Gretchen in Germany in the 1870s, when the Bundesrat (“federal council”) was the governing body of the states of the North German Confederation. A century before Dolores Jay’s first hypnotism session, Stevenson wrote in the Journal, a power struggle between the secular Bundesrat and the Roman Catholic Church was resulting in persecution of Catholics in Germany.

Stevenson and others fluent in German – including German natives -- attended a few of Dolores Jay’s hypnosis sessions and heard audio tape recordings of others. They also read transcripts typed up from several other recordings.  In all, Stevenson attended or heard recordings of 19 of the sessions where “Gretchen” manifested.

"Xenography" was also part of this mystery. Dolores Jay, as "Gretchen" wrote in (sort of) German while she was hypnotized. Jay's awake handwriting, at bottom, differs.


“Having been convinced that Gretchen could speak German responsively I extended my investigation into the question of whether Dolores Jay might have learned German normally in childhood or later,” Stevenson wrote. “She and her husband both firmly denied any knowledge of German prior to the development of the experiments at which Gretchen emerged and they both signed affidavits to that effect. Dolores Jay stated that she had never studied German in school or otherwise and had never even heard it spoken apart from occasional phrases on radio and television programs. She took a polygraph test for lie detection with results affirming the honesty of denials of previous knowledge of German.”

Hmmmm. What we have here is by no means a failure to communicate. This was a failure to explain communication. The term in parapsychology for what happened when Dolores Jay was under hypnosis is “Xenoglossy.” That means an occurrence of a person speaking, without assistance of any kind, a language which they have not learned.  It is called a paranormal phenomenon, putting it up there with channeling, telepathy and other tabloid news.

Yet, a homemaker from small-town America was experiencing Xenoglossy – with no apparent motive for fakery. The Jays were seeking no financial windfall and fairly limited publicity in a time when sensational stories like Gretchen didn’t instantly “go viral.” The couple gave interviews to only The Washington Post, one newspaper in Virginia and NBC Nightly News, then by the mid-1970s they withdrew from public life.  Carroll Jay said he used those mainstream news media only to counteract accusations from his and other Christian denominations that he pursued the “Gretchen” case as part of cultist or satanic rituals.

Stephenson did exhaustive research into the history and geography of the area where Gretchen’s words indicated she would have been. He wrote that the only Eberswalde he could find was 60 kilometers northeast of Berlin (making it then in East Germany) and that inquires to that city “failed to uncover any evidence of a person corresponding to Gretchen’s statements.”

Stevenson wrote that his research showed Eberswalde had not had any mayor named Gottlieb, though he added that Gretchen’s anxious talk about the Bundesrat matches the mood a Catholic in that region would have had about that ruling body during the 1870s. Only after Pope Leo XIII and Chancellor Bismarck of the German Empire began to reconcile their differences about a decade later did the repression of German Catholics ease, he wrote.

From Eberswalde in the east, researcher Stevenson turned his focus to the north, and the city where Carroll and Dolores Jay grew up and met as teenagers. He traveled to Clarksburg, W. Va., about 100 miles south of Pittsburgh, Pa. and conducted “a searching inquiry into their childhoods with regard to the possibility that she might have learned German then and afterwards forgotten that she had done so.”

Though throughout his career as a psychiatrist and researcher, Stevenson drew criticism for advocating the possibility of the pop-science idea of reincarnation, with the Jay case he employed considerable skepticism.

Stevenson interviewed 19 Jay family members, friends and neighbors in Clarksburg and other Harrison County, W. Va. communities, including Eastview, which he described as the suburb of Clarksburg where Dolores Jay lived almost all her childhood after being born in May 1922. His research indicated there were no German speakers in Eastview during Dolores’ youth, and Stevenson also checked census totals from 1920 and 1930 to figure how many Harrison County residents listed their birthplaces in Germany, Switzerland or Austria. (It was 217 in ’30, the year Dolores turned eight.)

Stevenson wrote that Dolores Jay’s father was of mixed ancestry, but no German. Her mother had two great-great grandparents (who likely would have been born around 1800) who were German, but they died long before Dolores’ birth. A local historian told him of a few German speakers in the 1920s and ‘30s a mile to the west and a few others a mile to the north of Eastview.

“So far as I could learn, there were no German-speaking persons within the ordinary range of a young child, even one less supervised than Dolores Jay appears to have been,” Stevenson wrote. “The German language was not taught in the schools of Harrison County during the period when Dolores Jay (and Carroll Jay) attended them.”

But what of the 16 years during which Carroll Jay used hypnotism as a hobby and to help people reduce pain? In the years after the couple’s four children were grown and moved out, Dolores was Carroll Jay’s only co-resident, which would have given him unfettered access to her mind had he wanted to plant ideas inside it while she was sleeping, or perhaps unknowingly hypnotized. Whereas there is no evidence Carroll Jay did this or anything else dishonest, Ian Stevenson wrote straightforwardly in the Psychical Society Journal of holes in the theory that “Gretchen” was speaking from the past.

“Gretchen’s German grammar,” he wrote, “was much more defective than her vocabulary. She spoke mostly in short phrases consisting of only a few words, and her word order, a feature of much importance in the German language, was quite faulty. She rather often simply omitted words, especially auxiliary verbs. She showed no knowledge of the inverted word order used in German subsidiary clauses. And she seemed to have almost no ability to use the past and future tenses of German verbs.”

To me -- a person who studied German for three years in high school and two in college -- those tendencies by Gretchen say: “first year student.”

On April 23, 1971, the Gretchen case entered the realm of “Xenography,” as on that day she wrote German words on a paper under hypnosis that were strung together in phrases that were about “Gretchen’s dominant theme of religious persecution,” Stevenson wrote. Some were misspelled, but then Gretchen had said early on that she had never learned to read or write.

Were Dolores’ abilities and shortcomings combined with Gretchen’s to produce such mixed results? Dolores could read and write, but knew no German.

Moreover, could the pronunciation errors be explained by the fact that German “Gretchen” spoke her language through the larynx and jaw of American Dolores, who had not developed even an iota of the precise tongue movements and disciplined, firmed-up jaw positioning that do not come naturally to people who don’t grow up speaking German. After five years of devotion to learning the language, I still have that laid-back English speaker’s jaw that Germans can spot instantly.

And “Gretchen” often said she was worried about being overheard by the authorities, Stevenson wrote. Anxiety will mess up anybody’s concentration.

But that is cutting the Gretchen theory a lot of slack – like enough to reach from Virginia to Eberswalde.

“Some of Gretchen’s grammatical errors were those typical of Americans who have learned German imperfectly,” Stevenson conceded. “Her grammar fluctuated in quality, at some times being appreciably better than at others.  It did not, however, show any noticeable improvement during the three years she was exposed to correct German spoken to her by persons from whom she might have learned to improve her own language.

“Gretchen’s pronunciation was excellent at some times, satisfactory or good at most other times. Occasionally she grossly mispronounced a word. Neither I nor my three German colleagues who spoke with Gretchen detected in her accent (or other aspects of her language) features that were geographically localizing, that is suggestive of the dialect of a particular region of Germany or Austria.”

Caveats like those from one of the leading practitioners of parapsychology tell us that whereas you had a good run, and chilled us with awe, it’s auf wiedersehen, Gretchen.


Brian Arbenz of Louisville, Ky. USA believes the Dolores Jay story has a rational explanation, but he confesses to sometimes freaking out over "Gretchen." 

Wednesday, February 12, 2020

His Career Was Comedy, His Bio a Series of Mysteries


“Hey, whose Grandpa didn’t tell some tales?” asked the headline on a New York Times obituary in February 2006 for television actor Al Lewis, best known for playing the vampire-ish Grandpa on “The Munsters,” the 1960s CBS comedy.
 
It was a lighthearted and deservedly cheery send off for a brilliant character actor, political activist and restauranteur whose contributions to our lives ranged from a million escapist TV laughs to bold radical street activism.
  
The headline was also a colossal understatement. Al Lewis told more than just “some” tales like the embellished fish stories everybody’s grandfather leaves us with. In fact, the same obit story listed him as age uncertain. That’s because the birth year once had been publicly misstated by Lewis, who was born in either 1910 or 1923 as Alexander Meister. Or Albert Meister. In New York City. Or 287 miles from there in Wolcott, a small town in far upstate Wayne County, N.Y.
 
That town near Lake Ontario entered the Al Lewis narrative late in his life when a reporter asked him why no birth certificate in NYC could be located to clear up the matter of the actual year in which he was born. Lewis then explained that his mother had briefly lived in Wolcott to work in a factory.
 
Sealing Al Lewis’ stature as the greatest man of mystery is that no birth record for any A. Meister can be found in Wayne County, said imdb.com, a public figure biography site.
 
Imdb said that days after Al Lewis’ death, one of his three sons announced that Lewis had in fact been born on April 30, 1923, not 1910 as the actor had claimed.
 
“Why the deception?” asked the web site Everything2.com. “It could've been part of his tryouts for ‘The Munsters.’ If he was born in '23, he was actually a year younger than Yvonne DeCarlo, who was supposed to be his daughter. But by claiming to be 13 years older, perhaps he felt he'd seem more grandfatherly to the show's producers.
“At any rate,” Eveyrthing2 continued, “it seems likely that Lewis told a bunch of stories about his youth, 
either to support his claims about his birthdate or just for the joy of telling stories."
 
Al Lewis’ lifelong penchant for fudging brought anything but joy to historians and journalists, who often had to retract or revamp information they had confidently published about one of the television era’s most beloved and eclectic entertainers.
 
In fact, that New York Times obituary was the second one within days the nation’s newspaper of record published on Al Lewis, the latter correcting the first’s careless inclusion of already discredited information. The Times obituarist Dan Barry wrote that almost every claim Lewis made about his early life - his birth date and place of birth, his wartime adventures in the merchant marine, his education - was unverifiable and possibly false.
 
Among others were that Lewis had faced danger touring the maliciously anti-union Southeast to help John L. Lewis organize workers, rallied outside the White House in support of condemned immigrant anarchists Sacco and Vanzetti, performed as a clown in a traveling circus, sold hot dogs at Brooklyn Dodgers games at Ebbets Field, and in the mid-1960s hired Charles Manson to babysit his three children (he recalled Manson as trustworthy and caring).
  
Regarding Al Lewis’ educational resume, the imdb.com site added: “Although he claimed to have a Ph.D. in child psychology from Columbia University, the university has no record of it, under his stage name or his real name.”
 
Lewis’ reliability began being questioned in the early 2000s after his wife of two decades, Karen Lewis, found documents while preparing for her ostensibly 93-year-old husband’s hospitalization for an angioplasty which showed he was in fact just 80. That was the first she knew of any age discrepancy, but the Times quoted her as saying the finding didn’t affect her feelings about him.
 
A reporter soon examined the actor’s commonly reported story that he had served as a paralegal in the trial of the Scottsboro Boys, a landmark civil rights case involving nine black Alabama teenagers falsely accused in 1931 of raping two white women.
 
A 1923 birth would have made Lewis eight during the trial (or college age if he were born in 1910). At whatever stage of life, Lewis said he learned of the Scottsboro Boys’ plight after his mother attended a rally for their freedom.
 
His mother, if one trusts the following Al Lewis recollection on the web site Everything2.com, “worked in the garment trades. My mother was an indomitable spirit. My grandfather had no sons. He had six daughters. They lived in Poland or Russia, every five years it would change. My mother being the oldest daughter, they saved their money, and when she was about 16 they sent her to the United States, not knowing a word of English. She went to work in the garment center, worked her back and rear-end off and brought over to the United States her five sisters and two parents. I remember going on picket lines with my mother. My mother wouldn't back down to anyone."
 
Nothing suspicious about that classic early 1900s immigrant working class bio.
 
Also perfectly plausible is the 6-foot-1 Lewis’ description of his playing basketball in his youth in New York City and later serving as a non-hired scout for NBA teams – but was he the very best scout in the game?
 
When Lewis boasted to independent radio station WFMU’s blog that, “you can call Marty Blake, the chief scout for the NBA, he lives outside Atlanta, and ask him who is the most knowledgeable man of roundball you have ever met. Without hesitation, he will tell you, Al Lewis.”
 
So Kliph Nesteroff, the author of WFMU blog entry “The Myths and Politics of Grandpa Munster,” ran that claim past Blake, who concurred: “He (Lewis) knew everything there was to know about basketball from the tips of your toes to the top of your head.”
 
However, Nesteroff also wrote: “Lewis liked to say he worked on the defense committee of Italian anarchists Sacco and Vanzetti. If there were any semblance of truth to this, it would have occurred when he was no more than five years old.... Neither was he in Washington, as he claimed, the night the American communists Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, sentenced to death for treason, were executed.”              
                                             Al "Grandpa" Lewis with Beverly Owen,
                                one of the two actresses who played Marilyn Munster
 
It IS known that Al Lewis, living out his left-wing values, donated his time and most of his earnings from the two-year run of The Munsters to charities, particularly a program helping teenage runaways, who were proliferating in Los Angeles during the late 1960s. But the admiration one feels upon hearing of this altruism quickly turns to skepticism, when Lewis identifies one of those kids he brought under his wing:
 
That's how I met Charlie Manson. He babysat my three kids…. He sat for four or five hours, he amused the kids, he brought the guitar and he played, no big deal, no sweat."
 
Back in the real world of documented facts, Lewis ran for governor of New York as the Green Party candidate in 1998, opposing Republican incumbent George Pataki. Like a premonition of Bernie Sanders and with an accent to match, Lewis toured the Empire State fervently condemning health insurance companies, polluting industries, U.S. wars, and corporate tax breaks which made the poor overtaxed.
At age 88 (or 75?), he won 52,533 votes in that '98 race, above the 50,000-vote threshold for receiving automatic ballot placement in the subsequent election. Four years later, however, Lewis decided not to make another run, citing long odds of being elected as a Green.
 
He sought to be listed on the 1998 ballot as “Grandpa Al Lewis” to gain momentum from his TV recognition. A state judge turned down the request.
 
Before The Munsters premiered in 1964, Lewis played New York City police officer Leo Schnauser in the comedy “Car 54, Where Are You?” from 1961 to ’63. Real police in his hometown loved the character and Lewis did public appearances on their behalf. Relations 40 years later between police and radical candidate Al Lewis were cooler when the Green gubernatorial hopeful criticized police use of force practices as racist.
 
Everyone, however, loved “Grandpa,” and Lewis’ most memorable TV character was how he was often addressed by political supporters, TV fans and customers at Grampa’s Bella Gente Italian, a Greenwich Village restaurant he founded and where his regular presence was a draw. Lewis would greet customers entering, chatting with them, posing for pictures and signing autographs.
 
One unlikely sounding distinction by Al Lewis that was in fact documented before millions is that he was once censored by Howard Stern. You read right, censored by Howard Stern, America’s chief poddy mouth of the air.
 
Lewis, who discussed political issues with iron fervor, but free of obscenities on his own Saturday radio show in the early 2000s on New York City’s WBAI, once joined Stern in an outdoor rally against the FCC’s frequent fining of Stern and others for regular use of words banned on airwaves. Not realizing that his public address microphone also was tied into a live broadcast of Stern’s show, Grandpa told the crowd: “We're here because we all have a purpose… And that purpose is to say ‘Fuck the FCC! Fuck 'em! Fuck 'em! Fuck 'em!’ ”
 
An uncharacteristically mortified Stern frantically slapped his hand on the mic to try to keep his fines from piling even higher.
 
"I really thought [he'd] lost his mind," Stern said on the WFMU blog. "As far as I was concerned, my career was over because we're on the radio live.”
 
For once, there was no doubting Al Lewis meant every word he said. 
 
Brian Arbenz, of Louisvile, Ky. USA loved the leftist positions of Al Lewis, and the fun antics of Grandpa on The Munsters.