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A portrait of an art-world provocateur...
He's got this secret that he wants to spring upon the world.
...bootleggers who outrace the law...
THOMPSON: Suddenly the moonshine runners are doing speeds
that local guys had never reached before.
...and a tale of a toxic woman.
DR. KASHANI: She leans into the patient,
and, unexpectedly, she passes out.
WILDMAN: Within the walls of great institutions
lie secrets waiting to be revealed.
These are the mysteries at the museum.
-- Captions by VITAC --
Closed Captions provided by Scripps Networks, LLC.
On the banks of the picturesque Carroll Canal
in Northwestern Maryland
sits the historic city of Frederick.
Once a crossroads
for both the Union and Confederate Armies,
today it's the ideal setting
for the National Museum of Civil War Medicine.
Here, hand-painted dioramas
and a set of rudimentary amputation tools
offer a glimpse into the grim reality of battlefield injury.
But there's a glass object on display that was once used
for a different type of military malady.
WUNDERLICH: The artifact is a small, rather nondescript bottle,
about three centimeters wide
and about three times as tall as it is wide, with a cork stopper.
WILDMAN: According to the museum's executive director,
George Wunderlich,
this vial contained one of the most sought-after treatments
of the 19th century.
WUNDERLICH: During the Civil War,
there was an incredible clamor for it.
WILDMAN: What is this silvery salve,
and what role did it play
in a battle against a medical nightmare?
It's the 1860s in Nashville, Tennessee.
The fertile farmlands, busy rail lines, and steamboats
of this genteel town
have ushered in an era of industrial prosperity.
But there's one seedier neighborhood
known for its own unique industry.
It's called Smokey Row.
WUNDERLICH: Smokey Row is a known prostitution area,
with about 200 self-described prostitutes.
WILDMAN: And with the country on the verge of civil war,
their business is about to boom.
In February 1862,
a faction of the Union Army
led by Major General William Rosecrans
seizes control of the city from the Confederates.
WUNDERLICH: When General Rosecrans, the Union general,
comes into Nashville,
he brought with him 30,000 Union soldiers.
And for the people in Smokey Row,
that means 30,000 new potential customers.
WILDMAN: Patronage on Smokey Row skyrockets,
and the brothels hire hundreds of women
to keep up with growing demand.
WUNDERLICH: The prostitutes increase in number, from about 200,
nearly overnight, to over 1,500.
WILDMAN: But as business booms, so too does a serious problem.
Unfortunately, in the 19th century,
where we find rampant prostitution,
we are also going to find rampant venereal disease.
And these diseases in the 19th century
are not only quite painful,
but, in fact, things like gonorrhea,
and especially syphilis, can be deadly.
WILDMAN: Hundreds of soldiers
are stricken with gonorrhea and syphilis
and flood area hospitals in search of treatment.
But this health crisis does little
to dampen the men's enthusiasm
for the world's oldest profession.
And with more of his soldiers succumbing to disease,
Rosecrans realizes his dwindling manpower
could jeopardize his occupation of the city.
The consequences of venereal disease at this time
really can't be underestimated.
We're looking at about 200,000 cases
just in the Union Army alone.
General Rosecrans has got to stop this
if he's going to preserve his army
and make his occupation successful.
WILDMAN: The major general turns to his colleague
Lieutenant Colonel George Spalding for advice.
And the lieutenant colonel offers up an ambitious plan.
His idea is to take all of the prostitutes in Nashville
and send them away.
WILDMAN: A desperate Rosecrans
decides to give it a shot.
In July 1863,
he rounds up as many women as he can find on Smokey Row
and ushers them on board a steamboat named the Idahoe.
He then instructs the captain to take them upriver
to Louisville, Kentucky, and leave them there.
As Rosecrans watches the Idahoe steam away,
it seems the plan is a success.
But before long, the Idahoe and the prostitutes return.
A furious Rosecrans confronts the steamboat captain,
who explains what happened.
WUNDERLICH: The public officials in Louisville, Kentucky,
met the boat, basically, at the dock
and said, "You can't come here."
They don't want this kind of a problem in their city.
The captain does the only thing that he can do --
he takes the entire ship back down the river to Nashville.
WILDMAN: Rosecrans is now right back where he started.
So he turns again to Lieutenant Colonel George Spalding
for help.
This time, Spalding comes up
with an even more radical solution.
Instead of relocating the prostitutes,
he believes the army should take an active role
in overseeing them.
What he does is he begins to license prostitutes.
And in order to get a license,
you must be examined by a medical doctor,
who will declare whether or not you have a venereal disease.
WILDMAN: All prostitutes must procure a $5 license,
renewable after a weekly physical exam.
Anyone who shows signs of disease has her license revoked.
But rather than cast these women aside,
Rosecrans and Spalding use the proceeds
from their licensing scheme to help them.
WUNDERLICH: The military builds
a special venereal-disease hospital
to treat these women when they are found to be diseased.
WILDMAN: The afflicted are administered
small quantities of an antibacterial tonic
called silver nitrite,
the same chemical contained in this vial
at the National Museum of Civil War Medicine.
The unconventional program, and its medicinal treatment,
is a massive success.
WUNDERLICH: Rosecrans is no longer losing
a large number of soldiers to venereal disease.
And so he was able to perform the military job at hand.
WILDMAN: After the war ends,
the army's licensing program is dismantled,
allowing prostitution to slip back
into the shadows of Southern cities.
Today this bottle of silver nitrate
at the National Museum of Civil War Medicine
stands as a stoic witness
to the battle against a wartime epidemic.
The University of California, Los Angeles,
is one of the top-ranked public universities in the country.
Its sprawling campus boasts 22 libraries,
specializing in disciplines
ranging from biomedicine to business management.
And inside the Charles E. Young Research Library
is one of the largest assortments
of books and rare manuscripts in the world,
The UCLA Library Special Collections.
Gems include this medieval mathematical text,
a first edition of Mark Twain's
"A Yankee in King Arthur's Court,"
and a hand-tinted 19th-century board game.
But hanging apart from these historic works
is an artifact with a far more contemporary aesthetic.
POUNDSTONE: This is a framed oil-on-canvas painting,
maybe three feet across.
It's painted in a very simple, plain style --
a lot of green, a lot of red.
WILDMAN: Critics once regarded this piece
as a trailblazing work of an up-and-coming talent.
Yet this image had a hidden agenda.
This is a painting that had a secret.
WILDMAN: What is the artful truth
behind this colorful canvas?
1926 -- Chicago.
Fine-art lovers flock to an exhibition
of a new style of painting called Modernism.
The Modern movement was all about extolling
this ideal of absolute originality.
WILDMAN: The show features works by several promising artists,
but one piece, now in the UCLA Special Collections,
sets visitors abuzz.
It's called "Aspiration."
POUNDSTONE: This new painting
appears to show an American woman doing laundry.
It's a very striking image, and it got a lot of attention.
WILDMAN: Critics laud the work as inspirational
and clamor to learn more about its creator,
a little-known painter named Pavel Jerdanowitch.
But despite the acclaim,
the artist is infrequently photographed
and seems wary of attention.
Jerdanowitch apparently does not really give interviews.
He doesn't make public appearances.
WILDMAN: The painter burst onto the scene
at a New York art show just 10 months earlier.
He described his unique, two-dimensional approach
as Disumbrationist,
which, translated from Latin, means "anti-shadow."
Critics seize on the concept
and deem it an entirely new genre of Modernist painting.
There was Cubism, Futurism, Surrealism.
Jerdanowitch was a pioneer of Disumbrationism.
WILDMAN: Later that year,
the painter's star rises even higher,
when a prominent French publisher selects "Aspiration"
to appear in its prestigious modern-art review.
POUNDSTONE: So, Jerdanowitch was already an artist
you could look up in a reference book.
That's pretty amazing
for a guy who's just shown a couple of paintings.
WILDMAN: Yet the man himself remains very much a mystery.
It's very hard to find anything out about him.
WILDMAN: But soon the art world
will discover the truth about their ascending star.
He's got this secret that he wants to spring upon the world.
WILDMAN: So, who is Pavel Jerdanowitch?
And what has he been hiding?
It's 1927,
and art critics from Chicago to Paris
are raving about the definitive style
of a new painter named Pavel Jerdanowitch.
But despite his burgeoning popularity,
little is known about this emerging artist.
So, who is Pavel Jerdanowitch?
In August 1927,
the Los Angeles Times publishes a stunning revelation.
POUNDSTONE: Pavel Jerdanowitch was a fraud.
There was no such person.
He was created by a writer
by the name of Paul Jordan-Smith.
WILDMAN: The California-based Smith
says he painted the so-called Disumbrationist works himself.
POUNDSTONE: He had created these paintings
as an elaborate practical joke.
He had no training whatsoever in art or painting.
WILDMAN: Smith explains that the idea
took root three years earlier,
when his wife, Sarah, an amateur artist,
submitted a painting to a local art show.
POUNDSTONE: Apparently, it wasn't too well-received.
Some of the people said,
"It's distinctly of the old school."
It was not a modern painting.
WILDMAN: Smith felt the critiques were off the mark.
POUNDSTONE: Well, Smith thought art critics
are very easily influenced by what other people are saying
and really are not independent thinkers.
WILDMAN: So, when he heard about a modern-art show in New York,
he decided to fool the critics
by submitting the most absurd artwork he could muster.
POUNDSTONE: So, he got some paint and canvas,
and in about an hour, he produced the painting.
WILDMAN: To further perpetrate the ruse,
he created a persona.
He figured that his real name, Paul Jordan-Smith,
was just too ordinary.
And he knew that there were a lot of Russian modern painters,
so Paul became Pavel
and Jordan-Smith became Jerdanowitch.
WILDMAN: And the gambit paid off.
It's not only accepted into the show --
it garners glowing reviews.
POUNDSTONE: I think he was genuinely surprised
at how effusive the praise was.
WILDMAN: Emboldened by his success,
he coined a lofty-sounding term, "Disumbrationism,"
to celebrate his lack of skill.
POUNDSTONE: Basically, he did not know how to paint shadows,
so he figured he would invent this new style.
WILDMAN: But after nearly three years of fooling the art world,
he finally decided to end his stunt.
POUNDSTONE: Well, the whole point of the hoax was to prove a point.
So the only way to drive that point home
is to finally reveal the hoax.
WILDMAN: Shockingly, even after Smith reveals the ruse,
some critics refuse to disavow their praise.
POUNDSTONE: Most of the critics took the line
that Smith must have actually had some native talent.
And even though he was trying to create bad paintings,
maybe he created good paintings instead.
WILDMAN: Yet despite this adulation,
Smith readily hangs up his paintbrush
to re-establish his career as a writer.
And though he achieved success in the field of letters,
it's this painting in the UCLA Library Special Collections
that recalls what is his most enduring accomplishment,
pulling off perhaps
the 20th century's greatest art hoax.
Garden City, Kansas.
This small community got its start as a rail town
but today is known as a bastion of agriculture.
And celebrating the region's agrarian roots
is the Finney County Historical Museum.
Standing out amongst the displays
are a horse-drawn grain drill and a cream separator.
But according to Garden City detective Michael Radke,
one artifact here
tells a disturbing story the region would rather forget.
This object is black, made of leather.
It has pieces of silver on it.
WILDMAN: This item was worn in the committing of a crime
that shook a small town to its core.
This was a gruesome act
that completely confounded authorities.
WILDMAN: Who wore this boot,
and how did his case transform the way we think about crime?
November 16, 1959 -- Holcomb, Kansas.
On this Sunday morning, 15-year-old Nancy Ewalt
stops by the house of her best friend, Nancy Clutter.
RADKE: Nancy Ewalt came to the house
to get Nancy Clutter for church.
WILDMAN: But when she knocks on the door,
she's greeted by silence.
It was very odd for the Clutter family to miss an engagement
or not to be ready to go to church.
WILDMAN: With the door unlocked,
a curious Nancy enters the house.
But when the teenager ascends the stairs,
she's greeted by a gruesome sight.
She saw very horrific scenes of violence.
It was bloody, and it was truly terrifying.
WILDMAN: The traumatized teen rushes to alert her father,
who in turn contacts the police.
RADKE: When the sheriff deputies arrived,
they were really horrified of what they discovered.
WILDMAN: The body of Nancy Clutter,
along with her brother and mother,
are discovered bound with rope and shot to death.
But this nightmare isn't over.
RADKE: They searched the house,
and in the basement they found Herb Clutter had been killed.
WILDMAN: Just steps away, they discover a bloody footprint.
But there's little else to go on.
Word of the brutal crime quickly spreads,
leaving many to wonder...
who executed this peaceful family, and why?
The sensational case is handed
to the Kansas Bureau of Investigation,
and they immediately turn the focus
to the last known person to see the family alive --
Nancy Clutter's boyfriend, Bob Rupp.
RADKE: They brought Bobby Rupp in for questioning
and did ask him to submit to a polygraph.
He claimed no knowledge of the murders of the Clutter family.
WILDMAN: Rupp passes the polygraph
and is quickly released.
It seems the case is running cold.
But then investigators receive a tip
from a man serving time for burglary named Floyd Wells.
What Wells told the KBI was that his former cellmate
was involved in the murders of the Clutter family.
WILDMAN: The former cellmate,
a fraudster named Richard Hickock,
spoke of his desire to rob the Clutter family.
And with the help of a fellow jailbird named Perry Smith,
he began plotting.
The authorities find Wells' claims credible
and begin the hunt for the two ex-cons.
Will the police catch the killers
before they strike again?
It's 1959 in rural Kansas.
When a beloved local family is found brutally murdered,
investigators are stumped.
But then a tipster identifies two ex-cons,
Richard Hickock and Perry Smith, as the culprits.
But the duo is nowhere to be found.
So, can authorities track down these suspected killers?
Investigators discover
that Perry Smith's last known address was in Las Vegas
and alert local authorities
to be on the lookout for the pair.
And on December 31, 1959,
six weeks after the massacre, their strategy pays off.
Two Las Vegas, Nevada, policemen on routine patrol
spotted Hickock and Smith,
stopped them, and arrested them without incident.
WILDMAN: When investigators interrogate the suspects,
Smith's footwear catches their eye --
black leather boots with soles that look strikingly familiar.
RADKE: They would have told them, "Hey, look.
"We got boot prints. We got footprints.
Your boots look like they match."
WILDMAN: One of those boots is now on display
at the Finney County Historical Museum.
With evidence linking them to the scene,
Hickock and Smith confess to the killings.
And finally, investigators gain some insight
into what motivated their cold-blooded brutality.
RADKE: Hickock's plan was to enter the Clutter farmhouse
because he was expecting to find a safe full of money.
They didn't find a safe.
What they did find was Herb Clutter.
WILDMAN: The pair interrogated Clutter,
but the frightened father insisted there was no safe.
Convinced Clutter was lying,
Hickock and Smith took him hostage
and tied up the rest of his family.
They ransacked the house in search of a safe,
but when they failed to discover it,
they became enraged and shot Herb Clutter in the head.
[ Gunshot ]
RADKE: After the suspects killed Herb Clutter,
then they proceeded to execute the rest of the family.
WILDMAN: But the question remains --
why were Hickock and Smith so convinced
there was a safe in the first place?
It seems the idea was planted
by none other than Hickock's former cellmate, Floyd Wells.
RADKE: Wells was bragging to Hickock
that he had worked for Herbert Clutter
out in Holcomb, Kansas,
and that Herb Clutter had a safe full of money.
He gave them a layout of the Herb Clutter farm,
where it was located,
as well as a description of the supposed safe.
WILDMAN: But investigators learned
that Wells' information was outdated.
The family had long since constructed
a new farmhouse with no safe inside.
In the wake of their confessions,
the pair are then returned to Kansas,
found guilty of ***, and sentenced to death.
The sensational trial
so captivates author Truman Capote
that he spends six years studying the case
before publishing the groundbreaking book
"In Cold Blood."
RADKE: The book "In Cold Blood"
is now considered an American masterpiece,
and for many critics,
they consider it the best true-crime book, as well.
WILDMAN: And today, this boot sits
at the Finney County Historical Museum
as a chilling reminder of the unbridled greed
at the heart of a true crime.
Dawsonville, Georgia, was put on the map in 1828
when a wave of a rowdy miners
thundered into this leafy Appalachian town
looking for gold.
And just off State Road 53 is a popular attraction
that celebrates another side
of the city's thrill-seeking spirit,
The Georgia Racing Hall of Fame.
Inside, visitors can view stock-car memorabilia,
like the uniform of Daytona 500 champion Pete Hamilton,
a car driven by racing legend Curtis Turner,
and the trophies of NASCAR favorite Bill Elliott.
But one polished piece reveals the beginnings
of the mainstream sport's mischievous past.
THOMPSON: This is painted black and silver.
It's got some writing on the side.
It's got a big number on the side.
Pretty slick-looking artifact.
WILDMAN: As author Neal Thompson explains,
factory machines like this
were souped up for more than just speed.
THOMPSON: This was a way for poor Southern guys
to live a more adventurous life and a more lucrative life
than the one they've been living.
WILDMAN: So, what role did this car play
in a daring new enterprise?
And how did it help create a popular national pastime?
1930 -- Atlanta, Georgia.
10 years after Prohibition banned *** across the nation,
the illegal manufacturing and distribution of alcohol
is running rampant.
And among the most infamous criminals
quenching Atlanta's thirst
is one unlikely country boy --
16-year-old Raymond Parks.
Raymond decided, instead of working on the farm
like other family members did,
he was gonna make some real money.
WILDMAN: By day, Parks works as a mechanic for his uncle
at the Hemphill Service Station.
But at night, he hits the road,
delivering backwoods-produced moonshine
to his clients in the big city.
THOMPSON: So, little by little, this enterprise grows,
and Raymond is making more and more money.
He could make $200 a week,
which is nearly $3,000 in today's money.
WILDMAN: And the young Parks shows no signs of slowing down.
He invests the cash back into his criminal enterprise,
buying more cars and hiring more men
to run *** under the moonlight.
The skills that these guys needed to develop at that time
was to drive fast at night on windy dirt roads.
WILDMAN: The drivers' nighttime daring
earns them the moniker "moon runners."
Over time, Parks' business flourishes.
Not even the 1933 repeal of Prohibition,
which makes *** legal once again,
stops the demand for Parks' backwoods brew.
THOMPSON: People in the South still wanted moonshine
from their local vendor, like Raymond Parks,
and that remained illegal
because he was making it without paying the required taxes.
WILDMAN: As the demand for unregulated moonshine grows,
Parks calls upon two hungry and fearless drivers,
his cousins Lloyd Seay and Roy Hall.
Both have a knack for driving fast,
allowing them to easily escape most local law enforcement.
But soon, federal agents
intent on stamping out the illicit trade
are patrolling the back roads.
THOMPSON: One method that agents employed
was to try and shoot out the tires of the moonshine runners.
WILDMAN: And with assembly-line vehicles
that max out at 80 miles per hour,
even talented drivers like Seay and Hall
find it difficult to outrun the feds.
One by one, Parks' moon runners are picked off,
and their illicit *** is confiscated.
It seems his moon-running empire is being eclipsed.
So, can Parks find a way to outrun the long arm of the law?
It's the 1930s in Atlanta, Georgia.
Bootlegger Raymond Parks has one of the most prosperous
moonshine enterprises in the South.
But when federal agents switch into high gear,
Parks' fleet of ***-hauling moon runners
[ Gunshot ]
So, how can Parks shake the law
before he gets driven out of business?
With his back against a wall,
Parks turns to the one man he thinks can help, Red Vogt.
This meticulous mechanic is obsessed
with improving engines to give cars more speed.
So, what Vogt did was drill holes
to see if he could make the engines run cooler.
He would expand the cylinders
so that they would run faster and stronger and harder.
WILDMAN: And when he applies his ingenious modifications
to Parks' fleet of cars, the results are astounding.
Suddenly, the moonshine runners on these dirt roads
are doing 100, 120 --
speeds that local guys like that had never reached before.
WILDMAN: Law enforcement doesn't stand a chance,
and Parks' bootlegging business is thriving once again.
Seay and Hall become entranced
by their new, more powerful vehicles
and start racing other moon runners just for fun.
Soon, the races become more competitive
and move from dusty straightaways
to oval tracks made in cow pastures.
And the local community begins to take notice.
THOMPSON: Little by little, word spreads that these races are occurring,
and pretty soon you've got thousands of people
attending these Sunday races,
becoming more and more popular all the time.
WILDMAN: The sport soon comes to be known as stock-car racing,
named for the fact that the cars look no different
from anything that comes off the factory floor.
As the nascent sport grows,
Raymond Parks sees an opportunity
to advertise for his legitimate businesses.
He paints the logo of his boyhood employer,
Hemphill Service Station,
on Seay's number-7 car, a replica of which
is on display at the Georgia Racing Hall of Fame.
Parks also begins paying
for all of his cousins' race travel expenses
in return for a two-thirds cut of their winnings.
THOMPSON: As the financial backer for these cars,
Raymond essentially became the first team owner
in stock-car racing.
WILDMAN: And in 1947,
the biggest players in stock-car racing
create an umbrella organization to govern the sport,
and Red Vogt names it
the National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing,
better known as NASCAR.
Today this 1939 Ford V-8 Racer,
on loan from Parks' private collection,
at the Georgia Racing Hall of Fame
stands as an example of how Prohibition
helped create a quintessentially American sport.
Located on the eastern edge of the San Francisco Bay Area,
Livermore, California, is known
for its 25 square miles of sprawling ranches and vineyards.
But for more than 60 years, it's been the home
of a world-renowned scientific research center,
The Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory.
Visitors to the lab's Discovery Center
can take in an electricity-producing bike,
a Cold War-era thermonuclear warhead,
and the world's lightest substance,
an insulator called aerogel.
But buried deep within the archives
is one deceptively ordinary item that carries significant weight.
This artifact is a collection of pages with complicated diagrams.
WILDMAN: But according to Dr. John Kashani,
the publication of this dossier
offered vital clues to a confounding medical puzzle.
This mystery has baffled
scientists and physicians for years.
WILDMAN: What bizarre tale unfolds within these pages?
And how did it paralyze one medical community?
February 19, 1994 -- Riverside, California.
A 30-year-old woman named Gloria Ramirez
is rushed to the emergency room of Riverside General Hospital.
She's vomiting, struggling to breathe,
and falling in and out of consciousness.
Mrs. Ramirez's heart rate is extremely fast,
and her respiration is extremely fast, as well.
She is in dire need of attention.
WILDMAN: Dr. Humberto Ochoa, the chief of the ER,
learns from paramedics
that Gloria suffers from advanced cervical cancer.
The team immediately supplies oxygen to help her breathe
and administers drugs to steady her heartbeat.
But Gloria's pulse is fading fast.
Dr. Ochoa defibrillates the patient
and makes a striking observation.
He notices that there is an oily sheen
and a garlic-like odor coming from her mouth.
WILDMAN: Then an ammonia-like smell fills the room,
overpowering one of the nurses.
DR. KASHANI: She leans into the patient,
and, unexpectedly, she passes out.
WILDMAN: Dr. Ochoa and the team remain focused on the patient.
But when a resident draws blood from Ramirez,
she, too, falls victim to the overwhelming odor.
She became nauseated and overcome
and then collapses and has a seizure.
WILDMAN: As the stench fills the room,
the ER team drops like flies.
A third person faints,
and others complain of nausea and dizziness.
WILDMAN: The chief is forced to make a tough call.
Dr. Ochoa, in an unprecedented action,
evacuates the ER,
and takes all the remaining patients and staff outside.
WILDMAN: In a desperate attempt to save Gloria Ramirez,
Ochoa stays behind.
But his efforts are in vain.
Unfortunately, after 35 minutes of resuscitation,
Mrs. Ramirez is pronounced dead.
WILDMAN: The cause of death is listed as kidney failure,
resulting from advanced cervical cancer.
But the mysterious sickness that began when she arrived
continues to spread.
23 complained of illness that ranged from nausea to vomiting,
to headaches to blurry vision,
and 6 ended up being hospitalized.
WILDMAN: With the hospital in a full-blown panic,
everyone wants to know --
what exactly caused this inexplicable outbreak?
It's 1994 in Riverside, California.
When a 31-year-old woman on the verge of death
is rushed to the emergency room,
doctors and nurses scramble to save her.
But suddenly, members of the staff
are seemingly incapacitated
by a foul stench emanating from the patient.
So, what's behind this noxious medical mystery?
The county health department launches an investigation
and draws a damning determination.
The conclusion was that mass hysteria was responsible
for the various health-related complaints
of the staff that day.
WILDMAN: The hospital's doctors and nurses are livid
and insist that panic had nothing to do with it.
The ER staff is used to seeing
all kinds of medical emergencies.
To call it a mass hysteria
is insulting to healthcare professionals.
WILDMAN: So the staff turns for help to Dr. Patrick Grant,
the deputy director
of the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory.
And when Dr. Grant pours through the autopsy report,
he is struck by the name
of one specific chemical compound,
DMSO2.
This compound can be a byproduct of a common household remedy
used to relieve aches and pains called DMSO.
DR. GRANT: Ramirez might have been using DMSO
to treat her pain associated with her cancer.
One of the symptoms of DMSO
is a garlicky smell to your breath.
The oily sheen could possibly have been explained
by the DMSO treatment, as well.
WILDMAN: But DMSO is a commonplace product,
generally thought to be harmless.
In search of answers,
Dr. Grant performs his own series of tests.
He compiles his research in this report,
now kept in the archives
of the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory.
Grant believes that the very treatments doctors used
in their attempt to save Ramirez
may have altered the structure of the DMSO.
DR. GRANT: They administered a number of drugs,
then they threw in massive amounts of energy
with the defibrillations.
And so we think that was a big chemical reactor.
WILDMAN: It is believed this process
transformed the home remedy on Ramirez's body into DMSO4,
a chemical not seen in the emergency room,
but on the battlefield.
It's described as a war gas,
and it can be found in classified chemical weapons.
WILDMAN: Exposure to this tool of war
can cause a number of symptoms,
including dizziness, fainting, convulsions,
and, in extreme cases, death.
DR. GRANT: If you compare the known symptoms
to what the emergency-room victims suffered on that night,
the match is virtually perfect.
WILDMAN: Grant sends his report to the Riverside coroner,
who deems this theory
the most probable cause of the mysterious illness.
And today this report remains in the archives
of the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory,
a testament to the focus and tenacity
that unraveled a toxic medical mystery.
Culver City, California.
Founded in 1913
by real-estate developer and film fanatic Harry Culver,
this town is still the home of the iconic MGM Studio.
But situated in this sunny center of show business
is a most unlikely institution,
The Wende Museum,
a repository for the world's most comprehensive collection
of Cold War artifacts.
On display are more than 75,000 relics,
ranging from communist propaganda
and surveillance equipment
to a locker from Checkpoint Charlie.
But one item here connects directly to the museum's name,
Wende, the German word for "turning point."
It's about five inches tall. It's made of black plastic.
It has a cylinder of metal pieces with numbers on it.
WILDMAN: As museum executive director and founder, Justinian Jampol,
can attest,
this object possessed the power to transform people's lives.
It meant the difference between repression and freedom.
WILDMAN: What role did this stamp play
in the most pivotal moment in Cold War history?
November 9, 1989 -- East Berlin, Germany.
46-year-old Lieutenant Colonel Harald Jaeger
is on patrol at the Bornholmer Strasse checkpoint,
along the 12-foot-high barricade
known to locals as The Wall.
JAMPOL: The Berlin Wall
was about 103 miles around the city,
and it consisted of a system
of concrete, barbed wire, and guard towers.
WILDMAN: Erected in 1961
by East Germany's communist government,
The Wall prevents the city's inhabitants
from defecting to democratic West Berlin.
Jaeger has loyally defended his post for 28 years
and is under strict order
to shoot attempted escapees on sight.
Jaeger's whole life is devoted to protecting this border.
He's been there since he was 18 years old.
He was committed, and people were afraid of him.
WILDMAN: As he settles into his shift for the night,
Jaeger is disturbed by the sound of shouting voices.
[ Indistinct shouting ]
Outside, a large crowd is demanding passage to the West.
He tells them to go back, to disperse, but they don't.
WILDMAN: Fearing he's outnumbered,
Jaeger calls his supervisors for guidance.
In an attempt to defuse the conflict,
they instruct him to let a few of those gathered through.
So Jaeger selects several demonstrators
and authorizes their papers
with a stamp like the one on display at the Wende Museum.
But the tactic backfires.
JAMPOL: The crowd saw
that there was a chance to get to the other side,
and the pressure built even more.
WILDMAN: The mob soon swells to the thousands.
Torn between duty and conscience,
Jaeger fears that one wrong move could mean grave consequences.
[ Indistinct shouting ]
So he decides to act.
JAMPOL: He knew, at that point,
that there was nothing he could do to stop them.
And I think he suddenly sees his place in history.
WILDMAN: At 11:20 P.M., Jaeger opens the gates.
And for the first time in 28 years,
East Berliners are free to pass through The Wall.
Tens of thousands of people flood the gates
while others chisel away at the concrete barrier.
JAMPOL: It is a mass movement of people
from one side to the other,
and people were amazed that the Berlin Wall fell so fast.
The regime just kind of gave up.
Once there wasn't a wall to hold people there anymore,
there was nothing left.
WILDMAN: The impact is immediately felt across the globe.
But amidst the celebrations, many are left wondering --
how did decades of oppression
come crashing down in the blink of an eye?
November 9, 1989.
On patrol along the infamous Berlin Wall,
East German guard Harald Jaeger
is under strict orders to shoot attempted defectors on sight.
But when a mob of protesters overwhelms the gates,
Jaeger lets them through to the West,
ushering in the demise of a geopolitical barrier
that stood for 28 years.
So, what series of unlikely events brought down The Wall?
It seems major cracks in The Wall
appeared just a week earlier.
November 4th --
East German demonstrators turn out in record numbers,
clamoring for reform.
JAMPOL: There are protests in the streets. There are marches.
People were demanding increasing rights.
WILDMAN: As the weeks wear on,
the government realizes it must respond.
So they hold a televised news conference,
where an official from the country's ruling party,
Gunter Schabowski, announces a modest reform.
So, he's in a position of explaining to the press
how they're responding
and how they're going to provide more opportunities
for travel to the West.
WILDMAN: Journalists are thoroughly bored by the conference,
believing it to be little more than false-hope propaganda.
But one journalist boldly calls the government's bluff.
In a tense exchange, he asks Schabowski
when the new rules on border crossings will go into effect.
JAMPOL: Schabowski's totally unprepared for this.
He's simply given a folded-up sheet with some points to read.
And it doesn't have the answers that he needs to respond.
And instead of saying he doesn't know,
he simply says, as far as he knows, immediately.
[ Speaking native language ]
WILDMAN: With this off-the-cuff response,
Schabowski has unwittingly created the impression
that The Berlin Wall is open.
This sets in motion a series of events
that leads to Jaeger standing at the Berlin Wall,
at the Bornholmer Strasse border crossing,
staring down a crowd,
and making the historic decision to lift the gate.
WILDMAN: The event triggers the demise of communism in Europe
and brings about a peaceful conclusion to the Cold War.
And today this stamp,
coveted for so many years by East Germans,
is on display at the Wende Museum
as a reminder of an oppressive regime
that was toppled by an accident
and one man's heroic leap of faith.
From rum-running racers to a fine-art fakery...
a silver salve to a toxic lady.
I'm Don Wildman, and these are the mysteries at the museum.