Bruce DePalma & Ed Delvers Discover Rotation Force Field
You have to watch the spinning balls

Bruce DePalma's experiments of the 1970's qualify him as America's 20th Century Galileo because he and Ed Delvers documented that a spinning object falls faster than a non-spinning object, and rotating and precessing gyro assemblies lose weight and their intertia in is changed, polarized along axes of rotation. This is one of the earlier newspaper articles about their work before the built the n-Machine electric generator to extract electricity from the energy field in space they discovered as the "rotational force field" in the early 1970's, where the n-Machine was first built and tested in Santa Barbara California under auspices of the Sunburst Community, why it was also known as the S-Machine. I met DePalma and Delvers in May 1979 and collaborated with them to get more press and university exposure of their work during the 1980's.

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[photo, not shown here, Bruce DePalma in his living room in background with two "force machines" (precessable counter-rotatable flywheel assemblies) hanging from the ceiling by ropes to each of their four corners; captioned:]

Bruce DePalma with two of his machines, which he claims prove the existence of the rotation force field

The Sunday Times Advertiser
Trenton, N.J.
GAZETTE
Sunday, January 11, 1976
Page E 1

Princeton doesn't believe in Bruce DePalma

But then, of course, Bruce doesn't believe in Einstein

By Eric Sauter
Staff Writer
Bruce DePalma, a 40-year-old student of life, knows he is right. He gets confirmation of this fact almost daily. It comes from everywhere -- Germany, England, Arizona. It comes from ex-scientists, ex-academicians, dissatisfied physicists and amateur inventors. It comes in the form of privately printed books and articles, Xerox copies of patents for antigravity devices, cryptic letters with apocalyptic overtones and still more pages filled with unsigned accusations against Them -- the scientific and academic establishment. DePalma has files and files of these confirmations in his 55-acre, 18th century farmhouse estate in Bedminster, Pa., just a few miles north of Doylestown.

They come, he says, from the Physics Underground, a conglomeration so vast, so formless that he doesn't even know how large it really is. Except, he says, it is everywhere. Everywhere! In rooms and basements and attics these faceless, sometimes nameless people are working, tinkering, theorizing toward the one goal that Bruce DePalma has taken upon his own shoulders.

Bruce DePalma wants to save the world from itself.

"This is," he says quietly, hands moving like tiny bird's wings to shape the importance of his statement, "the biggest story of the 20th century."

He is sitting in the dining room at the large wooden table. His thinning hair is combed down over one side of his forehead. He is wearing a blue and red Harvard T-shirt, brown jeans and baby blue track shoes. He looks like an aging undergraduate or perhaps one of those resident advisors in an Ivy League dormitory, just passing his prime. Above all, he is clean and neat.

"I thought I'd tell you a story," he says, "just like the ancient mariner sits down to tell his tale." He pauses. He rubs his hands. A smile moves across his boyish face like a creature with a mind of its own.

"This discovery of mine refutes Einstein's theory. What I mean is, this is a breakthrough in physics. Let me say first that people have vibrations. You are not put off by my saying that are you? You know people give off vibrations, you've felt them. What we have done is to establish the physical validity of these things. If scientists would only verify my experiments it would change all the theories.

What DePalma's experiments have proven, at least to his satisfaction, is that if you rotate an object, you radically alter certain physical properties of that object: both its mass and its inertia. Rotation, according to DePalma, also produces a force field, specifically around the main axis of the rotating object. He says he has measured this force field.

What this means to DePalma is unlimited in its wonder and universal in its scope. He says that the rotation phenomenon and its force field can be used in a number of different ways -- the vibrations from the force field can be a perfect cure for cancer; the rotating effect can be harnessed for the creation of an antigravity device and a 200-mile-per-gallon automobile. He goes on and on. It could eventually produce a world free from hunger, war and poverty. In other words, a perfect world.

All of this because Bruce DePalma says he has made certain discoveries so simple that physicists for the last 50 years have not even thought of them.

"You know," he says calmly, "we have tried to publish papers on this discovery since 1971." Four years we've tried. After getting turned down by all these magazines we learned that the physics department at Princeton was blocking their publication."

He gets angry. "Those dimwits over at Princeton are such fools. They think they can use their authority like Nixon, but we know what plays in the Oval Office may not play in Peoria or in Trenton." He looks thoughtfully across the table, secure in his status as another victim.

DePalma turns to Ed Delvers, his 25-year-old assistant, who has been with DePalma since his days at MIT five years ago. "Ed," he says, "would you cook something for me, just put something on a plate." Ed begins to go into the kitchen but DePalma changes his mind. It is too early to eat. Ed returns quietly to the table.

Bruce DePalma is currently locked in his life and death struggle with the physics department of Princeton, specifically with Dr. John Archibald Wheeler, author of a widely used text on gravitation and relativity and considered by many to be one of the leading experts in the field.

"Wheeler even said that all his thoughts on gravity will be shattered if my experiment is correct, and there he sits with his dead hand on the wheel. In our meeting they even said that my simple inertia experiment was worth a Nobel Prize. Yes, they said that."

The meeting DePalma is talking about took place on Dec. 5 at Jadwin Hall on the Princeton campus. Present were Bruce DePalma, Ed Delvers, John A. Wheeler, and Dr. Frank Shoemaker, another Princeton physics professor.

"You see," DePalma said, "I'm a pretty innocent guy. But the CIA and FBI and Watergate finally convinced me that intelligent men could commit sin. It also occurred to me that my discovery would discredit their (Princeton's) position in Washington and their $215 million grant."

That $215 million grant is for the construction of a prototype fusion reactor to be built at Princeton. DePalma claims that it won't work simply because they have not taken his discovery of the effect of rotation into account.

The meeting finally took place after DePalma wrote a letter to William Bowen, the university president, delineating his problems with certain members of the physics department who were reluctant to give him the time of day. He got a limited response, a short note from the president's secretary pleading Bowen's ignorance of physics and washing his hands of the whole problem.

DePalma then wrote a second letter telling Bowen he was about to squelch their prospect for the $215 million. Did he actually threaten them?

"Of course," he said, "The whole reason I did this is because I'm worried, I'm concerned. I really care. Look, we have all these problems and they're not doing anything about them. After the second letter Wheeler called me and asked, 'What do you want?' So I told him. I said I wanted to solve the energy crisis."

Bruce DePalma's awareness of his unique position in the universe came about in the spring of 1971. He was fed up with academia, fed up with everything. "When I was at MIT I tried harder than the president to make MIT work but the faculty resented my attempts to build up school spirit." So he headed west to California with five of his students, followers he had collected from his lecturing days in Cambridge. Ed Delvers was one of them.

DePalma has had a startling background. His father, Dr. Anthony F. DePalma, now retired and living in Florida, was the head of the department of Orthopedic Surgery at the New Jersey Medical School in Newark. One of his brothers, Barton, is a West Coast painter of some merit and head of the art department at Foothill College, Los Altos. His other brother, Brian, is a well known film director whose latest film, interestingly enough, is called "Obsession."

Even more interesting is the fact that all this information appears on the front page of Bruce DePalma's resume.

DePalma graduated in 1953 from the Friend's Central School, a private school for above average students in Philadelphia. He won the Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute Gold Medal for excellence in math and physics and entered MIT in 1953.

He had a stellar career at MIT. His freshman year he won a regional award for a student paper he wrote on low distortion amplifiers which was eventually published in "Audio Engineering". During his junior year he left MIT to work as a consultant for the Dyna Company of Philadelphia, working again with audio amplifiers. He also attended the graduate school of Temple University on a part-time basis, taking courses in physics and thermodynamics.

He received a B.S. from MIT in 1958 in Electronic Engineering and began working for various electronics corporations, moving from one to another during the boom years of the electronics industry.

In December of 1963, DePalma settled down, taking a position in the Physical Chemistry Group of the Polaroid Corporation, Edwin Land's gigantic research company in Cambridge, Mass. He also went back to MIT, not as a student but as an appointed lecturer in photographic science, on the recommendation of Dr. Harold Edgerton, a professor who was working with photography, specifically strobe light pictures. They shared a common passion for photography and had become friends.

Edgerton remembers DePalma as a "very imaginative young man" who was fascinated with photography. "He was always jumping around looking for new ideas," Edgerton said.

By the time he left Polaroid and MIT, DePalma was making $40,000 and was able to afford a new Ferrari, a prized possession that still sits, clean and in good condition, in his front yard in Bedminster. He gives it a spin once every two weeks or so to keep it in working order.

DePalma has been able to maintain the car and his extremely comfortable lifestyle by donations. Since 1971, after he'd come back from California broke, these donations have totaled about $100,000. These gifts have come from various supporters and students who believe in what he's doing.

He says he intends to pay it all back. "When my discovery pays off, there's going to be a lot of money. I intend to pay back $100 for every $1 I've been given."

Over the last 20 years DePalma has moved back and forth through experiments on sound, underwater communication, the effects of underwater nuclear blasts, laser beams, X-ray photography and three dimensional motion picture film, a process he perfected at Polaroid only to have it turned down by Land, who was engrossed in the development of the SX-70 camera.

Perhaps put off by Land's rejection of his project, in 1970 he left and went to California. By the time he got there, the battles of the 1960's were already dead and gone. No matter. Bruce DePalma was thinking about the problems of peace.

The meeting at Princeton on December 5 was a disaster. It was so incredible Bruce DePalma couldn't believe it. There he was, with his most important experiment, an experiment so simple even a child could comprehend it. His students, who had followed him to California and back, who had supported him, they had seen it. They believed it. But the Princeton physics department was not impressed.

"They think they're such experts over there. We did the spinning ball experiment and they said, 'Our eyes aren't that good.' They didn't think they could see it."

"After we did it," DePalma said.

"They fell silent," Ed said.

"They went into catatonic paralysis," DePalma said. "So I told Wheeler. The next time I see you, Doctor, it will be in front of the camera and the lights. I don't want anything to do with them any more. I even wrote a letter to Dicke (another Princeton professor who refuses to talk to DePalma) telling him to resign before a very unpleasant situation develops."

The experiment is quite simple. DePalma takes two steel ball bearings, spins one while the other remains stable and throws them in the air. The spinning ball goes higher than the stable one. DePalma claims this refutes Einstein's theory of relativity.

DePalma became enraged at the physicists' attitude towards him, particularly at Wheeler, who he has singled out for his most vicious criticism. "They treated me like I had no brains at all," he said. He became emotional at the meeting and started to yell at them.

Frank Shoemaker asked him to leave.

"I know I have no power myself," DePalma said, "I only have the power other people confer on me. I will get invited to Washington only after I generate a lot of publicity. To get this against the ineptitude and stupidity I am facing I have to be really clever."

"Ed," he said, "would you get me another glass of Sprite?" Ed rises quickly and gets him another glass of Sprite.

"I'm not an outcast. I think of myself as a folk hero of science. I have my students out here. I ride a motorcycle, play the guitar, write poetry. I'm an interesting fellow. I'm not an ordinary man. Extraordinary people do. You have to accentuate your extraordinariness to make things happen."

"Ed," he said, "could you bring me something to eat now? Would you like something? No. All right. Ed?" But Ed was already in the kitchen, dishing up the food.

"Our work," he said, "is being carried on by a number of people all around the world. So what am I going to do next? I'm going to start a clinic for the treatment of cancer using vibrations like those of the spinning balls. I'm going to raise money and heal people with these radiations."

"You see," he said as Ed brought the plates into the dining room, "I have no secrets. I'm naked in front of you."

Dr. Frank Shoemaker sits in his large office overlooking a wide-open courtyard that is dominated by the big black Calder sculpture in the middle. He is a medium-sized man with short grey hair. It has a slight wave to it, reaching up to the top of his head. He is wearing a red plaid shirt and glasses. He laughs a lot.

"There's nothing like the theory of relativity to bring the nuts out of the woodwork," he said. He is speaking about Bruce DePalma.

"DePalma's approach is completely unprofessional," he said. "A scientist doesn't set out to prove an idea right. He looks for ways to prove it right or wrong, if you know what I mean." But DePalma, Shoemaker went on, always finds something in his experiments to prove his theory right.

At that Dec. 5 meeting, Shoemaker tried to explain away DePalma's effects by saying they were simply "ordinary effects" that DePalma had misinterpreted.

DePalma didn't want to hear it. "He flew off the handle, started calling us names. I told him I was going to throw him out of the building if he didn't control himself. He just didn't want to hear that ordinary things were causing his effects.

"DePalma's case is not that surprising. Many people construct their lives around one thing. They develop this singlemindedness of purpose. In that letter he wrote me, he sounded like a man rebelling against authority."

The letter DePalma wrote to Shoemaker sounds as if it should be read at the volume of a scream.

"I lost my interest," DePalma wrote, "in the viability of the institution of the so-called 'science' you uphold when it became clear you and the rest of you are incompetent and incapable of receiving new information.

"I think it is clear that the energy crisis and other economic and political woes of this country and the world at this time is due to the activities of Professors like you and Dr. Dicke, Dr. Wheeler and your ilk."

Dr. John Archibald Wheeler is more reluctant than Shoemaker to speak his mind.

"I really hat to talk about it," Wheeler said, "I would be upset if DePalma tried a scientific problem in the daily press. It wouldn't be right to deal with the situation like this."

He doesn't know anything about DePalma's charges that he and his colleagues tried to block the publication of DePalma's articles. In fact, the question seems to confuse him. But what bothers him is that DePalma hasn't done enough tests and the ones he has done are simply not accurate enough.

"I don't see any substitution for tests," Wheeler said.

DePalma also showed his experiments to John Taylor, who teaches physics at Bucks County Community College.

"I'm not sure if he has something or not," Taylor said, "I know he didn't put sufficient effort into measuring it. He's got a very fancy apparatus but something's out of line. Why doesn't he have some experimental data? He tells me he doesn't believe in statistics and that turns me off right there."

Another physicist who is familiar with DePalma's experiments is Dr. Edward L. Purcell, a professor at Harvard.

"They told me about the experiments," Purcell said, "but they weren't very good. They didn't show me anything. Similar experiments have been done like this with far more accuracy."

But what about the spinning balls? "If there were any effect like he says, we would have had gross problems with our satellites. After all, they're spinning objects. Of course, he says they're not spinning at the same rate as his, but naturally he says that.

"A baseball spins," Purcell said. "If you throw a spinning object in the air, of course there will be an effect. This isn't even very interesting."

This grates on DePalma's nerves. Not very interesting? How can they say that? He plays the guitar, he listens to rock music. Wheeler and Purcell don't listen to rock music, do they? Of course not. They are the dull ones.

"I want to tell people that they're sending their kids to these people to be brainwashed," DePalma cried. "Until we get rid of the theory of relativity no progress will be made and that includes Wheeler and their ilk."

Shoemaker invited DePalma back to Princeton to test his experiments on their equipment. DePalma declined. If they were really interested, he said, they could do his experiments all by themselves. They don't need him. He certainly does not need them.

"I know what you wanted to do," DePalma said to the reporter, "you wanted to destroy me. You had me in your pidgeonholes and you wanted to get rid of me once and for all.

"But see," he goes on, "you're not going to do that now. I'm going to be with you from now on. You think you can just go back and forget this but every story you do from now on I'll be in, because what I have will influence everything."

DePalma gets up from the table and walks into another room. He comes back carrying a photograph. It is a black and white picture of a young man sitting in a semi-lotus position. He has a thin face and bright intelligent eyes.

It is one of DePalma's students who not long ago at a capsule of cyanide and died.

He lays it in the middle of the table.

"He couldn't get rid of a lot of things," DePalma said pointing to the picture. "He wanted a brother, he wanted the notion of a brother so bad. But he just couldn't shed these attachments. We were hurt by his death."

"I'm already starting. I'm getting rid of everything. I'm on the road to attainment. Attainment is becoming, you see. It is a continual process. I can see that your journey is almost at an end. You fight it with everything you have but they always to that just before the end. You're almost there, I can tell."

"You see," Ed Delvers said, "you won't be able to stop the change. It will just happen to you."

"Right," Bruce DePalma said, "there's no way you can go about looking for it. My discovery is the way we can make it possible for everyone. I want my discovery to help people. I want it now. You have to believe this. Don't you want this, too? Don't you want peace and harmony, don't you want to drive 200 miles on a gallon of gas. Why don't you just give in to this?"

---end article number one, same page starts second article:

(companion article about the spinning ball experiment)

[photo of trajectories of spinning vs non-spinning ball bearings, black background, higher trajectory approximately 6-8 ball diameters higher than lower trajectory, balls illuminated against black background; photo not shown here, captioned:]

You have to watch the spinning balls

There are two experiments which DePalma claims prove his discoveries. The main one, proving that rotating radically alters the physical properties of an object, involves two spinning ball bearings. A strobe flash of that experiment appears above.

DePalma writes: "We have discovered that the spinning or rotation of objects changes their inertia. When a spinning object is dropped, it falls faster than a non-spinning object because its inertia has been reduced by the effect of rotation. Therefore, an object of given weight will fall faster when it is spinning than when it is not spinning."

The device used to spin the ball bearing is a simple lathe machine socket activated by a small, hand-held motor. The other ball bearing, resting in a stable socket, sits next to it. After a reasonable amount of spin is attained on the one ball, DePalma throws them both in the air. The spinning ball goes about 5 per cent higher than the stationary one, he says. He has strobe photographs of this effect.

This effect, if it is what he says it is, goes against Newton's idea of inertia, and Einstein's theories of gravitation, which says, basically, that all objects, no matter what their mass, fall at the same rate because their inertia (the tendency to remain at rest when at rest and the tendency to remain in motion when in motion) is constant.

The other experiment which, DePalma claims, proves the existence of a rotation force field, is not quite so simple. He places an Accutron watch above the axis of a 29-1/2-pound flywheel spinning at 7,600 revolutions per minute. The Accutron watch has a small tuning fork which sets the timekeeping rate of the watch. The manufacturer claims that this tuning fork will keep accurate time to within one minute a month.

The watch is separated from the flywheel by a magnetic shield to eliminate any effects from motors driving the flywheel itself. An electric clock is synchronized with the Accutron to compare accuracy after exposure to the rotation force field of the flywheel.

According to the results of the test, with the flywheel spinning at 7,600 rpm, and running steadily for 1,000 seconds (16-2/3 minutes), the Accutron loses .9 seconds relative to the electronic clock, which, DePalma claims, is not affected by the rotation force field. If this actually happens, then the effect of the rotation force field has greatly altered the Accutron's tuning fork. Compared to the manufacturer's claim of loss for the watch, it means that the watch would lose somewhere around a half an hour a month if exposed to the force field that DePalma claims exists.

Rotation then, according to DePalma, affects the physical properties of matter, changes the very things that physicists have based their theories on for the last few decades.

"These theories," DePalma says, "are just a bunch of science fiction." He says that they have neglected to take into consideration his discovery of rotation and its effects on the real physical properties of objects. DePalma claims their theories don't work because his theory goes to the very heart of the nature of things -- atoms -- which, DePalma says, are also rotating objects.

--- Eric Sauter

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