Navy Scientists Zip Lips on Cold
The first rule of cold fusion club is… you do not talk about cold fusion club.
Twenty years ago this week, physicists Stanley Pons and Martin Fleischmann announced that they had replicated the fusion reaction which powers the sun, paving the way for endless free energy… in a laboratory test tube. The resulting debacle, which ended with their claims being scorned and ridiculed, left cold fusion research about as scientifically respectable as astrology. The small club of cold fusion believers still working in this area know that funding would be slashed if anyone found out.
Danger Room’s own Sharon Weinberger has been tracing cold fusion for some time; five years ago she reported in the Washington Post on the extraordinary secrecy around the Department of Energy’s cold fusion discussions, noting that, "to some, the meeting would seem no less outrageous than if the DOE honchos had convened for a séance to raise the dead."
The Navy’s Space and Naval Warfare Systems Center (SPAWAR) has long been known to harbor cold fusion enthusiasts; they’ve often managed to fit in their experiments in down time between other projects, and without official funding.
Now analytical chemist Pamela Mosier-Boss of SPAWAR has broken the silence. Speaking at the American Chemical Society in Salt Lake City (the site of the infamous Pons/Fleischmann press conference) she described "The first scientific report of the production of highly energetic neutrons from a LENR device."
LENR means Low Energy Nuclear Reaction, a euphemism that has been adopted since the words "cold fusion" tend to provoke bouts of metaphorical heretic-burning.
However, unlike Pons and Fleischmann, Mosier-Boss has
had her results accepted by a peer reviewed scientific journal, Naturwissenschaften.
"In its analysis, the research paper fails to exclude
other sources for the production of neutrons," Paul Padley, a physicist
Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence,
and it will take more than a few stray neutrons to shift the balance in
favor of cold fusion when there is a formidable array
of theoretical reasons to doubt that it is possible. Build a laboratory
fusion reactor which generates endless free energy and people will sit
up and take notice.
Darpa may be home to many crazy ideas, but they don’t
talk about cold fusion, either. At least not openly. However, a close look
at their budget documents under "Alternate Power Sources" reveals that
Excess heat being generated by Palladium (Pd) cathodes is a signature of cold fusion. And in the 2008 research budget we find that Darpa are set to "Determine the correlation between excess heat observations and production of nuclear by-products."
This sounds suspiciously as though Darpa has been getting involved in the cold fusion club – without mentioning it in a way that might attract undue attention. (They learned their lesson the hard way over the isomer triggering issue )
Perhaps the extreme case of embarrassment about cold
fusion comes in the Iron
Cold Fusion: still too ridiculous for Marvel Comics. Scientists, take note.
SOURCE: Wired News
Reports that the bubble had burst for a form of cheap, table-top nuclear fusion may have been premature. Rusi Taleyarkhan, the physicist at the centre of a furore surrounding so-called bubble fusion, was last week cleared of scientific misconduct.But Nature’s view on the outcome, focused on continuing criticism of the bubble fusion work, takes a swipe at the phenomenon’s main proponent:
Taleyarkhan claims to be able to produce fusion by collapsing bubbles in deuterated liquids. His work promised to improve prospects for developing a clean source of energy, but independent scientists have not been able to replicate the result. The work had been subject to several internal allegations of misconduct, including the fact that Taleyarkhan cited a paper by his student and postdoc as "independent" confirmation of his findings.Like cold fusion, another controversial idea for table-top fusion, bubble fusion offer the tantalizing promise of a new source of energy. Among those to fund bubble fusion work, at least in the past, is the Pentagon’s Defense advanced Research Projects Agency.
SOURCE: Wired News
A low energy nuclear reaction cell used this year at the University of California, Berkeley, US, in an attempt to replicate research conducted at the US Space and Naval Warfare Systems Center, San Diego
© Steven B. KrivitCold fusion back on the menu
22 March 2007
by Richard Van Noorden
Most chemists would rather forget all about cold fusion. After the barrage of criticism dismissing Stanley Pons and Martin Fleischmann's sensational 1989 claims that nuclei could be forced to fuse and release excess energy at room temperature, only a small core of researchers has kept the idea from fading away entirely.
Yet preparations are under way for an invited symposium focusing on cold fusion and low-energy nuclear reactions at the American chemical society's (ACS) 2007 conference in Chicago next week. Isolated presentations have been scattered around ACS meetings before, and the American physical society (APS) groups together a number of cold fusion researchers every year, but the last comparable session was 'so far off I can't remember', according to cold fusion advocate George Miley, of the University of Illinois, US. Even Fleischmann himself has a paper at the ACS, though the eighty-year old chemist will not be attending.
'I feel there is a strong rebirth of interest in cold fusion,' said Miley. He and other cold fusion supporters are taking their ACS presence as one more indication of the subject's growing respectability. Organiser Jan Marwan said he was very surprised at how easy it was to gain acceptance for the symposium. But Gopal Coimbatore, program chair of the ACS's division of environmental chemistry, felt that unless a forum was provided, the subject might never get discussed; and 'with the world facing an energy crisis, it is worth exploring all possibilities'.
The chances of cold fusion meeting that crisis may seem remote, but enthusiasts point to recent research from the US navy's Space and naval warfare systems center (Spawar) in San Diego, California. Here, Stanislaw Szpak and Pamela Mosier-Boss have claimed a ream of evidence for nuclear reactions occurring in a system similar to the 1989 reports.
Pons and Fleischmann suggested
that electrolysis could pack deuterium nuclei into a palladium lattice
so tightly that they were fusing together; Szpak and Boss now claim to
have speeded up this process by co-depositing palladium and deuterium onto
a thin wire subjected to an electric field. They have used plastic
Acceptance by the scientific community is still the main target for cold fusion advocates - hence the importance of replication, appearing at major conferences, and publishing in peer reviewed journals. In this at least, success seems imminent: Miley says his cold fusion paper is the first to be accepted to the Journal of Fusion Energy, which normally covers 'hot' thermonuclear fusion or sonofusion (which uses pulses of sound to rapidly compress bubbles in liquids). Meanwhile, Scott Chubb, who chaired a cold fusion session at an APS meeting in March, feels that Physical Review Letters, one of the top physics journals, may finally start accepting papers in the field. Avowed critics of cold fusion don't see anything to shout about, though. Frank Close, of the University of Oxford, UK, says he sees no renewed interest, 'just the usual suspects recycling'. Indeed, Fleischmann's ACS report is a re-presentation of research from the 1990s, showing that his calorimetry measurements were accurate. Bob Park, at the University of Maryland, US, agrees, but concedes that 'there are some curious reports - not cold fusion, but people may be seeing some unexpected low-energy nuclear reactions'.
But will the flare-up of cold fusion excitement last? Chubb is sure of it, but Fleischmann himself is less bullish. He approves of the Spawar research, but, as he told Chemistry World, 'my optimism is tempered by realism'. And Close's opinion is clear: 'Let's not confuse noise with signal'.
Richard Van Noorden
Navy Discovers Cold Fusion Again
The Navy back in 2002 published two volumes (yep, count ‘em, two) in support of cold fusion.
Now, the latest news is that Navy researchers from the Space and Naval Warfare Systems Center have published an article in the respected journal Naturwissenschaften, claiming an experiment that is highly reproducible and demonstrates nuclear reactions.
As the magazine Chemistry World reports:
Pons and Fleischmann suggested that electrolysis could pack deuterium nuclei into a palladium lattice so tightly that they were fusing together; Szpak and Boss now claim to have speeded up this process by co-depositing palladium and deuterium onto a thin wire subjected to an electric field. They have used plastic films – so-called CR-39 detectors – to track charged particles emerging from their reactions, publishing most recently in Naturwissenschaften. And, unlike the original 1989 experiments, the researchers claim their results are easily reproducible, with other groups reportedly detecting products of nuclear reactions such as alpha particles and gamma rays.
Hype? Real? Heck if I know. But it is a published paper.
UPDATE: And for those of you who follow the minutiae of this field, you could check out this published paper in European Physical Journal C, which proposes a theory to explain "cold fusion" results as a low energy nuclear reaction that doesn’t actually involve fusion.
SOURCE: Wired News
“Bubble Fusion” Busted; Prof
Begs for Asian “Sharpton”
Are you hoping that Pentagon-funded work into energy may yield a solution to the energy crisis? You may have to wait a bit longer. So-called "bubble fusion" work that was supported by the Pentagon’s Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA) takes a beating in a congressional inquiry released today. Rep. Brad Miller (D-NC) has been on a mission to investigate thoroughly claims that one of Purdue University’s professors and a leading investigator of bubble fusion, Rusi Taleyarkhan, was guilty of research misconduct. The university conducted its own investigation into the matter, which cleared Taleyarkhan, but the subcommitte found that review inadequate.
The congressional inquiry focused on the university investigation into bubble fusion work, not the underlying science, but either way, its conclusions are not kind to the university, or to Teleyarkhan:
Purdue has promised to conduct another inquiry.
If you’re interested in the nitty gritty and oh so gruesome details of university research (what is it that Kissinger said about academic battles….sigh?) then you can read this Nature article on the bubble fusion dispute as well as a defense of Taleyarkhan by Nobel Laureate Brian Josephson (currently head of the of the Mind-Matter Unification Project at Cavendish Laboratory, Cambridge)..
UPDATE: The New York Times has this precious response from Dr. Taleyarkhan, who told the paper that the report is a “a gross travesty of justice." He added: “Where are the Jesse Jacksons and Al Sharptons of the Asian community during this episode that has caused this biased and openly one-sided smear campaign?”
My friend Steve Krivit of New Energy Times asks in a comment on one of the news stories: "The important question to ask here, is, why all the fuss, and why a Congressional inquiry about who is listed on a science paper?"
The answer, of course, is that Congress has oversight responsibilities of federal funding, and claims of scientific breakthroughs in energy are bound to attract attention.
SOURCE: Wired News
Pentagon Agency Looks to Fund
Cold Fusion, Isomers, Antimatter
Just for clarification of terms: low energy nuclear reactions is the preferred nomenclature for what is popularly known as cold fusion; positron annihilation relates to antimatter (as in, could be an antimatter weapon), and nuclear isomers (of both the shape and isomer variety) have been considered as a possible next-generation weapon (and yes, I wrote an entire book about this last subject).
Despite some of you who have beaten me up for not embracing my inner science fiction geek, I am actually a huge advocate of funding basic science and technology (and for reading science fiction for that matter), including high risk ventures. I’m even a cautious fan of funding topics at the frontiers of science (a nice way of saying fringe science) if done openly and with proper review (as opposed to funneling money to your favored mad scientist).
So, what do I think of this solicitation? Not sure, but the isomer/antimatter/cold fusion stuff certainly is buried in the proposal, and I think there’s valid concern — even among those who support work on the scientific fringe — that the money could go through the old boys network (i.e. wink, wink, nod, nod, we know who the money is going to go to…)
Due date is in June, so hurry up with those quad charts!
SOURCE: Wired News
Is the Pentagon Funding Isomer
The Pentagon’s Defense Threat Reduction Agency is funding work looking at releasing energy from nuclear isomers, an area of research that was once supported by the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency as part an investigation into a new class of explosives. Now, according to news reports, two research groups are getting funding from DTRA for work on nuclear isomers: Youngstown State University and the Naval Research Laboratory.
DARPA for several years sponsored research into "triggering" hafnium-178m2 — a program that was canceled after a slew of scientific objections were raised and Congress took away funding for it. That wasn’t exactly the end of military interest. As I’ve written before, DTRA in 2006 held a series of conferences focusing on nuclear isomers, cold fusion, and antimatter, with an eye at looking at whether the agency should fund any of these areas. [For those who want all the nitty gritty details on the very weird life and death of DARPA's isomer bomb, you can read my book, or for a shorter overview, you can read David Hambling's New Scientist article along with my Washington Post Magazine article.]
Does that mean DTRA is funding an isomer bomb? Well, no, not really. Or maybe a little. It depends on how you look at it. One one hand, it’s no secret that one of the main interests of DTRA, a successor to the Defense Nuclear Agency, is in things that go "boom." But Youngstown State University, which is getting $1 million of the DTRA funding, was part of a group that actually negated the results on which the original DARPA program was based (that’s usually the time when you start looking for a new sponsor). So, it’s much more likely that the DTRA program is a basic science program, which the agency hopes might one day in the future pan out into applications, be it as an energy source or, less likely, some sort of weapon.
As for the Naval Research Laboratory’s involvement in nuclear isomers, well, who knows, but I’m guessing it’s a very basic research effort. The lab investigates all sorts of things, including a semi-closeted cold fusion program. At the very least, it will gives them all something to chat about over drinks on a Friday.
SOURCE: Wired News
Naval Researchers Organize Cold
It’s like the beginning of a bad joke: If a cold fusion conference took place in Washington, and no one heard about it, should anybody care?
Even I’m not sure if I know the answer to that question, but I love unusual Pentagon and Beltway news so I’m posting it. The fourteenth cold fusion conference is taking place in DC all next week, and two of they key organizers are scientists affiliated with the Naval Postgraduate School and the Naval Research Laboratory (scientists from the latter institution having long been involved in this controversial field).
Cold fusion, the catch-all phrase for research that follows in the footsteps of the 1989 announcement by Stanley Pons and Martin Fleischmann, has been anathema to much of the mainstream scientific community in the United States. But interestingly, cold fusion — now referred to by some as "low energy nuclear reactions" — has long maintained some U.S. military interest, particularly among naval researchers, occasionally at DARPA (at least under the current director), and nowadays at the Defense Threat Reduction Agency (DTRA), which, at one point, was considering funding some work in the area.
In fact, Pete Nanos, an associate director at DTRA and the former head of the Los Alamos lab, was originally the invited keynote speaker for the conference. But when I e-mailed Nanos to confirm his attendance, he wrote me back to say that he had decided to turn down the invitation.
Why was Nanos originally the invited keynote speaker? Who the heck knows, but Nanos is known for inviting controversy. In 2005, Pete "buttheads and cowboys" Nanos was famously drummed out of Los Alamos National Laboratory, where his brief tenure as director was widely regarded as a dark period for the lab that built the first atomic bomb. Anyhow, the keynote speaker is now the inimitable newsman Llewellyn King (full disclosure: my better half was once employed by King). What can I say? Small world.
Though I can honestly say it’s probably worth it to go just to hear what King has to say, I won’t make it to the conference. But for those interested, agenda and other details are available here.
SOURCE: Wired News
Scientists in possible cold fusion
WASHINGTON (AFP) — Researchers at a US Navy laboratory have unveiled what they say is "significant" evidence of cold fusion, a potential energy source that has many skeptics in the scientific community.
The scientists on Monday described what they called the first clear visual evidence that low-energy nuclear reaction (LENR), or cold fusion devices can produce neutrons, subatomic particles that scientists say are indicative of nuclear reactions.
"Our finding is very significant," said analytical chemist Pamela Mosier-Boss of the US Navy's Space and Naval Warfare Systems Center (SPAWAR) in San Diego, California.
"To our knowledge, this is the first scientific report of the production of highly energetic neutrons from a LENR device," added the study's co-author in a statement.
The study's results were presented at the annual meeting of the American Chemical Society in Salt Lake City, Utah.
The city is also the site of an infamous presentation on cold fusion 20 years ago by Martin Fleishmann and Stanley Pons that sent shockwaves across the world.
Despite their claim to cold fusion discovery, the Fleishmann-Pons study soon fell into discredit after other researchers were unable to reproduce the results.
Scientists have been working for years to produce cold fusion reactions, a potentially cheap, limitless and environmentally-clean source of energy.
Paul Padley, a physicist at Rice University who reviewed Mosier-Boss's published work, said the study did not provide a plausible explanation of how cold fusion could take place in the conditions described.
"It fails to provide a theoretical rationale to explain how fusion could occur at room temperatures. And in its analysis, the research paper fails to exclude other sources for the production of neutrons," he told the Houston Chronicle.
"The whole point of fusion is, you?re bringing things of like charge together. As we all know, like things repel, and you have to overcome that repulsion somehow."
But Steven Krivit, editor of the New Energy Times, said the study was "big" and could open a new scientific field.
The neutrons produced in the experiments "may not be caused by fusion but perhaps some new, unknown nuclear process," added Krivit, who has monitored cold fusion studies for the past 20 years.
"We're talking about a new field of science that's a hybrid between chemistry and physics."
Copyright © 2010 AFP. All rights reserved.
Warming Up to Cold Fusion
Peter Hagelstein is trying to revive hope for a future of clean, inexhaustible, inexpensive energy. Fifteen years after the scientific embarrassment of the century, is this the beginning of something
On a quiet Monday in late August -- a time of year when much of the Washington bureaucracy has gone to the beach -- a panel of scientists gathered at a Doubletree Hotel set between the Congressional Plaza strip mall and a drab concrete office building on Rockville Pike. They sat around a U-shaped table decked with laptops, with three government officials at the front, ready to hear about an idea that, if it worked, could change the world.
The panel's charge was simple: to determine whether that idea had even a prayer of a chance at working.
The Department of Energy went to great lengths to cloak the meeting from public view. No announcement, no reporters. None of the names of the people attending that day was disclosed. The DOE made sure to inform the panel's members that they were to provide their conclusions individually rather than as a group, which under a loophole in federal law allowed the agency to close the meeting to the public.
At 9:30 a.m., six presenters were invited in and instructed to sit in a row of chairs along the wall. The group included a prominent MIT physicist, a Navy researcher and four other scientists from Russia, Italy and the United States. They had waited a long time for this opportunity and, one by one, stood up to speak about a scientific idea they had been pursuing for more than a decade.
All the secrecy likely had little to do with national security and more to do with avoiding possible embarrassment to the agency. To some, the meeting would seem no less outrageous than if the DOE honchos had convened for a seance to raise the dead -- and in a way, they had: Fifteen years ago, the DOE held a very similar review of the very same idea.
It was front-page news back in 1989. The subject was cold fusion, the claim that nuclear energy could be released at room temperature, using little more than a high school chemistry set. In one of the most infamous episodes of modern science, two chemists at the University of Utah announced at a news conference that they had harnessed the power of the sun in a test tube. It was, if true, the holy grail of energy: pollution-free, cheap and virtually unlimited.
If it worked, cold fusion could supply the country's energy needs, with no more smog, no more nuclear waste, no more depending on other countries for oil. For a brief moment, an energy revolution seemed on the horizon.
But when many laboratories tried and failed to reproduce the Utah results, scientists began to line up against cold fusion. Less than a year after the announcement, a DOE review found that none of the experiments had demonstrated convincing evidence of cold fusion. Almost as quickly as they had become famous, the scientists involved became the butt of comedians' jokes; they were even lampooned in a Canadian production called "Cold Fusion: The Musical." A Time magazine millennium poll ranked cold fusion among the "worst ideas" of the century.
But now, at the Doubletree in Rockville, it seemed all that could change. For the scientists who had risked ostracism to persist in studying cold fusion, the very fact that the Energy Department was reviewing their work this summer seemed like a breakthrough. True, according to two of the presenters who were there, the meeting began with harsh questions. But at 5 p.m., the presenters were ordered to leave the room, and when they returned, the mood had visibly lifted. At the end, the scientists presenting the idea and those reviewing it all shook hands. The reviewers stayed on to discuss the material. The cold fusionists went to a barbecue, feeling celebratory. No one had told them if the presentation had convinced anyone that cold fusion was real. But it was nice, they said, after so many years, just to be treated with respect.
It was noon and the sun was shining in California's Bay Area. It was the week before the DOE meeting in Rockville, and at SRI International, a nonprofit research center in Menlo Park, chemist Michael McKubre was gearing up for what he hoped would be cold fusion's big break. He believed that after 15 years, the new DOE review could give him and others a chance to build an energy source that had the potential to revolutionize society.
But first he needed to find Peter Hagelstein for a meeting with a reporter. McKubre's secretary poked her head in the office and said she'd ask Jessica, the summer intern. A minute later the secretary was back. No Peter.
"Can you call Peter?" he asked. "Tell him to comb his hair and stuff," he added, shaking his head. McKubre checked the time and settled back in his chair. Peter Hagelstein, his longtime friend and colleague in cold fusion, who was spending the summer with McKubre at SRI, works at night and rarely makes it to the lab before noon. "He works himself into a state where he's physically ill," McKubre said.
McKubre, on the other hand, was a vision of health. A native New Zealander, McKubre has worked on fuel cells and energy sources for 27 years at SRI, and nearly three decades in the lab haven't faded his tan. At 55, he is bronzed and handsome. An engaging speaker, McKubre loves to talk, and most of what he talks about is cold fusion.
March 23, 1989 -- the day Martin Fleischmann and Stanley Pons announced their miraculous discovery -- was a day that McKubre says changed his life. He knew and respected Fleischmann, then one of the world's leading electrochemists, and shortly after the news conference, one of the funders of McKubre's research approached McKubre about performing a small experiment to test cold fusion. When McKubre's initial work showed promise, he says, he began a more ambitious project. Fifteen years later, he's still hooked.
McKubre and Hagelstein met in 1990 at the first international cold fusion conference and quickly hit it off. While hundreds of scientists still plow away at cold fusion worldwide, the two of them have emerged as perhaps the most prominent, particularly in the United States. Hagelstein, an applied physicist at MIT, works on theory, while McKubre is a practiced experimentalist.
McKubre's staff is well below its all-time high of 12 people -- today, it's just he and a part-time assistant -- but the lab is still well equipped. For years the experiments took place behind bulletproof glass, the result of a 1992 accident that killed one of his colleagues. McKubre still has bits of glass embedded in his side from the cold fusion experiment that exploded that day in his lab (the blast had nothing to do with fusion; hydrogen mixed with oxygen, creating the equivalent of rocket fuel).
Normally, nuclear fusion occurs in the sun or in thermonuclear weapons, where intense heat and pressure allow the nuclei of atoms to overcome their natural repulsion and fuse, producing an astounding amount of energy. But fusion takes place at temperatures equivalent to those of the sun -- millions of degrees. So imagine the staggering advance cold fusion would represent, if real. It would mean that fusion could occur at room temperature, potentially making energy production cheap and easy. But even among cold fusion proponents, there is no accepted theory of how this could happen -- one reason why mainstream science has never taken cold fusion seriously.
The experiments McKubre ran for 15 years consisted of immersing a metal, palladium, in a bath of heavy water (water where heavier deuterium atoms have replaced lighter hydrogen). Running an electric current through the setup causes the metal to soak up the deuterium, and eventually the deuterium nuclei fuse -- at least according to cold fusionists. McKubre claims that when an experiment works, scientists can measure fleeting bursts of excess heat released in the process -- at times, up to 30 percent more energy comes out than went in. In some experiments, McKubre has detected byproducts, such as helium and tritium, that often accompany nuclear reactions. He says both phenomena are clear proof that fusion has occurred.
Since 1989, hundreds of scientists working in dozens of labs around the world have claimed similar results. Supporters point to the written literature -- more than 3,000 papers -- as proof of the effect. But the most credible cold fusion advocates concede that the vast majority of those papers are of poor quality; one supporter called the collection "mixed toxic waste."
And even the best research is plagued by cold fusion's most nagging problem: a long history of failing to reproduce experimental results. McKubre is one of the more respected people in the field, and in more than 50,000 hours of experiments, he says, he has recorded 50 times when the setup "unmistakably" produced excess heat. That is a far cry from the scientific standard for reproducibility. Erratic results such as those, coupled with the theoretical unlikelihood of the whole idea, long ago drove most mainstream scientists to dismiss cold fusion; they say that any indication of heat or nuclear byproducts is the result of an error in the experiment. Now few of them take the trouble to review the new results or attend the annual cold fusion conferences.
Research money has dried up. The U.S. Patent and Trademark Office has refused to grant a patent on any invention claiming cold fusion. According to Esther Kepplinger, the deputy commissioner of patents, this is for the same reason it wouldn't give one for a perpetual motion machine: It doesn't work.
These problems, Hagelstein and McKubre argue, are all tied to the 1989 DOE review. While the report's language was measured, pointing out the lack of experimental evidence, "it was absolutely the intention of most of the framers of that document to kill cold fusion," McKubre says.
Pons, who gave up his U.S. citizenship, now lives in France and no longer works on cold fusion, and Fleischmann is retired. Scientists still looking at cold fusion work in a kind of underground. Edmund Storms, a former scientist at the renowned Los Alamos National Laboratory, has set up a cold fusion lab next to his home in Santa Fe, N.M. John Dash, a physicist at Portland State University in Oregon, conducts cold fusion research, but among his academic colleagues, he says, "I'm an outcast, a pariah."
According to McKubre, the reason cold fusion experiments can't be reproduced on demand is a materials issue: It's a matter of developing a form of palladium, or another metal, with the right mix of impurities. With help on that issue and more funding, he suggests, a small cold-fusion-powered heater or generator could be ready in as little as two years. If it proved reliable and affordable (a big if: McKubre acknowledges that palladium is too expensive to be used commercially), the applications could expand. He's not afraid to make big claims. "Cold fusion," he writes in an e-mail, "has the potential to replace all sources of energy and power, indefinitely."
Yet some cold fusionists have been making the same claims since 1989. The new DOE review could help answer the question of whether they're really any closer now -- and, once again, if there's any validity at all to the idea of cold fusion.
PETER HAGELSTEIN FINALLY SHOWED UP AT MCKUBRE'S OFFICE A LITTLE BEFORE 1 P.M., hovering wordless at the back of the room. When he does speak, it's so softly that his Southern California accent is barely audible. With a boyish grin and oversized glasses, he looks like the grownup version of a high school valedictorian.
"Brilliant," "genius" and "reclusive" were words used to describe Hagelstein 20 years ago, when he rose to prominence as one of the young scientists behind President Ronald Reagan's plans to build a missile shield in outer space. He made his mark designing the X-ray laser that was to be the centerpiece of Reagan's "Star Wars" anti-ballistic missile system.
A protege of Edward Teller, father of the hydrogen bomb, Hagelstein by 1989, at age 35, had a prestigious position at MIT and had been selected as a member of the Jasons, an elite group of scientific advisers to the Defense Department. He was on his way to great things.
He was flying out to visit the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory in California when the news of cold fusion hit in 1989, and he met with Teller and Lowell Wood, another prominent Livermore scientist, the next day. Both men encouraged him to work on cold fusion. (Teller died last year, but Wood continues to support cold fusion and attends the conferences.) Hagelstein did what his mentors suggested, and his career has suffered.
"If I had spat on cold fusion back in March 1989, along with everyone else," Hagelstein says, "then I would have funding, I would have had papers published, I would have been successful. Lots of good things would have happened."
But he didn't. Why?
"Because it wouldn't have been the right thing to do," he says.
McKubre and Hagelstein come off as the consummate odd couple of science. McKubre, the optimist; Hagelstein, the pessimist. The charismatic New Zealander, the geeky physicist. McKubre talks about late nights at cold fusion meetings, drinking whiskey with colleagues. Hagelstein doesn't touch anything stronger than lemonade. It's a friendship forged in 15 years of scientific warfare. Hagelstein describes the mainstream scientific community as "mafias" that promote and publish their friends' work, unwilling to accept new ideas. "From time to time there will be wild claims that will be wrong," he says. "Let's accept that, instead of destroying the careers of the folks who either say such things or work on such things. This is a normal part of the process, too."
As Hagelstein explains it, leading physicists came out swiftly and prematurely against cold fusion. A prominent physicist at Caltech said Pons and Fleischmann were "suffering from delusions." William Happer, a Princeton professor, called them "incompetent boobs."
Just days after the infamous Utah announcement, Hagelstein presented possible theories for cold fusion, and MIT applied for patents on his behalf. Some scientists openly ridiculed his theories. And cold fusion, despite his support, was attacked the next month at a Jasons meeting he attended. Hagelstein remembers Happer, then chairman of the Jasons, telling him to choose between cold fusion and his membership in the group. Hagelstein resigned.
Happer says he never told Hagelstein he had to leave the Jasons. "I do remember telling him: 'Look, Peter, why get messed up with this field? It's going to be nothing but a tar baby. You could make a great career in physics.' He didn't want to hear it.
"I feel bad about it . . . Peter . . . had a tremendous future ahead of him, I thought," Happer says. "He's still well known, but he could have been a greater man than he is."
Hagelstein says his acceptance of cold fusion was by no means immediate. "Sometimes I was pretty sure that it was real, and sometimes I was convinced that it was all junk," he writes in an e-mail. It took several years before he was convinced. "At this point, there are far too many results, of many different types, that constitute an argument that is very strong. There is no going back."
Cold fusion has, if nothing else, taught Hagelstein to be flexible. As new experiments emerged, his theories evolved. For almost every strange result, he came up with a new theory for how cold fusion worked. But he has tossed aside almost as many theories as there have been experiments.
As cold fusion research limped forward, Hagelstein faced a series of personal reverses. He has tenure at MIT, but he never made full professor. When his funding ran out, he eventually lost his lab space, his secretary, even his office. He has suffered from depression, which he attributes to his experience with cold fusion, but also downplays it. "What's more important," he asks, "me taking a little grief or if, by my actions, I could make a difference in the world?"
The SRI summer intern, Jessica, provides her own take on Hagelstein's experience. Jessica, it turns out, is his daughter, a 20-year-old chemistry student at MIT. She was 5 when Pons and Fleischmann hit the covers of Newsweek and Time, and she literally grew up with cold fusion. She describes her father as a gifted pedagogue, popular among his students at MIT and also dedicated to his cold fusion work. She recalls visiting colleges with her father, who would sit down in the library, open his laptop and work on theories, while she toured the campus alone. This consuming passion has left its mark. "My whole life growing up," she says, her father "was always really sad about everything."
Hagelstein today remains the best-known name in the cold fusion community. And that's why in April 2003, he wrote directly to Energy Secretary Spencer Abraham to request a new review. By November, the DOE had decided to do it, agreeing that after 15 years it was reasonable to review the progress of work in the field. The August review was limited to a single question, according to McKubre: Is the work surrounding cold fusion legitimate science? A positive answer -- even short of a ringing endorsement -- would finally lift the stigma, McKubre has said. It would also "loosen the purse strings" among potential funders. As of last month, the Department of Energy was saying that the review would be released by the end of the year.
THE OFFICES OF THE AMERICAN PHYSICAL SOCIETY, a bastion of mainstream science, take up a corner of the National Press Building in downtown Washington. Amid the myriad foreign news agencies on the 10th floor, Bob Park, director of APS public information, and enemy of cold fusion, writes his weekly column, "What's New."
Park's office, not unlike his writing, is filled with strange things. Magazines about aliens lie next to physics textbooks, and next to those, books on electromagnetic healing. Park uses his savage wit to ridicule everything from the international space station and missile defense to alien abduction and cold fusion. His weekly column is distributed, by his rough estimate, to 40,000 subscribers.
When the August 2004 issue of Popular Mechanics, the magazine for hobbyists and car enthusiasts, ran a cover story claiming cold fusion could allow terrorists to build homemade hydrogen bombs, Park derided the magazine and the science. "A nuke? The cold fusion guys can't brew a cup of tea," the column teased.
Park's reference to tea was a throwback to another cold fusion critic with a humorous edge. Douglas Morrison, a Scottish physicist, was for years the lone critic to attend the annual cold fusion conferences. Every year he would ask the group, "Please can I have a cup of tea?" -- a sardonic way of pointing out that cold fusion had yet to produce even the simplest heating device capable of boiling water. Morrison died in 2001, still without his cup of tea.
Park, on the other hand, does not go to the conferences or read the cold fusion literature -- a waste of time, he says.
When Park considers a wild idea, his blue eyes focus on some faraway horizon, as if wondering: Could space aliens exist, does Bigfoot roam the forests, could cold fusion be real? When he refocuses, the answer is always no. What unites these things, Park contends, is people who wish to believe the world is some other way than what it is.
That, for him, is the essence of cold fusion. "Some of the people who are attached to it are attracted to it because it's under some sort of a cloud," Park says. "I don't want to be unfair to them, but I think that's part of what's going on in their own mind." Another problem, he says, is that the people involved aren't that good. "It gets a lot of people that are marginal," Park says. "There aren't any scientists that are deeply involved in this that I would rank among the upper echelon. . . That's going to sound awful to you, but what the heck."
Park corresponds with some cold fusion supporters, including Scott Chubb, a physicist at the Naval Research Laboratory in Washington. Chubb calls Park "a good friend." Park calls Chubb "competent."
Park says Hagelstein is an "unusual case," but points to the connection to Teller, who made positive statements about cold fusion early on. "When the master says it's right, it must just be a matter of showing it."
And some cold fusion advocates, says Park, are flat-out crazy, undermining whatever respect the field may have.
But he did not oppose the DOE review. "I would say they're reviewing it because these guys are now playing by the rules," Park says, citing Chubb and others, who have started to give papers at American Physical Society conferences.
The review might even be a good thing, he suggests. "Maybe there is something there, some funny reaction going on." Park pauses, staring off for a moment. "If there is, I'll make another prediction. If there is, it may solve some puzzles, but it won't be important."
"Or it may be bad science," he adds.
Most nuclear physicists are even more pessimistic about cold fusion. Richard Garwin, 76, is a fellow emeritus at IBM's Watson Research Center and a member of the Jasons. He was on the original DOE review panel, and as a young man did critical design work for Teller's hydrogen bomb. His annoyance with cold fusion is based on visits to various labs. What he finds, in some, are basic mistakes, and in others, the potential for mistakes. "People who can't do a good sophomore experiment are suddenly free to suggest that the discrepancies in their results come from unexplained, basic, earth-shaking, heat-producing phenomena," Garwin gripes in an e-mail about one French lab he visited in 2002.
After a 1993 visit to McKubre's lab, Garwin and a fellow scientist wrote a report to the Pentagon, complimenting SRI on its serious and competent work. While Garwin found no huge blunder in McKubre's experiments, he saw a host of possible problems, ranging from false signals in the equipment to simple measurement errors. Asked to summarize his technical report, Garwin replies with a characteristically brief e-mail: "Did not support any finding of 'excess heat.' "
As for Hagelstein, Garwin says he isn't interested in reviewing the MIT scientist's theories. A smart theorist can explain anything, even mistakes, Garwin says. And why bother? "There is no sense having a theory if there is nothing to explain."
HAGELSTEIN AND MCKUBRE ACKNOWLEDGE THAT COLD FUSION HAS ATTRACTED ITS SHARE OF ODDBALLS. "There are a bunch of people who attend the conferences and have otherwise excellent reputations, who have bought into this so heavily that they've lost their sense of reason or sense of judgment," McKubre says.
McKubre often speaks about a company in Israel, Energetics Technologies, that has received a couple of million dollars a year in private support to research cold fusion and has achieved "startling results," producing much higher levels of power and heat than his own experiments. McKubre has visited the lab. "It's the first clear indication that something practical might come out of all this effort," he says.
But the scientist behind the Israeli group is Irving Dardik, a former surgeon, who secured funding from Sidney Kimmel, the billionaire head of Jones Apparel Group Inc. Dardik's state medical license was revoked by New York in the mid-1990s after several patients testified to a review committee that he had promised to cure them of multiple sclerosis using "waveform therapy." The review committee found that Dardik had charged ailing patients as much $100,000 for treatment involving little more than exercise and sports watches.
Dardik, according to a patent application he submitted, believes that "all things in the universe are composed of" waves, and that those waves are part of larger waves, in what he calls "superlooping." This "superlooping gives rise to and is matter in motion." He has pursued research tying that theory to treating AIDS, Parkinson's disease and depression. The medical board questioned his use of made-up words such as superlooping and speculated openly about his mental health, describing him as "manic." According to the public records of the proceedings, the board ultimately concluded that he was mentally fit but found him guilty of "fraud and exploitation."
Dardik says the medical establishment was simply intolerant of alternative science. No longer able to practice medicine, he is now applying his waves theory to cold fusion. Dardik would like, at some point, to get his medical license back in New York, but not now, he says; he's too busy with cold fusion. "I don't even have the time."
McKubre and Hagelstein have consulted for Dardik; McKubre has cited Dardik's research to the DOE, now works closely with him and has repeatedly touted the work of Dardik's group.
McKubre seems acutely aware of the strangeness that pervades the field, and he handles challenging questions calmly, seeming at times weary of -- and amused by -- some of his more fervent colleagues. But, in this case, it's easy to wonder if his optimism has gotten the better of him. Although he has acknowledged in an e-mail that "Dardik's ideas must sound mad, and . . . adherence to them is not science based," McKubre has continued to talk up the results of the Israeli research; he argues that the experiments themselves work. Yet endorsing the physics experiments of a medical doctor found to have defrauded sick patients is a serious threat to McKubre's reputation. Asked about Dardik's waveforms, McKubre traces waves along the wall with his hand and begins to talk about Dardik's theories of biological rhythms. He pauses, looking a little embarrassed. He acknowledges that, even to a cold fusion supporter such as himself, the theory requires a certain "leap of faith."
ALONG WITH THE POSSIBILITY OF FINANCIAL AND SCIENTIFIC REWARDS, the DOE review offers cold fusion scientists the hope of one final prize: moral redemption.
While the review was of cold fusion in general, the primary focus was on Hagelstein and McKubre. They chose the material, wrote the review paper and even selected the presenters. Reproducibility remains a nagging issue. While cold fusion proponents now claim better success in re-creating their results from one experiment to the next, Hagelstein acknowledges that their consistency is far from perfect, and some experimental results have never been reproduced. Like McKubre, he holds out the hope that better materials will produce more consistent results down the road. Yet he argues that already there have been enough positive results, from experimentalists he trusts, that at least some of them must be accurate. "I think that things are well past the point that experimental error is a likely possibility," he writes in an e-mail. The scientific method, however, doesn't work that way, Garwin says. As he puts it, it's absurd to claim that experiments that seem to support cold fusion are valid, while those that don't are flawed.
Regardless, Hagelstein says, he has seen enough cold fusion data to convince him that the science is clearly real. The field's acceptance, he maintains, will be simply a matter of the scientific community's looking at the improved experimental results in the future and coming to understand them.
To McKubre, the main reason cold fusion has been belittled all these years is that the mainstream scientists who dug in their heels long ago can't change their minds now: "If it turns out these people are wrong, they're dead. They're scientifically dead."
So, let's say he's right, and the majority of scientists are wrong, and cold fusion does work. What will it take for the critics to accept it? McKubre quotes Max Planck, the father of quantum theory: "Science advances one funeral at a time."
Eternally the optimist, McKubre walked out of the SRI building that August day bouncing like a teenager. He was excited about the review: Maybe it would herald a new era, when the DOE would break its stodgy habits and fund alternative energy. With Hagelstein's help, he said, cold fusion had a chance at redemption.
In fact, he observed, the stigma around cold fusion was already disappearing. "Cold fusion shows up everywhere," he said. "In comic books, in movies and in songs. It is the standard power generator technology of some cartoon characters. It is a fact."
But aren't "facts" like that nothing more than fantasy?
"It's a fantasy fact," he said. "That's nearly as good as reality."
Sharon Weinberger covers Congress and the military for Defense Daily, a trade publication.
© 2004 The Washington Post Company
SOURCE: The Washington Post Company
|FAIR USE NOTICE: This page contains copyrighted material the use of which has not been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. Pegasus Research Consortium distributes this material without profit to those who have expressed a prior interest in receiving the included information for research and educational purposes. We believe this constitutes a fair use of any such copyrighted material as provided for in 17 U.S.C § 107. If you wish to use copyrighted material from this site for purposes of your own that go beyond fair use, you must obtain permission from the copyright owner.|
Webpages © 2001-2016
Blue Knight Productions