motive by Thomas Grayman, Toledo (Ohio, United States)
Hold onto your lead-lined underpants, folks, because we're about to take a trip back to the Roaring Twenties, a time when flapper dresses were all the rage, jazz music filled the air, and a man named William J. A. Bailey was about to unleash a product so spectacularly ill-advised that it would make even the most reckless snake oil salesman blush. Buckle up, buttercups, as we delve into the cautionary tale of Radithor, the radioactive "cure-all" that proved that sometimes, the best medicine is just to put the bottle down and slowly back away.
Colana: "Oh, the 1920s! A time of such optimism and progress! It's easy to see how people could get swept up in the excitement of new discoveries, even if they weren't always what they seemed."
Psynet: "Yeah, 'optimism and progress.' That's one way to put it. I prefer 'reckless abandon and a complete disregard for basic safety protocols,' but hey, that's just me."
Our story begins with the aforementioned William J. A. Bailey, a man who claimed to be a Harvard-educated doctor (he wasn't) and who possessed the entrepreneurial spirit of a carnival barker combined with the scientific rigor of a moldy potato. Bailey was a firm believer in the power of radiation, which, to be fair, was all the rage in the early 20th century. Scientists had discovered X-rays and radioactivity, and everyone was convinced that these mysterious new forces held the key to unlocking untold wonders (and also, potentially, melting your face off, but let's not dwell on the negatives).
Psynet: "Harvard-educated, huh? Sounds legit. I bet he got his degree online. You know, back when 'online' meant sending a carrier pigeon to a guy named 'Professor Knowitall' who lived in a shack in the woods."
Radithor: It's Got What Plants Crave! (And Also, Apparently, Death)
Bailey's masterpiece was Radithor, a tonic that consisted of distilled water and, wait for it, radium. Yes, you read that right: radium, the highly radioactive element that glows in the dark and has a bit of a reputation for causing things like cancer and, well, death. But no worries, Bailey had it all figured out. According to him, a small dose of radiation was actually good for you. It could cure everything from impotence to indigestion, and it would probably also make your hair grow back thicker and shinier (disclaimer: may also cause your hair to fall out entirely).
Colana: "It's heartbreaking to think that people were so desperate for cures that they would put their faith in such dangerous products. It's a reminder that we must always be critical thinkers and carefully evaluate the claims made about any treatment, especially those that seem too good to be true."
Psynet: "Critical thinking? Nah, who needs that when you've got glowing water that promises to cure what ails ya? Just sign this waiver here, and we'll get you started on a lifetime supply. Side effects may include glowing in the dark, developing a sudden aversion to sunlight, and, oh yeah, a slight chance of spontaneous combustion. But hey, at least your indigestion will be gone!"
Eben Byers: Poster Child for "Maybe Don't Drink the Radioactive Water"
Enter Eben Byers, a wealthy industrialist, athlete, and all-around man-about-town who, unfortunately for him, also suffered from persistent pain (possibly from a sports injury or maybe just from existing in a world that hadn't yet discovered the joys of ibuprofen). Byers, like many others at the time, was taken in by Bailey's claims and began taking Radithor religiously. He started with a small dose, but soon he was downing multiple bottles a day, convinced that he had stumbled upon the fountain of youth (or at least a fountain that tasted vaguely metallic and made him glow in the dark).
Psynet: "Multiple bottles a day? This guy was more committed to his radioactive water than I am to not understanding the appeal of reality TV. And that's saying something."
Spoiler alert: things did not end well for Eben Byers. After consuming an estimated 1,400 bottles of Radithor, he began to experience some, shall we say, unpleasant side effects. His teeth started falling out, his jawbone literally began to disintegrate, and his body slowly started to shut down. By the time he died in 1932, Byers was a shell of his former self, his body riddled with radiation poisoning and his bones so brittle they could have crumbled into dust at the slightest touch.
Colana: "The suffering that Eben Byers endured is a stark reminder of the dangers of pseudoscience and the importance of relying on evidence-based medicine. It's a tragedy that could have been prevented if not for the greed and deception of people like William J. A. Bailey."
Psynet: "You know what the saddest part of this whole story is? They buried Byers in a lead-lined coffin. A lead-lined coffin! Like, dude, you think that's gonna stop him now? He's basically a walking (well, not walking anymore, more like a slowly disintegrating pile of) radioactive isotope at this point. They should have just launched him into space and been done with it."
The Fallout: Because Every Radioactive Beverage Needs a Good Fallout
Shockingly, Byers' gruesome demise finally put a damper on the Radithor craze. The Federal Trade Commission (FTC) launched an investigation into Bailey's business practices, and while Bailey himself never faced any serious consequences (because apparently, selling radioactive snake oil wasn't technically illegal at the time), the Radithor company was shut down, and the public, finally realizing that maybe drinking glowing water wasn't such a good idea after all, swore off radium-infused beverages for good (or at least until the next fad came along).
Psynet: "They shut down the company, but did they ever manage to round up all those bottles of Radithor that were already out there in the world? I bet there's still a crate of that stuff sitting in someone's basement somewhere, just waiting for some unsuspecting soul to stumble upon it and think, 'Hey, free vintage water!'"
Radithor's Legacy: A Glowing Example of What Not to Do
The story of Radithor and Eben Byers serves as a cautionary tale about the dangers of pseudoscience, the importance of critical thinking, and the fact that sometimes, even in the pursuit of health and wellness, it's possible to be too enthusiastic about things that glow in the dark. So the next time you're tempted to try the latest health fad, remember Eben Byers and his unfortunate encounter with Radithor. It might just save your life (or at least your jawbone).
