The Source Field Investigations (4 page)

After giving ten days of hypnosis and sodium pentothal “truth serum” demonstrations at the Walter Reed Hospital in Washington, D.C., Backster began working for the Central Intelligence Agency as of April 27, 1948. Shortly after joining the CIA, Backster studied with Leonarde Keeler—a pioneer in the use of the polygraph.

“In addition to other classified activities, I was a key member of a CIA team that was prepared to travel to any foreign location to analyze the possible use of unusual interrogation tactics, including my original areas of concern, mainly hypno-interrogation and narco-interrogation. . . . Back in Washington, D.C., the polygraph operation I had established was becoming popular for the screening of applicants for employment at the CIA and for some general screening of key CIA personnel. The ever-increasing schedule of rather routine polygraph examinations started to interfere with my more creative interests in research.”
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Shortly after Leonarde Keeler’s death, circa 1951, Backster left the CIA—to serve as director of the Keeler Polygraph Institute in Chicago. This was the only classroom-type school teaching the use of the polygraph at the time. Backster went on to start his own polygraph consultant business, working with several government agencies, in Washington, D.C.—and then expanded into a second office in Baltimore, Maryland. By 1958, Backster had freed up the time to begin intensive polygraph research, and he developed the first standardized system for numerical evaluation of polygraph charts—which is still being used today. He moved to New York City in 1959 and continued to operate a commercial polygraph business. Seven years later, Backster struck gold.

Backster’s secretary purchased a rubber plant and a dracaena cane plant from a store that was going out of business. This was the first time Backster had ever owned any plants. On February 2, 1966, Backster had worked through the night in his lab, and finally took a coffee break at seven A.M. In those weary hours, Backster got an idea—he would try to connect his new dracaena plant to the polygraph and see what happened. Much to his surprise, the plant did not have a smooth, flat pattern of electrical activity—it was surprisingly jagged and alive, changing moment to moment. Then, as Backster kept watching in amazement, it got a whole lot more interesting.

In simple language, the plant’s electrical activity looked just like the graph from a person who was starting to tell a lie. Backster knew that if you want to catch someone lying, you first have to confront them about whatever they might be hiding. If your questions then cause them to feel threatened and anxious, the electrical activity in their skin gets much stronger. Backster wanted to see if he could get a humanlike response out of his new plant by threatening its well-being somehow.

Backster tried dipping one of the leaves into a cup of hot coffee. Nothing. He tapped one of the leaves with his pen. There was hardly any response.

What happened next would change the history of science forever—and the impact still has not reached our common, public awareness.

Dr. Cleve Backster’s graph of his dracaena cane plant having an electrical reaction right as he thought of burning one of its leaves.

As the plant continued to have what would be considered an enormous, panicked reaction, Backster then went and got matches from his secretary’s desk.

As of nine A.M., Backster’s associate Bob Henson came to work—and was fascinated when he heard about what Backster had just done. When Henson repeated the experiment and threatened the plant himself, the same reaction occurred. Backster now felt sympathy for the plant and did not let Hanson actually burn any of the leaves. In fact, Backster never again did an experiment that involved burning or threatening to burn plants.

In 2006, I called Backster’s research laboratory in San Diego to ask if he wanted to participate in a film shoot to dramatize this event in a modern classroom setting. Until I was actually on the phone with him, I did not realize that I had called on February 2, 2006—forty years to the day from when he first made this discovery in 1966. Backster agreed to do my movie. A few months later we brought him up to Los Angeles and spent a healthy chunk of investor capital for a professional Hollywood-level shoot.

In this key scene, Backster is invited to a college classroom to discuss his original experiment—while he has a live plant connected to his polygraph. One rebellious student in the audience gets excited and impatient, and wants to re-create the Backster Effect for himself. The kid jumps out of his seat with a lighter in his hand and runs toward the plant to burn it—but my character holds him back. The plant still “screams” from the fear of being burned—thus proving to the entire class that the Backster Effect really works.

This was how I had written the scene. I had a significant amount of investor dollars on the line, and Backster had promised to work as an actor and follow the script. To my horror, he refused to “pretend” that the plant was having a terrified reaction each time I held the kid back. We did take after take, but Backster simply wouldn’t act out his part. Unless he saw the graph actually go wild, like he witnessed in his original discovery forty years earlier, he obviously wasn’t going to have any kind of authentic reaction on camera. I then realized the only way I could save my film was to use the Backster Effect myself.

Up until then, we were only acting. There were no strong emotions going around. The kid didn’t really want to burn the plant, and I knew he wasn’t really going to try to push past me. The plant “knew” it wasn’t in any real danger—so as a result, its graph stayed nice and smooth. I knew I had to do something—and fast. The next time we did the scene, I sent that plant the blackest, darkest thoughts I could possibly conjure up—right when I confronted the kid. I really felt it deep down in my core. I absolutely hated that plant. I wanted to tear it to pieces. Burn it to a crisp. Right at that exact moment, the polygraph needle went completely nuts—just like a person screaming in terror. With the cameras still rolling, Backster said,
“Wow, we’ve got quite a reaction here!”
I saved the shoot—and proved, for myself, that the Backster Effect really works.

I then told the plant I was sorry, and sent genuine feelings of love to it, in case it could somehow hear me or feel me. The graph calmed right back down. Backster let me save the graph paper from this stunning event—and I still have it in the box with all the bills we racked up from that day of shooting. The script went through many more changes and we never ended up using our promo footage professionally, but I was very happy to get my own chance to experience the Backster Effect with the man himself—and really know, deep down inside, that it works. I also will never forget the day I was speaking to my landlady and her ten-year-old daughter about Backster’s amazing discovery. Her daughter suddenly ran outside and started rolling around in the grass, in total ecstasy, saying, “You can hear me! You can hear me!”

After his initial discovery in 1966, Backster found out that once you start taking care of a plant, it seemingly tracks your thoughts and feelings.

Backster used synchronized watches to prove that the plant was responding at the exact moment he made the decision. In another case, Backster set up a plant experiment in New York and traveled to Clifton, New Jersey, with his associate Bob Henson, who was unaware that his wife had set up a surprise party for their wedding anniversary. Backster noticed several strong reactions in the plant as they went through various phases of their trip—including the time they approached Port Authority, the time they boarded the bus for Clifton, the time the bus entered the Lincoln Tunnel, and the time they made the final part of the trip out to Clifton. Right at the moment they entered the house and everyone yelled, “SURPRISE!” the plant definitely felt it. Backster said, “There was a big reaction from the plant at that exact time.”
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Backster began leaving plants connected to his polygraph without trying to do anything—just observing their reactions and then trying to figure out what might have caused them. One day he found a very strong reaction—and eventually realized it happened right as he poured a pot of boiling water into the sink in his lab. I’ve been in Backster’s lab myself and know how disgusting those sinks can get. Later tests revealed that his sink was loaded with bacteria—“somewhat similar to the cantina scene from
Star Wars
”
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—and when the bacteria suddenly died from the scalding hot water, the plant perceived a threat to
its own
well-being—and “screamed.”

Backster later designed an experiment to try to standardize this effect. He tried to think of the most expendable living creature he could find—and he chose brine shrimp, which are commonly used as fish food. He invented a machine that would dump the shrimp into boiling water at a random time. The plants did indeed react, strongly, as the shrimp died—but only if the experiment was done at night, when no human beings were around in the lab. Otherwise, the plants seemed to “lose interest” in the shrimp; the energy fields from an average person were much stronger. Skeptics later attempted to repeat this experiment—but they did not follow Backster’s protocols.

This study was given a brief column-and-a-half write-up in
ElectroTechnology Magazin
e—and a stunning 4,950 scientists wrote Backster to request more information.
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Then, on November 3, 1969, Backster demonstrated this effect at Yale University Linguistics School. An ivy leaf was plucked and connected to the polygraph: “I then asked if they had any insects around that could be utilized for hopefully stimulating a plant reaction.” The students captured a spider—which is actually an arachnid, as Backster points out. They put the spider on a table and had one guy surround it with his hands so it couldn’t escape. The ivy leaf did not react during this time.