In 1896, just a few weeks after German physicist Wilhelm Röntgen published his discovery of X-rays, H.J. Hoffmans, a high school principal, and Lambertus Theodorus van Kleef, director of a local hospital, put together an X-ray machine of their own from parts they found in Hoffmans’ high school in Maastricht, the Netherlands. They tested it on van Kleef’s daughter’s hand and it worked like a charm, a dangerously huge levels of radiation-releasing charm.

The machine ended up in storage at the Maastricht University Medical Center where it was promptly forgotten until it was dug up last year to use as a visual aid in a documentary on the history of medicine in the area. Curiosity piqued, MUMC medical physicist Gerrit Kemerink decided to run the old machine through its paces and see what it could do.

“To my knowledge, nobody had ever done systematic measurements on this equipment, since by the time one had the tools, these systems had been replaced by more sophisticated ones,” said Dr Kemerink.

Kemerink’s team thought it best to use a cadaver hand to experiment on this time around rather than somebody’s lovely daughter since the radiation emitted by this very early machine was likely to be dangerously high. (People didn’t realize radiation could be harmful until a year after Röntgen’s discovery.) The researchers used the original equipment — an iron cylinder wrapped in wire and a glass bulb called a Crookes tube with electrodes at each end — powered by a modern car battery.

They used both a modern hospital radiation detector and the glass photographic plate Hoffman and van Kleef originally used, and found that using the modern detector the machine took a fairly clear picture but there was some blurring from the wide scatter of the X-rays and the cadaver hand got hit with a dose of radiation dose 10 times higher than it would have received from a modern system. Using the far less sensitive period photographic plate, the team found that the machine gave the skin a dose of radiation 1,500 times higher than it would receive from a modern machine.

The researchers were of course protected by a lead shield whenever the machine is on, but the experiments didn’t produce enough radiation to harm them. It sure did look and sound fantastic, though.

“Our experience with this machine, which had a buzzing interruptor, crackling lightning within a spark gap, and a greenish light flashing in a tube, which spread the smell of ozone and which revealed internal structures in the human body was, even today, little less than magical,” they wrote.

It’s very 1931 Frankenstein, only in color. You can see and hear it in action in this video from Wired:

On February 16, 2001, Gary McMaster, curator of the Camp Roberts Historical Museum on what is now a training base for the Califor­nia Army National Guard, received a letter postmarked August 9, 1944. The hand-written envelope was addressed to Miss R.T. Fletcher, at the base’s Red Cross hospital. Since the hospital had been torn down decades earlier, the mail carrier figured the historical museum would be a reasonable substitute.

Naturally McMaster was intrigued by this piece of World War II history dropped in his mailbox as if it had been sent days ago. He decided to try to find the addressee, but out of concern for their privacy, without reading the letter. USPS had no information. It could have come from the dead letter depot in Atlanta, but according to Joseph Brecken­ridge, a postal service spokesman in Atlanta, it’s more likely someone just found the letter in an attic somewhere and decided to pop it in the mail. The return address was obscured by a tear in the envelope, but the postmark marked its departure point as Montgomery, Alabama.

He decided to tell the Montgomery Advertiser about the letter, hoping against hope that the sender, the recipient or relatives who could perhaps recognize the letter might still live in the area and would see the article. The newspaper ran the story and it caused a little sensation. The AP picked it up, and soon McMaster was getting inquiries about the letter from press around the world.

One of the stories was seen by R. T. Fletcher’s daughter. She recognized her mother’s maiden name and the handwriting on the envelope as that of her uncle, her mother’s brother, who was a soldier stationed at Maxwell Field in Mont­gomery in August of 1944. She faxed McMaster copies of other letters he had written her mother during the war, and the handwriting did indeed match. Although sadly her uncle had passed away years ago, Miss Fletcher is 90 years old and still going strong.

There was also another, even more awesome, clue that this was the right person. Miss Fletcher had told her daughter stories about the time she performed on stage with comedian Red Skelton at Camp Roberts.

McMaster said Camp Rob­erts was one of the largest ar­tillery training centers in World War II.

“We had people from all over the country at Camp Roberts,” he said, including Robert Mitchum, William Holden and Red Skelton.

Fletcher had told her fami­ly that while she served at Camp Roberts, she was in a play that featured Skelton, a popular comedian. McMas­ter was able to find a pro­gram from that show at the museum.

Lo and behold, her name was on the program as a bit player in this Red Skelton scrapbook.”

Turns out that Fletcher was a Red Cross volunteer, and she was coordinating en­tertainment for the soldiers and patients at the hospital at Camp Roberts. Many of them were recuperating from combat injuries, McMaster said.

McMaster had just recently mounted an exhibit at the museum about Red Skelton’s time on the base, which is why he had the scrapbook handy.

With the Skelton evidence and the handwriting match, Gary McMaster was satisfied that he had found the addressee. The letter is currently winding its way to Miss Fletcher’s daughter via registered mail. She will then deliver it to her mother in person, 66 years after it was first sent.