(This story was originally written and recorded for Retrocast 39, released on January 14, 2026.)
For Christmas this year, we had a small gathering, which included my niece Sierra, who lives out in Denver.
After dinner, Sierra thanked me for helping her do some research on an article that she recently wrote for the American Alpine Club, titled Foremothers: The Story Behind the Four Women Who Helped Found the American Alpine Club. It’s about four women who were integral to the establishment of the organization.
To be honest, my contributions were minimal, but we got into a discussion about just how difficult it can be to research the lives of women from the past. And the main reason is this: once a woman married, she often lost her individuality on paper.
Letters were addressed to Mr. and Mrs. John Doe, never to John and Jane Doe. Newspaper articles—even when the husband had nothing to do with the story—routinely referred to a woman simply as Mrs. John Doe.
I bring this up because the same issue appears in the story I’m about to tell you. It centers on a long-running medical problem suffered by a 46-year-old woman identified only as Mrs. Roy A. Burket. Her name appears eight separate times in a lengthy article that was published on the front page of the April 24, 1954, edition of the Akron Beacon Journal, yet her first name was never mentioned.
So, let’s give her back her identity. She was born Grace Louise Washington on February 7, 1908. She married Roy Abram Burket on January 26, 1927, lived at 833 S. Oakwood Drive in Akron, Ohio, and the couple had seven children together.
Grace’s medical situation began nearly a year prior to the article being published. She had been visiting relatives in Pennsylvania, when, on May 23, 1953, she was struck by what seemed like a severe stomach upset.
She immediately sought medical advice, but doctors were puzzled by her condition. They treated her with penicillin and other medications, ruled out the possibilities of appendicitis or a ruptured gall bladder, and she eventually returned home to Akron still suffering. It was only at Green Cross Hospital that X-rays finally revealed the culprit: a needle moving near her small intestine.
Despite knowing the cause of her pain, removing the object proved to be a frustrating medical challenge. Grace underwent two unsuccessful operations where surgeons attempted to find the pesky object. Because the needle was constantly shifting position, the operations failed, leaving her to deal with subsequent infections and abdominal inflammation. Despite the recurring, terrible pains, she was able to return to her job at Hower’s Department Store, where she had worked as a yard goods salesperson for the previous eight years.
The origin of the needle remained a complete mystery to everyone involved. Mrs. Burket had no idea how it entered her body, though her surgeon, Dr. A. L. Harbarger, speculated she might have accidentally swallowed it as a child. Another possibility was that she had swallowed it while cutting fabric at the department store.
Searching for a solution, Dr. Harbarger recalled reading about a specialized device called the Berman Metal Locator. It had been invented by Samuel Berman, a former electrical engineer for the New York City subway system.
He developed it at the suggestion of a doctor friend, who told Berman of a limitation with X-rays: that the images are two-dimensional and couldn’t show depth.
By 1940, Berman had perfected the machine and was demonstrating it during a lecture tour of Hawaii when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. His invention was immediately put to use and proved so effective that the U.S. military adopted it widely throughout World War II.
Which brings us back to Grace Burkett’s problem. Dr. Harbinger reached out to Berman, and he agreed to fly to Akron from New York City to see if his machine could be of assistance.
Upon his arrival, Berman was driven directly from the plane to the hospital with his machine, which was roughly the size of an overnight bag. The patient was prepared with a local anesthetic, and the medical team gathered to watch the engineer at work. Unlike the silence of a typical surgery, this procedure would be guided by the unique sounds of Berman’s “wand,” a 12-inch stylus connected to a main box.
The heart of the device relied on a delicate system of windings and transformers that created a magnetic field. As Berman passed the wand over Grace Burket’s body, the presence of the metal needle disturbed the field, sending a signal to an amplifier. The machine emitted a rising tone or “squee” as the stylus moved closer to the metal. By measuring the movement of the stylus on the surface, Berman could tell the surgeon exactly how deep the needle was embedded.
Guided by Berman’s precise directions, Dr. Harbarger made a new incision. In just a few minutes, the surgeon was able to pluck out the needle that had evaded him for nearly a year. The needle, which measured approximately 1-1/2” (~3.8 cm), was found with pieces of tissue adhering to it, and was heavily corroded. The operation was a total success, and Mrs. Burket was reported to be in good condition following the procedure, and a review of Ancestry records shows that she lived another thirty-four years, passing away on July 15, 1988, at the age of 80.
One final note on this story is that Dr. Harbarger was so impressed by the performance of the $695 (~$8,400 today) machine that he ordered one for the hospital immediately, calling it “the most remarkable I’ve ever seen.”
