Local history: Akron professor experimented with Ouija board

Was it a harmless board game or a sinister portal to a phantom world?

Yes or no.

The Ouija craze swept Akron in 1918 as Ohio residents sought mystical guidance to learn the fate of loved ones during World War I.

“This talking board tells past, present and future,” Ouija advertisements promised.

Marked with letters and numbers as well as the words “yes” and “no,” the boards purportedly offered supernatural answers to earthly questions. Ouija users gathered in parlors, rested their fingertips on a wooden planchette and beseeched the spirit world to respond.

Giggles or gasps ensued if the wooden indicator began to move. As if guided by an unseen force, the planchette spelled out answers to simple queries or pointed toward yes or no. Or it just sat there doing nothing until bored players gave up.

The name Ouija is a combination of the French “oui” and German “ja,” both meaning “yes.” It was patented in 1892 but primitive models date back to ancient times. Talking boards, also known as spirit boards, gained popularity in the United States during the late 1860s as mournful users attempted to communicate with the Civil War dead.

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Akron stores couldn’t keep Ouija boards in stock during the 1918 fad. They retailed for $1 (more than $17 today), although knockoff brands like Mystic Hand sold for 65 cents. Most of the Akron buyers were women, store officials noted.

“We have sold 10 times as many Ouija boards in the last month as we ever sold in a like period before,” Paul Flanagan, manager of the toy department at the M. O’Neil Co., told the Beacon Journal. “The reason? Well, it seems to be the war. Many people have friends ‘over there’ they are anxious about. They want to know how they are faring or what the outcome will be.”

Emma G. Reed, a department manager at the C.H. Yeager Co., agreed that Ouija sales were brisk.

“Many of my customers are anxious to have a private fortune teller in their homes,” she explained. “Others are interested in the mysterious little boards because they had sweethearts, sons or friends in the Army.”

A warning about Ouija

University of Akron professor Oscar E. Olin, an ordained Universalist minister and instructor of philosophy and social sciences, was a major skeptic of Ouija.

Voices from beyond the grave? What complete balderdash.

He feared that the boards could cause psychological harm among those who developed too close an attachment.

“Many people, falling victims to its lure, have been mentally unbalanced,” he said. “Just as one may go insane over too close application to any one subject, so the Ouija board has its danger for the credulous, the superstitious, the hysterically inclined.”

So imagine Olin’s surprise when he tried Ouija and the planchette moved. 

He was toying with the board when, to his curiosity, the indicator seemed to spell out a word. He was alone at the time, so he couldn’t blame anyone else.

The professor developed a theory: Perhaps his fingers had acted on unconscious impulses from the brain. Ignoring his own advice on developing too close an attachment, he began to conduct “exhaustive experiments” with Ouija boards.

“Although I certainly did not practice conscious fraud on myself, I found that I was able to get frequently startling sentences from the board as long as I could see what was being spelled,” he explained.

To test his hypothesis, he constructed his own talking board that included several common words as well as letter groupings that made it easier to form sentences. But he also added an adjustable screen that could block his view of the board.

Ouija seemed positively verbose without the obstruction.

“The moment I adjusted the screen in place, however, that moment the messages were effectually cut off,” Olin said.

He invited several self-proclaimed mediums to test the apparatus, but no one was able to produce any messages when the screen was drawn and their vision was blocked, he said.

“This convinces me that practically all Ouija board messages are the result of causes far closer to this world than the realm of spirits,” he said.

Prophecy or fallacy

Breaking it down further, Olin estimated that 90% of Ouija messages were harmless fraud by users. People deliberately spelled out words to amuse or frighten others while denying they were doing it.

Of the remaining 10% of the messages, he theorized that fully 90% were “unconscious fraud” in which an “idea is held so strongly in mind that the muscles of the arm unconsciously spell it out.” 

That left just 1% that defied scientific explanation.

“Either the phenomena in this class are the result of spiritual influences outside of ourselves or are produced by spiritual forces within us with which we are not yet familiar,” Olin said.

With his experiments concluded, Olin put aside the Ouija board to resume more earthly matters.

“Daddy” Olin, as he was known to students, was a beloved figure on campus, having arrived in 1898 at what was then Buchtel College. In 1921, he and his cousin Charles R. Olin, a business administrator and former math professor, were honored when the university named Olin Hall for them.

Professor Oscar E. Olin retired from the faculty in 1931 after 33 years. He was 81 when he died Feb. 15, 1933.

“Always back of the teacher was the man,” University of Akron Dean Albert I. Spanton eulogized. “During the years I was associated with him, the friendship of professor Olin was one of the finest blessings of my life. His soul goes marching on. Thank God for such a life.”

The Portage County native is buried next to his wife, Marie, at Westlawn Cemetery in Mantua.

If curiosity seekers should attempt to contact the professor by Ouija this Halloween, he would remind them that it’s complete balderdash — at least 99% of the time.

Yes. No. Maybe.

Mark J. Price can be reached at mprice@thebeaconjournal.com.

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