Gunfire in the Laboratory - T. Henry Moray and the Free Energy Machine
by Jeane Manning

Doctors of science... are just as involved in industrial espionage as are their business counterparts. And so T. Henry Moray's Radiant Energy Device was... suppressed by readiness, suspicion and desire for power. . .
John Moray,

The Sea of Energy in Which the Earth Floats

Professional skeptics were stumped, a generation or two ago, by an invention in Utah. Incredulously, people witnessed a working "free energy" device. Men of science mailed impressive credentials ahead to open the inventor's workshop door, then strode in to examine his table top apparatus from all angles, poking it and interrogating him in their search for evidence of fraud. Scientists were allowed to dismantle everything except a delicate two-ounce component, the Radiant Energy detector.


When the unit was put back together, they ended up witnessing—but not all believing their eyes—as the self-contained unit converted some unknown energy into usable power, and ran continually for days at a time. Without any moving parts, the device produced a strange cold form of electricity which lit incandescent bulbs, heated a flat iron and ran a motor.

The inventor—T. Henry Moray, D.Sc. of Salt Lake City, Utah—in the late 1920s was a confident thirty-three-year-old engineer with a young family and a gift to give humanity. The gift was his Radiant Energy invention, which as he saw it converted power from the cosmos from rays which, on their eternally-launched flights through space, constantly pierce the earth from all directions.

Despite his self-confidence, there were hints that he might be stopped from mass producing his device. His family was harassed by mysterious threats. "Your husband's life is not worth a plugged nickel unless he cooperates on Radiant Energy," an anonymous caller told Ella Moray over the telephone. Their home was repeatedly broken into when the family was away, as if in warnings of worse to come.

But the young man believed in his dream, and expected that the world would accept his discovery and would eventually have abundant clean energy for homes, vehicles and industry. Many people did arrive at the Moray house in apparent sincerity, and he tuned up the Radiant Energy device for them.

An example of Henry's work in 1926 is described in the book by Henry and John Moray, The Sea of Energy In Which the Earth Floats, in a letter from E. G. Jensen to an associate. One October morning in that year, Jensen, another businessman, an attorney, and Henry Moray packed his electrical equipment and a lunch into an automobile and drove into the Utah mountains. Henry kept an eye on the cloudy sky through the car window; he did not like to work in a storm. His spirits rose when the sky lightened occasionally and cheered him with shafts of sunlight.

He sat back and let the other men pick the location; the more they had a hand in the work, the more likely that they would believe it. They chose to drive 26 miles from the nearest power line, to a spot on a little stream which undulated down a grassy flat to Strawberry Lake. After they unloaded the car, the businessmen pounded the six-foot long lower section of his ground pipe into the creek bed, then screwed a four-foot section of the half-inch water pipe onto it. Also without help from Henry, the wit-nesses to the test put up two antenna poles about 90 feet apart.

Other than the antenna and ground wires, Moray's only equipment was a brown container about the size of a butter box, another slightly smaller box, a fiberboard box about 6 x 4 x 4 inches containing mysterious "tubes" and one other piece—a metal baseboard with what seemed to be a magnet at one end, a switch and a receptacle for an electric light globe as well as posts for connecting wires.

He set these parts on the car's running board and stood on a rubber mat on top of two dry boards to protect against electric shock. Wrong plan; it turned out that the running board was not wide enough to be a workbench. Unruffled by the change of plans, he gently moved his equipment onto the planks on the ground. Snowflakes drifted lightly in the air, so the three spectators hung a tarpaulin over open car doors to protect the electrical equipment.

Before Henry primed and tuned his apparatus, he put a key into the post and showed the men that there was no power flowing. Then he tuned the device by stroking the end of a magnet across two pieces of metal sticking out from what seemed to be another magnet. After tuning for about ten minutes, Moray put the key into the post, and the 100-watt light bulb brought along by one of the men burned brightly for fifteen minutes.


Jensen wrote that the light was even, without fluctuations.

While the light was burning, Mr. Moray disconnected the antenna leadin wire from the apparatus and the light went out. He connected it again and the light appeared. He also disconnected the ground wire and the light went out.

Mr. Moray . . . said he could do the same thing in the middle of the Sahara Desert or in the deepest mine. When the demonstration was over we congratulated Mr. Moray and I felt confident that he had a real invention and that no hoax was being perpetrated.

Where, then, was the dazzling light—the strange electricity which seemed to ignite the entire contents of a light bulb—coming from? Moray's device had no batteries. Was this Utah scientist gifted with advanced intuitive understanding about a previously-unknown source of energy?


The answer may be found in Henry's words:

"Energy can be obtained by oscillatory means in harmony with the vibrations of the universe ... the Moray Radiant Energy Device is a high-speed electron oscillating device."

He also said that those vibrations continually surged onto the earth like waves onto a seashore.

"The power—the surges—would come in so strongly during the day that it would burn out his detector," Henry and Ella Moray's oldest son, John Moray, told the author. "So he mainly worked at night."

Since the device seemed to go against current "laws" of physics, professional doubters went to ludicrous lengths in attempts to dismiss it as a hoax. Moray's sons remember the family laughing about a visitor who saw the device working in Moray's basement.


He insisted that,

"Mrs. Moray was secretly powering it; she must have been pacing back and forth on a carpet upstairs and generating static electricity!"

Would-be debunkers, sabotage, and lack of funding were only some of the obstacles in the way of further developing the invention. Because of betrayals, Henry Moray himself eventually distrusted people outside his family and he guarded his technical secrets closely—even to the point of losing a potential business deal.

Causes for Henry's untrusting nature are outlined by John Moray, in the second edition of The Sea of Energy. To begin with, a heritage of wariness was passed on from previous generations. Henry's mother, Swedish immigrant Petronella Larson, had a rather difficult life before she married an American, James Cain Moray. James had been born in Ireland to a family which had to hide from being killed by political enemies. After Henry's father died (in Salt Lake City) of natural causes, certain individuals—people whom the Morays trusted—swindled his mother out of the family fortune.

She turned to her only son, hoping that Henry would specialize in money matters, and she insisted that he attend a Latter Day Saints (Mormon church) college because it had a good business course.

However, from the age of nine Henry had had a driving interest of his own—radio and electrical science. In his spare time as a boy he searched the garbage dump for scraps of wire and other materials for basement tinkering. By age fifteen, he had a job wiring houses, which taught him more about electricity. Meanwhile, the beginnings of the Radiant Energy concepts were pounding through his mind. In the summer of 1909 he started experimenting with taking electricity from the ground, and by autumn of the next year he had enough power to run a miniature arc light. Thinking about Benjamin Franklin's kite experiment, Henry at first figured he was dealing with static electricity. He later changed his view.

He firmly believed in his energy idea, despite the reigning scientific ideas which would label it as impossible. Even when his experiments only converted enough energy to make a slight click in a telephone receiver, he was sure that he was on the right track. During Christmas holidays of 1911, he became more certain that the mysterious energy was not static, but was oscillating (swinging back and forth) like pendulum upon pendulum across the universe. And he realized that the energy was not coming out of the earth, but instead it was coming to the earth from some outside source. The electrical oscillations pound the earth day and night, "always coming, in vibrations from the reservoir of colossal energy out there in space."

After a correspondence course in electrical engineering, the next step in his education was an extended stay in Sweden; he went on a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. The young mission-ary managed to study science at the University of Upsalla and complete a doctoral thesis. Naturally, the thesis related to his idea that there is energy throughout space.

While he was a homesick student/missionary in Scandinavia in the summer of 1913, Henry picked up a soft, white stone-like material out of a railroad car at Abisco, Sweden. He also took some of the material from the side of a hill, tested it and decided the stone might be good to use in a valve-like detector of energy. This led Henry to his research in semi-conductive materials; from this stone he developed the "Moray valve" that was used in his early Radiant Energy devices.

After he returned to the United States in 1917 he married Ella Ryser and they later had five children. On his career ladder, Moray worked his way up through various jobs to electrical engineering and positions such as design engineer for the largest oil-cooled electrical switch yard in the world.

An industrial accident at a power substation in late 1920 burned the retina of his eyes and propelled him into legal battles for compensation.

In a way, losing much of his eyesight for years turned out to be a blessing. Although it meant an empty bank account at the time because he was unable to work at his usual profession, being forced away from the drawing table led him back into Radiant Energy research.

Far from being the stereotype of a reclusive basement inventor, Moray was known in his community and was listed in a 1925 Who's Who in Engineering. On July 24 of that year, Senator Reed Smoot invited the young inventor to meet with him in the senator's office in the Hotel Utah. Henry Moray made an offer which, if accepted, could perhaps have dramatically changed events in this century. Oil wars, nuclear plant accidents, acid rain were yet to come.

Henry offered his Radiant Energy discovery to the United States government. Free of cost. According to The Sea of Energy, the senator thanked Moray but replied that the government would decline such an offer.



"On the grounds that the government was not competing with public utilities."

Undeterred, Henry spent countless hours in his basement working on solid state physics with what he called the Moray Valve as a detector for radio frequencies. According to his records, early in the 1930s he made a radio which was no bigger than a wristwatch.

Part of Henry's invention was his pioneering use of semi-conductors. Moray's first germanium solid-state device (a transistor) was sent to the U.S. Patent Office in 1927, and was rejected on the basis that it would not work without a heated cathode. Heated cathodes were commonly used in vacuum tubes of that time.


This means that Henry Moray was so far ahead of his time in semi-conductor technology that the patent office had not heard of it, and so the bureaucrats decreed that what he had was impossible. Of course society later learned that cold cathodes are most definitely possible. But when the transistor was officially invented twenty years later, no credit was given to Henry Moray.

The second generation of Moray's radio valve not only picked up radio waves, it also detected a small amount of power. Launched by these experiments with semi-conductors, he followed a trail of discovery which led to his powerful energy converter. By 1939, a unit weighing less than 55 pounds, including its wooden case, converted 50,000 watts of power— enough to run a small factory. He tested it 90 miles from the nearest radio station, at a desolate area now known as the U.S. Army Dugway proving ground, and the device still worked.

Witnesses to his experiments included engineers and curiosity-seekers from other countries as well as local visitors from Utah Power and Light, the Secretary of State's office in Utah and other officials. As far as this author can discover, no one refuted Henry Moray's claim that his Radiant Energy device did run motors, light bulbs and a radio.

The invention had unusual characteristics. Photographers exclaimed over the intensity of the light from the bulbs—remarkably brighter than 100-or 150-watt bulbs normally shone.

While the invention converted energy from the cosmos into light and attracted well-known officials, some people entered Moray's life without leaving a calling card. For example, in 1939 he refused an offer to take his work to Russia. Soon the anonymous threatening phone calls began, telling Henry there was a contract out on his life.

Despite death threats, Henry Moray repeatedly worked on his strange electric generator in front of creditable witnesses. The only threat which stopped him from demonstrations came in the form of advice from his patent attorneys in Washington, D.C.—under patent laws he could have lost his rights to a patent if he showed his invention to just anyone.

The U.S. Patent Office itself was not much help either. That agency rejected seven patent applications for his Radiant Energy Device because the device did not fit the physics known at the time.

"Where is the source of energy?" the examiners asked.

One rejection notice from the patent office wrongly assumed that the energy was originally electromagnetic.


Moray, however, only said it is electrical after it hit his semi-conductors.

Henry carried on multiple battles at the same time. Instead of being helped to research the Radiant Energy device, he was hindered. In time-wasting letters he fought the patent office, treachery from business partners, and scientists who witnessed Radiant Energy and later denied it when their employers changed. And he had to be strong to keep his family's morale up in the face of unknown enemies.

John Moray remembers an incident in Salt Lake City when he and the other children were in the family car, with his mother driving. Sitting in the back seat, the boy felt his heart lurch with shock as a bullet crashed through the car and lodged in the windshield in front of his mother. "A classic black sedan with all the shades down almost forced her off the street, then sped away up 21st South."

Within a few weeks, an unknown assailant had also fired shots at Henry's friend S. E. Bringhurst, the first president of his research institute.

Bringhurst did not have bullet-proof glass in his car, and the bullet zipped past his head and out the rear of the car.

Henry bought a 32.20 revolver and a Colt .32 handgun to protect his family, in addition to the bullet-proof glass installed in the windows of his automobiles. The whole Moray family suffered as a result of the mysterious opposition to Henry's work. Mrs. Ella Moray lived in fear that some-thing would happen to one of the children, and the children paid the price of losing a normal childhood. They were forbidden to go anywhere by themselves.


Even when the boys were almost teenagers, they could not go out without an escort because of the threat of a kidnapping.

Violence in Henry's laboratory also shocked the family. A man named Felix Frazer who had been sent by the Rural Electrical Administration to work in Moray's lab went crazy with a sledge hammer (or as some reports say, an axe) one day, and destroyed the Radiant Energy machine. He had not broken into the lab; he had been hired to work there!

What type of person would hammer an important invention into useless pieces—destroy a device which took years to perfect and which contained expensive and almost irreplaceable parts? John Moray describes the saboteur as,

"a double agent trying to force Dr. Moray to co-operate with the U.S. Department of Agriculture's Rural Electrical Administration and a communist government."

John was 12 years old at the time, and as a grown man he chronicled a related episode in the book Sea of Energy:

As a result of the constant threat to his life, my father carried a gun with him at all times. He carried a .32 in his pocket, and whenever he walked from the house to the laboratory at night he would wear a 32.20 revolver. He was an excellent shot in the old Western sense . . .

On three different occasions, he was attacked at his laboratory and shot his way out of the situation.

The incident of March 2, 1940, particularly stands out. . . Late that afternoon a friend of mine and I were playing on the front lawn of our home. My cousin was just starting up his car, which was parked beside my father's car in the garage—the two cars side by side, from the street one could not tell which car was being cranked or who was driving.

Suddenly several men in a sedan turned into the driveway and pulled guns as if they intended to fire on the car that was starting up in the driveway. When my cousin backed out, the men could see that it was not my father, and they quickly drove away.

I told my father about the incident and he laughed, trying to minimize it to prevent my worrying...

Henry Moray later drove John and his two sisters to the Centre Theatre. After the movie, the youngsters phoned home as instructed. They were told to wait there; mother would pick them up.

However, no one came, and we waited for several hours. Finally my cousin Chester picked us up. When we arrived home we discovered that my father had been shot in the leg and the doctor was there ... the president of the company was also there.

Henry Moray had gone to his laboratory that evening. When he was ready to leave and had the front door open, he remembered to pick up some materials from a locked inner office. As he fumbled with keys in the dark, he had the impression someone was coming up behind him. As he turned to look, a heavy object hit his right shoulder, leaving the arm half-paralyzed. With his left arm, he grabbed the assailant's head. While Moray pinned the assailant to his left side, the man's gun became entangled in his overcoat.

As the first man struggled, a second man carrying a gun ran up. Henry Moray kicked the second man, knocking his gun free at the same time as the first man's gun discharged. The bullet travelled downward, grazing the side of Moray's leg, and ricocheted off the concrete floor. Moray's right arm came back to life enough to get his own gun out. He pointed it at the two men and waved them out the front door.

"He was immediately fired upon again by someone at a distance," John Moray writes.

He returned the fire, knocking the third gunman down. A fourth man rushed up to help the wounded gunman. Henry recognized this man as Felix Fraser (Rural Electrification Administration Engineer).

The second man said to the first assailant,

"Well, you weren't as quick on the draw as you thought you were," and Henry Moray recognized the voice of a FBI man he had known at one time as a security guard.

At that point, Henry realized he was all alone in a very difficult and dangerous situation.

Bleeding severely, Henry knew he would faint at any moment. If he fainted while the men were there, he would be at their mercy.

"So in panic he told them to get out, pretending that he had not recognized any of them, and the men promptly left."

Henry Moray was an excellent shot and could have killed his assailant in his laboratory, but Moray was not a violent man.

Suppressed Inventions and Other Discoveries

He believed the harassments were intended to force him to turn over his laboratory notes to Felix Fraser and associates. He tested his theory the next workday. His family helped him to hobble to the laboratory before anyone arrived. Julius Noyes, his assistant at the time, arrived at 8 A.M., greeted Henry, and went to work in the back room, while Henry did not move from behind his own desk.


John Moray describes the incident:

Later, Felix Fraser came in and rushed back to Julius Noyes. Shortly after, Fraser returned to the office and fussed around for a few minutes, looking at the floor. Then he came into my father's office and said, "Henry, why didn't you tell me you were shot?" Immediately Dad asked him how he knew that he had been shot. Fraser said, "Oh, Julius told me." But my father had deliberately prevented Julius from knowing of the shooting.

From then on, trouble multiplied. Henry Moray refused to cooperate further with the REA. John recalls that people attacked his father's credibility. His family later discovered that more than a dozen of Henry's original patent applications had disappeared from the U.S. Patent Office, although the file jackets remained there.

"The contents and applications themselves are gone ... Watergate was not the first great cover-up and act of duplicity," John Moray wrote.

Who stole the more-than-a-dozen patent applications? John Moray says the question will probably remain unanswered.

Over half a century after Henry Moray's discovery, his sons are still waiting for an investor who will fund the expensive development of the Moray device; engineering problems still have to be solved.

Some researchers believe that T. Henry Moray's secrets died with him and that the family and associates would not be able to replicate his device even if they had funding. After all, a saboteur had destroyed the priceless parts of the Moray device. Moray's sons, however, reply that Henry had built another working model which he later took apart, and that they inherited all his laboratory notes.

John remembers the later model, and he describes a 1942 trip to the mountains of Colorado with his father and the device. Since it was during World War II, Henry had to scrape up enough gas rations for the round trip. He set up the experiment in a park and the unit performed smoothly.

"Well," said their host, "If you leave it here and if my engineers like it, we'll decide if we want to buy it or not." This is what Moray ran into all the time, John maintained, "My dad said 'thanks but no thanks.'"

The second generation of the Moray family of Utah has lived with the Radiant Energy project close to their hearts for decades. But their experi-ences make it difficult to trust all too many of the people who seek him out, even today. John tells about a friend of 30 years, with whom Henry left a piece of equipment. It was not even a power component; it was a measuring piece.


His friend tore the equipment apart looking for its sup-posed secret.

The financial cost of developing the Radiant Energy device was high, considering how difficult it was in the 1920s for even an upper-middle-class family to scrape together $400,000 for materials and equipment, John said. Translating to circa-1995 dollars, the Moray family spent millions on the Radiant Energy Device.


Their longtime goal was the development of Radiant Energy, which Henry described in 1958 (letter to Colin Gardner of California) as a source of energy,

"greater than that coming from the Atom, more unlimited and of no danger to the user whatsoever from radiations, residue, etc."

Gardner was one of countless people who contacted the Moray family after reading Henry's book Beyond the Light Rays or the later book. In 1958 Gardner conveyed his enthusiasm to fellow U.S. Navy officers at Point Mugu, California. In a letter to Moray, Gardner offered to connect his superior officers with Moray. Moray's reply illustrates his weariness at that point:

"The government has a funny way of going at investigating and/or accepting new ideas . . . That is why we are not first into space . . . Just sending me a form to fill out, treating RE as every other minor discovery, is of no interest to me. That is what all the government branches ever do. . ."

Moray left his laboratory door partly open to the Navy, however; and replied to a second letter from Gardner by saying that he would be delighted to meet Gardner's very top supervisors and discuss his "discoveries which are greater than nuclear fission."


However, added Moray,

"we have so many hundreds asking for information who take up our time needlessly that we cannot spend the time unless it is with those qualified (to under-stand Radiant Energy) and with high enough authority to deal."

Moray's office sent his confidential papers to Gardner's boss. After two weeks of silence from the Navy, the message relayed back to Moray was "it is felt that you do not have a commercial product for us to buy and use at our discretion."

This incident is only one example of difficulties facing independent inventors of unorthodox energy devices. Although Moray spent the family's bank account on experiments which produced a laboratory proof-of-concept device, he was expected to somehow without funding take it beyond that stage through the very expensive stage to a commercial product. A final product must be engineered and fine-tuned until it works consistently enough to be mass-produced. Today, the Moray brothers estimate it would take more than $14 million just to build the parts used in a Radiant Energy laboratory model (which is not as refined as a production model); they say that high-priced personnel, expensive test equipment and huge capital outlay would be needed.

Instead of a factory producing Radiant Energy units, Henry Moray had one model which he tore apart—"cannibalized"—to re-use its expensive parts whenever he built an improved model.

Similar in another way to fellow independent inventors throughout the century, Moray's experiences with would-be financiers was discouraging. Moray Products Company, for example, seemed to be going well until Henry found out that the company's treasury was being pilfered from within. Stocks were being sold without benefit to either himself or the company; the thieves kept no records of those stock down-payments and also ignored offers from investors who would have exposed the pilfering. Henry Moray took these associates to court. The costs bankrupted him, and the company broke apart.

To add to his distress, Henry's closest friend, W. H. Lovesy of Utah Oil Refining Company, died under mysterious circumstances in a one-car accident. A hitchhiker who was never identified walked away from the crash.

Hearing the family talk about so many troubling incidents for so many years, John Moray was bound to grow up with a grimly determined set to his jaw. From childhood John lived with the expectation that he would continue the work his father began. As a boy he would be rewarded for good behavior by being allowed to go downstairs to the basement laboratory in the evening and watch his father experiment. (In 1939 Henry built a 50-foot by 60-foot laboratory with four rooms above it, and the workshop was moved outside of the house permanently).

Around 1950, Henry and his grown sons sat down to brainstorm a plan for financing Radiant Energy development. Richard volunteered to go to Canada and invest in land, and Henry and John stayed in Salt Lake City. Richard and his family found it more difficult than expected—battling bureaucracy in British Columbia in an attempt to develop a subdivision was not always successful. John had planned to go into electrical engineering, but found that the University of Utah physics department was more flexible in allowing him to choose courses.

Nearing the end of his lifetime, Henry Moray became "more and more amazed," wrote John, "for he had never believed he could really be stopped." Dr. T. Henry Moray passed on in 1974.

Interviewed in 1994, John Moray was (in his sixties) a retired army colonel now working full-time as a substitute teacher in Salt Lake City, getting up before 5 A.M. to work on correspondence, and thinking of selling the laboratory. The family had by no means abandoned Radiant Energy, he said; keeping within their budget they contract out work on the project. One time-waster, the family has discovered, is battling at rumors.


The latest wild tale which John heard was that there was a Moray device in his basement.

"What a ridiculous statement; that is the last place we would keep one!"

"If I had a machine, what good would it do to show people? If they don't believe the tests that have already been run, they're not going to believe what they see anyhow."

What part did secretiveness play in the fadeout of Moray's Radiant Energy technology?


And is secretiveness a result of today's patent office/attorney/competition-oriented setup?


Admitting that his father refused to release specifics about his invention without first getting signed and legally-binding contracts, John Moray wrote in The Sea of Energy that,

"If this is carrying an invention as too tight a secret then why do patent laws require it?"

What factors most suppressed the Moray device? John replies,

"Finances. And also personal animosity, ego, avariciousness . . ."

The violence?

"It was always over money."

The ego factor enters when a scientist values a reputation as an expert more than truthfulness. This was underlined when Richard Moray visited Harvey Fletcher Sr. before the eminent scientist died of old age. The man had publicly denied that he had seen a working model of Henry's invention. Now the scientist was well into his nineties and apparently making peace with his life.

"He admitted that, yes, the Radiant Energy device worked just like my father said," Richard said in an interview, with a look of deep frustration. "I asked him 'then why, why did you do what you did?'" Richard measured out his next words flatly. "He said 'because I couldn't admit that I didn't know . . .'"

Ego, greed, excessive pride and distrust. Will enough people rise above these motivations and see themselves connected with all others in a sea of energy?


Perhaps then Radiant Energy units could light up this world.


  1. Burridge, Gaston. "Alchemist 1956?" Fate magazine, Sept. 16, 1956.

  2. Davidson, Dan A. Energy: Breakthroughs to New Free Energy Systems. Greenville, TX: RIVAS, 1977, 1990.

  3. Davidson, John. The Secret of the Creative Vacuum. Essex, England: C.W. Daniel Co. Ltd., 1989.

  4. Kelly, D.A. The Manual of Free Energy Devices and Systems. Clayton, GA: Cadake Industries and Copple House, 1987.

  5. King, Moray B. Tapping The Zero-Point Energy. Provo, UT: Paraclete Publishing, 1989.

  6. Lindemann, Peter A. A History of Free Energy Discoveries. Garberville, CA: Borderland Sciences Research Foundation, 1986.

  7. Moray, John E. and Kevin R. Non-Conventional Energy Symposium, Toronto, 1991.

  8. Moray, John E. "Radiant Energy." 1981.

  9. Moray, T. Henry. Radiant Energy. Garberville, CA: Borderland Sciences Research Foundation, 1945.

  10. Moray, T. Henry. Speech given Jan. 23, 1962, Valley State College, Northridge, CA.

  11. Moray, T. Henry and John E. "T. Henry to Colin Gardner, private letters." California: Walter Rosenthal collection, 1960, 1978.

  12. The Sea of Energy. Salt Lake City: Cosray Research Institute, P.O. Box 651045, Salt Lake City, UT 84165.

  13. "The Sea of Energy, A Means for the Preservation of the Environment By Drawing Kinetic Energy From Space." Boston: 26th Intersociety Energy Conversion Engineering Conference. Copyright American Nuclear Society.

  14. Valentine, Tom. "Free Electricity Generated from the Radiant 'Cosmos.'" NEWSREAL magazine. Date unknown.

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