THE MAN FROM NOWHERE
He was a strange one all right . . . just as the authorities said . . . this young man who acted as though he had just dropped in from another world . . .

He was just outside the new gate entrance to the city of Nuremberg, Germany, when an inquisitive policeman first noticed him. He was clean, but so poorly dressed that he was almost ragged. The policeman later told his superiors that he had first been attracted to the young man by the difficulty with which he seemed to walk . . . as though suffering from some deformity which caused him to stumble. His feet were badly swollen; his eyes were squinted against the light . . .

The inquisitve policeman tried to question the lad but he learned nothing . . . over and over the stranger kept repeating . . .

"I want to be soldier like my father was!"

It did not sound like an expression of determination . . . but more like a chant . . . as though the strange young man who uttered it was merely reciting words he did not understand.

The policeman led him to the station, where the Mayor and other local dignitaries gathered to observe and question this unusual visitor. In a monotone the young man continued to repeat his assertion that he wished to be a soldier like his father.

His name? He evidently did not understand what they were saying and he stared blankly. But when a pen was placed in his hand he giggled nervously and wrote in a slow, legible hand . . . K A S P E R H A U S E R. He could not . . . or would not . . . write anything else. But on that quiet Whitmonday afternoon in 1828, the young man had inscribed on the records the name that was to mark the beginning of a puzzle which remains unsolved to this day.

When food was placed before him, he seized it in his hands and crammed it into his mouth as though he were famished. A mug of cold milk was evidently something he had never ecnountered before and he recoiled from it. Water he drank, but not until he had sampled it with a forefinger.

Just before nightfall, while the baffled city fathers of Nuremberg were trying to decide what to do with their enigmatic visitor, he presented them with two more pieces to the puzzle . . . two letters wrapped in rags which he carried inside his tattered vest. One letter purported to be from his mother. Dated sixteen years before, it urged anyone who found the boy to send him to Nuremberg when he was seventeen so he could enlist in the Sixth Cavalry of which his father had been a member, according to the letter.

The other missive was badly written and purported tobe from someone who had found the boy and cared for him but who could no longer support him.

Oddly, both letters wree written on some sort of thin leather or parchment which was not familar to the officials ar Nuremberg.

Kasper Hauser, if that was indeed his name, spent that first night with the city's most learned man, Dr. Daumer, were the young man promptly astonished his host by trying to pick the flame off a candle. Further tests brought out that he had no depth preception whatsoever and, although he seemed to be in full pocession of his faculties, they were as undeveloped as those of a baby.

Although the condition of his feet and legs indicated that he had walked a considerable distance, no one could be found who had seen him on the road. A reward was offered for anyone who could identify him. Pictures were distributed throughout Europe, but to no avail. The more the officials probed, the deeper the mystery of Kasper Hauser became.

Under the kind and patient Tutelage of Dr. Daumer, Kapser Hauser learned quickly . . . first to speak . . . and then to write. He told his new-found friends that he had been raised since infancy in total darkness in a cellar . . . had never tasted anything but black bread and water . . . had never seen the man who brought his food in total darkness. He had seldom heard speech . . . and then only a few words. But how, or why, or where he had spend those years he had no idea.

In October of 1829, Kasper came stumbling out of Dr. Daumer's basement, bleeding from a deep gash on the head which he said had been inflicted be a masked man weilding a long knife. The city officials assigned two policeman to guard him after thtat . . . but while they dozed on the afternoon of December 14, 1833, Kasper Hauser went for a stroll in the park across the street . . a stroll from which he came staggering back a few mintues later . . . dying from a stab wound which surgeons said could not have been self-inflicted.

The snow in the park revealed no footprints other than Kasper's . . . and no trace of the weapon.

The well-documented facts in the enigma of Kasper Hauser etitled it to a place in the records as one of the stangest cases of its kind.

Von Feurbach wrote of him . . . "Kasper Hauser showed much ignorance of the simplest facts of life . . . and such horror of the necessities of civilization . . . that one feels driven to believe that he was a native of another planet . . . transferred by some miracle to our own."

-taken from "Stranger Than Science" by Frank Edwards -

Laugh for me.