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Psychic Discoveries behind the iron Curtain – Sheila Ostrander and Lynn Schroeder

Mikhail Germonov headed the theatrical section of the Evening Leningrad. Messing, making his debut in the city, gave an interview at the paper's offices. Germonov met a man of "medium build, with a shock of blue-black hair, bright, penetrating eyes, nervous and excitable."

Then Messing strutted his stuff. He located hidden objects. He glanced at books for the briefest moment then recited pages of material. He instantly calculated huge sums, solved complex problems involving square and cube roots.

As Germonov pointed out, Messing flawlessly ran through all the experiments that the famous mentalist Mikhail Kuni did. This was the kind of performance so dear to the Soviet psyche. Proof that at least some people could tap into the vast reserves of the human mind. And, as the thinking always went, if one could do it, maybe many others can be trained to do it.

What about telepathy?  Telepathy, Messing told the journalists, is forbidden by the authorities.  Yet when saying good-bye to Germonov's wife, he said quietly, "I know what's bothering you. Come to my room at the Empire Hotel tomorrow."

She went. Taking her hand, Messing said, "You want to know the fate of your brother."

Though the war was over, he was still listed "missing in action".

"Unfortunately," Messing said, "Anatole was shot and killed just a few days before the end of hostilities." Not good news, but the Germonovs believed him - in part because he used the correct name Anatole - and found some peace. Months later the military confirmed Messing's information.

Through war and repressions almost everything we take for granted in everyday life was non-existent in the U.S.S.R. Messing became a court of last resort. Though it was forbidden and a risk, he helped countless people.