The 1870s Doctor Who Defied Science and Suspended Patients in Mid-Air to Rebuild the Human Spine

In the early 1870s, at a time when medical science was still wrestling with crude tools, limited anesthesia, and bold experimentation, an American surgeon named Dr. Lewis Albert Sayre began conducting a series of procedures so audacious that they shocked many of his colleagues and fascinated the public.

Working from his clinic in New York City, Sayre—already known as one of the pioneers of orthopedic surgery—believed he had discovered a radical new path toward healing the human spine.

His theory? That gravity itself could serve as a powerful therapeutic tool.

On a cold morning in November 1872, a young boy named Edward Miller, age 12, stepped into Sayre’s clinic with his mother.

Edward suffered from severe spinal curvature that left him hunched, weak, and in constant pain.

Traditional treatments of the era often involved heavy iron braces, restrictive corsets, or long periods of immobilization, none of which had offered Edward any relief.

Sayre studied the boy quietly for several minutes before turning to the worried parents and saying, “If we can harness the force that bends men to the earth, we may also harness it to lift them back up.”

Sayre then introduced them to what he called his “suspension method.

” The concept was deceptively simple: the patient would be lifted off the ground by the arms, allowing gravity to gently stretch the spine.

Yet witnessing the procedure was far from simple.

Patients were secured with straps beneath their armpits while assistants hoisted them several inches off the floor.

The body dangled freely, swaying slightly as muscles strained to adjust.

For Edward, the moment he was lifted, his back elongated visibly, the crooked curves slowly straightening under the pull of his own weight.

“Hold steady,” Sayre instructed his assistants while he knelt to observe the shifting alignment of Edward’s spine.

He used a small ruler and pencil to mark the angles of curvature, making rapid calculations in his notebook.

“Remarkable,” he murmured.

“The vertebrae respond almost immediately to gravitational tension.”

But this strange, suspended therapy was only the first half of Sayre’s revolutionary idea.

While the patient remained hanging, Sayre prepared his second innovation: a full-body plaster-of-Paris jacket, a rigid shell that would freeze the spine in its newly corrected position.

The process was painstaking.

Assistants dipped linen strips into buckets of wet plaster while Sayre wrapped them firmly around the patient’s torso, layer by layer.

Edward hung silently, trying to remain still as the plaster cooled and hardened around him like a protective cocoon.

When the boy was finally lowered back onto the floor, he stood taller—straighter—than he had in years.

His mother covered her mouth, whispering, “He looks… new.

” Sayre simply nodded and said, “Now the body must learn to remember this alignment.”

Sayre’s “plaster jacket” quickly became the subject of intense conversation in medical circles.

At a meeting of the American Medical Association in 1877, he demonstrated the technique before a crowd of skeptical surgeons.

Many were horrified by the sight of patients being lifted by their armpits like marionettes, yet even the harshest critics could not ignore the striking improvements displayed by those who wore the plaster brace afterward.

One attending physician, Dr.Charles McBurney, reportedly asked, “Sayre, are you sure this isn’t too brutal a method?” Sayre replied calmly, “Brutality lies not in innovation but in allowing people to suffer when a remedy may exist.”

As Sayre refined his technique, he treated hundreds of patients: children with congenital scoliosis, adults with spinal tuberculosis, laborers injured in factory accidents, and women whose corsets had caused dangerous spinal deformities.

Newspapers began referring to him as “The Gravity Doctor”, a title he neither rejected nor embraced, preferring instead to focus on perfecting his craft.

His clinic became a place of both hope and fear.

The sound of plaster being mixed, the clinking of chains used for suspension, and the muffled gasps of patients being lifted filled the air daily.

Some fainted during the hanging process; others cried out in pain.

Sayre documented every case meticulously, noting the angles of improvement and the long-term effects of wearing the plaster jacket.

Over time, he developed lighter versions of the brace, improved suspension equipment, and new guidelines for patient mobility.

The results were undeniable.

For many patients, Sayre’s method was the first real chance at living without debilitating pain.

Children who once walked hunched over eventually ran and played again.

Adults who had resigned themselves to a life of stiffness regained mobility.

Sayre’s plaster jacket soon spread across Europe, inspiring refinements in France, Germany, and the United Kingdom.

Yet the method was not without controversy.

Critics argued that suspending patients could damage the shoulder joints.

Others worried about the risks of constricting the torso in a hard plaster shell.

Sayre countered these concerns with detailed cases demonstrating the safety of his procedures when performed correctly.

In one lecture, he declared, “Innovation demands courage—not only from the surgeon but from the patient who dares to hope.”

By the late 19th century, Sayre’s contributions had laid the foundation for modern orthopedic traction, spinal bracing, and non-invasive correction techniques used worldwide.

His bold experiments with gravity—once dismissed as theatrical and reckless—are now recognized as a pivotal chapter in the evolution of spinal medicine.

Today, while modern technology has replaced plaster jackets with advanced braces and surgical solutions, the core principle Sayre championed remains central to orthopedic science: the spine can be reshaped, supported, and healed through precise, controlled biomechanical forces.

Dr.Lewis A.Sayre’s daring blend of creativity, determination, and scientific rigor transformed the way the world understood the human spine—and proved that sometimes, innovation begins by simply letting the body hang in the balance.