The article below was published in the daily newspaper L'Est Républicain, Nancy, France, pages 1 and 7, on November 3, 1954.
See the case file.
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[Photo caption:] This miniature world, being examined by the gendarmes of SARREGUEMINES, holds the key to many mysteries, many "sightings," and certain "interplanetary" hoaxes.
In yesterday's edition, by publishing on the front page of our newspaper the photographs that Jean Gérault claimed to have taken of a flying saucer from a distance of 12 meters from its landing site, we announced—while surrounding the photographer's revelations with the necessary caution—that we would not fail to keep our readers informed about the investigation that was sure to follow.
Alongside the investigation that the authorities would inevitably open, we intended to conduct our own inquiry into Jean Gérault's claims.
The results of this investigation came quickly. Shortly after noon, we were informed by our correspondent in Sarreguemines of the statements made to him by a young student from the town, Mr. Jacques Halb, who had just read our paper from the day before.
Mr. Halb informed our correspondent that he was the true author of the photographic montage, which he had created for fun to play a prank on his friends. He accused Jean Gérault of having stolen the montage in order to gain the benefits that one can imagine.
We publish further below, in detail, the statements of the student, Mr. Jacques Halb.
Yesterday, already, we wrote in the commentary accompanying the photos: "If there was fakery, this fakery itself is a feat."
Indeed, one must acknowledge the skill with which Mr. Halb created his little game—innocent in his intent, since he was unaware of how the young photographer Jean Gérault would exploit it.
As for us, by bringing to public attention the documents presented by Jean Gérault and the statements he made in our office during an interrogation, we believe we fulfilled our duty as journalists. Nevertheless, we made the natural reservations that are required in matters such as the story of flying saucers—where mystery, contradictions, fantasy, and the bizarre are interwoven with testimonies that are often sincere and frequently unsettling.
Before allowing ourselves to be even halfway convinced, we had, in particular, repeatedly drawn young Gérault's attention—in the presence of his father and godfather—both reasonable men with excellent reputations—to the importance of his statements and the serious consequences that would result for him in any case. We questioned him for more than two hours, having him return several times
Continued on page 7
[Photo caption:] Jean GERAULT, the inventor of the Sarreguemines flying saucer, claimed that the craft he saw at the roadside on the night of Saturday the 23rd was at least 5 meters in diameter. The object in the gendarme's hand has now taken on more realistic proportions.
(Photos Lorrain.)
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[Photo caption:] "You see," Mr. GÉRAULT Sr. told us a few moments after his son's return (our photo), "you never really know your children." (Photo Hugy.)
(Continued from the front page)
...revisited certain details of the circumstances of its discovery, without detecting any significant variations or omissions in his account. The family's history of honesty, the credibility attached to the name and presence of his father, the apparent sincerity and firmness of Jean Gérault's statements, and finally, the photographic quality of those soft documents, all seemed to significantly reduce the margin for professional skepticism and made it impossible for us to remain indifferent.
Moreover, the explanation—which you will read further on—of the mechanism of the trick, which Mr. Gérault turned into a deliberate deception, shows that it was practically impossible to uncover. The creator of the montage and its user were, in fact, two different people who did not know each other and had no connection or common ground, except for both having an irreproachable reputation.
Why did Jean Gérault commit this hoax? Completely devastated, he was unable to offer any acceptable explanation.
Once caught in the gears of his lie, he lacked the courage to extricate himself, to the point that, when taken to the scene yesterday morning by two of our reporters, he precisely and calmly indicated the spot "where," he said, "he had seen the saucer."
Ambition? A desire for publicity? The wish, shared by so many young people today, to carve out a role beyond their measure? We will probably never know. No matter...
In conclusion to our article yesterday, did we not write: "In the meantime, there will remain, in many minds—and in ours as well—a question mark regarding the nature, the origin, and even the reality of flying saucers, to which the documents and the story we publish today provide no decisive answer."
SARREGUEMINES (from our special correspondent):
Jean Gérault appeared very at ease during the whole trip, chatting with us and showing great good humor. Upon reaching the bend before Welderding, about one kilometer from the village, he signaled for us to stop. It was around noon.
Gérault walked directly to a tree on the right side of the Welferding road and pointed out a spot about twelve meters away, on the other side of the path, where he claimed to have seen the object. Upon inspection, this location did not hold up: the foreground visible in the photo was absent from the actual terrain, and the slope of the ground would have required the saucer to be far above him. He would have had to adopt an acrobatic and unlikely position to take a series of photographs.
However, twenty meters farther on, the landscape matched the photo much better. Gérault, still very relaxed, simply said: "Strange, I don't remember it being so close to the bend. And I thought the tree I was leaning on was bigger."
But one could imagine the presence of a craft in the field before us: an open, fairly flat field, a rise in the terrain roughly matching the ground shown in the photo, shrubs resembling those depicted, etc.
Of course, none of this was conclusive, but there were no glaring inconsistencies either. Not far from there were some small farms. The residents, when questioned, had seen nothing: it was 11:30 p.m. and they were already in bed. Again, nothing could be proven either way. Additionally, there were no traces in the grass.
It was then 1:30 p.m. Gérault went so far as to recommend a restaurant. On the way, the young man's landlord, Mr. Léon Bour, was among the crowd of excited Sarreguemines residents. He struck up a conversation: "He's a very serious young man," he told us, "I've known him for eight months, I vouch for him."
Meanwhile, Gérault was telling Mr. Bour, looking quite proud of himself and still unflinching: "Now you understand why I kept quiet for eight days!..."
Then he confidently walked into the restaurant. He had barely taken a seat when gendarme Tritz entered the room, sent by his brigade chief. Mr. Meyer, the young photographer's employer, was with him. "Get up," said the officer, "and come with me, I have to question you."
The young man initially reacted arrogantly, but within moments, his bravado crumbled. The gendarme had already begun his investigation and knew enough to throw Gérault off balance. Nervously overwhelmed, Gérault suddenly fainted.
Revived and taken into a small room, he began to confess. Here's what happened: it was a clever montage patiently created in his spare time by an amateur engineer-photographer and photographed by him "to fool his friends." The photographic document had been taken to Mr. Meyer's shop. Gérault, in charge of developing, noticed the film and simply stole it.
The whole affair began on a Sunday, October 24, the day after Gérault claimed to have "seen" the saucer.
A young man from Sarreguemines, Mr. Jacques Halb, age 17, a student in Metz and son of a well-known former magistrate, had gone to the cinema. He noticed an advertisement from "La Pie qui chante." It read roughly: "We offer one kilo of our candies to anyone who can bring us a photo of flying saucers."
Was Jacques Halb tempted by this enticing offer? In any case, the next day he decided, for fun of course, to execute the idea.
Nothing could be simpler for this clever and creative mind. The day before, his parents had collected moss from the fields for their turtle. This moss became the ideal landscape. A few crushed brick pieces, the size of fingernails, formed the ground's texture. The saucer was simply a 12-centimeter stove ring; the upper dome was a light bulb sawed in half, the body molded in clay on the ring. The antenna was a mere copper wire, five centimeters high, planted into the clay. The saucer was built.
All that remained was to set the scene: a cardboard box with one side removed served as a frame. In the background, carbon paper simulated a pitch-black night. Three converging lights illuminated the setup: two 40-watt bulbs and one 60-watt bulb. A bit of cigarette smoke gave the illusion of blur and infinity. Everything was ready for the photo.
Mr. Halb used a Kodak 6x9 camera. He positioned it 13 centimeters from the miniature scene, adding a magnifying lens to the objective. He darkened the room and triggered the shutter. He took four shots in quick succession. The trick was done.
He had spent three hours building the setup. Four minutes were enough to take the photographs. All that remained was to develop them.
The next day, Tuesday, he went to Mr. Meyer's shop, where he was received by the latter's wife. He handed over his film and thought no more of it.
The film passed into the hands of Jean Gérault.
According to him, he developed the film that same evening. What went through his mind? He remembered a film he had seen a few days earlier that had left a strong impression: *The War of the Worlds*. He heard about flying saucers daily. Maybe he wanted to create a persona, to boost his prestige among his peers? In any case, it's clear he had no idea how big this story could become.
Whatever the case, he had no qualms. He pocketed the film, developed it, found it intriguing and... kept it. The next day, the rightful owner was to come retrieve his negatives. Nothing was easier. Gérault collected seven blank negatives, placed them in a bag, added one real but underexposed and unreadable negative, and had Mrs. Meyer give them to the client.
The sleight of hand was clumsy: Gérault had chosen various bits of film that were easily identifiable to any photography enthusiast and of different colors. But the student, told the photos were ruined, didn't look too closely.
Thus, Gérault had the original negative. He waited a week and, upon returning to Vézelise for All Saints' Day, he produced the print and showed it to his father.
The latter, in good faith, got excited about his son's "discovery" and, on Monday evening, brought Jean Gérault, along with his godfather, to Nancy to make the declarations we know about.
On Tuesday morning, upon seeing the newspaper that everyone in Sarreguemines was talking about, Jacques Halb exclaimed: "But those are my photos!"
He alerted our correspondent and the gendarmerie, and Gérault was received in Sarreguemines in the manner we've described.
The people of Sarreguemines, who at 1 p.m. had welcomed the young man as a hero and had crowded around him to hear his story a hundred times, now rightly viewed him as a thoughtless and unscrupulous fool.
And Gérault, on his way back, anxiously awaited the moment he would have to face his father.
Let us leave him to these confrontations and hope that the extravagant adventure he threw himself into will at least help temper, for a time, the extraordinary psychosis surrounding flying saucers.
