I got to experience one of my lifetime (minor) dreams recently -- to see and feel a piece of Uranium. Here's a brief description for those of you who care -- I was in the Pacific Northwest and visited a friend who had the odd object. He's got this closet full of juicy mostly ancient technical toys that is kept locked; on the few times he's retrieved some item from this room, I wasn't allowed in, even though I know him fairly well. To the best of my knowledge few, if any, other people are let in. It's not because of illegalities etc, I've seen into the room, it's filled with obscure instrumentation, cardboard boxes of surplus debris and other prized possessions. I heard through various rumor sources that he had some uranium, but I thought it rude to ask. On a recent visit, I told him I was looking for some specific electronic object, now forgotten did he have one. Hmm, let's look, and he invites me into -- the locked closet! Well sort of, it's stacked to the rafters, him standing on a pipe out from the wall to reach a box that contains the widget I'm looking for, me at the door leaning in as best I can. On the way down, I notice a small jar with a large yellow tag with a faded red radiation symbol, containing some tiny screws and a small metal bracket, presumably contaminated instrumentation parts. I mention I have my RadAlert radiation meter with me. We take the jar to a table, open it, place the meter over the opening -- after a minute sample, only background radiation. Upon returning the jar and contents to the closet, my friend abruptly picks a small black object from a shelf and says "let's check this". "What is it?" I ask. "Uranium". It's a 2 1/2 in square, 3/8" thick, with a 3/8" mounting lug on the back. I'm not so much skeptical as puzzled. He hands it to me. I'm good at determining materials be feel (hardness, weight, surface, machining artifacts, color, etc) but of course I've never seen U before. This thing is heavier than steel, lighter than lead, about 500 grams? It does not ring when tapped, but is soft like a lead alloy, in fact, it "feels" as if steel alloyed with lead. It is jet black, like a coat of anodize, it is definitely an oxide, slightly hard. From the medium-tolerance tool marks (lathe grooving obvious) the metal is slightly gummy, tool withdrawal from the part abrupt. I'm slightly nervous handling it; in my hand is just a chunk of metal, it's not warm and it does not move, only my conscious brain manages a weak warning. I take it over to the table, run the radiation meter over it; oh yes this thing is hot. At approximately 1" distance, laying on the table, I get 8400 counts/minute. (Background at sea level is about 14; Trinitite from the 1945 plutonium blast reads about 30 at 1".) Wanting data, but having only minutes to play, I slip a dollar bill between the meter and object (to block alpha radiation), reset the meter, and get a 5600 count/minute reading. Hmm, so 2800 counts/minute are alpha radiation, the rest presumably beta and gamma. Not something I want to carry in my pocket. I ask umm, do you have any more? he says no, this is all I have. I believe him. I covet this object. Back in the closet it goes, just placed back on the shelf. "I've handled tons of this stuff" back during employment at some facility or other. Before I leave, I wash my hands... and though I was tempted, I did not scrape the oxide with my fingernail or pocketknife to see what color was underneath. I'm quite certain it was U, and I assume U238 (since it's most common). It looks like it was a target for some test or other, with the flat surface with the lug behind, though it shows no wear other than some light knocking around in who know show many years since it was made -- 5, 10, 20, 30, 40, 50? Of it's origin I know only that it came in a pile of surplus equipment -- what it implies about inventory control is obvious. It's not stolen, only lost. The shape is not bomb material (which should be spherical or parts thereof) nor is it bulk metal. The total mass is relatively tiny, and is of no danger to anyone but it's owner.