by John Edward
I went to work. I’m a special-ed aide in a school. At around 9:15, I was in the office, and I felt faint. Lightheaded. I had to grab onto a table. They brought me some juice and told me to sit down. And this feeling wouldn’t leave me. Now, nobody knew anything about what happened yet. And then while I was sitting there, someone came in and told us about the towers. They brought a TV in and we started watching. My first thought was of my husband, not Mike. Mike was in Brooklyn so I didn’t freak out about him. But my husband was on Chambers Street. My daughter called and said she got through to the firehouse and someone told her Mike’s company was at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge. There was a lot of secondhand information going around that wasn’t true. I finally heard from Bud. He said he walked across the Brooklyn Bridge and was getting to a train. He said he was looking down and seeing fire trucks and kept looking for Mike’s truck number. But he didn’t see it. Then he said the bridge started to rumble, and he turned around and saw the south tower go down.
We didn’t know that Mike was in it. None of us thought his company made it there that quick, but it turned out they were one of the first companies to get there. They later found his truck. There were six men on his truck, all lost. I was later told that when they were pulling out, they were told, “You’re not going to put this one out. You’re there to save lives.” They all had looks on their faces that that’s what they were going to do. They were determined. Nobody really knows much about what happened to them, because when the towers went down, all the command posts were inside and the men in charge were killed, so there’s no record of where anybody was sent. So we don’t know how far up they got. All we know is that his company was last seen in the lobby of the Marriott.
I knew he was gone because of my dream and the sick feeling. All day people are saying, “They’ll find him,” but I knew Mike would not let a whole day go by and not call and make sure his father was okay. Because he knew that his father was very close to this. That’s what proved to me he was either gone or very badly injured. Bud stayed glued to the TV for days, hoping they would find him. They called those little pockets where people might have survived “voids.” I couldn’t watch. I knew he was gone.
Eileen and Patty, the two sisters who had one of the first post-9/11 readings I did on Crossing Over the first week of October, had a decision to make: Should they call their late sister’s friend Pat Kiefer and tell her about their reading? What if she doesn’t believe in this? Even if she does, is it too soon? It’s a bind I’ve unintentionally put people in before. (See the story of Andrew Miracola in One Last Time.) Without a doubt, it takes some guts to call someone you don’t know and say, “I’ve just had a reading with a medium, and your son came through with this message for you.”
Eileen and Patty knew Pat Kiefer, but not well enough to feel comfortable telling her about what had happened. Their older sister, Joanie, who died of cancer in 2000, was a friend and neighbor of Pat’s. Joanie’s husband had left her, so she had to deal with her illness on her own. Pat was always there for her, and especially helped her children, who were in their late teens at the time. Before she died, Joanie thanked Pat for everything she had done, especially in helping her kids. “You know I would do the same for you,” Joanie told Pat.
A week or so after their reading in the studio, Eileen and Patty decided to call Pat and ask if they could come for a visit. Pat assumed it was a condolence call about Mike and was glad to have them over. When they arrived and started talking about Mike, Pat told the sisters that she drew comfort from her belief that her son was still around. “I believe in signs,” she said, and as an example told them that for several days she had been seeing a lot of butterflies, and took that as a sign that comforted her.
When they heard Pat say she believed in “signs,” Eileen and Patty were almost dumbfounded. They thought immediately of the last thing I had told them: that the firefighter’s mom would “give you a sign” when she’s ready to hear the message.
“We have something to tell you,” Eileen said. She explained that she had gotten an appointment for a private reading with me on Crossing Over. It was originally scheduled for August but for some reason it was postponed. (This is not the first time I’ve heard of an appointment being postponed until after an event—this is the way they work.) Eileen told Pat that their reading had been rescheduled for early October, and during the reading, Joanie came through. She then told her that out of nowhere, I had asked them who the fireman was—that there was a fireman with their sister, and that she was making a motherly gesture. Eileen told Pat that I said it was important to get the message to her that her son was okay. Pat later told me: “It was as if Joanie was taking care of Mike, just like she said before she died.” Eileen then told Pat that another spirit, an older female with the name Maria, was also with Mike. Pat began to cry. Maria was her mother, Mike’s grandmother.
IN MID-OCTOBER, I tell Paul that I want to start doing readings for 9/11 families on a limited basis. I want the producers to randomly select people from the many, many letters and calls that have been coming in almost from the day of the tragedy (just as they randomly select people for the gallery and for private readings). My only stipulation is that I don’t want to do them in the studio. Instead, I want to go to people’s homes, with minimal crews and equipment. Before September 11, we were planning to add an element to the show in which I would go to people’s homes around the country to do readings, just as I had done when I started doing this work 18 years ago.
I like the idea of applying this idea to the 9/11 readings. I want to handle this as delicately as possible, which means I don’t want it to feel like a “TV” experience. I truly see this as an opportunity to try to help these devastated families. We come up with a plan that includes each family sitting first with our grief counselor so that they understand that mediumship is not a cure for grief. We agree that any of these readings that eventually go into the show will be presented like any other. We will not highlight them as “September 11 victims” or do anything to draw attention to them. One reason is that all of us on the show are very sensitive to the possibility that what we do could be seen as exploiting the tragedy. We know that’s not what it is, but by now we also know the media and the outside world in general are not quite as open to the idea that I might be motivated by a desire to help people. But the other reason I don’t want to call any special attention to these readings is that, as hugely tragic as this event is, I don’t want the passings of the victims of September 11 to be seen as more tragic or more important than others.
To do these readings and put them in the show, we need to convince USA Networks, which is understandably skittish about touching this subject in any way. Initially, their stance is that we can’t do it, at least not yet. But my point to them is that it would be strange if I didn’t do this. “The reality is that this is the work I do,” I tell them at one of our regular meetings in mid-October. “This show, my work, is about death and dying—how can I not deal with the biggest incident of death—especially when it’s in my own backyard?”
I manage to convince them and get them fully behind the idea of doing something positive—and at least to some degree I’m sure they’re thinking about how it will affect viewership. It’s clear from the feedback we’re getting that, whatever some people might think, our viewers want me to get involved with these families, as long as it’s done carefully, compassionately, and without a trace of TV exploitation. From that point of view, it seems we’re all on the same page—we at the show, the network people, and our viewers.
FOR A NUMBER OF WEEKS, I’ve been getting a mental impression to go see one of my high school teachers, Susan Blind-Cornell. The feeling has become almost relentless, so finally I decide to drive back to my old town of Glen Cove, go to the high school, and wait until the final bell of school rings. I check in at security and go to Susan’s room. I walk up to her and say, “Okay, what? I’m here.”
She laughs, gives me a hug, and asks “What took
you so long?” She walks over to her desk, opens her planner, and pulls out a letter. She tells me it’s from the mother of a former student of hers. The family has lost someone in the September 11 tragedy. I tell her not to say anything more. I’ve just agreed to start working with some of the 9/11 families, I tell her, and will pass the letter on to one of the producers who will get in touch with the woman. Normally I don’t make such promises, but obviously this is being arranged by greater forces.
A week later, Paul and I drive out to Glen Cove together for what I know will be my first reading for a family that lost someone September 11. This is unique on a number of levels, but the most obvious difference between this and just about every reading I’ve ever done is that I’m aware of a central element of the reading. I know that this family hopes to connect with someone whose passing I know something about. I start out by telling the family that I know why I’m here, but that they must understand that I might not connect with the person they want. This is something I say before all readings, but this time it’s especially important because their expectations must be so high. Still, I feel intense pressure to deliver.
I’m also aware that if I give them information about two tall buildings and planes crashing, even the most open-minded person would have to be skeptical. So what I’m hoping for is good, old-fashioned, solid, specific information about them, their lives, and their loved ones—in essence, validations no different from what I hope to give anyone I’m reading. They know how their loved one died; they don’t need to be told. They need what everyone needs: validations they can believe in.
Paul and I park in front of a house not far from the high school. Producer Kim Dunn and the crew are already there with the family, two women and two teenagers, a boy and girl. I know why I’m here, but not who will come through. For that matter, of course, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to connect. But a spirit comes through quickly, that of a male figure who gives me information that’s validated by the two teenagers, his children Michael and Michelle. I later learn that Michael, a college student in Boston, had the idea of asking Susan Blind-Cornell to arrange a reading. It’s known around the school that she and I are still close. Michael’s mother, also named Michelle, was surprised that it was his idea. She and her daughter are fans of the show, but Michael has never been particularly interested.
One of the most specific things that comes up in the reading—and which the family cites as strong validation—comes when the spirit, John, pulls my attention to the floor. There are wires everywhere. “If you guys look at this,” I tell them, “it’s messy. To me, that’s not what I would do. I would have this cleaned up. And the most important thing is making sure that you can’t see the work. If you see the work, a job was not done properly.” I turn to the crew and add, “No offense, guys.”
The family confirms the information with excitement.
“I’m either involved with fiber-optics or electrical things. In other words, he’s wire-related.”
It turns out that John Puckett was an audio engineer who had steady work setting up the sound system for business meetings at Windows on the World. On the morning of September 11, he was setting up for a nine o’clock meeting when the World Trade Center was hit. Michelle Puckett, John’s ex-wife and the mother of his two children, later tells me that he was extremely meticulous about hiding every wire and cable when he set up for a meeting or event.
John wants me to acknowledge to Michelle a problem with her teeth, and that he’s sorry about it. Michelle later says that she put braces on her teeth as an adult because she wanted to feel more confident with John, but that it had led to all sorts of dental problems. To her, this is a firm validation.
But among the three of them, it’s Mike who seems to get the most out of the session. After their divorce, Michelle says, there was a distance between John and Mike that was never fully resolved. “He had so much anger after his father passed,” Michelle says. “We needed him to go to his father’s house and take care of some things, and he said, ‘I can’t do these things.’ He felt we were pushing him too much. He didn’t want anyone else to cry. He didn’t like that I was crying. He’d say, ‘You’re crying for yourself.’ He was just very angry and confused. But after the session, he was like a different person. All of a sudden it was like the weight was lifted off his shoulders. He was so much calmer. He really felt like his father was there.”
It’s natural to wonder whether spirits of those who passed on 9/11 come through with anything that might offer some insight into what it was like in those towers. The answer is no. From the very first readings, all those I’ve connected with have come through no differently than any other spirits. John Puckett, for example, focused on the personal relations he had with his family, leaving what I hope is an imprint of love and support that they will forever remember and cherish. I believe that he and other victims of this gruesome event know that we all know what happened to them. It’s not a mystery. Therefore, they focus their messages on moving past it, on love, and on keeping our connections with the other side.
At the end of the session with the Pucketts, the tables are turned. One of the people in the room hands me an old school scrapbook that includes something my mother wrote—apparently it belongs to one of her old classmates who’s connected with this family. Then I remember that during the reading, there were various messages that made sense for me: a party, a royalty connection (my mother’s nickname, Princess). Today is October 19, my birthday. And then this family that has just suffered this unimaginable tragedy throws an impromptu birthday party for me, with heroes and a cake. It still brings tears to my eyes thinking about that moment. What a special gift of appreciation.
THE READING FOR THE PUCKETT FAMILY has gone very well, and they are very appreciative. But unfortunately, all our good intentions for stepping gingerly into this delicate territory go awry when, a week later, a Studios USA executive gives an interview to a TV industry website and is quoted as saying that we’re planning several shows around readings with families of victims of September 11. Whatever was actually said in the interview, there were never any “shows” planned, only random readings that would be sprinkled unobtrusively in future shows without any special attention being called to them. But the worst thing is that when the game of “media telephone” gets going—and when that happens, there’s no stopping it—it’s reported in the press all over the country that these “shows” are planned for the November sweeps. That puts it squarely in the realm of ratings and exploitation. Arrrrrghhh! It doesn’t matter that the studio executive is also quoted as saying that the shows “will be done tastefully and won’t be exploitative,” or that he notes that the idea grew after relatives of victims approached us, not the other way around.
Predictably, the reports trigger ridicule in the media and strong objections from viewers, station executives, and advertisers around the country, and the next day the network backtracks and decides to announce that it’s pulling these “shows.” I object to that wording because there were never any “shows” to be pulled. But the statement goes out anyway, leading to another day of embarrassing stories. As my hometown newspaper, Newsday, puts it, “bending to strong objections. . . . Studios USA scrapped the idea of the terrorism-related TV séance.”
All this breaks on October 26, while I’m in Anaheim. I see a news crawl on CNN that says “Crossing Over Crosses the Line.” A couple of days later, I’m on a satellite media tour, when the first questioner, a reporter in Atlanta, starts out by asking, “John, why’d you do it?” I decide to answer as straightforwardly as possible. I’m not going to defend the idea of theme shows, I already addressed earlier how I wouldn’t do theme shows . . . so why would I start now? But I will stand by my decision to work with 9/11 families.
“Why wouldn’t I do it?” I say. “This is what I do, and I will continue to work with these families. The event happened in New York, and most of our audience is made of people who come from the New York area.” Besides doing a f
ew readings for people known to be 9/11 families by the producers, it also seems obvious that before long some people who lost loved ones will begin showing up in galleries and in one-on-one readings. They just won’t get on television. (The first 9/11-related reading would not air until June of 2002, some nine months after the attacks.)
October 31
I’VE NEVER DONE READINGS on Halloween because I don’t ever want to be associated with ghosts and goblins. But today is different. Today isn’t about fun and games. It’s about healing. This is only the second September 11 reading I’ve done.
I walk into a house with Ace, one of the security guys from the show. There are five people—a couple in their early fifties and three young women—and the energy is quiet and contemplative. I feel that I need to start immediately, and I don’t want people to speak. I want to make sure nothing will take away from the experience of these people. We sit around their dining room table, and it occurs to me that this feels a little too much like a séance, and on Halloween yet.
The hand-held cameras are rolling, and I begin. Right away I’m having a hard time keeping up with the information. It’s coming from a younger male with an outstanding personality. He wants to be heard. He’s giving me information about people who have passed, as well as about people in the room and himself. Meanwhile, the doorbell keeps ringing with trick-or-treaters. We ask Ace to sit outside and hand out the candy so we’re not interrupted. Guaranteed, he’s never had a security assignment quite like this before.
The first sequence of messages is for his father. This male below you, I tell him, is coming through with another male who’s above you, either a father or grandfather, who has also crossed over very recently. (The man’s father—the spirit’s grandfather—passed only a couple of weeks ago, just six weeks after his son.) Now the spirit wants me to thank his father “for speaking up” for him, and wants me to say that “he’s sorry you were interrupted.” Then he acknowledges a name that first sounds like James and then Jamie, and that turns out to be his girlfriend, one of the three young women at the table. I smile and tell her, “You weren’t officially engaged, but he says he looks at you like his wife because of the way you nagged him.” Everyone at the table gets a chuckle out of this.