Psychic Blues

by Mark Edward

  “I’m picking up two initials, L and P,” she began. “I don’t know if that means anything to anybody. The name that comes to my mind is Lou. Who is Lou? Does that make sense to anybody?”

  She casually wandered within five or six feet of Sam and looked him straight in the eye. If she’s lucky, Sam will acknowledge her and confirm that Lou is Louis, his father. If not, never fear. Rosemary will reel Sam in with the speed of an expert angler. Either way, a well-trained production crew catches every moment on camera.

  “Does that mean anything to you, sir?”

  Now Sam was on the spot. If I could have, I would have told him to say, “No, you’re full of it.” But Sam wanted badly to hear from his departed father. Not only that, he didn’t want to spoil the party for the enchanting Rosemary in front of hundreds of audience members and possibly thousands of viewers. The pressure was too great. So, he fell into a classic trap—hook, line, and sinker.

  “Yes, that was my father’s name.”

  A gasp rose from the audience, or if not from the impressed ticket holders, from the paid plants in the group who provided applause and other support at the right moments in the show. When people like Rosie are in the money, they can afford to have their agent, their book publisher, or a few friends strategically placed throughout the room.

  Rosemary continued confidently. “Yes, I feel there was a distance involved between you and Louis. Does that make any sense?”

  Sam had to admit, “Yes, that is true. My wife and I were far away from him when he passed away.”

  “Yes, I feel something in my chest like a heart attack, but he suffered from bad health for some time. Is that true?”

  Breaking the cardinal rule of not asking any questions of a sitter is easily bypassed when you have surefire information that cannot be contradicted. In the world of mentalism, this is called a “hot reading,” since the performer uses “hot” information obtained before showtime, which is different (and often more impressive) than a standard “cold” reading. In any event, old Rosie would never give Sam a chance to contradict her. She was on a roll now and knew how to steer him where she wanted him to go.

  For his part, Sam had probably been waiting for something comforting to pass from Rosemary’s lips. So in all likelihood, he would remain in agreement with her, not tipping off the audience that this discussion had already taken place.

  “Yes, that is true,” Sam said. “He was very ill for a long time.”

  To the audience, Sam has now validated another astonishing psychic vision.

  Rosemary was now prepared to move on to the next poor soul, whom she may or may not have also set up, but she offered one last bit to Sam, something she must have known would be what he had been waiting for. (Besides, he may buy one of her books later, if she tells him something he wants to hear.)

  “Louis wants you to know that he is content on the other side, and he also wants you to know that he has never been at all upset that you didn’t have a chance to say good-bye to him. He is with you whenever you need him.”

  Few in the studio audience, or whoever happened to see this clip on their television screens, could argue with such accuracy. In addition, when the camera operator pulled in for a close-up shot of Sam drying his tear-filled eyes, who could doubt Rosemary’s gift? What manipulative rubbish.

  That’s what’s called “pre-show,” my friends. That’s how it’s done in the profitable world of big-time media psychics. If talking with dead people could be done any other way and still be as accurate, no so-called medium would ever need to go on Larry King Live, sell a single book, or even leave their house in order to prosper spiritually . . . and monetarily. But isolate the medium from any contact with audience members and carefully screen the participants of any session, and people like Rosemary are shit out of luck.

  Don’t get me wrong. I’m not bitter or at all upset about this technique. Seers have been using derivations of it since the Delphi Oracle. When a mentalist or psychic entertainer makes use of this sort of thing, along with the many other covert ways employed to obtain information, it can be amazing and entertaining.

  But this entertainment gets a little legally fuzzy when you see people breaking down and crying. That’s not entertaining, it’s sad. Plus, I’m sure that if Sam later, when he got home that night, reconstructed what had happened to him and examined the worth of the insights he had actually received from Rosemary, he would have realized it was hardly worth the cost of the ticket, and it may in fact have constituted criminal fraud. Unfortunately, someone like Sam is one of the many who have no media outlet to tell their story to and who may be too embarrassed in the end to come forward.

  It’s a nasty business from start to finish. If just one or two right-minded people sought legal recrimination against the mediums who have falsely used their names or the names of their dead children, or called out the spirits to locate a lost child they say is still alive, toiling in some overseas sex-slave operation (as Sylvia Browne has done), but who is found dead long after the medium’s “vision” has been televised to millions of gullible viewers, things might actually change in this segment of the psychic business. But until that happens, I consider it my personal and professional responsibility to tell the truth about what’s really going on behind these contrived scenes.

  6 Check out the Season One premiere episode of Penn and Teller’s Showtime series Bullshit, titled Speaking with the Dead. You will see this ploy played out and taken apart by yours truly. This is one of the best pieces of evidence against phony mediumship I have ever been involved with.

  CHAPTER V

  RADIO SPIRIT

  Give the man who wants something for nothing, nothing for something.

  —from the BBC One TV series Hustle (2004)

  Radio is an incredible medium. Listeners must visualize what is going on, and each set of ears participates. Talk radio has proven to be a ratings winner, with drive-time slots all across the dial covering everything from sports and food to Zen and auto repair. Why not psychics?

  The psychic market has always been a tangential part of radio media, stretching all the way back to Joseph Dunninger’s show The Ghost Hours aired in 1929. In the late 1990s, popular interest shifted away from the purely entertainment aspects of a mentalist attraction; the business of providing psychic readings became a moneymaking proposition for both nationally syndicated programming and local shock jocks, who may have initially derided their appeal. There were more than a few timeslots to be filled and more than enough burgeoning psychics willing to step into the job. You didn’t have to be good-looking—radio has few image problems—or especially accurate. If you could talk a good game you were in.

  I met many brilliant performers through the Psychic Entertainers Association, including a bright young guy from Hawaii, Jon Kealoha. Like the magicians, carnies, sideshow folks, and other in-the-know show-business people I had worked with, Jon was on the inside track. He knew all the angles, cons, and scams of the psychic business, and was definitely “with it.” In addition to hosting his own radio show in Hawaii, Night Magic, he did readings using Chinese astrology at local island psychic fairs. We were kindred souls.

  He had heard that I was working on a 900 line and, despite the heat I took from some of the association’s more conservative members for not providing a formal disclaimer7 (and, in their opinion, descending to such an unethical position), Jon wanted to team up with me to produce some kind of creative format for his nightly radio show. Jon didn’t give a fig about disclaimers, and his knowledge of things psychic and the wonderful world of shut-eyes extended far beyond what most radio-station managers would consider mere entertainment.

  I had been growing bored with the day in, day out 900 grind. When Jon asked if I wanted to be a guest psychic on his show, I immediately said yes.

  I had a lot of fun with Jon’s show. He plugged me as a “world-renowned psychic.” I would take calls from his show over my own phone line, and he would pay my long distance bill and give
me tape-recorded copies of every show we did together. We started with a run of weekly sessions, which eventually gave me enough solid readings to edit together into a collection of my most accurate readings. Twenty or so hours of tape could carefully be edited down to sixty minutes of nonstop miracles, a seamless marvel of deception.

  There was never a shortage of calls, and the spectrum of questions was seldom boring.

  “Hello, this is Mark. How can I help you?”

  “This is Sandra calling. I lost a pair of gold earrings that are very important to me, and I wondered if you can see anything about them?”

  I had a standard answer to lost jewelry questions. I didn’t hesitate to slide right into my well-rehearsed 900-line routine.

  “I want you to see exactly what I’m seeing, so close your eyes and we will apply the ancient Tibetan technique of visualization.” I made sure the listener went on this guided visual-imagery voyage with me. “I see a box. It’s not much bigger than a VHS case, or something of that size—like maybe a baby wipes or a tissue box. I also see that this object is nearby and somewhere that you pass by all the time, but you have never thought about looking there. It has been moved around recently, possibly from an automobile glove box or a backpack. It’s mobile—it has wheels on it or something. I don’t know for sure if what it is makes complete sense yet.”

  “Yes, it does. We have a baby and we go in and out of our Jeep all the time. You don’t think my older daughter has stolen them, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. I think there is some other situation going on about your daughter that has nothing to do with the earrings. Don’t project negativity. She may actually help you find them, if you give her a chance. I suggest that you look in those places I have mentioned that made sense to you, and I think you will find your earrings by Friday night. By the way, these weren’t antique earrings or family heirlooms, were they?”

  Sandra said yes.

  I used a very powerful verbal deception here. A lot of jewelry gets handed down, unless it is specifically personalized, such as a wedding ring or a monogrammed cigarette case, which still can be an antique but is more likely to be store-bought. This caller had only said the earrings were important to her. I had asked Sandra whether these weren’t family heirlooms, were they? If the earrings were heirlooms, it could sound as if I knew that. And the words were they swiftly get misapplied or can be misconstrued as either a question or a statement, depending on how it is heard. The bottom line is that the terms were and weren’t are either about time or possession, and neither word is made clear. Both were asked as questions, with only a slight intonation that leaves everything ambiguous. Either way, I couldn’t lose, as long as I kept the reading moving and didn’t give anyone a chance to think this through.

  This is exactly how today’s modern mediums work. It’s easy to learn, once you get the hang of it. Readings like these are given with lightning-fast speed and without hesitation. Due to radio’s dread of dead air, as well as its dependence on paying sponsors, a good radio psychic cannot afford to blunder about wasting time with stalling tactics or a “Let me concentrate for a moment.”

  “I’ll do as you say,” Sandra said. “And thank you, Mark. You were right about the earrings so far. Thank you.”

  Two days later Sandra called Jon back at the radio station and told him that the earrings had been found exactly where I had told her to look: in the bottom of a plastic baby wipes box that was being moved from place to place with the family. Sandra was now a confirmed believer.

  How did I know that? I must be psychic! No, not really. I always describe the same place for everybody’s lost whatever. I just got lucky, and Jon ran with Sandra’s testimonial for the following three weeks. It added to my credibility and kept the calls coming in at a steady clip. Sandra sent me an effusive testimonial letter with her home phone number and told me, if I ever needed to use her as a reference, it would be her pleasure to help. Her letter, combined with a tightly edited demo tape, made for powerful publicity ammunition. It netted me many guest spots on shows all over Los Angeles. I was booked by Howard Stern’s L.A. station affiliate for an on-air Halloween séance, which completely knocked out everybody in the studio. I followed that up with a morning-commute session for one of the local Love Doctor shows. Once psychics started pitching their love potions, psychic radio spots spread through Hollywood like wildfire.

  Was it a cosmic coincidence that I just happened to have a copy of my demo tape ready when Psychic Friend Valerie called me one fateful morning? I believe there is no such thing as coincidence, and luck is simply the combination of careful planning and hard work. I really liked radio work and the chance to be a part of a nationally syndicated Psychic Friends radio deal was a temptation I couldn’t resist. And I didn’t see much of a downside in trying.

  If you are thinking by now that I must be a glutton for punishment, you may be right. There’s no need for me to spend years lying on a therapist’s couch to discover that I have always been one of those people who gives others a second or even a third chance, particularly when money and ego gratification come into the mix. Being praised and adored by total strangers is an addiction all unto itself. Ego mixed with a drive to go deeper into the psychic can of worms kept pushing me further.

  The Friends already had proof that I could sell product for them. Yet they still wanted me to attend auditions at a radio studio in North Hollywood.

  In Hollywood-speak this appointment is a “cattle call.” At least twenty-five psychics were standing around, munching donuts and bagels in their finest New Age costumes. I waited my turn with eyes and ears totally open. The shut-eyes were there too, but I was probably the only person with any experience in radio.

  While the kings and queens of the Hollywood psychic world marched around like proud peacocks, the studio overflowed with comments like:

  “So, you use a combination of astrology and whale-bone dowsing?”

  “My psychic development teacher says my crystal ball is just too small to see anything in. What do you think?”

  “Can we get paid while we are at home meditating for the show?”

  “I never get involved with other psychics if I can help it.”

  “I always wear black, unless it’s a funeral. Then I wear white.”

  I chatted up a group of the least pretentious of the lot and found that quite a few had mixed feelings about working for the Friends again. Some were still owed money from other Friends jobs. The buzz seemed to be that this radio deal was a last-ditch effort on the part of the Suits and Ties to increase their 900-call volume.8

  When my turn came, I was ushered into the studio to meet the chosen host of the show, Sean. My impression was that Sean was your average college DJ who had no discernible knowledge or interest in anything vaguely New Age or psychic, but he possessed the kind of voice that could make reading pages out of a phone book a compellingly dramatic event. He sounded like a young Orson Welles, with his hearty full-throated intonations. He was a friendly guy too and had not yet become a company yes-man, so I knew we could work well together.

  “So, Mark, what can you tell us about your background?”

  The tape had started rolling, and several studio engineers and clipboard scribblers sat behind a glass wall watching the dials.

  I told Sean about all my previous success stories, with an emphasis on my ghost-hunter work. I laid it on thick. I preferred talking ghost stories and taking calls about hauntings to telling girls that their boyfriends would come back or boys that their girlfriends would come back. But I needed to rise to a level most of the other psychics wouldn’t achieve, so I purposely stopped in midsentence and tried to look as if I were listening to something. I then put my hands to my head and waited for Sean to take the bait.

  “Are you okay, Mark?” he asked.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw that the people behind the glass were now standing perfectly still.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m sorry. I was just hearing the sound of seagulls and a
car engine revving up for some reason. I thought it may be coming from inside the studio, but it seems to be coming from inside my head or from a beach somewhere. I sense movement. I see you moving or you will be moving in a southerly direction. Sean, I need to tell you to take care of maintaining your car. There’s definitely something about your car and ocean breezes. Then there’s something that looks like a big meatball. Yes, I see a big meatball. It’s huge. I’m not sure if any of this makes any sense to you, but there it is.”

  Sean looked pale. I could almost hear the cogs in his head turning. Good. He was thinking and the tape was rolling. When you casually tell someone that something may not make sense to him or her, magically they will try to make sense out of it.

  He finally laughed out loud and I knew the chance I had taken was about to pay off. “That’s incredible! My car is nearly falling apart and I have been driving back and forth from here to Morro Bay three or four times a week. If I get this job, which looks pretty good right now, I’ll be driving up and down the coast five times a week. I was taking this job partly to get a new car. That’s weird. What color new car do you see for me, Mark?”

  “Silver or light blue,” I stated confidently.

  “That’s amazing.” He smiled. “I love blue.”

  “What’s the big meatball I keep seeing?” I asked.

  “I don’t have any idea. That’s weird, man.”

  I prepared to move on. Then it hit him. “Hey, wait a minute. Have you ever been to Morro Bay?”

  I lied. “No, I haven’t. Why? Do they make giant meatball sandwiches there?”

  “Well, not exactly. But if you took the biggest landmark in Morro Bay and looked at it from a distance or from above, the rock in the center of Morro Bay looks like a big meatball that landed smack dab in the middle of the bay.” Sean was connecting the dots for me as I had hoped he would.