by Hans Holzer
As is my custom, I let Ethel Meyers—who did not know she was in the Wilson House—roam the premises under investigation at will, so that she could get her psychic bearings. She walked to and fro, puzzled here, sure of something or other there, without saying anything. I followed her as close as I could. Finally, she walked up the stairs and came down again in a hurry, pointing up towards the top floors.
“What is it?” I asked Ethel.
“Someone up there,” she mumbled, and looked at me.
“Let us go in here,” I suggested, as some visitors were coming in through the front door. I did not want to create a sensation with my investigation, as I had promised to do the whole thing quietly and unobtrusively.
We stepped into a parlor to one side of the main entrance. There I asked Ethel to take a seat in one of the old chairs and try to give me her impressions of what she had just experienced upstairs.
At this point, the medium’s control personality, Albert, took over.
“So many detached things are coming in. I’m getting the presence of an individual here. I haven’t had an impression like this before, it seems. Heed kindly the light which we throw on this to you now. That is a hymn—‘Lead, Kindly Light.”’
“Is there anything in this house that is causing disturbances?”
“There is restlessness, where those who remember certain things. They are like fertile fields, to create over a past that is not understood.”
“Who is the communicator, do you think?”
Albert replied: “I would say it is himself, in the picture on the mantelpiece.”
“What does he want you to do, or say?”
“I heard him distinctly say that the family rows should not be made public. That those are thought levels in the house. Angry voices sometimes rise. There are also others who have things to say for themselves, beyond that.”
“What is the row?”
“Let them speak for themselves.”
“What is there that he wants to do—is there anything specific he would like us to know?”
“That the world going forward is more pleasant now than going for me backwards, because true statements are coming forth to make wider reach for man when he shakes his hands across oceans with his neighbors. So now they are, not before; they were in your back yard so to speak under the shade of other trees.”
The “resident spirit” was now talking directly to us.
“I want to say, if you will give me audience while I am here, that this is my pleasurable moment, to lift the curtain to show you that the mortal enemy will become the great friend, soon now. That my puny dream of yesteryear has been gradually realized—the brotherhood of man. And it becomes clearer, closer to the next century. It is here, for us on our side. I see it more clearly from here. I am not sure about that designated time. But it is the brotherhood of man, when the religious problem is lifted and the truth is seen, and all men stand equal to other men, neighbors, enemies.”
“Who are you referring to?”
“I come back again to tell you, that the hands that will reach over the mighty ocean will soon clasp! Hands lean forward to grasp them. My puny dream, my puny ideal, takes form, and I look upon it and I am proud as a small part but an integral part of that. It will bloom, the period of gestation is about over, when this will come to light. And I give great thanks to the withinness that I have had so small a part in the integral whole. I tell you it is all a part of the period of gestation before the dawn.”
“When will the dawn come?”
“Just before the turn of the century. Eighty-eight,—nine.”
“And until then?”
“The period of gestation must go through its tortuous ways. But it will dawn, it will dawn and not only on this terra firma. It will dawn even over this city, and it will be more a part of world-state as I saw it in my very close view of the world. I was given this dream, and I have lived by it.”
“Do you want us to do anything about your family, or your friends? Tell them anything specifically?”
“That my soul lives on, and that it will return when I see the turn of the century, and that I may look face to face with that which I saw; that which was born within my consciousness.”
“Whom should we give this message to?”
“The one living member of my family.”
“What is this member’s name?”
“Alice.”
“Anything else?”
“Just mundane moments of the lives of many fallible mortals are inconsequential. Posterity has no need for it. It has only the need for that which is coming—the bright new dawn. We live to tell you this too. God rest the soul of man; it will win. Science will win. Man’s soul will be free to know its own importance. I have forgotten the future; I look upon it all, here, as my integral part of the world.”
“We will then go and have a look at that which was your house. Thank you for telling me what you did.”
“God bless you—that is, the God that is your own true God.”
“Thank you.”
“Hello—Albert.”
“Albert—is everything alright?”
“She’s fine. I will release her.”
“Thank you.”
“I guess you know with whom you were speaking.”
“Yes.”
“It was difficult for him to take over.”
Now Ethel came out of trance, none the worse for it. I questioned her about the room we were in.
“Deals have been made in this room.”
“What kind of deals?”
“Political deals. There is a heavy-set man with sideburns here.”
“Is he somebody of importance?”
“I would say so. He has not too much hair up here. Could have a beard.”
“What would he be doing here?”
“Well he seems to take over the room. To make a deal, of some kind.”
“What kind of deal?”
“I don’t think he’s an American.”
“If you saw him would you recognize him?”
“I think I would, yes.”
I walked Ethel into the huge room with the fireplace, pointing at various photographs lined up on top of it. “Would this be the man?”
“Oh, that’s George isn’t it?”
“No. Could this be the man?”
“That’s Richard then.”
“No, it’s not Richard and it’s not George, but is it the man that you saw?”
“He’s a little more gray here than he was when I—if that’s the man. But it could be, yes.” She had just identified a world-famous statesman of World War I vintage.
We had now arrived on the third floor. A guide took us around and pointed out the elevator and the iron stairs. We walked down again and stopped at the grand piano.
“Ethel,” I asked, “do you think that this piano has been used recently?”
“I would say it has. Ghostly, too. I think this is a whirlpool right here. I don’t know whether Wilson was a good pianist or not, but he has touched it.”
“Do you feel he is the one that is in the house?”
“I don’t think that he is haunting it, but present, yes.”
* * *
I carefully checked into the history of the house, to see whether some tragedy or other unusual happenings might have produced a genuine ghost. There was nothing in the background of the house to indicate that such an event had ever taken place. How then was one to explain the footsteps? What about the presence Mr. Vasquez had felt? Since most of the phenomena occurred upstairs, one is led to believe that they might be connected with some of the servants or someone living at that level of the house. At the period when the Wilsons had the house, the top floor was certainly used as servants’ quarters. But the Wilsons’ own bedroom and living quarters were also upstairs, and the footsteps and the feeling of a presence was not restricted to the topmost floor, it would appear.
Then, too, the expressions used by the entranced medium indicate a person other
than an ordinary servant. There are several curious references in the transcript of the tape taken while Ethel Johnson Meyers was in trance, and afterwards when she spoke to me clairvoyantly. First of all, the reference to a hymn, “Lead, Kindly Light,” would indeed be in character for President Wilson. He was a son of a Presbyterian minister, and certainly grew up under the influence of his father as far as religion and expressions were concerned. The references to “hands across the sea” would be unimportant if Ethel Johnson Meyers had known that she was in the Wilson House. However, she did not connect the house with President Wilson at the time she made the statement. The “puny dream” referred to of uniting the world was certainly President Wilson’s uppermost thought and desire. Perhaps Woodrow Wilson will be known as the “Peace President” in future history books—even though he was in office during a war, he went into that war with a genuine and sincere desire to end all wars. “To make the world safe for democracy” was one of his best-known slogans. Thus, the expressions relayed by the medium seem to me to be entirely in keeping with that spirit.
True, the entity speaking through the medium did not come forward and say, “I am Woodrow Wilson.” I would not have expected it. That would have been ostentatious and entirely out of character for the quiet, soft-spoken gentleman Wilson was.
* * *
Is the Woodrow Wilson House haunted? Is the restless spirit of the “Peace President” once more about, because of what is transpiring in his beloved Washington? Is he aroused by the absence of peace even in his own homeland, let alone abroad? Truly, the conditions to cause a restless entity to remain disturbed are all present.
Why is he trying to make contact with the physical world at this time? The man who reported his experiences to the Washington Post evidently is mediumistic. There are very few people staying overnight in the house at the present time. Very likely the restless spirit of President Wilson—if indeed it is his spirit—found it convenient to contact this man, despite his comparatively unimportant position. But because he was psychic he presented a channel through which the President—if it was indeed he—could express himself and reach the outer world, the world that seems to be so much in need of peace today.
In a sense he has succeeded in his efforts. Because of the experiences of Mr. Vasquez I became aware of the hauntings at the Wilson House. My visit and the trance condition into which I placed Ethel Johnson Meyers resulted in a certain contact. There is every reason to believe that this contact was the President himself.
As we left the house, I questioned Mrs. Meyers once again about the man she had clairvoyantly seen walking about the house. Without thinking, she described the tall dignified figure of Woodrow Wilson. It may not constitute absolute proof in terms of parapsychology, of course, but I have the feeling that we did indeed make contact with the restless and truly perturbed spirit of Woodrow Wilson, and that this spirit somehow wants me to tell the world how concerned he is about the state it is in.
* 11
Ring Around the White House
I DON’T THINK ANYONE has had more trouble getting into the White House for a specific purpose than I except, perhaps, some presidential aspirants such as Thomas E. Dewey. Mr. Dewey’s purpose was a lot easier to explain than mine, to begin with. How do you tell an official at the presidential mansion that you would like to go to the Lincoln Bedroom to see whether Lincoln’s ghost is still there? How do you make it plain that you’re not looking for sensationalism, that you’re not bringing along a whole covey of newspaper people, all of which can only lead to unfavorable publicity for the inhabitants of the White House, whoever they may be at the time?
Naturally, this was the very difficult task to which I had put myself several years ago. Originally, when I was collecting material for Window to the Past, I had envisioned myself going to the Lincoln Bedroom and possibly the East Room in the White House, hoping to verify and authenticate apparitions that had occurred to a number of people in those areas. But all my repeated requests for permission to visit the White House in the company of a reputable psychic were turned down. Even when I promised to submit my findings and the writings based on those findings to White House scrutiny prior to publication, I was told that my request could not be granted.
The first reason given was that it was not convenient because the President and his family were in. Then it was not convenient because they would be away. Once I was turned down because my visit could not be cleared sufficiently with Security, and anyway, that part of the White House I wanted to visit was private.
I never gave up. Deep down I had the feeling that the White House belongs to the people and is not a piece of real estate on which even the presidential family may hang out a sign, “No Trespassers.” I still think so. However, I got nowhere as long as the Johnsons were in the White House.
I tried again and again. A colonel stationed in the White House, whom I met through Countess Gertrude d’Amecourt, a mutual friend, tried hard to get permission for me to come and investigate. He too failed.
Next, I received a letter, quite unexpectedly, from the Reverend Thomas W. Dettman of Niagara, Wisconsin. He knew a number of very prominent men in the federal government and offered to get me the permission I needed. These men, he explained, had handled government investigations for him before, and he was sure they would be happy to be of assistance if he asked them. He was even sure they would carry a lot of weight with the President. They knew him well, he asserted. Mr. Dettman had been associated with the Wisconsin Nixon for President Committee, and offered to help in any way he could.
After thanking Mr. Dettman for his offer, I heard nothing further for a time. Then he wrote me again explaining that he had as yet not been able to get me into the Lincoln Bedroom, but that he was still working on it. He had asked the help of Representative John Byrnes of Wisconsin in the matter, and I would hear further about it. Then Mr. Dettman informed me that he had managed to arrange for me to be given “a special tour” of the White House, and, to the best of his knowledge, that included the East Room. He then asked that I contact William E. Timmons, Assistant to the President, for details.
I was, of course, elated. Imagine, a special tour of the White House! What could be better than that?
With his letter, Mr. Dettman had included a letter from Senator William Proxmire of Wisconsin, in which the Senator noted that I would not be able to do research in the Lincoln Bedroom, but that I would be given the special tour of the White House.
I hurriedly wrote a thank-you note to Mr. Dettman, and started to make plans to bring a medium to Washington with me. A few days later Mr. Dettman wrote me again.
He had received a call from the White House concerning the tour. He could, he explained, in no way guarantee what kind of tour I would be given, nor what I would see. He had done everything possible to help me and hoped I would not be disappointed.
Whether my own sixth sense was working or not, I suddenly thought I had better look into the nature of that “special tour” myself. I wrote and asked whether I would be permitted to spend half an hour in the East Room, since the Lincoln Bedroom had been denied me. Back came a letter dated May 14, 1970, on White House stationery, and signed by John S. Davies, Special Assistant to the President, Office White House Visitors.
Senator Proxmire’s recent letter to Mr. William Timmons concerning your most recent request to visit the White House has been referred to me, as this office is responsible for White House visitors. Unfortunately, as we have pointed out, we are unable to arrange for you to visit the Lincoln Bedroom, as this room is in the President’s personal residence area, which is not open to visitors. If you wish to arrange an early-morning special tour, I suggest you contact Senator Proxmire’s office. You are also most welcome to come to the White House any time during the regular visiting hours.
I decided to telephone Mr. Davies since the day of my planned visit was close at hand. It was only then that I realized what that famous “special tour” really was. It meant that I, along with
who else might be present at the time at the White House gates, would be permitted to walk through the part of the White House open to all visitors. I couldn’t bring a tape recorder. I could not sit down or tarry along the way. I had to follow along with the group, glance up at whatever might be interesting, and be on my way again like a good little citizen. What, then, was so special about that tour, I inquired? Nothing really, I was told, but that is what it is known as. It is called a special tour because you have to have the request of either a Senator or a Representative from your home state.
I canceled my visit and dismissed the medium. But my reading public is large, and other offers to help me came my way.
Debbie Fitz is a teenage college student who wanted me to lecture at her school. In return, she offered to get me into the White House, or at least try to. I smiled at her courage, but told her to go right ahead and try. She wrote a letter to Miss Nixon, whom she thought would be favorable to her request, being of the same age group and all that. After explaining her own interest in ESP research and the importance this field has in this day and age for the young, she went on to explain who I was and that I had previously been denied admittance to the White House areas I wished to do research in. She wrote:
All he wants to do is take a psychic medium into the room and scientifically record any phenomena that may exist. This will not involve staying overnight; it can be done during the day at your convenience. All investigations are conducted in a scientific manner and are fully documented. It is well known that Lincoln himself was psychic and held séances in the White House. Wouldn’t you, as a student of White House history and a member of the young, open-minded generation, like to find out whether or not this room is really haunted? This will also provide an opportunity for young people who are interested in other things besides riots and demonstrations to benefit intellectually from Mr. Holzer’s efforts.
Debbie Fitz never received a reply or an acknowledgment. I, of course, never heard about the matter again.
Try as I would, I was rebuffed. Just the same, interest in the haunted aspects of the nation’s Executive Mansion remains at a high level. Several Washington newspapers carried stories featuring some of the psychic occurrences inside the White House, and whenever I appeared on Washington television, I was invariably asked about the ghosts at the White House. Perhaps the best account of the psychic state of affairs at number 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue was written by the Washington Post reporter, Jacqueline Lawrence.