Mr. Smith stirred controversy in his native state when he had a psychic flash that his physical therapist’s house had caught fire. The flash turned out to be nothing but the truth. At a press conference following, a reporter challenged him to ...
From Newsweek, page 41, week of December 24, 1975:THE NEW HURKOS
It may be that the first genuine psychic since Peter Hurkos has been uncovered in this country—Hurkos was the German-born seer who has been able to tell questioners all about their private lives by touching their hands, silverware, or items from their handbags.
John Smith is a shy and unassuming young man from the south-central Maine town of Pownal. Earlier this year he returned to consciousness after a period of more than four years in a deep coma following a car accident (see photo). According to the consulting neurologist in the case, Dr. Samuel Weizak, Smith made a “perfectly astounding recovery.” Today he is recovering from a mild case of frostbite and a four-hour blackout following the bizarre resolution of a long-unsolved multiple murder case in the town of ...
December 27, 1975
Dear Sarah,
Dad and I both enjoyed your letter, which arrived just this afternoon. I’m really fine, so you can stop worrying, okay? But I thank you for your concern. The “frostbite” was greatly exaggerated in the press. Just a couple of patches on the tips of three fingers of my left hand. The blackout was really nothing much more than a fainting spell “brought on by emotional overload,” Weizak says. Yes, he came down himself and insisted on driving me to the hospital in Portland. Just watching him in action is nearly worth the price of admission. He bullied them into giving him a consultation room and an EEG machine and a technician to run it. He says he can find no new brain damage or signs of progressive brain damage. He wants to do a whole series of tests, some of them sound utterly inquisitorial—“ Renounce, heretic, or we’ll give you another pneumobrainscan!” (Ha-ha, and are you still sniffin’ that wicked cocaine, darlin’?) Anyway, I turned down the kind offer to be pumped and prodded some more. Dad is rawther pissed at me about turning the tests down, keeps trying to draw a parallel between my refusal to have them and my mother’s refusal to take her hypertension medicine. It’s very hard to make him see that, if Weizak did find something, the odds would be nine-to-one against him being able to do anything about it.
Yes, I saw the Newsweek article. That picture of me is from the press conference, only cropped. Don’t look like anyone you’d like to meet in a dark alley, do I? Ha-ha! Holy Gee (as your buddy Anne Strafford is so fond of saying), but I wish they hadn’t run that story. The packages, cards, and letters have started coming again. I don’t open any of them anymore unless I recognize the return address, just mark them “Return to Sender.” They are too pitiful, too full of hope and hate and belief and unbelief, and somehow they all remind me of the way my Mom was.
Well, I don’t mean to sound so gloomy, it ain’t all that bad. But I don’t want to be a practicing psychic, I don’t want to go on tour or appear on TV (some yahoo from NBC got our phone number, who knows how, and wanted to know if I’d consider “doing the Carson show.” Great idea, huh? Don Rickles could insult some people, some starlet could show her jugs, and I could make a few predictions. All brought to you by General Foods.) I don’t want to do any of that S*H*I*T. What I am really looking forward to is getting back to Cleaves Mills and sinking into the utter obscurity of the H.S. English teacher. And save the psychic flashes for football pep rallies.
Guess that’s all for this time. Hope you and Walt and Denny had yourself a merry little Christmas and are looking forward eagerly (from what you said I’m sure Walt is, at the very least) to the Brave Bicentennial Election Year now stretching before us. Glad to hear your spouse has been picked to run for the state senate seat there, but cross your fingers, Sarey—’76 doesn’t exactly look like a banner year for elephant-lovers. Send your thanks for that one across to San Clemente.
My dad sends best and wants me to tell you thanks for the picture of Denny, who really