"The Genie"

The Final Chapter

of

"In Touch With His Soul

The Adult Years"

Gina Cerminara's biographical interview

with Walden Welch continues·

Dr: "I would find it very difficult not to believe in life after death after having been witness to the astounding psychic feats of Reverend Pearl Shannon. However, just to be thorough, I must ask you this: had you ever told anyone that your mother had asked you to suffocate her with a pillow?"

WW: "No, I did not. I would not have wanted anyone to know that she had been suffering so greatly. It would have upset them greatly to know how terribly she was suffering. I also did not tell anyone about the secret hand signal I had asked Mom to give me."

Dr: "You mean the scissor like gesture of reaching for a cigarette so that you would know she had not suffered brain damage during her heart surgery?"

WW: "Yes. I never shared that with anyone."

Dr: "Considering these facts it is absolutely astounding as well as inspiring that Reverend Shannon was able to bring these two major incidents to you as proof that she was indeed communicating with the spirit of your deceased mother."

WW: "Yes, it was remarkable. I have no doubt whatsoever that she was in communication with the spirit of my deceased mother."

Dr: "I also find it interesting that, despite the fact that you had willingly released Julia to the other side, she still chose to appear to you in spirit form to let you know that she had survived death. I recall you stating that you had stood by her casket telling her to, 'Forget about Dad and I. You have suffered too much in this lifetime. Go far, far away and find God and happiness·'"

WW: "Yes, I did release her and I, too, was surprised that she came back from the other side to communicate to me that she had survived what we call death. However I think I know why she did return."

Dr: "Why is that?"

WW: "I believe that my father's grief held her earthbound. As you know we can hold a spirit earthbound by grieving too much for them. Cayce warned us about this. He stated that we should pray for the advancement of the soul and encourage the deceased to advance onward to the other side. My father did not believe in life after death. When my mother died he felt he had been brutally victimized. His aguish over her death was so great that he created a shrine to her in their little rented apartment. He refused to give any of her belongings away. Everything in their apartment was kept exactly as it had been when Mom was alive. I visited him less than one month after the funeral. I was heartbroken to witness how desperately he was suffering. He was neither eating or sleeping well. His doctor had put him on Valium to help him get through the nights. His drank all day long and into each night until he could literally drink no more. Between the alcohol and lack of rest and nutrition he appeared often times to be in a state of confusion and total disorientation. During one of our conversations he said to me, 'I'm going to tell you something crazy. I think I am going insane. Sometimes when I'm sitting here I think I see your mother sitting in the armchair across the room. Julia used to sit there and do her crocheting while we watched TV. Sometimes I see her sitting there and she looks at me like she is angry and disgusted with me. I think I am beginning to loose my mind.'"  

Dr: "And how did you react or reply to that statement?"

WW: "I was honest with him. I told him that I believed that he was causing Mom to be earthbound due to the personal anguish he was suffering over her death and also because of his negative behavior. I reminded him that my mother detested self pity and assured him that she would indeed be disgusted with him for how he was behaving."

Dr: "Did giving your opinion do any good?"

WW: "No, it did not. I think that he wanted to believe me, but nothing I or anyone else could say could convince him that there was life beyond death. He often times said, 'If there is a life after death then I will come back to haunt you! I do not believe in such nonsense! I swear I would come back to haunt you!'  I tried my best to get him to move to Sonoma where he could be close to me and I could care for him, but he refused to leave Bakersfield. He telephoned me almost every night. Often times he would threaten to commit suicide. I would spend endless hours on the telephone with him begging him to seek counseling, begging him to call Alcoholics Anonymous. His calls were so frequent that in frustration and exasperation I would often times refuse to answer the phone if it rang past 10:00 PM. When he finally got the idea that he would not get through to me during late hours he would phone in the early morning hours or during work hours or dinnertime. He was relentless in his pursuit to keep in constant contact with me. Many of his conversations were violent and ugly. He was often times verbally cruel and at all times totally self-absorbed with his own personal grief. 'You do not understand, Wally!' he said. 'I HAVE LOST MY WIFE! You should be more considerate of me and the agony I am going through.' 'YOU don't seem to understand, Dad! I have lost my mother! This isn't just about your loss!' I tried everything I could to reason with and help the poor man but nothing I could neither say or do would lessen his agony nor make him realize that it was not he alone who suffered.

"One night in late March of 1973 he telephoned me. When I answered the call I heard him say, 'I want you to know that I have one of Julia's hypodermic syringes in my hand and I am going to shoot an air bubble into the artery of my left arm and kill myself! I want you to know I love you but I cannot continue to go through this pain and agony any longer.'  A second later I heard the receiver of his telephone drop to the floor. After that the telephone went dead. Unable to use my line I dressed hurriedly and rushed to a pay phone a mile or so away from home. I telephoned his brother Tony to ask if he would drive over to my father's house and check on him. My uncle did not answer my call and he did not have an answering machine on which I could leave a message. I then telephoned the Bakersfield Police Department. Believe it or not they stated that they could not go and check on him because no neighbors had filed any nuisance complaints! Next I telephoned Suicide Hotline. They stated they could not send anyone to check on him unless he telephoned them personally asking for help! This would all appear to be funny were it not true! For several hours I continued to try getting through to my father but his phone was totally dead. Not knowing what else to do I threw a few clothes in a suitcase and drove the long distance to Bakersfield. Pat stayed home in order to telephone my clients to cancel and rearrange their appointments. When I arrived at my father's apartment the following morning the front door was unlocked. I let myself in and found him sound asleep on the sofa. Before waking him I inspected the apartment. Liquor bottles were stacked neatly on the floor near the backdoor of the kitchen. The house was neat and tidy. Despite his alcoholism my dad was the most fastidious person I ever knew."

Dr: (Laugh) "I don't mean to laugh. I realize this is not at all funny. However, I think it is obvious that he was trying to torment you in order to get attention?"

WW: "Yes. You are right. That morning after I awakened him he acted surprised to see me. I could tell he was play-acting and that he was delighted that I had come to his aid. As angry as I was at him for lying to me and for intruding into my life, I could not help but feel sorry for him. It was obvious that he was desperately lonely and would do almost anything to acquire someone's attention. He denied that he had phoned me the night before threatening to commit suicide. I knew, of course, that he was lying. During the course of our conversation, and completely out of context of whatever we were talking about, he suddenly announced, 'I forgot to tell you. I have a girlfriend!' I watched as his eyes slowly explored my face for signs of my reaction. I took a slow deep breath and managed not to show any sign of surprise. His boyishly mischievous expression turned to one of disappointment. This look of mischievousness was that of The Monk and I knew it well from my childhood days. 'Gee, Dad, that's great,' I said. 'Mom would want you to have a lady friend. You're still young and very handsome. You should have a girlfriend. I am happy for you.' I could tell by his facial expression that he was very disappointed with my reaction. He paused for a moment as if he were trying to think of what next to say. He was obviously confused by my positive comment. 'Well·would you like to meet her?' he asked. 'Sure,' I lied. 'I'd very much like to meet her.'"

"The lady's name was Mary Petri. She smiled happily as she greeted us at the front door. Mary appeared to be in her early fifties. She had raven black hair and was curvaceously plump and the size of her bosoms would have amply supplied five women. As she opened the screen door to let us enter she placed both of her arms around my father's shoulders and pulled him tightly against her enormous breasts then kissed him passionately on the lips leaving flaming red smudges on his. She asked us to be seated in the living room and the moment we sat down she sat herself upon my fathers lap and began placing continuous little kisses all over his face. Needless to say I was embarrassed by her display of affection but I controlled the emotions I was feeling and I sat through the next hour being very courteous and polite. During the course of the conversation Mary mentioned that she was married and that her husband was in the back bedroom. He was bedridden and suffering the final stages of cancer. The insensitive and nonchalant way in which she presented this information made me feel nauseous. I surprised myself as to how well I held up to this situation. It seemed strange seeing my father being affectionate with another woman for I had never seen him be affectionate towards anyone except my mother. It seemed so inappropriate to find this seemingly insensitive woman to be the current object of his affection, for there were no similarities whatsoever between she and my mother. As I politely listened to their conversation I kept reminding myself that it was best my father have someone to be in a relationship with. Mom would want this for him. She had asked him to marry again if she should die. I knew that it would be best if my father would fall in love with someone and marry again. Due to my mother's death he had lost all reason to live. I could only pray that he would find someone to restore his reason and will to continue living. I would give my approval to whomever he chose whether I cared for that person or not. With these thoughts in mind I decided to overlook Mary's social vulgarities.  

"After our visit Dad and I drove directly home. The minute we entered the door to his apartment he said to me, 'Hey, Boy·go into the kitchen and pour your old man a drink?' I looked my father sternly in the eye and said, 'No Dad, I will not pour you a drink. If I poured you a drink that would suggest that I approve of your dinking and you know that is definitely not so. I know why you drink but I will not pour one for you.' He walked briskly past me into the kitchen. I could hear him dropping ice cubes into a glass. In a moment I could hear the sound of whiskey as it splashed over the cubes. 'Your mother sure was right about one thing,' he called out to me. 'What's that?' I asked. 'She said that I was always searching for the genie in the bottle,' he laughed. He entered into the living room with his drink held above his head as if he were toasting me. 'Well, here he is! I sure as hell found him. His name is whiskey and he can cure what ails you!'  It had never before occurred to me to question where I might have inherited my great love of acting and drama. It certainly was not inherited through the bloodlines of my mother or any other member of her family. As I watched my father's superb theatrical performance I had to bite my lip to hide my smile. I now realized that I had inherited my theatrical abilities from my father. As he paused for affect I replied, 'That is not what Mom meant and you know it, Dad. What Mom said was that you were always looking for God and hoping to catch him and trap him in a bottle so that you could look at him and prove he existed. Once captured, you would demand that he perform a miracle for you to prove that he was The Almighty. That is what Mom said.' 'Well, Boy, there is NO God to be found to be corked into a bottle. He does not exist. He never did. The concept of a Supreme Being was created by some poor frightened fool wishing for a reason for existence in this unreasonable world. The only genie to be found in a bottle is called "booze". Boy! I'll drink to that!' he said as he raised his glass in another toast and then swallowed its contents down his throat. He then returned to the kitchen and replenished his glass. When he reentered the living room he asked me, 'What did you think of Mary?' 'She's very pretty,' I answered. 'I didn't ask you if you thought she was pretty. I asked you what you thought of her,' he replied. 'She seems to be very nice. I wasn't with her long enough to really get to know her but she seemed like a very nice person. Besides it doesn't matter what I think of her, Dad. If she makes you happy I approve of her.' My father looked very agitated by my answer. A scowl crossed his face and he reddened with anger. 'God damn it! You didn't like her!' he growled. 'I know you didn't like her! Why didn't you like her?' I paused cautiously before answering. 'I told you I did like her The only thing I didn't like about her was that she never once said that she was sorry that my mother had died. Mary is aware that Mom died just a short while ago. However, she pretended that Mom never existed. I believe that a nicer lady would have said, "I am so sorry to hear that you lost your mother. I hear that she was a wonderful woman." Mary never once mentioned Mom. That's the only thing I objected to about her,' I answered. 'I knew that if you and she should marry I wouldn't ever be able to talk about Mom. But that's okay, Dad. Mary didn't know Mom and she has nothing to do with that part of our lives.' My father placed his glass of bourbon upon the coffee table with a loud thud. 'God damn it! That woman couldn't' stand in your mother's shoes! She is nothing but a low class tramp! I could never love that woman!' 'Dad, stop it!' I interrupted. 'Don't demean Mary. She is simply a woman who is looking for happiness. Don't belittle her. She never knew Mom and it is unfair that you try to compare Mary to her. Give Mary a chance. She obviously cares for you. Don't you think that I know that Mary is simply a diversion for you? She is someone you use to take your mind of Mom and nothing more. I know that, Dad,' I said.

"Later that night a major catastrophe occurred which was to alter the fate of my father's life forever. He was in a drunken stupor by 2:00 AM. Thinking he had fallen asleep on the sofa I went to bed.  At 3:30 that morning I heard loud violent screams coming from the living room. I bolted from my bed and ran to see what was the matter. My father was kneeling on the floor and was sobbing hysterically. At first I did not notice that he had a straight razor in his hand. 'Damn you God!' he screamed. 'Why did you let Julia die? Why? Why? Why did you let my Julia die?' As my eyes adjusted to the dim light I noticed that blood was splattered on the carpet all around the area in which my father was knelt. It was then that I noticed he had a straight razor in his right hand and that he had slashed both of his wrists. He had severed his arties and blood was gushing from both arms. I ran to where he was and grabbed the razor out of his hand and then I bolted into the kitchen and took fresh dishtowels from a drawer and made turn-a-cuts for his wrists. I then telephoned the operator and asked her to call for an ambulance. I was too shaken to call for one myself. It did not take long for the ambulance to arrive and rush us to the emergency clinic.

"My father did not realize the consequences he would have to face when he attempted this suicide nor the repercussions that it would cause. Previously he had been cited three times for driving under the influence of alcohol. He had not been arrested for these offenses for when he explained to the police that he was drunk because his wife had died, the officers took pity on him and pressed no formal charges. Dad's name was also on record as being a potential suicide with mental health organizations in Bakersfield. Drunk and lonely, unable to sleep he would phone Suicide Hotline if only to have someone to talk to. He did not realize they kept records of each call. Because of the facts that he was on both MediCal and Welfare it was decided by his doctors and the California State Authorities that he either be institutionalized in a California State mental facility for a period of eight months observation, or that he be moved to a private convalescent home where he could be professionally cared for. I asked that the courts allow him to live with me but the authorities stated that because he was in need of medical care, and that his medicines were capable of causing death if taken in overdose, that he would be in need of a professional nurse 24 hours per day. The cost of acquiring such care was prohibitive and so I found a private halfway house in Wasco, California, which although expensive was affordable for me. Medical bills had caused my father to become penniless and I was now responsible for his financial needs. It was a small and very nice halfway house. There he would have a private room with bath, three meals a day, and in and out privileges. Wasco is a small farming community just a few miles north of Bakersfield. He would be close to all that was familiar to him and I made financial arrangements with his brother Tony to care for any additional needs dad may have. Fortunately I was able to keep him from being admitted into a state mental institution and, needless to say, my father was grateful for that. Those handling his case told me that he would have to give up his apartment. His doctors felt that, should he be released, it would be mentally unhealthy for him to return to his home and the memories within.

:"My father's stay in the hospital was to last two weeks before he would be able to be moved to Wasco. I did not share with him all the facts that the state had demanded of me. I was fearful that if he were aware that he had to give up his apartment, as well as his independence, these facts would have been more than I felt he could handle at that time. Pat made arrangement to come to Bakersfield and join me. Together we cleared my father's apartment and moved his personal belongings to the convalescent home. My mother's belongings were given to family members, with the exception of items I knew my father would want for himself."

Dr: "You poor boy! This must have been a tremendously difficult time for you?"

WW: "Yes, it was a terribly difficult time. However, my father and I were finally able to come to a deeper respect and understanding of each other because of the circumstances we had to face during this period. One might even say that we resolved our karma."

Dr: "Are you saying that you were finally able to come to love him?"

WW: "Yes, in a way I suppose you could say that. He had been a wonderful husband to my mother. I knew well the pain he suffered because of her death and I was very sympathetic towards him. He had greatly loved my mother. He had made many personal sacrifices for her welfare. If for no other reason I loved him for that. I understood his alcoholism and why he drank. He was a man broken in both spirit and soul. I also knew that alcoholism, Emphysema and Parkinson's disease were all ravaging his body and for these facts alone he had no hope for an optimistic future. I suppose what I felt for him was pity. "

Dr: "The word to express your feelings towards your father is the word 'compassion,' Walden. You felt deep compassion towards your father."

WW: "Yes. Thank you, Gina. The word compassion is the correct word to describe the feelings I felt towards my father."

Dr: "And compassion is a form of love. Dear boy you make me laugh! How can you possibly fail to recognize the word compassion? You are probably the most compassionate human being I have ever known. Your entire life story is a story of your deep compassions towards people. How can you fail to see this? (Laugh) Your innocence  amazes me Walden! Now please continue with your story. What happened to cause you and your father to come to respect and understand one another?" 

WW: "There was one specific time during his hospital stay in which he and I shared past experiences we had not spoken of before. When we concluded our conversation that day I felt free of any disliking, animosity or fear of the man. I actually wanted to tell him I loved him. In fact I did tell him that. Yes, I think we truly resolved our negative karma that day."

Dr: "Do please share this experience with me?"

WW: "Of course. It was the evening before he was to be released from the hospital. Dad was lying calmly in his hospital bed with an oxygen mask over his face. He was having a difficult time breathing due to his emphysema. I don't recall what, if anything, we had been talking about. Whatever it was it was of no importance. I looked down at him and noticed that he was looking at me very strangely. 'Are you all right?' I asked. He removed the oxygen mask from his face and asked, 'Why are you being so kind to me?' The bluntness of his question took me by surprise. I thought to myself, 'My God! He wants to be intimate with me! The seriousness of his question made me very unconformable and so I pretended I had not heard him. 'I asked you a question! Why are you being so kind to me?' he repeated. For a moment I felt like a rabbit being trapped by a rattlesnake. I didn't know if I should run or stand still. My father and I had rarely if ever shared intimate conversations and I wasn't prepared to answer his question.  'I want you to answer me!' he said as he struggled to sit up in his bed. I reached over to help him get comfortable and said, 'I am being kind to you because you were good to my mother.' My answer was sincere and spontaneous. 'Dad, you were the greatest husband any woman could have ever had. You lost every penny you ever earned on hospital and medical bills and you never once complained. You did all of this just to keep my mother alive and I love and respect and admire you for that.' He did not respond to my answer. Instead he looked me directly in the eye and said, 'Well·I wasn't very good to you was I?' I paused for a few seconds trying to think how I would answer his question. As he waited for my reply his pale blue eyes filled with tears and I knew that he was sincere with his question and apprehensive as to what my answer might be. 'What's done is done, Dad. There is no need to delve into the past. I am not angry with you. I realize how difficult things were for you back then. I know what it was like loving a woman who was ill, never knowing from day to day if she would live or die. I had taken care of her from the time I was born until the age of thirteen when you reentered our lives. My childhood years were spent with never knowing from day to day whether she would be alive when I went to awaken her in the morning.  After you remarried her I watched you going through the same anguish that I went through. I watched as you held your breath as you awakened her each morning·afraid, afraid that she might have died during the night.' My father looked down at his hands as if he were embarrassed. 'You were aware of that?' he asked quietly. 'Of course I was aware of that. I knew the pain you were going through and I felt so sorry for you. You and I shared that fear together each morning and I was so grateful I didn't have to bare it alone anymore. I was so thankful that you were there to go through it with me,' I answered. 'Yes, it was hell but it wasn't as bad as the hell I am suffering now that she has died. I wish she were still alive so that I could knock on that bedroom door every morning of my life,' he replied as he took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his nose. 'Have you ever been able to forgive me for sending your dog to the pound?' he asked. The incident he was referring to was one of the most painful happenings in my life. I was greatly surprised that he would bring this incident up and was, therefore, unprepared to answer him. 'Let's no get into that, Dad.  What happened to Cindy was a long, long time ago. There is no sense in going into that.' 'Yes, Cindy·that was the dog's name. I had forgotten her name. I knew how much you loved that little dog! I had no right to do what I did·no right whatsoever! It was wrong for me to have that little dog put to sleep.' Once again he took his handkerchief from his pocket and blotted his watering eyes. 'Can you ever forgive me for what I did? I don't suppose you can but before you answer me let me tell you why I sent Cindy away.' I remained silent and watched him fold his handkerchief and place it back into his pocket. 'I did that meanness towards the dog because I was jealous of it! I knew that you loved that dog and that you did not feel love for me. I was jealous of the love you felt for that dog and I wanted to hurt you for not loving me!  That is why I had your dog put to sleep. I know what I did was childish and cruel but what I just told you is the truth of why I did it,' he said. Neither of us spoke again for a moment or two. The sincerity of his confession touched me deeply. I seated myself on the arm of his chair and place one of my arms over his shoulder and hugged him to me. 'Oh, Dad·that's okay. You don't have to say anymore. That was a long time ago. I have forgotten it. Now that I know why you did it, of course I forgive you for what you did,' I said gently. 'How could you forgive me for it? It was wrongful for me to do!' he answered. 'Guess what?' I asked with a smile. 'It wasn't as awful as you think.' 'What do you mean?' he asked, finally looking me in the eye once again. 'The Pound didn't put Cindy to sleep as you thought.' 'They didn't?' he asked in wide-eyed amazement. He seemed genuinely surprised by what I had said. 'No, they did not put her to sleep. Cindy was adopted by a man by the name of Ed Holloway. Mr. Holloway was a baker who lived on Monterey Street. He, his wife and two kids adopted Cindy gave her a happy life and so you see Dad, you didn't kill Cindy after all.'  'Oh, I am so glad! Thank you for telling me this. I have carried this guilt with me for a long, long time,' he replied with a deep sigh and then said, "I am so deeply sorry that I was sometimes so cruel to you, Boy.'  'I knew that you did a lot of the things you did because you were angry that Mom was ill. I figured you needed a dog to kick and I figured that I was that dog. I also knew that you were jealous of the love Mom felt towards me. I knew that you wanted Mom all to yourself. I should have let you have her but I loved her too. She always said she loved us both equally as much but in entirely different ways. I suppose we really didn't listen. Instead we rivaled for her affections. I also felt that you were very disappointed with me.' 'What do you mean? You were never a disappointment to me! How could you have thought that?' 'Of course I was a disappointment to you Dad. How could I have not been? I was timid, non-athletic, overly sensitive; short and not terribly bright. I believed that you thought I was weak and without character and that you disliked me for these shortcomings. I thought you disciplined me to toughen me up·to try and make a man out of me. I think that you were ashamed of my passiveness and considered me to be a coward for not standing up to you. Yes, I was afraid of you and, yes, I did cower whenever you became angry with me. However, I made up my mind that no matter what you did to me I would never become hard and bitter and angry like you. I was determined that I was going to be as sweet and kind and loving towards people as Mom was. I was never ashamed of my passiveness or lack of aggressiveness. I considered these traits to be my strengths but I knew you could never see it that way.'  No sooner had I spoken these words than my father surprised me by taking my hand and placing it into his. 'And you do possess all the good and loving traits that were Julia's, Wally. Don't you understand why I treated you as I did? Don't you see why I hurt you? Don't you understand that when I was punishing you I was actually punishing myself?' I listened to what my father was saying and yet I could not comprehend what it was he was trying to tell me. 'I'm sorry Dad, I don't understand what it is you are trying to tell me,' I replied. ' What I am telling you is that the reason that I mistreated you was because I was jealous of you. You were the kindest and sweetest natured boy I ever knew and I was jealous and envious of your sweetness and your innocence! You were a constant reminder to me of all that I had once been and all that I had lost. I tried to take your naiveté from you; I tried to make you hard and bitter like me. You were a constant reminder of what a son-of-a-bitch life had made of me! I envied you and that is the truth as to why I sometimes hurt and tormented you! You were a wonderful boy. Don't ever think that you weren't. The problem was never with you, it was me.'

"We sat in silence for what seemed a long while. There was nothing more for us to say. We had shared our inner truths and we knew that. 'Do you think you can ever forgive me for the wrongs I have done?' he asked. Suddenly I heard Pearl Shannon's voice in my head, 'May the divine love in you meet the divine love in me for a greater understanding.' It was as if Pearl were sitting next to me and whispering these words in my ear. 'Speak from your heart,' she whispered. 'Yes, Dad, I forgive you,' I answered. 'Thank you, Boy,' he replied quietly, too embarrassed to look me in the eye. 'I can't expect you to love me. I only ask that you forgive me,' he added. I put an arm over his shoulder and pulled him closer to me. 'Dad, I have got something to tell you and I want you to listen.' 'Of course. What is it you want to say?' he asked. ' I want you to look me in the eye while I tell you what I have to say so that you will always remember it.' 'All right,' he said as he looked directly at me. 'Yes? Tell me,' he asked again. 'I love you, Dad. That is what I want to say to you. I love you. That was the last time I ever saw my father cry.

"Dad's stay in the half way house in Wasco, California lasted only a few weeks. He adjusted to the experience far better than I had expected he would. Pat and I visited him there only once. On October 8th 1973 I received a brief letter from him that said, 'If anything should happen to me please see to it that I am buried beside your mother. Put these words on our headstone, "Arthur and Julia Welch, Soul Mates Here and Hereafter." I love you, Dad.' Two days later on October 10^th I received a telephone call from my father's brother who told me that my father had died. 'Bud was eating his breakfast when suddenly he could not catch his breath,' Tony said. 'The nurses at the convalescent home rushed him to the hospital in an ambulance but he died before he arrived there. I have requested an autopsy to see what caused his death,' I recalled my Natal Chart in my mind. My Sun was afflicted by the Planet Neptune, which indicated that my father would die from either alcohol or drug related problems. The Neptunian influence also indicated that the cause of his death would remain a mystery. 'The coroner isn't going to tell you anything, Uncle Tony,' I replied. ' I believe that Dad died from an overdose of Valium. The doctors will be afraid we will blame them for over-prescribing the drug and that we will sue them. They aren't going to tell us anything.' My words proved true. Our requests for autopsy reports were ignored. We were never to hear from the coroner's office. Because an empty Valium bottle was found by my father's bedside it was presumed, by family members, as well as by the Catholic Church, that my father's death was a suicide. Due to this presumption, the cemetery in which my mother was buried forbid my father to be buried beside her. 'You have absolutely no proof that my father committed suicide! We have never received an autopsy report. The coroner's office states that the autopsy report has been lost. I demand that you bury this man beside his wife! How dare you judge a man whom you have never even met!  I insist that my father be buried with my mother. He was the finest husband any woman could have ever hoped to have and you will honor him by burying him with the woman he loved. If you do not comply with my wishes I will have no choice but to take legal action against you!'

"Due to my threats I managed to have my father's wishes honored. The cemetery agreed to allow his burial. I also tried to arrange to have a funeral service for him but, try as I may, I could not get anyone in the family to attend the service. My father had not been a popular man amongst my mother's family. Dad's brother Tony, his wife Joyce, Pat and I decided to hold a private memorial service for Dad in a small chapel in Bakersfield on Sunday morning Oct. 14^th. Pearl Shannon had predicted that my father's death would occur about eight months from that of my mother's. Once again she had been correct for he died just a few days shy of the eighth month. It was extremely windy the morning of his memorial service. I felt rather haunted sitting in that small chapel listening to my uncle read my father's eulogy as the wind whistled through the limbs of the trees outside. It seemed so inappropriate to have such a small gathering to pay tribute to the life of a man who had loved so greatly. It was more for that fact that I wept that day than it was for my father's death in itself for at least now, in death, I knew he was truly at peace for he had so desperately wanted to leave the earth plane to escape its sorrows. 

"Pat and I decided to leave for home immediately following my father's memorial service. As we were driving towards Hwy 99 I asked that he stop on the corner of Chester Avenue and Fourth Street so that I could once again see the small cottage that I had shared with my parents during my grammar and high school years. I knew that it was not likely that I would ever return to Bakersfield again and I wanted to take one last look at the place that we had once called home. I sat for a short while studying the small structure. It bothered me to see it again. I had not realized that it would. I shut my eyes and placed a hand over my face. 'It bothers you to see the house again, doesn't it?' Pat asked. 'Yes, it does. I didn't expect that it would but it does bother me to see it again. I feel like I am sixteen years old again and that Mom and Dad are waiting inside the house for me to return home from school. It's as if they never died, Pat. It's a strange and unsettling feeling. When I look at that building I feel that I have never moved away from here·like my future and you and all of that hasn't happened yet. Please let's leave. I've seen enough.' 'Of course. I understand,' Pat said as he started the engine of the car. As we drove away I did not look back. I wanted to put the house on Fourth Street forever behind me. A couple of minutes later we were on the corner of 'I' and Truxton Streets. I think that Pat intentionally drove this route so that I could once again see the campus of Bakersfield High School. Once there he pulled to the curb and parked in front of Harvey Auditorium. 'Look,' he said, 'the front doors to the theatre are open. Why don't you go inside for a few moments and take a look around?' Pat was aware that I was undergoing my Saturn Return, that once every thirty year period when the planet Saturn transits a full circle around the zodiac and returns to where it was placed at the time of one's birth. It is a time of reevaluating one's life experiences, of looking backwards, of reliving past experiences and of closing doors. I was touched that he was being so sensitive and understanding of what I was going through emotionally. 'Thanks Pat,' I said as I exited the car. 'I will just be a few minutes.' As I entered the auditorium I paused at the door to room 101. To my surprise the door to my old classroom was unlocked. I cautiously opened it to see if anyone was inside. The room was empty. I looked at the familiar desks lined up facing the small classroom stage. For a moment, in my minds eye, I could see Miss B sitting casually, as always, at her blonde oak desk at the back of the room. In the front row directly below the stage were the four desks that were once occupied by my friends Nyla, Sandi, Dave and myself. Despite the passing of time nothing in the classroom appeared to have changed. I seated myself at my familiar old desk and sat quietly reliving old memories. It would not have surprised me had my old high school friends entered the room to join me.  For a moment I thought I saw Barbara Mooney practicing her role of The Angel in 'The Feast of Lights.' I had to shake my head to remind myself that she had died many years ago and that I was no longer a teenager. I was thirty years old now and I had to put my past behind me and go forward with my life. My childhood and teenager years were forever gone. Like Barbara they had died, and although I could resurrect them in memory I could never in reality be able to live them again. I turned and walked away from my old classroom and entered into the main theatre. It was damp and cold inside. This was a place where light rarely entered and I shivered for just a moment as I always had when I entered into this magical place which I had so greatly once loved. It was a huge theatre and I felt tiny standing alone on center stage. This was the place where I had always been happiest during my teenage years. Here on this stage I had played The Cowardly Lion in 'The Wizard of Oz', George in 'Our Town', Mr. Oshira in 'The Teahouse Of The August Moon', as well as several other dozen characters in numerous other plays. The only light I could see were the green exit lights behind the area where the audience sat. It felt as if time had never entered this hallowed place. I stayed several minutes reliving cherished memories and when I felt finished I left those memories behind me in that theatre and went to join Pat who was outside in the car waiting for me. As I sat myself beside him he said, 'Don't you want to walk around the campus and see the rest of your old school?' 'No. Believe it or not I don't remember anything else about this school. I don't remember any of the other classrooms I studied in. Harvey Auditorium is all that I remember of my high school experience. Nothing else ever mattered to me here.  Thank you for bringing me here, Pat. I'm glad I got to see the theatre one last time. It is the only place I was ever happy in during the years I lived in this town. But that was a long, long time ago and I am leaving those memories behind me now.

"We decided not to stop for lunch that day. The drive north through the San Joaquin Valley is a long, flat and tedious one. I watched the sun burnt colorless fields pass by as the gusty wind blew tumbleweeds across the highway as our car passed through. When we finally reached the region between Tracy and Stockton an idea crossed my mind. 'Pat? Can I ask another favor of you?' I asked. 'Of course. What?' he answered. 'Do you mind if we stop in Stockton for just a few minutes? I would like to see the street where I once lived. I'd also like to see my old grammar school once again.' 'Boy! You really are closing doors aren't you?" he laughed. 'Yes I am, Pat. I feel as if my life has come full circle and I want to look backwards just one more time. It's like I am finishing something and I don't know what it is. It's a part of this Saturn Return cycle I am going through..

"I was surprised how easy it was for me to know how to direct him to South Olive Street. It had been eighteen years since I had last been there but it seemed more like a hundred years had passed since I last saw my childhood neighborhood. The street was much shorter and narrower than I had remembered it to be. I noticed on the street sign that the 'South' had been dropped from 'Olive' - perhaps because the county planners also discovered it not to be a very long street and thought it unnecessary to distinguish the northern and the southern tips of it. I remembered that the first house that would come up to our right would be The Howells home. My heart sunk in disappointment when I discovered it was no longer there. A large ranch style house replaced it. The only familiar landmark I could see on the property was the long driveway to the left of the houses main entrance where Joanie's body had been carried away by ambulance the day she had died. The old plum tree where Joanie  and I had once had our picture taken was no longer there. I knew that there was no sense to knock on the door to ask the whereabouts of Mr. And Mrs. Howell. After I had moved away from Stockton I had mailed them Christmas Cards each December. For the past several years my cards were returned, 'Persons Unknown'.

"Two doors left of Joanie's house would be where the Martins had lived. Strange, I could not remember who had lived in the home in-between the Howells and the Martins. Ken and Sue Martin's old home had been totally remodeled. A new addition had been added to the house. The building was still painted a light shade of gray and a resemblance to the original structure still remained. I asked Pat to pull to the curb and park. I took a deep breath before turning to look at the house directly across the street. That is where I had once lived. I was surprised to find that the house looked just as I had remembered. It was not now, nor had it ever been an attractive house. Guy Foss himself had built this house, concrete brick upon concrete brick, back during the period of World War Two. The only distinctive feature of the building was the strange diamond shaped window he had placed to the right of the front entrance. The front yard was badly in need of care. The lawn was now like straw, parched from lack of water, my mothers once prized red rose bushes spindly from denial of pruning. Staked in the ground to the left of the gravel driveway stood a "For Sale" sign. As I got out of the car to take a closer look at my old home, a young boy came pedaling towards me on his bicycle. I waved at him to stop and asked him if he lived in the neighborhood. 'Just about all my life. I'm eleven and lived here since I was five,' he said proudly. 'Do you know who owns the house across the street?' I asked pointing at the old Foss residence. 'There was an old man who lived there once but he died a long, long time ago before I was born. Nobody has lived there for as long as I can remember. Whoever did moved away a long time ago. You never see nobody in that old place.' I thanked the boy, and having been assured that the home was vacant, I walked on to the premises to take a closer look at the home I had once lived in. It did not take me long to realize I had made a mistake by returning here. Sad and unwelcome memories from the past flooded my mind. The Gypsy had prophesied to my mother that living in this house would bring to her the time of her greatest unhappiness: 'White feathers, White feathers everywhere, tears and sorrow for you beware, for the time has come for your greatest despair·' I recalled the Gypsy's words as I peered through the soiled dirty window pains trying to see the interior of the house.  There were two small dark bedrooms. Guy Foss had occupied the bedroom in the front of the house. My mother, bedridden during our years in this home, slept in a hospital bed in the living room. My stepbrother Bucky and I had shared the small bedroom at the back. The walls were still painted blue gray and dusty rose, that once popular, yet awful shade of color that looks just as it sounds. All the furniture had been removed and the interior looked as sad and depressing as I had remembered it to be. I wondered why I had felt compelled to see this place one last time, for the years in which I had lived in this house was of a time I would really have preferred never to remember. As I turned to view the back yard I saw that the two chicken houses were no longer there. However, I recognized the old walnut tree and recalled that to the right of it was the spot where my dog Brutus had been buried. The only flowers blooming on the property were wild mustard blossoms. I picked a generous handful of the yellow blossoms and placed them on his grave. A gust of wind tried to scatter the flowers into the surrounding field and so I placed a few stones on the stems of the mustard blossoms so they would be secured to the ground. I took one last look at the property and then silently thanked God that I had somehow escaped living here and then walked back to the car to join Pat. 'What was all of that about?' he asked. 'What was all of what about?' I asked in return. 'Why were you picking flowers and placing them on the ground? Is somebody buried there?' he asked. I laughed for a moment and replied, 'Well yes. Do you remember me telling you that I once had a dog-named Brutus? He is buried there. He was my first best friend and I wanted to remember him.'

"As we drove to the end of Olive Street I noticed that the vacant field where Joanie and I had often times played was now developed with several houses. I recalled how my mother had tried to comfort me in this place the day Joanie had died. 'Just drive away Pat. I don't want to see anymore! It's not the same. It's all changed,' I exclaimed. 'It was foolish of me to want to see this place again. I shouldn't have come.' 'Well I am going to drive you by your old school just the same. You might as well finish this bought with nostalgia as long as we are here,' he replied.

"Montezuma Elementary School stilled looked familiar. As I got out of the car to take a closer look at the dark brown buildings, a huge gust of wind slammed the car door closed behind me. I walked onto the campus trying to remember which rooms I had studied in. I remembered there being Monkey Bars in the playground that could be seen from the windows in Mrs. Scott's classroom. I walked out onto the school playground. To my surprise, there still standing, were the Monkey Bars that I had played on when I was a child. I walked to the window of my former classroom and looked inside. It was Sunday so naturally the room was vacant. However, I noticed that the classroom door was left open. Perhaps the school's janitor cleaned on Sundays. Overhead I could hear strange catlike screeches. I looked to see where these sounds were coming from and then noticed that the wind had gained great velocity The screeches were cause by the wind's force as it blew threw the electrical wires, playing them as if they were strings on a harp. I entered the classroom to shelter myself from the gale and suddenly found myself standing in the very same spot where I had stood that day, eighteen years ago, where I had viewed the ghostly apparition of my childhood friend, Joanie.  I remembered how my teacher Mrs. Scott had followed me into the playground when I exclaimed that I was seeing the apparitions of Joanie and a golden Palomino horse. I remembered how the winds whipped and thrashed us as we sat in the playground field while I experienced seeing the ghostly phenomena. It seemed eerie to me that one this one day in which I had decided to return to this place, the wind's would once again choose to be angry.

"'Are you ready to leave?' I turned around and there was Pat standing behind me.  'Yes, Pat. I am ready to go home now. I am through with all this nostalgic nonsense.  Thanks for going out of our way to let me revisit here, but I am done with it. There is nothing more I wish to see.  I am finished with whatever it is I am trying to finish.' 'Good. We had best leave for home. The windstorm is worsening.' We shielded ourselves from the wind as we made our way back to the car.

"The winds from the Kern and San Joaquin valleys followed us home that day. There was a full moon forming in the October sky. The moon always appeared to be lower to the earth, larger and a deep shade of orange during the month of October in Sonoma Valley. Jack London called Sonoma Valley 'The Valley of The Moon' and anyone who has seen an October Moon there would understand why. Pat and I arrived home around 5:30 PM. The last rays of sunlight dimmed into twilight as we entered the house. As I turned on the lights, Pat remarked that he felt he should prepare an early dinner incase there might be a power outage caused by the windstorm. I agreed that his suggestion was a good idea. Besides we were both exhausted from the long drive home. By 8:00 PM we were both in our beds. The intensity of the winds increased greatly after the sun had surrendered itself into darkness. The howling raging sound of it made it impossible for me to sleep. I have always disliked windstorms more than any other form of natural disturbances. I turned on my bedside lamp and decided to read hoping that we would not have an electrical power outage. As the hours increased so too did the intensity of the wind. By 11:45 PM it sounded as if we might be in the midst of a hurricane. Suddenly my brass bed started shaking violently! It felt as if it were being lifted and then dropped on the floor. Next it twisted from side to side, then again it lifted, then fell again to the floor. I closed my eyes in fear then sat straight up and grabbed each side of my mattress in preparation of running from the room. I was uncertain as to whether an earthquake or cyclone had struck the house. As I opened my eyes to choose the direction to make my exit, to my disbelief, I saw my father standing at the foot of my bed. He was laughing hysterically. Inside my head I could hear his voice saying, 'I gotcha! I gotcha!' as he threw back in head and laughed madly. His voice sounded exactly as it had in life with the exception that it now sounded clearer and more intense than I had ever remembered it to be. He had both of his hands placed on a rung of the footboard of my bed and he was shaking the brass frame with all of his might. 'I told you I would come back and haunt you if there was a life after death!' he said laughing. 'I told you I would come back and give you a sign if you were right.' In his physical appearance he looked as he had when he was twenty-five or thirty years of age. He seemed to radiate light from within and was so clear in form that he appeared to be solid and touchable. It felt as if my bedroom had been charged with electricity. I could hear a humming, static sound as if electrical current had gone awry. I sat perfectly still and stared at him. I watched in amazement as he took both his hands from the bedpost and extended them towards me. As he did so his laughter stopped. The shaking of my bed ceased and calmness returned to my room.  A very serious look then came across his face. In the next instance he said, 'You were right·. you were right·there is a God, my boy! There is a God and He is merciful and loving just as you have always believed! I am with Julia now! I am with your mother! I have finally found The Genie, my boy! I have finally found The Genie!' With these words my father gave me a joyous smile and then I watched in fascination as his apparition slowly and completely faded from sight. For the next several moments I sat quietly staring into the space where my father had appeared. I was not at all frightened. A strange, seemingly spiritual calmness had come over me. In my mind I recalled each and every word that he had spoken. I closed my eyes to recall his image and when I reopened them I saw a man's figure standing before me again! 'What in the world is going on in here?' Pat asked. 'What's all the shaking and rattling about? The noise woke me up. Are we having an earthquake?' 'No, Pat. Everything is all right,' I answered. 'Who were you talking to? I heard you talking to somebody.' 'Pat, you will never believe this. The spirit of my father just appeared to me. I saw the spirit of my father!' By speaking these words the full realization of what I had just witnessed became reality. Suddenly my body lost control of itself and I began shaking violently. Pat walked to the side of my bed and sat next to me and put an arm around my shoulder pulling me closely to him trying to calm me. 'I saw the spirit of my father, Pat! He talked to me! I saw him!' I repeated. 'I believe you, Wally. What did he say to you?' he asked quietly. 'He said that I was right. He said that there is a life after death. He said that he was with my mother now.' Pat reached into a pocket of his robe and removed a handkerchief and began wiping the tears from my eyes. 'Shhh·.' he said. 'Calm down·relax· Be quiet now. Lay back and close your eyes and try to go to sleep. The wind is beginning to die down. It will be calm again soon. You should be able to sleep now. You can tell me all about what you saw in the morning.' He pushed my head gently backwards onto my pillow then pulled the covers up to my chin. 'Don't speak anymore. Just go to sleep.' I closed my eyes to please Pat and then took several deep breaths to calm myself. 'I know why Bud came back from the other side to visit you,' he said. 'He wanted to connect with you just once more, to bring you in touch with his soul so that he could let you know that he was with Julia once again.' 'Yes Pat, he told me that. But I don't think that is the real reason that he came back,' I answered. 'No? If not that, for what reason then?' Pat asked. ' I believe that he returned because he wanted to tell me that he finally found The Genie, that they have met and that He is real. That, I think, is the real reason that he returned.'"

The End

After Words:

     Reverend Pearl Shannon joined her dear friend Doctor Stafford on The Other Side on Friday December 20^th 1985. She passed away in San Francisco General Hospital. Pearl survived her husband, Joe, by three years. Joe was a victim of diabetes but died of heart failure in their home with Pearl at his bedside, holding his hand at the time of Joe's passing. They are buried side by side along with Pearl's father and beloved mother, Carrie. Carrie Davis passed on July 9^th 1997. She lived to be 110 years old. Joe and Pearl Shannon's only child, a son, and his four children and ten grandchildren survive them. It is not yet known if any of the offspring have inherited Pearl's incredible gift.

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     On the final day of this interview both Gina and Walden were disappointed to have to admit that they were unable to decipher the entire context of "The Gypsy's Riddle." What remained to be understood was, "Tears for three, then shall come to be·?" This phrase was followed by, "a blessed Magi to comfort thee." Both Gina and Walden were certain that 'Magi' (the name for astrologer) referred to the fact that the gypsy was predicting that Walden was to be born to Julia and that he would become both her child and greatest comfort from then on. Gina believed that the unsolved phrase in the riddle suggested the loss of three children before Walden's birth. "But she only lost one child," Walden replied. "Her daughter Priscilla died during infancy in 1942. I suppose one could say she lost my half-sister Marilyn, too, considering the fact that Mom did not raise her. However, I don't believe that is what the gypsy meant." "During one of the psychic readings which Pearl Shannon gave you, didn't she state that there was another daughter born to Julia?" "Yes, she did," Walden answered, "but she was definitely wrong regarding that matter. Mom only had three children total. Of that I am certain." 

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A special thank you to Joan for endless hours of work preparing the text and photographs for "In Touch With His Soul." Her great dedication to finishing this project is gratefully appreciated.

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     Walden Welch and his dear friend and webmaster, Joan, wish to thank you for your interest in "In Touch With His Soul." Numerous letters of praise and enthusiasm have been received and have been greatly appreciated. "In Touch" has been an emotionally draining experience for Walden. It was a difficult decision for him to come to the agreement of publicly sharing this intimate interview which he had given in private to Miss Gina Cerminara many years ago. Your praises and the positive support you have given him have assured Walden that he has made the right decision by releasing this interview. To know that his life has somehow spiritually inspired you has been his greatest reward.

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