Accidents happen.  When I was 5 years old, I accidentally sliced my left eye open with a kitchen knife. 

Six months after I cut my left eye, Dad took me to a carnival.  I was still walking around with a giant patch over my left eye.  I had undergone two surgeries at this point.  The doctors were trying to save the damaged eye, but success seemed unlikely.  I had a detached retina that refused to heal.

The funny thing was that my father had also lost his left eye at a similar age.  Dad was walking home from school when a brick had fallen off a stone wall and hit him in the eye.  The brick should have hit him on top of his head, but for some reason my father had looked up at the exact moment to cause the brick to strike his eye directly.  Now we were both blind in our left eye.

Ever since I cut my eye out, my father had been spooked.  What a strange coincidence that his only son had suffered an identical fate.  Dad was a big fan of Edgar Cayce.  Thanks to Edgar Cayce, known to many as the Sleeping Prophet, Dad believed in Fate.  He was certain that some unseen entity had pushed that brick off the wall and then suggested he look up at the proper instant.  When I cut my eye out, Dad was very suspicious.  Dad was certain my accident had been caused by Fate as well.  Unfortunately I was too young to understand what he was talking about.

Dad already knew I was going to lose the eye, but had not found the courage to tell me yet.  It broke his heart.  Today's plan was for me to have fun, distract me from my problems.  Afterwards we would watch a stock car contest on a race track behind the carnival.  Dad let me play games for a while - ring toss, baseball toss, haunted house, maze, house of mirrors.  However, after two hours of play, Dad heard the engines warming up in the distance.  He became impatient and said it was time to go see the stock car show.  I could have cared less about car racing, but a deal's a deal so I tagged along without protest. 

We walked side by side as we made our way to the race track.  As we got close, I could hear the loud roar of the powerful car engines.  My father said the drivers were warming up their cars by circling around the track at rapid speed.  However, I couldn't see the vehicles.  They were hidden behind an eight foot wooden fence just to the left of us.  Those thunderous roars scared me.  I was frightened because the loud roars of the powerful machines indicated they were extremely close by, maybe thirty feet away.  My inability to see the cars bothered me.  Were they dangerous? 

Suddenly I stopped in my tracks.  Spotting a chance to shoot wooden ducks with a cork gun, I had a sudden irresistible urge to play.  Tugging on my father's hand with one hand, I pointed to the arcade game with my other hand.

"Dad, please let me play that game!"

Dad said, "No, Rick, you've had enough."

But I wouldn't take no for answer, so now I grabbed his arm with both hands.  Pulling really hard, I refused to let go. 

"C'mon, Dad.  One last game, please??"

Just as the word 'Please' left my mouth, we were startled by a horrible screeching sound followed by a loud crash at the fence.  We had been standing there debating for no more than a few seconds when the crash took place.  Since we were both blind in our left eye, we had no peripheral vision to help us react.  But it probably didn't matter.  The car had hit something to make it airborne.  Flying directly at us, we were sitting ducks.

The driver had lost control on the curve and the flimsy wooden fence had not slowed the powerful race car one bit.  I imagine the race car was hurtling towards us at 120 miles per hour.  Before we could even react, the enormous car swooshed past and barely missed us.  The car was so close the displaced air knocked us down with a rush. 

Laying prone on the ground, I watched in horror as the car touched back down to earth, then crashed violently into a telephone pole a mere ten feet to my right.  The impact was brutal; the driver was killed instantly.  He paid the ultimate price for losing control of his car.  As we scrambled to our feet, my father and I heard a snapping sound.  We stared in dismay as the phone pole broke in two and collapsed on top of the crumpled car.

Dad was in shock.  I was too.  I could not get over seeing that poor lifeless driver slumped over the steering wheel of his car.  As I started to cry, Dad put his hands on my shoulders and stared at me funny.  My father had the weirdest look on his face.

"Son, if you hadn't stopped me, we would both be dead now.  You should thank your guardian angel tonight."

I may have only been 5, but I had an unusual reaction to my father's suggestion.  Guardian angel, eh?  If so, then why did my so-called Guardian Angel let me cut my eye out six months ago?  Sarcasm aside, I suppose I have my father to thank for initiating my lifelong preoccupation with Fate.  His mention of Guardian Angels made me curious.  Based on a lifetime of observation, I have come to believe that every now and then certain events happen for a reason.  Nor do I think I am alone in my belief.  My guess is roughly half the world believes in Fate.  I have a simple way to make my point.  Have you ever noticed how our language is full of telltale expressions?

"His time was up." 
"It wasn't his time yet."
"It was meant to be." 
"God's will." 
"That bullet had his name on it."
"A fateful event." 
"Just in the nick of time."
"Out of the blue."
"An unusual coincidence."
"An angel on his shoulder."
"There are no accidents." 
"I was just thinking about you when you called."
"His prayers were answered."
"It was in the stars."
"It's a small world!"
"Saved by a miracle."
"A crazy bounce."
"A lucky bounce"
"Cursed by a dark cloud"

Every language and culture has a word for 'Destiny'.  In Arabic, it is known as 'Kismet' and 'Qadar'.  In German, it is 'Shicksal'.  In Chinese, it is 'Yuan'.  In Spanish, it is 'Que Sera' or 'Destino'.  In other words, the concept of Fate is Universal. 

Is there such a thing as Prophecy?  Did Nostradamus really predict the fire of London, the French Revolution, and rise of Hitler?  Is there such a thing as Reincarnation?  Did Edgar Cayce, the Sleeping Prophet, really witness the past lives of 2,000 people in his trances?  If Edgar Cayce was right, then perhaps our lives are meant to follow a script of sorts known as Destiny.  What if each incarnation is filled with predetermined obstacles meant to force us to refine our abilities and develop compassion for others?  And, yes, perhaps deal with Karmic punishment for misdeeds in previous incarnations.

The reason Precognition is important is because it suggests certain events in our life are scheduled to happen and that our Higher Self occasionally gives our conscious mind a glimpse of the future.  While I understand the concept of Precognition and Predestination makes most people very uncomfortable, it does not bother me.  To begin with, I don't believe everything is Predestined, just a few highlights here and there.  The way I see it, the existence of Fate implies the existence of God.  I like believing in God.  No matter how bad things are here in the Material World, it is nice to know a Higher Power is in control.  Furthermore, I like the idea of Karma because it implies there is Justice in a world where little children die young and the jerks never seem to get punished.   

Only one problem.  Are my fondest hopes justified or just a figment of wishful imagination?  Good question.  In fact, this was the exact question I asked when I was 20 years old and struggling to find meaning in life.  My solution was to document every Coincidence plus every Lucky Break and Bad Break that seemed out of the ordinary.  By the time I reached 50, I had accumulated a List of 100 Events that directly and indirectly suggest Predestination does indeed exist.  In Gypsy Prophecy, we will see my List extend well beyond 100.  Thanks to this List, I no longer have any doubt. 

Much of our lives is utterly predictable, Ho-hum Ordinary on a day to day basis.  But once in a while something happens that is so unlikely we have to take a step back and ask ourselves if we really know what is going on in this world.  When something happens that defies our Reality-testing equipment to the nth degree, maybe it is time to look at things in a different way.  Let's use Precognition as an example.  Precognition is a fancy word for the concept that a psychic like Nostradamus can predict the future far in advance.

As with other forms of extrasensory perception, since there is no reliable scientific evidence that the power of Precognition exists, the ability to predict the future is considered 'pseudoscience'.  The concept of Precognition violates the principle that an Effect cannot be seen before its Cause.  However, despite the lack of scientific evidence, many people believe Precognition is real.  Because anecdotal incidents have been widely reported, 'Precognition' remains a hot topic of research and discussion within the Parapsychology community. 

As a way of making my point, let's discuss a story we are all familiar with.  If ever there was an event that smacked of 'Fate', the Titanic Disaster comes to mind.  Even today people simply cannot get enough of this strange tale.  I suppose there is something about the utter impossibility of the tragedy that gives us all the heebie-jeebies.  After all, the Titanic was the ship 'that even God could not sink.' 

One of the spooky aspects of the Titanic story is that it was seemingly foretold.  Precognition suggests there are certain things that are meant to happen no matter how improbable.  Prior to the sinking of this giant ship, there were all kinds of dreams, premonitions and uneasy feelings being reported.  On the surface, this made no sense because the Titanic was said to be the safest ship ever built.  Nevertheless, there were quite a few last-minute cancellations, the Vanderbilts among the most notable.  Too bad the Astors failed to have a similar premonition. 

In the aftermath of the sinking, several surviving passengers claimed they had premonitions and 'evil forebodings' while aboard the ship.  For that matter, there is anecdotal evidence that people who were not on the ship had stepped forward prior to the sinking to share unusual dreams about the unfortunate disaster. 

There seems to be some credibility here.  Disturbed by visions of desperate people drowning, many people shared their forebodings with companions who were later able to verify these predictions had been made ahead of time.  Still others sent letters and telegrams to friends and relatives beforehand to relay their ominous premonition and suggest they skip the trip.  Unfortunately I have no way to verify these eerie stories of visions that haunt the Titanic Tragedy.  However, there is one unusual Titanic story that is impossible to deny.  

In 1898, Morgan Robertson wrote a book named Futility.  The subtitle was Wreck of the Titan.  The book’s author, a maritime expert, disavowed any psychic abilities or spiritual inspiration for writing the novel.  Robertson claimed he was merely well-educated on shipbuilding trends and well as the hazards of crossing the Atlantic.  Nevertheless, starting with the near-identical names of the Fictional ship and the Real ship, the similarities in this book to the actual wreck of the Titanic are uncanny. 

•  In the fictional version as well as the actual event, both ships struck an iceberg in the middle of the Atlantic. 

•  Both the fictional collision and the actual collision took place at midnight in mid-April.

•  Robertson's Titan disaster took place 400 miles from Newfoundland. The Titanic disaster took place 400 miles from Newfoundland.

•  In the book, since the Titan was considered unsinkable, it carried far too few lifeboats, "as few as the law allowed."  Ditto for the Titanic. 

•  In the book, more than half the Titan's 2500 passengers drowned.  In real life, more than half the Titanic's 2200 passengers and crew died. 

So was this book a big hit?  Absolutely not.  Although Morgan Robertson was a well-known writer of short stories, he became deeply frustrated when no one would publish his latest book.  The rejection letters all said the same thing. 

"Sorry, Mr. Robertson, but no one will ever believe this story."

Does Morgan Robertson's 'Titan' story prove anything?  No, of course not.  The skeptics will have the nerve to claim the similarities are just another ordinary coincidence.  But I think most people will agree this story is way beyond weird.  Maybe this would be a good time to add one more detail.  How was it possible for Morgan Robertson to describe with startling accuracy the most famous maritime disaster in history 14 years before it took place?  Robertson's book was written in 1898, but the actual sinking took place in 1912.  Robertson's details were so similar, it was almost like the man had read the headline, then copied it into his book. 

On the surface, the Robertson story makes a strong case for the existence of Precognition.  However, as it stands, Precognition currently belongs in the same realm of pseudoscience as ESP, Telekinesis and Jungian concepts such as Meaningful Coincidence and Synchronicity.  So who is right?  Is it the tough-minded, skeptical scientist who claims that Precognition is nonsense or some gullible, dimwitted True Believer like myself?  As the skeptics like to say, the problem with being open-minded is your brains fall out.  Hmm.  Personally speaking, I would enjoy hearing a close-minded scientist explain why the Robertson book does not foretell the future. 

Typically when the Impossible occurs, we ask if there could be a Supernatural explanation.  I think a lot of people agree with me.  I doubt seriously that I am the only person who is convinced there is more to this world than meets the eye.  Superstition lurks deep in the hearts of many.  Unfortunately, these are no longer the days when well-publicized miracles such as the parting of the Red Sea take place with Biblical regularity.  Since modern sensations are few and far between, I have settled on mysterious coincidences such as my close call with the deadly race car and Robertson's premonition of the Titanic Disaster as my best bet.  Based on a lifetime of gathering circumstantial evidence, it is my belief if we look closely, the Invisible Hand of God will manifest itself in subtle ways.

Carl Jung suggested that when something 'Improbable' occurs, it may have a far deeper meaning.  Jung's Meaningful Coincidence hints at a paradigm which stands in direct contradiction to Science's existing view of Reality.  Could Premonition and Precognition serve as evidence that the events of Man are manipulated behind the scenes by the Cosmos? 

I contend Robertson's Titan story is strong evidence of Precognition.  If so, maybe the Greeks were correct all along and there really is such a thing as Fate.  Just ask my old friend Oedipus, the man who tried as hard as he could to escape the terrible prophecy concerning his parents.  Oedipus was driven to madness by his inability to defy the trickery of the Gods.  As for myself, once upon a time I too tried to escape prophecy.  Given the premonition that my Affair with Victoria was meant to happen, I did everything in my power to avoid my Fate only to fail just like Oedipus.

Despite a firm vow not to let this Affair happen, I was stunned by the events of Doorstep Night.  After much thought, I came to the startling conclusion that Victoria and I had been blinded to allow this accursed situation to take place.  This was the birth of my theory of 'Cosmic Stupidity'.  I fully expect people to scoff at my idea, but at least JK Rowling agrees with me.  "Humans have a knack for choosing precisely the things that are worst for them.  Talent and intelligence will not inoculate anyone against the caprice of the Fates." 

If Fate does exist, then there must be some mechanism by which Fate is enacted.  Given that my Affair with Victoria was the worst mistake of my life, I was bewildered by the mysterious loss of my better judgment.  If I had been in my right mind, I would have never allowed this to take place.  After much thought, I concluded my judgment had been suspended in order to prevent me from seeing obvious ways to sidestep the trap I was in.

If it is true we are meant to face unavoidable obstacles at certain times, then removing our judgment at the key moment would be an effective way to cause us to stumble.  But who is going to believe me? 

"Oh, come on, Rick, you had a desirable woman remove her clothes and invite you to join her.  Victoria swore she had left her husband for you specifically to follow her belief that the two of you were on a preordained path together.  So why all this Mystical bullshit about being blinded and having your free will violated?"

Well aware that I would be laughed at if I ever made my suspicions and conclusions known, I dedicated myself to looking for other examples to support my theory of Cosmic Blindness.  Totally by accident I found exactly what I was looking for.  In 2012 I was hired to be the dance teacher on the 100-year Titanic Memorial Cruise which sailed to the site where the ship sank. 

Growing up, I had always assumed the Titanic Disaster was caused by the bad luck of running into a random iceberg in the middle of nowhere.  That viewpoint changed during this weeklong cruise.  Attending every lecture possible, I learned this terrible accident was not bad luck after all.  In fact, given the conditions, the ship's collision with the iceberg was unavoidable! 

The Titanic had been warned repeatedly by other ships in the area of a massive 200-mile wall of icebergs dead ahead in its path.  Fortunately there was enough space to weave through the blockade.  Serious caution to go slow and wait for daylight was advised.  So did the Titanic exercise caution?  No.  Not one precaution was taken that night.  In fact, Captain Smith did just the opposite.  He ordered his unwieldy ship to maintain speed at maximum and head straight into the looming wall of icebergs despite little visibility on a moonless night.

I asked myself why would the man considered the FINEST CAPTAIN IN THE FLEET, a man with 50 years of maritime experience, violate all norms of common sense?  His actions were suicidal!  What Captain Smith did was the very definition of criminally insane (or Cosmically Stupid?)  Here is my point.  If it was the Fate of the Titanic to hit an iceberg, the easiest way for an Unseen Being to create this tragedy would be to take control of Captain Smith's mind and remove all common sense.  For this reason, Captain Smith gets my vote as the all-time Poster Boy for the Theory of Cosmic Blindness. 

GOOD LUCK BAD LUCK

As a little boy, I worshipped the ground my father walked on.  Every now and then I would ask him to show me his Purple Heart medal from World War II.  Invariably I would also ask to see the impressive giant scar on his upper thigh caused by the bullet wound.

"Dad, was getting shot the worst thing to ever happen to you?"

My father would nod and remind me how he had been in extreme pain during his six month stay in the hospital.  Our relationship changed after the near-death experience when the race car barely missed hitting us.  One day after I asked him to show me his scar again, Dad stared at the bandage covering my damaged left eye.  Sitting at the side of my bed, he said, "You know, Rick, I am really sorry that you cut your eye.  But being blind in one eye is not the end of the world.  I'm blind in my left eye too and things have worked out okay."

I protested.  "But, Dad, I've had two operations and they haven't done any good.  Plus I've been forced to lie in bed for the past month because the doctor says that's the only way for my detached retina to heal.  I'm sick of it!  I just want to go running in the fields with my dog and play baseball and stuff like that."

My father nodded.  "Yes, I understand your problem.  I remember being bed-ridden after I was wounded.  But sometimes bad luck turns into good luck.  Who knows what the future holds?"

My eyes furrowed.  "What on earth are you talking about?"

For the first time my father told me the full story of his scar.  It was January 1945.  The Battle of the Bulge was the last major German offensive of World War II.  It was launched through the densely-forested Ardennes region in eastern Belgium.  The surprise attack in the dead of winter caught the Allied forces completely off guard.  Furthermore, it was the Americans who bore the brunt of the attack.  With their defenses down, the Americans incurred their highest casualty rate of the war.

My father's unit of fresh recruits had just arrived to reinforce the beleaguered Allied forces.  My father, 19 at the time, had only been in Belgium for a couple weeks when he was told to join a scout patrol sent through the deep snow of the Ardennes forest. 

As my father's unit slowly made its way through thick snow in this winter wonderland, a shot rang out from a thicket of trees.  The bullet hit my father in his right hip where it connects to the leg.  It damaged his hip bone badly.

Instantly my father was knocked off his feet.  He fell to the ground writhing in pain.  Unable to walk, he summoned every ounce of will to crawl towards a nearby fallen log for protection.  It was a good thing Dad moved because another shot whizzed right past his ear.  The sniper was trying to finish the job. 

The sniper did not get another shot off because my father's comrades instantly retaliated.  They inundated the spot where the shot had come from with a hail of bullets.  Expecting to find a body, they carefully explored the area to find the sniper.  All they found were footprints in the snow and two empty shells behind a tree.  They could have followed his tracks in the snow.  However, well aware that the German could be planning another ambush, they wisely gave up the hunt.

Meanwhile Dad was screaming due to the overwhelming pain.  He couldn't walk, so the men had to carry him back to camp.  It took everything my father had in him to bear the pain.  Seeing his agony, the men in the unit expressed their encouragement and told Dad to hang on.  At that point, it was his good fortune to pass out.

After being shipped to a hospital in England, Dad was in tremendous pain for days on end.  Even when the pain finally subsided, Dad was unable to get out of bed without a wheel chair for several months.  Unable to walk and forced to remain bed-ridden most of the time, he wallowed in self-pity and bitterness at his bad luck.  Dad said he suffered the worst depression of his life.  He was afraid he would never walk again and the constant pain drove him crazy.  Even after his discharge, Dad walked using a crutch for nearly a year. 

"That's terrible, Dad!  That must have been the worst thing to ever happen to you."

Dad stopped his narrative and got one of those strange looks on his face.  After a pause, he resumed. 

"Yes, it was terrible.  But here's the funny thing about it.  Without hesitation, I can tell you this injury was the luckiest break of my life.  Just a week after getting shot, I was lying there in my bed feeling sorry for myself.  That's when I heard a report that my unit's position was under attack.  Soon the information came that half my unit was dead and almost everyone else had been badly injured.  I was so stunned I did not know what to think.   My next stop would be a college education care of Uncle Sam, but my buddies weren't quite so fortunate.  Their next stop was a snow-covered grave in the Ardennes forest.  My injury got me out of the war with my life, my body, and my pride intact.  That is how I learned that no event can be judged as good or bad on the spot.  Time must pass before we can render final judgment."

This conversation with my father initiated my lifetime of meditation on Good luck versus Bad luck.  Lord knows I had my share of bad luck.  My blind eye, my parent's divorce, the acne attack, Murphy's Curse, the Epic Losing Streak, Fujimoto, Vanessa, the affair with Victoria, three years of Limbo Captivity.  However, Dad was right.  Time must pass before we can render final judgment.  Strangely enough, with the exception of the blind eye, every one of those Bad Breaks played a major part in guiding me to my exceptional career.

One thing I never expected was that Good Luck can turn into Bad Luck.  My nine years at St. John's would turn out to be the best thing to ever happen during my childhood.  Without St. John's I can say with assurance that no one gets out of here alive.  Unfortunately, at the same time this incredible stroke of fortune would force me to pay a very high price in all sorts of ways.  For starters, St. John's led to my father's abandonment. 

The moment my time at St. John's began, things went south with my father.  In the previous year, my father had begun an affair with his secretary.  He was determined to marry her no matter what the cost.  That led to the Devil's Bargain.  My mother gave Dad his divorce in return for his promise to pay three years of full tuition at St. John's.  This demand would backfire.  Although later in life my father became one of the top engineers in the country, at this point the SJS tuition was far beyond his pay grade.  The tuition was so high his former mistress was forced to keep working rather than start a family.  She was so angry at the thought of helping to pay my tuition that she drove my father nuts over the issue.  My father was legally obligated to keep his promise to pay, but to keep peace with my Evil Stepmother he abandoned me.  Over the course of my years at St. John's, I would see him at most four times a year for an hour of lunch.  The irony here is that his office was in walking distance of my school.  And so I swapped a father for a fine education.  Considering my father turned out to be a weak human being, I suppose I got the better end of the deal. 

An even larger price to pay was the sense of inferiority I developed being the token poor kid at this exclusive private school.  I was a naive, unworldly kid from a broken home.  My father was gone, my mother was a lost cause.  Without parents to coach me on the do's and don'ts of making friends, over the next nine years I had serious trouble coping with my low social status.  My mother could not keep a job, so we moved constantly.  As a result, in nine years I never had a single neighborhood friend.  Although I did have friends at St. John's, they were more like acquaintances.  No brothers, no sisters, no real friends.  Unable to participate in a normal socialization process, I turned into a loner. 

So what about my blind eye?  Good luck or Bad Luck?  Well, that's easy to answer.  I cannot think of any good that ever came of it.  Not only that, my luck got even worse at the start of high school.  Things were really tough for me.  My father was gone and my mother spent nights in the bars looking for men.  As an only child isolated from both parents, I was desperate to find a girlfriend to help cope with this awful loneliness I felt.  Then came the worst blow of all, an extremely bad case of acne.  The resulting scars would leave me disfigured for life.  Feeling like a monster (and looking like one), I would never have a single date in high school. 

Let's play a game called 'What If'.  Forgive my immodesty, but prior to the acne I thought I was a reasonably good-looking kid.  Academically I was in the top 10%.  I was an excellent athlete, possibly the best basketball player in my grade.  Tall and rugged, even with a blind eye I am confident I would have made varsity basketball.  And I was certainly smart enough to maintain an intelligent conversation with any rich girl open-minded enough to talk to me.  In other words, I had a lot going for me. 

BOOK TWO:  MAGICAL MYSTERY TOUR

Serious

As much as I disliked Mr. Murphy, I suspected he was right.  Plagued by constant loneliness and depression, I knew there was something wrong with me.  However, to my surprise, I never got into a bit of trouble during college.  You are going to laugh, but I actually had the nerve to conclude that maybe I had matured.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  In Hindsight, I never got into trouble because everyone left me alone.  It is very difficult to rebel when there is nothing to rebel against.  For four years I went to class, did my homework, played a lot of pickup basketball, and went home to my empty room.  I was miserable, but at least I made good grades.

One thing I never expected was that Good Luck can turn into Bad Luck.  I was a junior in college on a sunny spring day in April 1971.  One afternoon I asked myself what I was going to do for the summer.  Out of the blue I had this strange idea to become a camp counselor.  A huge smile crossed my face.  Gee, wouldn't that be fun!  However, I quickly dismissed the idea.  Summer was less than two months away.  More than likely every spot had been filled long ago.  Besides, I had no idea where to even look.  So I forgot about it.   Two weeks later I was playing with a kid named Eric at a day care center where I volunteered.  Eric's mother Jennifer walked in accompanied by a pretty lady I had never seen before.  Mary Colvig was Jennifer's sister visiting from Colorado.  The moment I heard 'Colorado', my heart started to thump.  My next question revealed that Mary and her husband Craig were about to open their new summer camp near Durango.  "Do you by chance have any openings?"  Poof!  Just like that my daydream had come true. 

One would think this amazing lucky break would lead to awesome good times.  Things were awesome, all right, awesomely bad.  My problems started the moment I got there.  To my surprise, I discovered I was the only city boy.  The other 20 counselors were forestry, agriculture and veterinary majors recruited from a nearby college.  As for me, I was an introverted philosophy-psychology major from an elite Eastern university who was out of his element with the Future Farmers of America.  These people were masters of their environment, so they were shocked to discover how clueless I was.  They were finished up a couple of the cabins when I got there.  Someone placed a hammer in my hand and told me to get to work.  This was the first time I had held a hammer since my childhood toy set.  I nearly lost a thumb that day.  If you think that was bad, you should have seen the day they put me on a horse for the first time. 

These mountain hotshots could sense there was something odd about me.  I was so out of it I did not even know how to put up a tent.  Since I was different, I stuck out.  You should have seen the looks I got.  As they say, the nail that sticks out the furthest gets pounded first.  There were three men in particular who picked on me unmercifully.  Jack was their ringleader.  He was a mean-spirited malcontent who needed someone to bully.  The moment Jack discovered that I was 'different', this jerk thought it was his duty to remind me every chance he got that I didn't belong here. 

Johns Hopkins, my college, was a men's school.  Stuck in the midst of my Epic Losing Streak, I hadn't been near a woman in ages.  I was so indoctrinated into the Hopkins Land without Women, the presence of female camp counselors did not occur to me beforehand.  I am absolutely serious.  I drove 2,000 miles to get there.  It took me 3 days.  I had all the time in the world to think, but not once did it ever occur to me there would be girls my age.  In my ignorance about summer camps, I thought all the camp counselors were boys!  I almost have to laugh at how clueless I was.

Believe it or not, two very pretty counselors showed interest in me.  In the first week of camp, a pretty redhead named Margaret invited me to join her for a long walk in the woods.  She brought even some pot along, but I turned it down.  I was so locked into becoming a spiritual person, I did not touch drugs or alcohol.  Meanwhile, Margaret was high as a kite and ready for action.  I never made a move, but I'm sure she wanted me to when she sat close to me on a log.  Afterwards, I kicked myself.  I had not had a date in two and a half years, I was alone with a pretty girl in the forest and I froze!

A couple days later, Nancy asked me to go for a walk.  I really liked Nancy.  She was introspective like me and exuded the same warmth as my long lost girlfriend Emily.  Again I was alone in the woods, this time with a pretty girl I really liked.  Did I take advantage of the situation?  No.  Guess what I did instead?  Nancy was a born listener.  Since I was angry at Jack and his cronies for picking on me, I spent the entire walk complaining about them.  Nancy may have wished I would shut up and ask a question about her, maybe even offer to hold her hand, but it never crossed my mind.

Both girls gave up on me.  Do you blame them?  To my dismay, they found themselves agreeing with the male counselors that I was weird.  It made me sick to realize they were right.  There was something wrong with me.  Ever since Emily broke my heart in my Freshman year, I had developed some sort of phobia about women and getting hurt.  I had been able to hide from this fact at Hopkins, but not here.  My fear of women was painfully exposed.

I had long believed it was my facial scars that held me back.  However, the interest of Nancy and Margaret had challenged that mindset.  Since both girls asked me to go with them for a walk so we could be alone, obviously they found me attractive enough to make the first move.  Therefore, when Nancy and Margaret rejected me, it had nothing to do with my looks, but rather how I treated them.  This was a crushing blow.  I had no idea how to be a friend to these young women.  Their abrupt loss of interest served as a painful example of just how unbelievably inept I was around girls my age. 

The loss of Nancy hurt the worst.  Nancy was an intelligent, sensitive young lady who would have been perfect for me.  But I never found the guts to ask for a second chance.  Instead I spent my time feeling sorry for myself.  All those years of being the underdog at St. John's combined with my dating problems at Hopkins had left mental scars that were tough to overcome.  What bothered me the most was the realization that my social problems went far beyond my sunken cheeks and facial scars. 

By the time summer was over, I was really bitter.  I felt just as rejected by the camp counselors as I had felt snubbed by the privileged preppies at St. John's.  I wanted to be accepted, but that wasn't going to happen.  All summer long, every time I turned around, I learned things about myself I did not like very much.  They say Life is for Learning.  I learned something all right.  This situation exposed glaring weaknesses in my social skills.  I was still an idiot around women and not much better around men. 

Truth be told, St. John's was the only thing that kept me glued together during my childhood.  However, as I said, I paid a high price in the process.  I spent nine years at my posh private school being reminded I did not belong, that I did not fit in.  My summer as a camp counselor had just made it clear just how far I lagged behind my peers in social development.  Nor did I realize these problems contained an ominous warning.  The ticking-time bomb known as Murphy's Curse was about to explode in graduate school.   

Vanessa was a femme fatale straight out of Hollywood central casting.  Blonde and beautiful with a troubled past, her ex-boyfriend Kenny was the good-looking star of the baseball team.  The girls lined up for him and Kenny enjoyed sampling the ice cream.  Vanessa was livid over his indiscretions and lies, so she decided on payback.  Her series of flings and one-night stands drove Kenny mad with jealousy.  One day Vanessa came to her senses and realized her reputation at Colorado State was beyond repair, so she ditched Kenny and planned to move to Oregon in search of a fresh start.  Of course I never knew any of this until it was too late.

Vanessa was so beautiful, I would have never dreamed of approaching her.  But Vanessa made the first move, a bold one at that, and we were off to the races.  Ten days after the start of our torrid love affair, Kenny knocked on her door.  Never able to resist the guy, Vanessa let him in.  The right thing to do was tell me, but that is not what Vanessa did.  To be honest, she liked me a lot more than she had expected to.  Unwilling to give me up, Vanessa looked at the calendar.  She would be leaving for Portland in one month.  Why not secretly juggle both men for a month, then make her getaway?  And so Vanessa embarked on a series of lies not just to me, but to Kenny as well.  The discovery of her betrayal left me devastated. 

I fervently wish Vanessa had picked on someone her own size.  Given my total lack of experience with women, it was my bad luck to end up in the gunsight of an amoral monster.  When Vanessa said she loved me, I made the mistake of trusting her.  Given that I had no idea how to guard my heart, I was defenseless to her deceit.  The pain was unbearable.

Why, I asked myself, did Vanessa choose Kenny over me?  I would never be able to compete with a man as handsome as Kenny, especially not with a scarred face.  I tried dating in the second half of the school year, but it was hopeless.  Unable to shake the sense that I was repulsive, I became deeply insecure.  Constant fears about those facial scars prevented me from having any sort of confidence.  Looking like I did, how was I ever going to find a girl to care about me?   I was so certain of rejection, I often lashed out to create the very rejection I feared.  Each defeat became a self-fulfilling prophecy.  As my sense of futility mounted, I finally gave up.  It was obvious Fujimoto would send me packing, so I would try again when I returned to Houston.  At this point my Epic Losing Streak had reached ten years.  Weary from this accursed loneliness, had I known it would take yet another ten years to regain my confidence and solve my problems with women, I probably would have found the nearest cliff. 

Vanessa removed most of my self-esteem and now Dr. Fujimoto stepped up to deliver the coup de grace.  It wasn't what he said that hurt the worst, it was what he implied.  Without actually coming out and saying it, Fujimoto had reached the same conclusion as Mr. Murphy... I was a Loser who lacked the necessary skills to be of any help to other human beings. 

During the long drive back to Houston, it was pretty much me against the world.  I could not get Murphy's Curse out of my mind.  Murphy had seen this coming six years ago.  Just in case I didn't get the message of my inadequacy courtesy of Murphy, Fujimoto had driven the same nail in as far as it could go.  The ticking time bomb had exploded.  I felt shattered beyond repair.

Do you remember that 'What If' game we played?  Truth be told, I still had a lot going for me.  I just didn't know it!  In reality, no one cared about my facial scars.  That included Vanessa.  She had tracked me down specifically because she thought I was attractive.  Not just that, when it came to ideas and insights, I was a major upgrade over Kenny.  However, Confidence is a fragile thing.  Once I realized Vanessa was lying to me, I fell to pieces and began to grovel.  Sorry to say, I wasn't tough enough to fight for her.  I had some serious growing up to do.  

Now that my problems had gotten me kicked out of graduate school, at age 24 my life was locked in an inescapable downward spiral.  I was friendless, near penniless, crippled by emotional problems.  I had no confidence, no career, mediocre social skills, and no idea what to do with my life.  I had just hit Rock Bottom. 

Some say Rock Bottom is the place where you start your comeback.  Wrong.  A lot of people who get knocked down never get back up again.  Looking back, I often wonder if I could have pulled myself out of the jam I was in without Divine Intervention.  Probably not. 

Let's say it was my Fate to suffer a crippling childhood.  If so, what would be the point of crippling me in the first place? 

I have a controversial theory.  I believe God flattened me at the start of my life for a purpose.  Slapping me with the proverbial 'Least Likely to Succeed' label, I think God wanted to make a point.  If someone like me could become a success in a field for which I had little discernable natural ability, it would make it a lot easier for someone to believe I must have been the recipient of Divine Intervention. 

Look at it this way.  The easiest way to succeed as a dance teacher would involve dance ability and popularity.  If I had been given a fabulous mother like Patsy Swayze and the same God-given dance talent as her son Patrick, people would take the success of my dance studio for granted.  Patsy was a friend of mine who loved to talk about her son's high school years.  Patsy told me her son was handsome, popular, surrounded by girls.  He was a star athlete in addition to possessing considerable dance skills.  In other words, Patrick was born to succeed.  He was everything to the World of Dance that I wasn't. 

"What is meant for you will reach you even if it is buried beneath Two Mountains."

To my knowledge I have never had a direct conversation with God.  However, I have a strong hunch that God wanted me to write a book about Fate.  If so, what better to demonstrate the existence of Fate than to present the most absurd rags to riches/against all odds story imaginable?

Given the low point from which I started, after one reads some of my preposterous stories, the thought that God really did move Two Mountains actually begins to make sense.  Once I began to explain the Suspected Supernatural Events that opened one door after another to permit my improbable rise, after a while my wild claims almost start to sound believable. 

I don't know if my stories have convinced you that Divine Intervention was involved, but they definitely convinced me. 

Why was Rick Archer the perfect choice for the Magic Carpet Ride? 

Let's say God needed someone to write an interesting book about Fate.  For starters, God would need someone with a good education.  Hmm.  Even here, my story is fairly unbelievable.  Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get accepted at St. John's?  There is a rumor about St. John's that is likely true.  A future president of the United States was denied admittance despite the wealth and power of his famous father.  So what the heck was I doing there?  Without a doubt, my admittance was a fluke of the highest magnitude.  I was not just the poorest kid in my graduating class, I was the poorest kid in the history of the school.  When I graduated, my father handed me $400 and said that was the best he could do for college.  My mother was so broke she did not pay my lunch and book bill my entire Senior year.  I had to pay the final $350 bill out of my grocery store earnings just to graduate.  And did I mind?  No.  I was well aware that one day my incredible education would come in very handy.

Second, God would need to make it obvious this person could NEVER have succeeded under his own power.  Considering Patrick Swayze had every advantage imaginable, he was unsuitable for the role.  Why not turn instead to a man who had virtually nothing going for him?  That would make for a fairly unbelievable story.  This is why I believe God turned me into the most unlikely candidate for a dance studio success story.  However, here is the weird thing about it.  In reality, I did have talent!  Once I caught my stride, I turned into the world's greatest playground director.  So God had to devise a way to hide my talent from myself.  He made me see myself as ugly. 

Again, please forgive my immodesty, but the day would come when truly beautiful women would welcome my companionship.  It took me a long time to realize it, but most women thought I was attractive.  I will share a note from a friend.

"Rick, you mention the scars on your face a lot in your book.  Obviously they have impacted your life a great deal. I just wanted to let you know that I do not see them. Oh, I did the first or second time I met you, but after that I never noticed them again.  You have such a strong, fun personality with a wonderful smile.  That is what people see.  So the next time you are tempted to feel self-conscious, give yourself a hug from me and smile on."

What is odd about those scars is that no one notices them but me.  Or if they do notice them, they don't care.  Although it is nice to know that no one sees me with the same jaundiced eye as I see myself, the damage to my confidence in my younger days was so extreme that I was driven to near-madness.  When Vanessa betrayed me in graduate school, her new beau was described as the best-looking guy in school.  Immediately I assumed it was the scars on my face that had sent her into the arms of a much more attractive guy.  I just wanted to rip my face off! 

In Hindsight, I firmly believe those scars were meant to trap me in a mental straight-jacket that prevented me from seeing myself as attractive.  I am completely serious.  If you had any idea how fluke my acne attack was, you would see why my crippling disfigurement had a distinct Supernatural sense to it.  The doctor told me my condition was unheard of.  He said it was the strangest case he had ever seen. 

Referring back to my 'What If' gambit, if my confidence had not been shattered by those scars, I would have dated just like other boys my age and gone on to live a normal life.  There would have never been an Epic Losing Streak.  Without those scars, there would have never been an SSQQ dance studio either.  Ultimately it was my Epic Losing Streak which created the sense of desperation that forced me to take a long-shot gamble on dance lessons. 

In other words, those scars were the major reason I hit Rock Bottom following Vanessa.  So were my scars Bad Luck?  Absolutely!  I have suffered from feelings of ugliness my entire life.  However, it was those scars that made me desperate enough to take dance lessons even though I knew in advance that I was in for a struggle.  But look how my gamble paid off!  In the long run those scars turned out to be a Silver Lining, a Blessing in disguise that led me straight to my future dance career.

THE CALLING

Considering my lack of dance talent, I had no idea those dance lessons would change my life in such a profound way.  During my three years of dance lessons, not once did I have the slightest idea I was training for a future career.  The moment I found myself standing in the right place to take advantage of Saturday Night Fever, I was beyond astonished.  However, when the same thing happened two years later with Urban Cowboy, this time I just smiled.  I was so used to Supernatural Events at this point, I was no longer fazed. 

Yes, after what I have been through, of course I believe in Fate.  I believe I was Fated to have those scars.  I believe I was Fated to create my dance studio.  So that brings up a difficult question.  Would I trade my dance career for a pretty face?  No, of course not.  My entire reason to live has been wrapped around my dance career.  Thanks to the gift of Hindsight, I would not have it any other way.

One night a dance student named Dale pulled me aside.  I did not know Dale very well, but she had told me she was a Chaplain with a Master's degree in Religious studies.  Dale wanted say that in her opinion I had been the beneficiary of a Calling.  Since I have never been comfortable with certain aspects of organized religion, her words unsettled me.  I thanked her for saying such a nice thing, then disengaged to start my dance class.  When I got home that night, I wondered what Dale meant, so I sent her an email. 

"Dale, I have been thinking about you ever since you said I should not be embarrassed to say I received a Calling.  Seriously, Dale, how many people go around claiming they have been handed a mission by God??  Would you mind explaining what a Calling is?"

"Rick, God has a plan for each of us, and if we believe He sent His son Jesus to die for our sins, have acknowledged we are a sinner and ask Him sincerely to forgive our sins, we are not only forgiven, but become a child of the most high God!  And if we make a public affirmation of faith through baptism, the Holy Spirit gives us spiritual gifts that are beyond our talents and abilities.  Anything you do in life where you are using your spiritual gifts and give God the glory will give you meaning and fulfillment.  It is more than doing something for a paycheck.  It is empowering lives or enhancing them somehow, and the joy that comes with it!

When you use your gifts, it gives you joy!  You also have a gift for writing and said you wanted to or were writing a book.  I think that's great!  It was especially impressive to learn how many couples were brought together in marriage through your classes!  You can feel joy and gratification that God has given you these gifts.  So whether you are a plumber, a mechanic, a dentist, you sell newspapers on a street corner, husband or a teacher, do it for the glory of God!"

Despite Dale's reassurance, to this day I still find it embarrassing to state my belief that I was given a Calling.  I do not wish to place myself above any other person.  Nor do I want anyone to think I am 'holier than thou'.  However, for my memoir to make any sense, I have no choice but to tell my Readers that I truly do believe my dance studio was a Blessing sent to me from God.  Nor do I think I am alone in this sentiment.  As an example, let me share two notes sent by a former dance student who met his wife at my studio. 

   "Dear Rick,

I hope this letter finds you well.  I wanted to write to let you know I was a student of your classes in 2000.  I remember my lessons vividly, so much so I remember the smell in the air.  I remember the drinking fountain, the ramp at the front door, the three dance rooms and Monday Nights.  I remember the incredible holiday parties you threw.  And here we are almost 2020.  Just to give you an idea of what you have accomplished and the impact you don't even know you have made on countless peoples lives even to this day, I'll tell you my story in short.  If I never had taken your classes at SSQQ I would have never met my wife, I would have never had the child we have today or the life I have.  Because of what you have given me and many others you have changed lives of people everywhere.  This is a great thing and I thank you so much for it. 

Last week I was watching a swing dance couple on Youtube and I was reminiscing about that part of my life. I was reminded of you and your studio.  SSQQ was the first dance studio I ever stepped into.  Until I walked into your studio I was never a dancer, but I got it in my blood.  Afterwards I was a regular dancer for the next 10 years.  Even now if I hear any music of that day, I'm taken back.

So I want you to know you instilled dance and music in people of that time.  Those who danced at your studio, they will forever remember.  They will remember as I have remembered.  I've never forgotten you or your studio, I just wanted to say a quick thank you because I was so moved by the video I was watching, (I'm not getting any younger you know).  I like the memories."


   "Dear Rick,

In my previous email, I pointed out that I would have never met my wife, I would have never had the child we have today or the life I have.  In response, you asked me to share the details of how the studio helped me meet my wife.

Fair enough, but it's not something I like talking about.  I will answer it as honestly as I can, but I won't give you the details.  If I had not attended your dance studio, my life would have gone in a very different direction.  If you really must know, I wasn't very happy with my life at that time and I wasn't very happy about who I was.  I questioned who I was and where I was going.  It was a very dark and depressing time for me.  These were younger years for me.  To tell you the truth I'm not sure I'd even be alive today, so yes, your studio helped me more than you'll ever know.  Is that enough, Rick?  I don't like talking about that part of my life.  I escaped that.  I met a woman from your studio who shares the same love of dance and here we are years later.  I'm alive with music, dance and a beautiful son who I love with all of my heart. When he is old enough to learn, I promise you he will dance. 

I meant everything I said in my last email.  Regardless, since we are sharing, how exactly did dancing rescue you from depression in life?  What's your story?  And why did you decide to start SSQQ dance studio?  I believe you when you say I'm not the only person to credit what you have done to help others, I'm sure there are hundreds.  Every time I came to your dance studio to learn a lesson in dance, I felt like that was where I was supposed to be and what I was supposed to be doing, and I really believe it was. You will never know how much you changed my life, and for that I really appreciate you, if you only knew."
 

The gentleman who wrote these notes preferred not to share his real identity, so I will refer to him as Thomas.  Given the deeply personal sentiments Thomas expressed in his letters, I completely understand.  As Thomas pointed out, it is true that over the years, I have listened to many similar testimonies.  The point I wish to make is that for this reason I came to see SSQQ as my mission in life.  During my college years I told God I wanted to help make the world a better place.  With that in mind, I applied to graduate school to train as a therapist only to hit a dead end.  Bad Luck?  Well, that's what I thought at the time.  But then came the Magic Carpet Ride.  Although the studio was disguised as a house of fun, in my private thoughts I saw SSQQ as a sanctuary meant to be a place of healing. 

There is something important I need to point out.  While I appreciate that Dale and Thomas have complimented me for doing much good, this puts me in an awkward spot.  While it is true I have done my best to spread the message of kindness, I think the real credit needs to go to God.  I think God did His work through me.  Dale made this point in very beautiful way. 

"The Holy Spirit gives us spiritual gifts that are beyond our talents and abilities (my point exactly!)  Anything you do in life where you are using your spiritual gifts and give God the glory will give you meaning and fulfillment.  It is more than doing something for a paycheck.  It is empowering lives or enhancing them somehow, and the joy that comes with it!"

So we come to the end of my winding road.  The Magic Carpet Ride has chronicled much hardship and much success.  So who was responsible for my eventual success?  Who was responsible for my crippling accidents and depressing failures?   I credit God.  I credit Fate. 

During the 32 years I ran SSQQ, the studio was always the most important thing in my life.  It was my mission, my baby.  However, along the way I came to believe I did not create this dance studio on my own.  To the naked eye, yes, I was the one building the studio brick by brick, step by step.  However, deep down, I believe the studio was handed to me.  Following a blueprint handed to me by the Divine Architect, all I had to do was assemble the parts handed to me.  I truly believe my success can be attributed to the uncanny lucky breaks I received at the formative stage of my dance career. 

And yet at the same time I worked as hard as I humanly could to make the studio a success.  Along the way I reached several conclusions.  I came to believe God deliberately placed those challenges in my path.  I also came to believe God helps those who help themselves.  I learned not to take too much credit when I won and I learned not to be too hard on myself when I lost.  Most important of all, thanks to some very amazing Silver Linings hidden within Bad Luck, I learned not to give up when things looked bleak. 

As opposed to quitting, the smart move was to play the hand that Fate dealt me to the best of my ability and stop feeling sorry for myself.  Sorry to say, I did not always succeed even when I did the best I could.  When I failed, I learned to accept God's Will.  If I have done my best, then why be ashamed?

I have led a charmed life for which I am very grateful. 

Rick Archer