INTRODUCTION

SUBCHAPTER 001 - THE UNLOCKED DOOR

Christmas 2000.  Sunday evening.

As the joke goes, no good deed goes unpunished.  On Christmas Eve 2000 a simple act of kindness on my part backfired in a very unusual way.  An unlocked door reawakened my fascination with Fate. 

I was raised a Quaker.  There are two branches of the Quaker Religion.  90% of Quakers belong to the branch which includes singing, pastor and prepared sermon.  I grew up in the No Frills 10% branch.  No singing, no preaching, no leader, no nothing.  Quaker Service consists of members who sit there quietly for an hour.  They meditate and perhaps ask a prayer.   Once in a while someone will stand up and offer a brief thought, but this is not common.  Quakers believe if one can silence their mind, they open themselves up for God's inspiration.  Hopefully the still small voice of God will offer a suggestion on problems and spiritual development. 

I like the Quaker Religion.  Whatever they do, it works.  The Quakers I have known are peaceful, highly conscientious, very caring.  They make the world a better place.   In particular, the principle of skipping the preacher and looking directly to God for inspiration has always appealed to me.  And yet at the same time, this wonderful principle might explain why the off-shoot branch has not exactly thrived.  Let's say it is Sunday morning.  You have worked your butt off all week and now it is time to go to church.  You wake up, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.  According to Quaker principles, you could just as easily go sit in a quiet corner of your house for an hour of reflection.  I sometimes wonder if the Quaker 'do-it-yourself' philosophy is counter-productive.  

Whatever the reason, the Quaker Meeting of my youth was small, 30 or so people on a good day.  Back when we moved to Houston in 1955, the group was so tiny that meeting for worship was held in someone's house.  And so we fast-forward to 1995.  40 years later, Quaker Meeting was still 30 people on a good day.  After changing locations a dozen times, they still did not have a permanent home. 

One day my mother explained the Live Oak Friends Meeting was having trouble financing a new meeting house.  I was well aware of the ongoing headache.  Wandering from location to location, the local Quaker Meeting was a collection of nomads who spent more time looking for a home than Exodus.  The desire for a permanent meeting house was always there, but the funds were lacking.  In 1995 the Quaker Meeting had located an affordable property in the tree-lined Heights area of town.  Even better, famed artist James Turrell, born a Quaker, wished to donate a beautiful Light ceiling he had created specifically for the new building.  However, as usual the members were badly strapped for cash.  The dream of owning this very special Meeting House seemed just beyond their reach. 

I immediately saw an opportunity to pitch in.  The kindness of people I met through the Houston Quaker Meeting had rescued me from a rough childhood on many occasions.  This was my chance to return the favor.  I told my mother my dance studio remained empty on Sundays until 4:30 pm.  Why not let the Quaker Meeting use my dance studio for free and stop paying rent at their current location? 

The Meeting accepted my offer in a flash.  By the time the Millennium rolled around, SSQQ Dance Studio had served as the Quaker Meeting House for several years while their new home was being built.  As it turned out, the Quakers loved the arrangement.  The privacy and absolute silence of my dance studio was perfect for their needs. 

Although I had a soft spot for my Quaker friends, not once did I attend a Sunday Meeting held at the studio.  The demands of running the studio were so great that Sundays were indispensable as my only chance to get some rest.  The last thing I wanted was to be back at the dance studio on my day off.  Knowing these people were trustworthy, I gave them a key.  This allowed me to stay home on Sunday mornings. 

Ordinarily the Quakers were gone by 2 pm.  However, in Year 2000, Christmas Eve and Sunday coincided.  Since there were no dance classes scheduled on Christmas Eve, the Quaker Meeting had the studio to itself all day long.  The group held their traditional Christmas Eve candlelight service at 11 am.  Next up was a sumptuous Potluck dinner with an extended social gathering to follow.  It was a splendid celebration.  Good tidings, comfort and joy to all!

Everyone was excited because their new home would be ready soon.  It was only natural they stuck around longer than usual to enjoy the warmth of the day and expectations of the future.  To be honest, I don't even know who forgot to lock the door.  What I do know is this harmless mistake initiated a chain of events which led to the 'Gypsy Prophecy', one of the three most remarkable Supernatural events of my life. 

So what went wrong?  The person with the key had absent-mindedly left the premises without locking the door.  Two people who had stuck around for an extended chat made the discovery a half hour later.  Uh oh.  That is what this 5 pm phone call was about.  When my wife Judy hung up the phone, she turned to me with the bad news.  The studio door needed to be locked.

I was very irritated, but not at Judy.  Suffering from extreme burn-out, this mistake meant I would have to take an unwelcome trip on a day when I did not wish to be anywhere near the studio.  I was resting in the comfort of my home only to be forced to waste an hour of my day thanks to someone's dumb mistake.  I immediately began griping over the inconvenience. 

Since the Quakers were my responsibility, it was my duty to go.  But Judy went instead.  As I vented my frustration, without warning Judy grabbed her keys and stormed out the door.  Shocked, I stared at my 9-year old daughter Samantha who in turn stared back at me.  We were both taken aback.  After several moments of silence, Sam asked, "What is Mom so upset about?"

I shook my head.  I was just as confused as Sam.  Yes, I had raised my voice at having my Christmas Eve disrupted, but my words were not directed at Judy.  This was not Judy's fault.  Nor did I ask Judy to handle the problem.  Consequently I had no idea why she decided to go instead of me.  My instinct said her mood was much darker than the moment called for.  As it turned out, I was right.

One hour later, Judy returned.  She got right to the point. 

"I want a divorce."

Judy was my second wife.  My first marriage in 1984 was short-lived, a year and a cup of coffee.  Pat was an interesting woman.  I could write a book or I could write a few paragraphs.  Let's settle for paragraphs and save the book for another time.  On paper, our marriage was perfect.  Pat had a lot going for her.  Attractive, very talented.  However, Pat had two fatal flaws.  She was jealous and liked to argue.  In my opinion there was nothing to argue about.  We had money, health, good jobs, and security.  We didn't drink, smoke, gamble or cheat.  So what was there to argue about?  Pat's jealousy was unnecessary.  I only had eyes for her, but Pat didn't trust me.  In her mind, thanks to countless women at the studio who she suspected of flirting with me at the studio, it was just a matter of time.  Infuriated by needless bickering over Pat's persistent fear that I would stray, over time the tension became insurmountable. 

It was a shame this marriage failed.  Due to an incident in my past, I was strongly opposed to infidelity.  My father had an affair with the office secretary when I was 8.  Desperate to marry his mistress, Dad insisted on a divorce.  Mom said no.  The ensuing year of arguments drove me crazy.  I was so upset that my performance in the 4th Grade was abysmal.  My father was really angry at me.  Since he was a genius, how was it possible to have such a stupid son?  They took me to a psychiatrist to have me tested.  The psychiatrist suggested a very unusual solution... put the kid in a private school where he will be challenged.  My father flipped out.  No way he was going to spend that kind of money!  Besides, if I could barely pass 4th Grade in public school, I was sure to flunk out at St. John's, the toughest school in the city.  Forget it.

After arguing with my father for a year, my mother made a Devil's Bargain.  If my father would pay the expensive St. John's tuition for three years, he could have his divorce.  Bad news for me.  Dad quickly forgot I existed.  My new stepmother was an evil woman who drove a wedge between us.  I saw the man four hours a year for the next nine years.  Basically I exchanged my father for a good education.  In a way, I lost my mother too.  She became a nervous wreck who couldn't hold a job.  At age 9 I was forced to begin raising myself.  I didn't do very well. 

Here is my point.  The consequences of my father's affair turned me into an emotional cripple.  Thanks to my dance career, I eventually overcame my childhood handicaps.  But I was still bitter about the cheating incident that ruined my childhood.  This explains why I swore to Pat I would never do something like that to her.  But Pat refused to trust me, choosing instead to nag constantly.  It is one thing to stray and be punished, but I deeply resented being flooded with warnings for a crime I had not committed.  I tried to appease her at first, but grew weary of Pat's constant vigilance.  Finally the day came when I refused to tolerate her tongue-lashings and further.  I told Pat to knock it off, but she defied my demand.  This is when the sparks flew.  Since neither of us was willing to bend, the only solution was to give up.  One night I came home and Pat was gone.  For the record, I never strayed.  That is not who I am. 

In 1991 I married Judy.  During our ten year marriage, we raised our precocious daughter Sam and built SSQQ into a behemoth.  Judy played an impressive role in the studio's phenomenal growth.  Thanks to her tireless work with the Swing, Salsa and Ballroom programs, SSQQ was teeming.  At its peak, 1,400 students streamed through our doors every week.  This amazing total is why I believe SSQQ was the largest independent dance studio in the country in 2000. 

I was proud of Judy.  She had personally built the SSQQ Swing program into something very special.  We had been recognized two years in a row as the finest Swing program in Houston.  One would think with this kind of success, our marriage would be solid.  Unfortunately, there was a fatal rift that never healed.  The problem started in 1998 when I discovered a Swing instructor named Carnell was teaching at a competing dance studio behind our back.  Even worse, Carnell had the nerve to openly persuade his SSQQ students to come check out his class at the other studio.  Carnell knew full well I had a rule against teaching for other studios, but did it anyway.  I had never encountered a more serious case of disloyalty.

And so I fired him.  Six months later, Carnell created a major scandal by accusing us of racial discrimination.  I was incensed.  This had nothing to do with skin color.  Carnell knew quite well the reason I dismissed him was treachery, not race.  I would later fire a white country-western instructor for the same reason.  With vicious rumors about our so-called racism flying throughout the Swing Community, something had to be done to restore our reputation.  Since none of the students at SSQQ knew the true story, I wanted to write an article to explain the situation.  To my dismay, Judy said no.  Do not say a word!  Judy was already upset by the wide-spread hostility emanating from the scandal and feared the added publicity would make things worse.  I hate to say it, but Judy was right.  It would definitely have gotten much worse before it got better.  However, in my mind, we had to fight back!  To say nothing would allow this lie to remain unchallenged. 

While Judy and I argued over which direction to take, Sam was hiding in her room and crying.  When I realized how upset Sam was, I was mortified.  Oh my God, here I am subjecting Sam to the same horror my parents had inflicted on me.  History was repeating itself.  As a child, there were many nights I fell asleep crying from insecurity.  Haunted by those memories, I vowed never to put Sam through a similar nightmare.  So much for good intentions.  Ashamed of myself for losing my temper, I gave in to Judy's wish.  What choice did I have?  Judy had created the Swing program, so she deserved the final say.  Although every bone in my body screamed to fight back, I honored Judy's wish and kept silent.  But that did not mean I agreed with her decision.  I watched in fury as the unchecked fall-out from the scandal spread like poison.  Over the next two years, we lost half our Swing students to HSDS, the competing program. 

Judy and I were now a house divided.  What a shame.  Judy was a good person, a good mother and a good business partner.  She worked hard to grow the studio and deserved much of the credit for the studio's recent success.  However, try as I might, I could not accept her decision to allow this traitor to damage our reputation and that of our studio.  It aggravated me no end to be considered a racist when nothing could be further from the truth.  And so I withdrew.  During the ensuing Ice Age, we drifted apart.  Neither of us were particularly happy, but the relationship was cordial enough so we muddled along.  Since I was a 'stick together for the good of the child' type, divorce was not on my mind.  However, the moment Judy asked for the divorce, I instinctively realized she was right.  The wound caused by Carnell had festered for two years and I could not imagine how we would ever heal the rift. 

"Okay, Judy, I will agree to the divorce if I can have joint custody of our daughter."

Judy nodded her assent.  "That seems fair."

Divorce is one thing, but abandonment is far worse.  Recalling how my father's abandonment had broken my heart, when Sam was born, I promised to be a better father to Sam than my father had been to me.  So much for wishful thinking.  At this point, I wasn't doing much better than my useless father.  My guilt over the impending divorce was overwhelming.  I was upset that Sam would suffer the same consequences of a broken home as I had.  Overwhelmed by an encompassing sense of failure, I needed to be alone to lick my wounds.  So I grabbed my keys and drove to the studio for sanctuary.  As I unlocked the front door, it crossed my mind that if I had driven here two hours ago like I should have, I would still be married.  Talk about irony! 

I spent Christmas Eve alone in this empty building.  Not my idea of fun.  With nothing to do, I had plenty of time for reflection.  Sitting here alone in the gloom was not smart.  Christmas had been a time of many bitter moments during my childhood.  Sure enough, throughout the night a parade of ghosts of Christmas Past dropped by to torment me.  Gee, now I can add the memory of getting divorced on Christmas to my growing list of Holiday Horrors.

There is no way to wallpaper a divorce and disguise the ugliness.  As I sat alone in the dark, I could not recall feeling more miserable.  Not only had I failed in two marriages, I had let my daughter down.  So much for that good old Christmas Spirit. 

FLASHBACK
 

Rick Archer's Note:  

To fully appreciate the Gypsy Prophecy, it is important to know what took place in the first two books of my trilogy.  In this chapter we will take a trip down Memory Lane to recap the highlights that led to the creation of my dance studio. 

I never intended to write three books.  That changed the day my wife Marla said, "Rick, you can't start your book with your problems in graduate school.  You have to tell them about your childhood.  Otherwise no one will ever understand just how screwed up you were when you started your dance career." 

Hmm.  That's Marla for you.  I was flustered by her candor, but I also recognized her wisdom.  The story of how I met Marla will be much easier to understand if the Reader knows the story behind my Accidental Dance Career.  The long version of these stories can be found in my first two books, but this shorter version will get the job done.

As we shall see, High School Hell was an especially tough time for me.  It marked the development of Two Curses which would plague me for many years to come. 

SUBCHAPTER 002 - st. john's school

I have my father's mistress to thank for my elite education.  Thanks to that witch, the course of my life changed dramatically in 1959.  I was 9 at the time.  That was the year I was forced to trade my father for St. John's, the private school in Houston I attended for 9 years. 

A sniper's bullet to the hip in the Argonne Forest finished my father's participation in World War II.  The war was almost over, so the army sent him home to recuperate.  Dad was a bright guy, but he was also dirt poor.  Dad enrolled in college, but money was such a problem he wasted no time finding a meal ticket.  After their marriage, Mom dropped out of college to support my father while he got his degree in electrical engineering. 

Life was pleasant enough till I turned 8.  That's when my parents began to argue.  It was brutal.  Every night my father would come home from work and find something to criticize.  The shouting would begin and I would head for my bedroom in terror.  With my dog Terry huddled beside me on the bed, I would read a book on Greek Mythology till I fell asleep.  Sometimes the shouts would turn to screams, so I would put book down, bury my head in my collie's fur, and cry till sleep mercifully put me out of my misery.  As an only child, Terry was my best friend in the world.  Terry was the only reason I made it through this tough time. 

Unfortunately, as the marriage crumbled, so did my father's opinion of me.  I was in the 4th grade and not doing very well.  I was a huge disciplinary problem and my grades were below average.  I had been my father's pride and joy, but now my poor performance was an affront to his dignity.   My parents decided to have me tested. 

The psychiatrist said my underachieving ways could best be solved by sending me to a private school.  What I needed most was a challenge.  My father immediately objected.  Public school was good enough for him and it was good enough for me.  Why spend extra money on a private school when I was barely passing as it was?  More than likely I would flunk out. 

Fortunately, my mother saw the wisdom in this advice.  So now the arguing shifted to the private school issue.  For the past year, Mom had refused to grant my father's divorce request.  However, she could see it was a losing battle.  So one night she decided to confront my father with the forbidden subject, his mistress.  This topic had never come up before.  Nor did Mom have any evidence.  But she was pretty sure she was right.  The moment Dad's face turned white, Mom knew the truth.  Pay the tuition for three years at St. John's and you can have your divorce.  Isn't blackmail wonderful?

In retrospect, it is a shame that Mom wasted all her leverage on getting me into St. John's.  Considering Mom had sacrificed her education to put Dad through college, she didn't get much in return.  In the settlement she ended up with $100 a month in child support and medical coverage for me.  That was it.  No alimony.  Oh well.  No one ever said that life was fair. 

My mother was a bright woman, but emotionally unstable.  She fell to pieces after the divorce.   She drifted from man to man, job to job.  Bills were a huge problem.  Something was always going wrong.  Sometimes the water was turned off, other times the electricity was turned off.  Sometimes Mom wrote hot checks at the grocery store.  We were always getting evicted.  We moved 11 times during the nine years I went to St. John's. 

Mom was ill-prepared for life as a single mother.  She was cursed with a fatal flaw... a big mouth.  Her tendency to speak her mind cost her a marriage, but she had not learned her lesson.  Extremely smart but lacking a college degree, Mom seethed with resentment at being told what to do by male bosses who were not quite as bright.  Once she discovered she was smarter than the men she worked for, she continued her bad habit of speaking her mind.  If that didn't work, she would do things her way behind the man's back.  Inevitably she would pay the price.  I don't know why, but Mom refused to learn how to play Politics.

Meanwhile, the big winner here is the Mistress.  The old joke is that every man needs a mistress just to break up the monogamy.  It turns out that Dad had traded one shrew for another.  However, the Mistress had two big advantages over my mother.  She was thin and she understood Politics.  The Mistress did not open her mouth until after the Wedding.  After that, she never shut up.  Thanks to her, Dad learned that marriage is a three-ring circus.  Engagement Ring, Wedding Ring, Suffer Ring. 

My new Stepmother was incensed to see a huge slice of Dad's paycheck fly out the window every month to pay for St. John's.  Dad would eventually become a wealthy man, but at this stage of his career, money was tight.  Thanks to me, Stepmother didn't get a new house, didn't get a fancy honeymoon, and had to delay starting her own family.  She was not happy.  Every night Dad had to listen to this shrew's bitter song over and over.  Dad was a weak man.  He did not have the guts to stand up to Stepmother's wrath, so he stopped seeing me as a way to appease her.  From that point on, I saw him for lunch four times a year.  The irony is that I could have walked to his office from school.  It was less than a mile away, but Dad forbade it.  So close, but yet so far. 

So I lost a father and gained a school.  How did that work out for me?  St. John's was the one bright light of an otherwise miserable childhood.  My elite education meant the world to me.  However, St. John's was also one of the worst things to ever happen to me.  I was so far out of my league it was ridiculous.  Houston is a prosperous city with countless oil tycoons, brilliant lawyers and gifted doctors.  And guess where their children go to school?  Academically I did just fine, but socially I found myself far at the bottom of the ladder.  While my classmates jetsetted to Colorado ski trips and European vacations, my concerns were much different.  I rode my bike home after school wondering if the lights had been turned back on or if Mom had found a new job. 

Over time my classmates realized just how poor my circumstances were.  By the time the 9th Grade approached, I had next to no contact with my classmates beyond school.  I had turned into a shy loner who kept to myself.  Although I had a few friends, we were not close.  Our contact was limited to lunch.  Most of the time it was me, my books and my dog Terry.  Now we know the the origin of my arrested social development. 

So what was I going to do about it?  Here at the start of High School, I had a plan.

SUBCHAPTER 003 - CURSE ONE: the epic losing streak

As my Freshman year of high school approached, I wanted to begin dating just like any other boy my age.  However, given my low social status, this was bound to be an uphill struggle.  It did not help that I had trouble talking to the Über-confident girls in my class.  But I did have some advantages.  I was smart, athletic, and reasonably attractive.  Good place to start. 

I had an idea... sports.  If I could excel at sports, I was sure to catch the eye of a pretty classmate.  Unfortunately, I had a handicap.  When I was 5, I accidentally cut my left eye out with a knife.  Due to my blind eye, the St. John's coaches had refused to let me play contact sports through the 8th Grade.  However one coach said he would consider letting me try Basketball in the 9th Grade.  That's all I needed to know.  I agreed football was a bad idea, but basketball would work.  I was tall and strong.  Plus I had a powerful incentive to improve.  That summer I practiced endlessly.  Lay-ups, jump shots, hook shots.  I was good, very good. 

My plan would have worked, I am sure of it.  But the day basketball practice started, so did my ordeal.  A sudden acne attack when I was 14 changed the direction of my life for the worst.  It was caused by an infection that entered my lymph gland system as I slept.  I was a good-looking kid when I went to bed, but then I awoke to a burning face swollen to twice its size.  The moment I looked in the mirror, I screamed in alarm.  I was staring at a monster.  Without any kind of warning, I had been transformed into a hideous leper. 

For reasons I will never understand, my mother did not take me to the doctor.  Ignoring obvious signs of infection, she believed the problem would magically go away.  Wrong.  Three days passed without treatment until my mother finally realized how serious my condition was.  By that time, it was too late.  This raging wildfire had erupted beyond the point of control. 

There were two mysteries involved in the acne attack.  The first mystery was the freak nature of the attack.  When I finally met the dermatologist, he had never seen an incident like mine.  He said he was going to send my case to a medical journal.  After all, my face was a medical marvel.  You want to know something sad?  Other than two pictures in the St. John's yearbook, nine years passed before I allowed someone to take my picture.  However, I suppose I could find a repulsive picture of me in some medical journal specializing in bizarre acne attacks.

Even more curious was the negligence of my mother.  Here I am with a face swollen to the size of a balloon, an obvious sign of infection.  So Mom takes me to the doctor, right?  No.  She tells me it will clear up in a day or two, then sends me to school on Monday.  On Tuesday.  On Wednesday.  Finally my mother figures out this problem is not getting better.  Plus I am in serious pain.  So she breaks down and takes me in on Thursday.  Incidentally, money was not the issue.  My now-wealthy father was responsible for all medical bills.  When the doctor sees me, he gasps.  "What took you so long?"  I'm wondering the same question.  By waiting too long, the doctor is unable to control the problem.  Pumping me with tetracycline, it takes the acne a full year to recede.  Then the really bad news hits.  My face is deeply scarred.

So what was Mom's problem?  Why the delay?  I am sorry to say I do not have an answer.  We did not communicate very well.  What I do know is my mother had a long history of making inexplicable mistakes.  This otherwise intelligent woman was prone to incredible acts of stupidity.  Her delay regarding my serious infection was a prime example.  Now disfigured for life, I spent many long hours in vain trying to figure out why my mother was so neglectful. 

At the onset of my problem I was treated like a modern-day leper at school.  Students stepped aside to let me pass.  Others gasped in horror.  Shamed by the looks of disgust on their faces, I longed for the day this humiliating problem would clear up.  Unfortunately, when the acne finally receded a year later, I was crushed to realized I was stuck with deep, permanent facial scars.  No one had warned me.  This was no temporary condition, this was Forever.  It broke my heart to realize I was stuck with these scars for life. 

So what about my Basketball Project.  As luck would have it, I would never play one minute of high school basketball.  Nor would I have a single date.  What was I supposed to do?  I was a nobody at this school, the Invisible Man.  Feeling socially inferior, what was the point of asking one of my beautiful classmates for a date?  Unless it was Be Kind to Vermin Week, all I would do was embarrass myself.  The acne attack and the resulting scars had turned high school into a horror movie.  Looking like I did, the door to any social life in high school was permanently closed.  Full of despair, I withdrew into myself even further.  It was better to wait till college to begin dating.  I don't know which I regretted more, not dating or not playing basketball.  All I know is this acne event shut down my life. 

Throughout High School Hell, I dreamed of the day I would begin to date in college.  I was in for a surprise, a very bad surprise.  To my dismay, I failed miserably with women during my Freshman year.  I worried that every girl I met was secretly disgusted by my facial scars.  But my concerns about my appearance masked the true problem.  Due to my high school ordeal, I had been deprived of any sort of experience around girls my age.  I was at least four years behind in social development, maybe more due to many years as a loner.  I made every mistake in the book, trying too hard, talking about my problems too often, acting possessive, trusting too much.  In the process, I found myself rejected time after time.  Finally I couldn't take it anymore.  Since I attended a men's-only college, finding women was an uphill struggle to begin with.  It was easier just to give up and postpone dating till after college. 

First high school, now college.  I kept getting further and further behind my peer group.  By the time I made it to Graduate School, my problems with women had reached 10 years with no end in sight.  Good grief, I was 24 and my social skills were still stuck in high school.  And so I met Vanessa, a beautiful young woman who said she loved me.  Nine days later Vanessa slept with her old boyfriend.  What Vanessa should have done was tell me, but she decided it was easier just to lie about it.  Vanessa planned to leave town permanently for Oregon in one month, so she spent November 1973 using lies and treachery to juggle the two of us.  Falling for her lies, I got my heart broken and my trust ruined.  The damage Vanessa did to my confidence was so profound it extended my problem with women for ten more years.  4 years High School, 4 years college, 1 year off, 1 year grad school +10 years Post-Vanessa.  How good is your math?  If you came up with 20, you are correct.  Twenty years.  I do not exaggerate.  The acne event combined with my social isolation at St. John's was the start of my 20 year Epic Losing Streak with women. 

RICK ARCHER'S LIST OF SUSPECTED SUPERNATURAL EVENTS
 

Serious

Lucky Break
Coincidence
Predestination

Serious

SUBCHAPTER 004 - CURSE TWO: MURPHY'S CURSE

As we recall, it took a Devil's Bargain to get me into St. John's School.  Unfortunately, the expensive tuition was way beyond Dad's pay grade.  Not a day passed when his new wife didn't nag him about the serious drag this put on their finances.  Therefore It came as no surprise when my father refused to continue paying when his three years were up.  Even worse, Stepmother's relentless hostility forced my father to appease her by turning his back on me.  With my father gone and my mother falling to pieces, thank goodness the talented teachers at St. John's were kind enough to reach out to me.  They were the only thing keeping me together. 

When my father refused to pay for another year at St. John's, I assumed that was the end of the line.  Fortunately, Mr. Chidsey, the SJS Headmaster, understood the situation and offered a full scholarship to keep me there for the remaining six years.  This was an incredible stroke of good fortune.  However, there was a dark side.  I would be reminded of my mediocre social standing for six more years.  I don't think my mother's psychiatrist could have ever imagined the predicament his well-meaning suggestion put me in. 

Looking back, I hate to say it, but I would have been better off going to a public school where I would have fit in.  Lacking any sort of support system, those many years on the losing end of Rich Man-Poor Man led to a deep sense of inferiority.  As it stood, I had few friends and was largely ignored by the rest.  To be clear, there were only four incidents of outright hostility in 9 years, but in small ways I was made to feel I did not belong.  Although I valued my wonderful education, I was a lost sheep by the time I entered high school.  That is when the acne turned me into a leper.  Now I was a goner.  When it came to dating, forget it.  What was I supposed to do?  Here in the land of beautiful, privileged children, I was the poorest, ugliest and most socially awkward kid in the school.  Humiliated by my disgusting face, I turned into a moody hermit.

Turning my energy towards my studies, college was my only hope.  Unfortunately during my Senior year, I made a serious mistake when I failed to apply to a state school for college.  In my defense, I had no parent to advise me.  Making matters worse, my father reneged on his long-time pledge to help.  My father's timing could not have been worse.

During my childhood, I had an aunt and uncle who had been wonderful to me on several occasions.   I wanted to be a part of their family so badly that the only college I applied to was nearby Georgetown University.  I had no trouble getting in, but I blanched when I saw the price tag of $6,000 per year.  Since I was young and stupid, it had never occurred to also apply to a state school like the University of Texas where tuition was $1,000 a year.  At the time my father committed his treachery, to my dismay it was too late to apply somewhere else.  There was considerable irony.   Thanks to working for three years at a grocery store after school, I had enough earnings to pay for a state school out of my own pocket.  A lot of good that did me.   I had a choice of Georgetown or the University of Nowhere.

The anger I felt towards my father and towards myself was off the charts.  Well, maybe I can get a scholarship.  Wrong.  At lunch one day a classmate explained my father's salary would prevent me from getting a scholarship.  Dad's career as an electrical engineer had taken off.  He was the guy building the massive rocket-launching cranes at Cape Canaveral/Kennedy Space Center.  His hefty salary was good news for him, but bad news for me.  How was I supposed to explain to a college why I deserved a scholarship when my father's lucrative salary basically disqualified me?  How do I explain abandonment to an anonymous college administrator?   Given that my father refused to fill out any forms, I did not even know where to start.  Was I bitter?  You better believe it.  As it stood, it seemed likely I would have to skip college for an entire year. 

At this point I lost control.  I went berserk over how unfair this was.  I had studied like mad for three years to use college as my escape route and suddenly that door had just slammed shut.  Ugly for life, no dating, no basketball, three years of working at a grocery store, a father who has ruined my life, a mother who can't take me to a doctor and now this.  My wealthy classmates went to sleep every night content that Daddy's Money guaranteed them a spot in the college of their choice.  Meanwhile I was doomed to spend another year sacking groceries because I was too stupid to apply to a state school.  Angry beyond comprehension, I lashed out and turned into a problem kid.  Moody, sullen, hostile, no one could tell me what to do, no one could reach me.  I turned into an angry rebel who quarreled with everyone.  In particular, my bitterness caused me to engage in weekly arguments with Mr. Murphy, Dean of the Upper School. 

Mr. Murphy was in charge of school discipline.  We fought over rules I didn't care for such as the length of my hair, running in the hall, late to class, out of uniform, you name it.  Rebellion came easily to me.  I had a very sharp tongue and gave free rein to my insolence.  We argued constantly about my surly attitude and blatant disrespect for his authority.  Murphy was disgusted.   Fully aware of my long-time SJS scholarship, Murphy had a hard time accepting the worst-behaved kid in the school was attending for free.  Looking back, I can definitely see his point.  On the eve of graduation, Murphy decided to let me know what he really thought.  One afternoon the Dean of Discipline ambushed me in the hallway.  Staring darts, Murphy proceeded to deliver the sternest lecture of my life.

"Archer, your continued insolence is disgraceful.  You should be ashamed.  You think disobeying me is amusing, but I have something to tell you.  You have brought dishonor to this school.  Your continued disregard for the rules is unforgivable.  Let me add your ongoing impertinence towards me has demonstrated a total lack of respect for my authority. 

You do not belong at this school.  If I had my way, you would have had your scholarship revoked long ago.  You don't deserve it.  Your lack of discipline makes it clear that you do not respect the gift that has been given.  I am disgusted by your glaring absence of gratitude.  In my opinion, you should have been sent packing years ago.  

Fortunately, you will be gone soon.  Mark my words, I predict you will one day regret you failed to learn your lesson.  You will leave here thinking you are too superior to follow the rules, but I have news for you.  Someday you will learn the hard way that you are not as clever as you think.  You will argue with the wrong person and it will cost you more dearly than you can ever imagine.  At that time, you will remember what I said today."

Murphy's warning struck home.  I was so shaken by the depth of his venom, for the first time all year I did not talk back.  Instead I watched in subdued fear as he stomped off.  Throughout college, I would think often about this man's dire prediction.  I referred to it as Murphy's Curse.

LIST OF SUSPECTED SUPERNATURAL EVENTS
 

Serious

Lucky Break
Coincidence
Predestination

Suspicious

Serious

SUBCHAPTER 005 - the Magical Mystery Tour

In my Senior year, EK Salls became the new SJS Headmaster.  Previously Mr. Salls had been my German instructor.  Mr. Salls was a very distant man, so I had no idea he knew about my problems at home.  Behind my back, Mr. Curran, a teacher I confided in, had told him the whole story.  In the last month of school Mr. Salls called me into his office to hand me a phone number.  It turned out a wealthy Houston businessman named Ralph O'Connor wanted to offer me a scholarship to Johns Hopkins University. 

Of course I was beyond grateful, but I mysteriously failed to see that Mr. Salls had secretly arranged this college scholarship for me.  It was not till many years later that I realized it was due to Mr. Salls' recommendation that Mr. O'Connor came to my aid.  Nor did I realized Mr. Salls was the only reason Mr. Murphy had been unable to revoke my SJS scholarship.  When I learned the truth 40 years later, I was incredulous to discover Mr. Salls had served as my unseen mentor throughout high school.  What a shame.  Due to my blindness, I was never able to tell Mr. Salls how much I appreciated his kindness. 

As I will explain later, I have come to believe that we are all Blinded by God from time to time in service of our Fate.  So far in my story, I have hinted at three examples.  There was my mother's inexplicable hesitation to take me to the doctor when the acne infection left me riddled with pimples.  There was my colossal stupidity to fail to apply to a state school.  And how did I ever miss the obvious concern that Mr. Salls had for me throughout my high school career?  The clues had been there all along. 

The upshot of these three mistakes is that I knew I was an emotional cripple when I graduated from high school.  I was certain my problems with anger and authority would get me into trouble sooner or later, but it never happened like I expected it to. 

I had expected Murphy's Curse would be a serious problem in college, but I was wrong.  It was my other curse, the Epic Losing Streak, that did me in.  I figured I would make up for lost time with a fresh start in college, but my dating project did not go well.  In hindsight, what did I expect?  I was four years behind in social development and I lacked confidence in my rugged appearance.  The bitter end came when I got my heart broken in an unusually cruel way by Emily, a young lady I had a deep crush on.  Too afraid to go anywhere near another girl for fear of getting hurt again, I returned to my hermit ways for the remainder of my Freshman year.  As the Epic Losing Streak continued deep into my Sophomore year, my loneliness mounted and caused me to slip deep into depression. 

In desperation I visited the local Quaker Meeting.  The members of the Houston Quaker Meeting had always been kind to me, so hopefully I would meet some similar members in the Baltimore Meeting.  I was in great need of human warmth and thankfully these people came through.  The Quakers were so nice, I found the spark to carry on.  In addition, a door opened.  At the suggestion of an older Quaker man named Richard who befriended me, I began my Magical Mystery Tour.  This was my term for the spiritual search that would last two years.  During this time, a great deal of reading and some extremely weird experiences helped me develop a firm belief in God.  I also became convinced in the existence of Fate and Reincarnation.  Little did I know, but four years down the road this belief in God is what led directly to the 'Blind Leap of Faith' event that started my dance career.   

The Magical Mystery Tour turned my life around for the better.  Although Murphy's Curse never surfaced and the Epic Losing Streak was still intact, at least my bad attitude had improved.  I wasn't quite the angry young man anymore.  In fact, my adventure into Mysticism led me to wish I could find a way to make the world a better place.  Infused with a desire to help other people like my Quaker friend Richard had helped me, I decided to become a therapist.  I studied hard at Hopkins, graduated with honors and was accepted into graduate school at Colorado State.

RICK ARCHER'S LIST OF SUSPECTED SUPERNATURAL EVENTS
 

Serious

Lucky Break
Coincidence
Predestination

Suspicious

Lucky Break

Suspicious

Serious

SUBCHAPTER 006 - Fujimoto's DISMISSAL

What about Murphy's Curse?  Not once in my college years did I meet an authority figure.  I went to class, studied, and graduated without a single run-in.  To my great relief, I aced college without the slightest disciplinary problem.  Since I was young and stupid, I took this as a sign that I had finally matured.  Although Mr. Murphy had predicted my downfall, I had proven him wrong.  Ha ha ha.  It felt good to have the last laugh. 

In hindsight, I should not have laughed so soon.  I entered graduate school feeling pretty darn sure of myself.  I was the star of the incoming group of graduate students.  I had the highest grades and I had graduated from the most prestigious university.  Cocky and arrogant, I intended to show my professors how smart I was.  Bad move. 

The Head of the Psychology Department took an instant dislike to me.  Dr. Fujimoto put a bull's eye on my back and tore me to shreds with his withering criticism.  So what was my fatal flaw?  In a manner oh too similar to my hapless mother, I could not seem to keep my big mouth shut.  Fujimoto did not appreciate my tendency to argue over theories of Psychology with him.  The harder I tried to defend my ideas, the more he put me down.  This was a battle I could not win, but I was too blind to figure that out until it was too late.  Right before my eyes, Murphy's Curse was coming true, but my mistake was invisible.  At the end of the school year, Fujimoto kicked me out of graduate school.  In hindsight, I have to wonder if I had been deliberately Blinded.  My behavior was arrogant in such a colossal way that I failed to realize I was slitting my own throat until it was too late.  I should have known better.

Adding to my woes, a truly evil woman entered my life.  Vanessa blindsided me with lies and betrayal.  Indeed, my inexperience with women had left me wide open for the worst heartbreak of my life.  A failure in love and a failure in career, I returned to Houston stripped of all self-esteem.  My two curses - the Epic Losing Streak and Murphy's Curse - had made it effortless for my two villains to send me hurtling to Rock Bottom.  I had no idea what to do next. 

LIST OF SUSPECTED SUPERNATURAL EVENTS
 

Serious

Lucky Break
Coincidence
Predestination

Suspicious

Unlucky Break
Cosmic Blindness

Suspicious

Lucky Break

Suspicious

Serious