News, Views, & Interviews

When I was a wee lad of about ten years old, Sunday nights meant one thing… duct tape. I was sent to bed too early, of course. We all were at ten years old. But I had a solution for that… duct tape. Like all good children of the 80s, I had a boom box — shiny silver with big knobs and bright lights — too bright in fact because when I’d plug my headphones in after being sent to bed, the pulsating red lights would alert my parents that I wasn’t asleep, I was listening to the radio. “Jeffreeeey!”My mom would say (she’s the only person who ever calls me “Jeffrey”) “Turn the radio off and get to bed!” The solution to this problem? Duct tape. A small patch of duct tape over the red LED lights would mute them just enought to let me feed my jones… Dr. Demento’s radio show. “Weird Al” Yankovic, Kip Addotta, Julie Brown, Cheech & Chong, and Napolean XIV kept me snickering under my covers while Dr. Demento spun the latest parodies and farce songs along with classics by legends like Spike Jones and Tom Lehrer. Monday recess at school meant my friends and I would sing the songs we heard the night before and even make up a few of our own. As I got older, I grew taller, but not more mature. I learned to play guitar and I never lost my love of music, especially wacky music. I never lost the dream of writing a song that Dr. Demento would play on his show. During the Christmas season of 2000 I wrote a spoken-word poem called “A Redneck Christmas Carol.” My then girlfriend (and now wife) Megan performed on the song with me and an audio engineer friend produced it for me. We sent a copy of the song to our friends that Christmas and kind of forgot about it. A few years later, I added the song to the Sound Click Web site and was surprised to find others like the bit as well. So I rolled the dice and mailed a copy to Dr. Demento and forgot about… until today. While Googling “Redneck Christmas Carol” I came across a Dr. Demento playlist from 2005. And there was my song! I hit the big time December 4, 2005 and didn’t find out until April 24, 2007. During that same show, Dr. Demento also played songs by Denis Leary and Bob Rivers — not bad company! I’m such a dork, I know, but seriously — a show I used to sneak around to listen to played one of my wacky songs. I’m now inspired to send the good Doctor my follow-up Christmas hit, “Brown Christmas” that I wrote with my father-in-law, Robert Peckman. You can hear both songs here: http://www.jeffbelanger.com/santa/ See you in the funny pages!

“All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances,” so wrote Shakespeare. So true. Some people seem to be minor characters, or background noise for the rest of us. But a select few are so colorful, so bombastic, that we remember them. They command our attention. Shawn Poirier was one such character. I first met Shawn in Salem, Massachusetts back in 2004. I was working on my book, Communicating With the Dead and I was speaking with him about Ouija boards and being psychic. I felt like I got him pretty early on. Each time I’ve seen Shawn, he was dressed head-to-toe in black–and he was usually wearing a cloak. His big frame and tall stature only added to this imposing figure. But he had a smile and charm that forced you to look past any hang-ups you may have about the way he dressed. I believe that was part of his point. Shawn passed away on Sunday, March 18th in his sleep. He was 40 years old. Last night I attended his wake and funeral ritual. This was the first Witch funeral I’ve ever been to. The family specifically asked that we dress in black and wear our favorite pointy hat. I actually had a Witch’s hat in my Halloween box so I brought it along but wound up leaving it in the car. Once inside a procession of black trickled in. I saw a few people I knew, and I offered my condolences. Around 7:30, with everyone seated and silent, the ritual began in front of the casket. Four Witches stood over a table on which sat a human skull, a bowl of water, and a few other items I couldn’t make out from where I was sitting. One Witch swept the area around them then another took a ceremonial knife and cast a circle. Then we chanted. Though the ritual part of a Witch funeral was foreign to me, everything else about it was familiar. Instead of some priest, minister, or rabbi going through the standard motions over a person they didn’t know that well (which I’ve witnessed plenty of times), there were four Witches, close friends of Shawn’s who gave every line and every motion deep meaning because they truly cared about this person. At the non-Witch funerals I’ve attended, I sat patiently through the standard lines the clergy spoke until the eulogy–that’s the part that holds all the meaning because it’s usually given by someone who cared deeply for the departed. At this funeral, every part of the ceremony had meaning. Instead of just reading from standard religious texts, the Witches also read from Shawn’s Book of Shadows–his Witch’s journal. Instead of hearing someone else’s words, we heard Shawn’s. It was one of the most touching funerals I’ve ever attended. Everyone in that room meant it. They wanted to be there, and their presence had purpose. I had only known Shawn for a few years and I only saw him at a few events during that time but I can tell you that Shawn was the real deal. He believed what he preached to his very core and his conviction was impressive. The cat had style and charm–and he made an impact on me. So much so that I felt compelled to go pay my respects last night. Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again to you, Shawn Poirier, King of the Salem Witches.

A few weeks ago I was on The Maury Show during a segment called “Ghosts Caught on Tape.” One of the segments shown was the ghost of Puckett’s Garage in Oklahoma. Several alert viewers sent me emails claiming that I was furthering a known hoax. One email even accused me of not doing my homework… ouch! There are a couple of things I want to say in my defense, and one in my offense (the best defense is a good offense, right?). First, as with all of the evidence I’ve ever displayed on my Web site or in my lectures, I never claim that what I have is proof. Because of time constraints, there were portions of the Maury interview that didn’t make it to the air. Maury Povich asked how we know some of these videos are a hoax or someone playing a joke. My response was that we don’t know with all of these, but we often have some pretty compelling circumstances surrounding the video. Again, it’s evidence, not proof. Some people see enough evidence that a phenomena is proved to them, others can see all of the evidence in the world and they’ll never believe. No problem. That’s their choice. Back to Puckett’s garage… you can view a write-up about the video (and see it) here: http://www.ghouli.com/investigations/puckett.htm The reason for the emails was mainly because this video clip was shown on a television show last year where some researchers were able to mostly recreate the phenomena by hanging a plastic doll by a string close to a security camera. Even though the video looked very similar to the Puckett’s garage footage, the show said the results weren’t conclusive.  Basically, unless someone comes forward and says, “Hey, I faked this,” it will remain inconclusive. These videos are all a part of a much bigger discussion. Does something happen after death? And if so, can we see evidence of it here in the world of the living? So in response to those emails from people trying to keep my honest I say, “You may be right.” But I also ask that people look at all of the evidence. Consider the millions of clips, photos, and personal accounts. Can we dismiss them all? I can’t. And that’s what keeps me going.

In January of this year psychic Sylvia Browne was busted in another blunder. Now I have no idea whether Sylvia Browne has a psychic gift, used to have one, or only has one on occasion, but I do know that two of her predictions over the last 13 months are deplorable and inexcusable. Not only was she 100% wrong, but she was commenting on life and death issues in real-time. I know for a fact Sylvia Browne has gotten other predictions wrong in addition to the two I’m going to discuss here, but I don’t take issue with a psychic saying something like, “You’ll meet a tall, dark stranger and fall in love,” and the person being read for meets a short, fat friend and falls in love with that person instead. No one really gets hurt in a prediction like this (except the tall, dark stranger, of course). Let’s stick to the facts. On January 2, 2006, Sylvia Browne was on the Coast to Coast overnight radio program with George Noory–I show I’ve also had the pleasure of being an overnight guest on. January 2nd was the day that the 13 coal miners in West Virginia were still stuck underground. During the early parts of the four-hour program, George Noory interrupted the show to announce the great news that 12 of the 13 miners had been found alive. Sylvia Browne said she knew they would be okay. She said she thought one might not make it, but she knew. She also acknowledged that it’s easy for a psychic to say something like that after the fact, but nevertheless, she knew. A few hours later, during the same show, George Noory read the corrected newswire that 12 of the 13 coal miners had perished and the previous wire story was wrong. Sylvia Browne could only ponder aloud how the newswire could make such a mistake. And she didn’t miss a beat. She changed her story 100% during the same radio program and said she knew that most of them were gone. It’s crass, rude, and wrong to comment on issues like this in real-time. But what happens next is even worse. On October 6, 2002, Shawn Hornbeck went out for a bike ride in Richwood, Missouri and didn’t return. His parents were desperate to find their child and eventually they made their way to the Montel Williams show to ask Sylvia Browne for help. The date was February 26, 2003 and Sylvia told the frightened parents that she had the answer. She told the parents that her boy was dead and his body was in the woods 20 miles away near two jagged boulders. His bicycle was dumped in another state. The heartbroken parents left and tried to accept that their child was dead. In early January of this year, Shawn Hornbeck was found alive and well in St. Louis, Missouri with another boy who had gone missing just a few weeks earlier. Every psychic I’ve ever interviewed (and there have been quite a few) will say that they can’t be 100% accurate all of the time. I accept that. But if one isn’t 100% sure, one better not comment on life and death to the faces of those who are affected most by the missing person in question. What Sylvia Browne did was despicable and unacceptable. On her own Web site she offers a vague apology for getting this one wrong, but it’s so vague I actually find it even more insulting than saying nothing. We talked about this issue quite a bit on a recent X Zone Radio Show, but I wanted to go on written record saying Sylvia Browne’s behavior on these issues is inexcusable. If someone wants to spend $750 for a 20-30 minute phone reading with Sylvia Browne, that’s their business. But please oh please don’t ask about anything related to life and death issues. She clearly has no problem with guessing on those subjects.

I’m a regular guy — I like my beer cold and my pizza hot. And if left to my own devices, my wardrobe would consist only of ripped jeans and t-shirts with dirty/funny sayings on them. Thankfully, I’m married which saves me from myself quite often. Yesterday I was in New York City for a taping of The Maury Show. They were producing an episode on the paranormal so they asked me to come on and discuss some ghosts caught on tape. The show was a great experience. I had the opportunity to meet some friends I have known for a few years via email and phone calls. I met psychic and author Jeffrey Wands, Tom and Lisa Butler from the American Association of Electronic Voice Phenomena, plus folks from the New Jersey Ghost Organization and Western New York Paranormal. (You can see some photos on my Gallery page: http://www.jeffbelanger.com/gallery.shtml). Oh yeah… the makeup… Wednesday morning I woke up with a shiny red zit on the bridge of my nose. Kind of like a red LED light — the kind of thing that may actually be able to glow in the dark. I really haven’t had zits since I was a teenager, but there it was. On The Maury Show there is a makeup room backstage. Typically only the female guests get touched up before going on. I watched as the ladies who were going to be on the show finished up and then I coyly asked one of the makeup artists there, “Can you do something about this?” And I pointed to my nose. This woman was all business. “Sure!” She said. “Have a seat.” I sat down and she pulled out a paint brush and proceeded to make my zit disappear like some kind of Hollywood Illusionist. I looked in the mirror when she was done and simply said, “Wow!” I was the only guest in the makeup room at this point. That’s when the second stylist came over and started patting down parts of my hair that were sticking up. The first makeup artist then told me my forehead was kind of shiny and could she “Touch me up?” I said sure and she proceeded to take the shine away. So there I was, completely made-up. I’m not really a vain person, but I can honestly say that they made a real improvement. Yes, I wore makeup… and I’m not ashamed. The Maury Show I’m going to be on airs Tuesday, January 30th. In my segment, you won’t be able to spot the pulsing red zit on the bridge of my nose, nor my glistening forehead, and I owe it all to that sweet lady in Maury’s makeup room. I wish I knew her name so I could tip my hat to her publicly.

“It’s just a game…” That’s what I keep telling myself. Last night the Patriots lost to the Indianapolis Colts in a nail-biter of an AFC Championship football game. The first half, the Patriots dominated on both sides of the ball. But even when we were up by 18 points, the Patriots faithful weren’t exactly making hotel reservation in Miami yet — the Colts are just too good. In the second half, the Colts were a completely different team. They were making very few mistakes and were starting to have their way with the New England defense. The game turned into a shootout. This game was so heart-breaking because the Colts only had the lead for 60 seconds of the game. It just happened to be the last 60 seconds. I’m at peace with the loss… sort of. I keep playing the shoulda, woulda, coulda game. If only the Pats coulda stopped one more offensive drive by the Colts. If only New England woulda made one more offensive drive for a touchdown. The reality is, they didn’t. The Colts were the better team yesterday. When my team wins, I can ride the high for a week — right up until the next game. When they lose, I tell myself, “It’s just a game, get on with your life.” I know in reality this will sting just a little bit right up until the next game… which unfortunately is many months away. My hats off to the Colts. And no offense to my friends in Chicago, but I don’t think the Super Bowl is going to Chi Town. This year (I think) is finally Payton Manning’s year.

My first book came out in August of 2004. I remember the giddy excitement of holding the finished product for the first time and the pride I felt when I saw The World’s Most Haunted Places on the bookshelves in the bookstores. I’m not sure exactly what it feels like to be an author because every day on this job feels like something new. Though I’ve published five other books since, and I have seven and eight on the way in the next year, I still discover new thrills and challenges within the job — I’m still learning what it’s like to be an author. Some days are really tough. I struggle to get work done. I fall behind, I get frustrated at what I need to accomplish in such a short time period, and I wish I was doing something else. Other days are pure magic. I learn something, gain insight into a tiny facet of a subject, and feel like I’m growing and getting better at what I do. In short, being a writer feels a lot like other jobs I’ve had. There are good days and there are bad days. I have bosses, some people compliment me on what I do (which always feels nice), and some people tell me they don’t like it (which always hurts, no matter how many times you tell yourself that everyone is entitled to their opinion). One of the main differences with this job compared to others I’ve had is that when someone didn’t agree with the way I did my old job, my boss would pull me aside for a quick and private one-on-one. In this job, people publish their disapproval in magazines and on Web sites like Amazon.com for all the world to see. I recently experienced a good day on the job. A new thrill. In the mail, I received some author copies of my first book published in Estonian. Estonia is a northern European country just south across the Gulf from Finland. Check out the cover: I flipped through the book. I don’t have a clue as to what it says and I can only hope that the translation is a good one, but holding that book, I really felt like an author for a few minutes. A similar feeling to when The World’s Most Haunted Places first came out. My publisher told me that some of my other books have also been sold to foreign publishers, and I’ll also be getting copies of those books. I can’t wait. Thanks, Estonia!

I’m under a lot of stress right now. My wife and I have a child on the way, we’re trying to get our house ready for it, I have a book deadline I’m working on night and day (at least I’m finally catching up there), and I’m trying to manage a complete technical redo of Ghostvillage.com for some exciting developments in 2007. My work days typically start at 7:30 in the morning and unless I have an appointment or some other event I simply need to be at, I’ll work until about 9:00 at night. I’m not writing all this for sympathy or anything like that. Everything I’m working on right now I love doing, it just happens to be piling up at the moment. But this isn’t about my “have-to” list. This is about self-inflicted stress. I’m talking, of course, about Patriots football. I don’t consider myself your typical American guy. I love to read and write, cook, I love art museums, classical music, and lots of other eclectic interests. But man, when Sunday comes I transform into Joe-Twelve-Pack and plant my ass in front of the HDTV, I raise the volume of my surround sound stereo, and I yell for my team. There’s no rationale for it, but I feel like if I’m not watching and pulling for my team, they won’t do as well. I admit I’m very biased, but I consider the Patriots the thinking-man’s football team. They play a delicate game of chess combined with a rigid discipline to the fundamentals (most of the time) that I admire and even yell for. But last night my stomach was in a knot for about three and a half hours. Last night the Patriots played in a playoff game against the San Diego Chargers. By just about every measure, the Chargers outplayed the Patriots. They were faster, bigger, and stronger. And they mostly dominated play… but they made some critical mistakes and the Patriots did what they often do in big games — they capitalized. In the fourth quarter the tide turned just enough that a win actually looked possible. I spent the second half of the quarter kneeling in front of the TV — not in some form of pagan worship — but because I was tense and knew that jumping up and down after every play was going to get someone (probably me) hurt. As the seconds ticked away after the Patriots tied the game and put themselves in game-winning field goal position, suddenly all the doubt I had the entire game was erased. When the San Diego kicker missed his final (and very long) field goal attempt, I remembered why I love this team — they find a way. They don’t usually blow their opponents apart, they pick them apart and strike at just the right moments. It doesn’t matter that you’re bigger, faster, and have a better record. When it counts, the Patriots and their football savant coach know what they’re doing. I have no expectations of next week’s game against the Colts. The Patriots have taught themselves and all of their true fans to take it one game at a time. I’m sure they’ll keep me at the edge of my seat because they usually do. For an hour after last night’s game I felt the stress slowly leaving my body. Kind of like the feeling after almost getting in a car accident. You realize you dodged a bullet. I kept saying to my wife, “Why do I put myself through this?” I mean, if the Patriots lost last night, I still would have had a lot of work to do today. Whether they won or lost should have no impact on my life at all. But it does. There’s a spring in my step today as I toil away at the projects that were waiting for me regardless, and there’s anxious anticipation of the next game — like a good party you know is coming up this weekend. Nope, I don’t need any added stress in my life. But the drama, technical acumen, and excitment the Patriots bring me each week is worth every knot in my stomach. Go Pats! (Now back to my regularly schedule intellectual pursuits…)

I rolled into Gettysburg, Pennsylvania yesterday for a meeting regarding the Ghost World Conference we’re having here in July. Gettysburg is a town where history (and its ghosts) are most certainly alive. There are multiple competing ghost tours in this little town, reenactors walk the streets and battlefields (are they reenactors or are they ghosts?), and even the locals will acknowledge their supernatural side if you ask. Last night I went to dinner at the Dobbin House Tavern, a home constructed in 1776 that now serves Colonial and Continental cuisine. We ate in the Springhouse Tavern located in the basement of the building which was a perfect setting for our ghostly discussion about theories, research, and the people doing the investigations. After dinner, we decided to pay a quick visit to Sach’s Bridge — just a couple of miles from the restaurant. Sach’s Bridge was the main retreat route for the Confederate forces after the battle of Gettysburg. It’s also said to be one of the more haunted hot spots here. When we arrived, we noticed there were a few people already on the bridge snapping away pictures, and looking for spooks. This was the evening of January 12th — clearly off-season for Gettysburg, but there they were ghost hunting. And there we were casually doing the same. When we got closer, I saw that they were three teenagers. They showed us some of the “orbs” they had captured on their digital cameras and we asked if they belonged to any investigative groups. They said they did not. Every time I come to Gettysburg, I’m amazed at how many supernatural tourists and armchair ghost hunters I run into. Interest in this field continues to spread and people are asking questions (even if they’re asking those questions with a digital camera). This is a good thing. Gettysburg is a shining example of an historic location that full appreciates and embraces its important historical significance, but also accepts its supernatural appeal. Some visitors may come here only looking for ghosts, but they’re bound to leave with a little history too. This is also a good thing.