Stop Making Yourself Miserable

The last episode ended on the evening of April 5, 1968. I was unexpectedly leaving Washington DC as my college had been abruptly shut down following the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I was in a friend’s car and as I looked back, I could see that the clouds in the darkening sky were flickering red, reflecting the light of the fires that were burning, as violence had begun to break out in the city. Within a week, 1,200 buildings had been burned, 12 people were killed and 14,000 federal troops were still occupying the nation’s capital.   

Now even though the murder of Dr. King was one of the most tragic and deeply disturbing events that could possibly have happened, I am not going to focus on the assassination itself, or on the profoundly traumatic effect that it had on the country. Thousands of articles have been written about it by hundreds of authors who have a much deeper understanding of history than I do.

Instead, for the purposes of this podcast series, which again focuses on the ways that consciousness began to evolve in those days, as witnessed through my own personal lens, there are a few key points that I would like to bring up.

The first one is that Dr. King was a far greater figure than the iconic public servant that is presented in the current annals of American history. Even though he was one of the primary founders of the Civil Rights Movement, as well as one of the nation’s most inspirational orators, there was much more to him than that.

He had a highly enlightened view of human potential as well as of its ultimate destiny. As such, he was continually expressing some of the deepest essential truths concerning human wisdom and understanding. In reality, he was at the very forefront of the enormous expansion of consciousness that was beginning to take shape back then. And it is truly hard to grasp how far ahead of his time he really was.

The easiest way to realize this is by looking at his lofty position on non-violence, both as a means for resolving conflict, as well as for moving the evolution of humanity forward. For the sake of clarity, let’s compare it with the law of the jungle, which has been the basic modus operandi of humanity since civilization began.

As a species, our knee-jerk reaction to the seemingly dog-eat-dog world we live in can be summed up in one basic phrase - might makes right. It began in the time of the caveman, as tribe fought against tribe, and over time, man began the process of inventing weaponry. Primitive spears and clubs turned into bows and arrows and swords. And thus, the arms race began.

To our great misfortune, it has continued, unabated since then and the constant development of ever-increasing firepower has only served to heat things up. Tragically, even though times have changed dramatically, this basic concept of settling disputes has remained exactly the same. When push comes to shove, we resort to good old fashioned brute force. From the one-on-one fist fight, all the way up to massive conflagrations fought between millions of soldiers, it’s still the same old story. One side prevails due to its superior weaponry, along with its unbridled  willingness to inflict severe pain and death on the other side. And of course, it doesn’t matter how many innocent people have to suffer and die. What difference does that make when it comes to getting what you want?

Now, even though this unenlightened unconsciousness has remained unchanged since the dawn of human history, remarkably, throughout every era, certain people have emerged who seem to be tapped into a deeper level of understanding. With a higher and more compassionate perspective, non-violence is usually the central theme of their approach and from a very early age, Dr. King was clearly one of them. Indeed, he spent his entire short life trying to elevate human awareness to this higher viewpoint.   

At the root of his understandings was the work of Mahatma Gandhi, whose brilliant use of non-violence helped overthrow the brutal British rule that had subjugated the Indian people for nearly a century. 

His interest in Gandhi grew over time, and following his successes with the Montgomery bus boycott in 1956, Dr. King felt the desire to travel to India to gain a deeper understanding of the life and teachings of this unlikely, yet remarkable leader. Finally, on February 3, 1959, he and his party, which included his wife, departed for a six-week visit to the ancient land. “To other countries I may go as a tourist,” he told reporters when he arrived at the airport. “But to India I come as a pilgrim.”

His aim was to study how political goals can be accomplished through the use of non-violent methods, rather than through the use of brute force. According to Gandhi, it was the fundamental difference between using the higher parts of our hearts and minds, rather than just relying upon the primitive, survival-based impulses of anger and fear. 

The visit proved to be an extremely powerful experience for him and he stated that it had helped clarify and empower his dedication to alleviate “the suffering, the exploitation, the injustice, and the degradation of human beings.” 

These noble, universal feelings had only grown since his return, and when he formally came out against the war in Vietnam, he also stood against the horrible injustices of the economic exploitation practiced by “capitalists of the West investing huge sums of money in Asia, Africa and South America, only to take the profits out, with no concern for the social betterment of the countries.”    

Along with his stance on non-violence, there is one associated factor regarding the tragedy of the King assassination that I would like to mention at this point. In general, as far as race relations in the United State had been concerned, black people had always been delegated into a fundamentally subservient position in the society. While it was within their civil rights to express their views regarding the racial injustices that existed in the country, it was always firmly understood that it had to be done in a basically respectful and civil manner.

But that mindset had begun to change a bit in the mid-sixties, and it was brought into focus on March 6, 1964, when Cassius Clay, the young boxer who had just become the heavyweight champion of the world, changed his name to Muhammed Ali and announced that he had joined the Nation of Islam, which was also known as the Black Muslims. 

This controversial movement was part of a larger sentiment that had been gathering momentum that became known as “Black Pride” or “Black Power.” Along those general lines, the Black Panther Party was formed just two years later.

I remember these developments very clearly, and in particular, I was struck by something that Malcom X once said. An extremely charismatic leader, as the chief spokesman for the Nation of Islam, he summed up the emerging point of view in a way which I found to be particularly clarifying. “If you stick a knife in my back nine inches and pull it out six inches, there's no progress. If you pull it all the way out, that's not progress. The progress is healing the wound that the blow made.  And they won't even admit the knife is there."

Now, of course Dr. King clearly understood the sentiments and feelings behind this point of view, but he never wavered on the issue of non-violence. As an ordained minister who took his work extremely seriously, the idea of using violence to accomplish the goal was completely out of the question.

As such, he felt that the motto of Black Power represented “essentially an emotional concept” that meant “different things to different people.”  Even though it “was born from the wombs of despair and disappointment…and is a cry of pain,” he had deep concerns that “the slogan was an unwise choice,” because it carried “connotations of violence and separatism.”

In his view, the real way to create change was to amass political and economic power, and then use it to achieve ennobling change. As far as the higher destiny of the country was concerned, he believed that “America must be made a nation in which its multi-racial people are partners in power.”

Now, the truly remarkable thing about Dr. King is that he had the ethical and moral standing to bridge the gap between the various viewpoints and promote a more inclusive path. And this basic fact makes his loss to the country and to humanity itself all the more tragic.

With all of this in mind, the outpouring of grief that followed the assassination was staggering. The funeral was set for Sunday, April 7th in Atlanta, and in an official proclamation, President Johnson declared it to be a National Day of Mourning. All sporting and theatrical events were to be postponed, with all flags lowered to half-staff.

Of course, not everyone in the country was aligned with the idea of paying respect to the memory of Dr. King. Lester Maddox, the staunchly segregationist governor of Georgia always looked upon King as a major villain, who had no right stirring up the black population to go against the venerated laws and traditions of the South.

As funeral arrangements were being made, the governor was approached with the idea of having Dr. King’s body lie in state in the Capitol building in Atlanta, but he flatly refused. On top of that, he declared that no flags in the state of Georgia would be lowered to half-staff either.

When his position was relayed to Washington, although the federal government had no power over his refusal regarding the use of the state Capitol, it did have the power to enforce the lowering of all flags in the nation, so the flags in Georgia were lowered in accordance with the decree.

The funeral itself became an iconic moment in American history. At first, the city of Atlanta estimated that about ten thousand people would be in attendance. But by the time of the funeral approached, it became clear that this estimate was way off.

It took place on April 9, 1968, in Atlanta, Georgia, where he was born and raised, and began with a private ceremony at Ebenezer Baptist Church, where King had co-pastored with his father. The intimate service was attended by just family and friends. But then something truly extraordinary happened.

A four-mile long funeral procession began from the church to Morehouse College, which was King's alma mater. King’s coffin was placed on a simple wooden wagon which was pulled by two mules. As the procession got underway, approximately one hundred thousand people joined in and walked along with it.

The global media coverage was extensive. Major American networks broadcasted the event live, which allowed millions of viewers across the country to participate in the intense feeling of collective mourning. Throughout the country, people who were driving in their cars spontaneously turned on their headlights, as though they were driving in a funeral procession.

The simple wooden cart being pulled by two mules highlighted King's commitment to the struggles of the poor and marginalized in society, while the throng that walked behind the coffin was also filled with hundreds of major celebrities who had flown in to show their respects. Leaders from the field of government and politics were mixed with the top tier of the county’s athletes and entertainers. The list of notables who walked in that somber procession is far too large to include here.

Again, as I’ve mentioned regarding the JFK assassination, I wouldn’t even try to put into words what it all felt like. Let’s just say that the injustice and the hopelessness of it was simply overwhelming,

And on top of it all, the fact that one of history’s major apostles of non-violence was brutally murdered for what he stood for was far beyond ironic and it soon became gasoline added to the fire; significant violence erupted in more than 125 American cities across 29 states. Nearly 50,000 federal troops occupied America’s urban areas. Thirty-nine people were killed and 3,500 injured. These uprisings produced more property damage, arrests, and injuries than any other uprising of the 1960s.

In all, it was just a truly, horrible feeling, and with that, let’s end this sad episode here. But even so, keep your eyes, mind and heart open, and let’s get together in the next one.

In the last episode, we took a quick look back at Robert F. Kennedy’s rise to the senate in November of 1964. Then we mentioned that in 1967, the soon to be anti-war candidate, Minnesota Senator Eugene McCarthy had approached him with the idea of opposing President Lyndon Johnson for the nomination of the Democratic Party for President of the United States. But Kennedy had quickly turned the idea down. Now back to early 1968.

Everybody knew that Bobby was certainly no friend of LBJ’s. They had a long and well-known history of animosity between them. But again, for many significant reasons, he didn’t think the timing was right to mount a challenge against a sitting president, so he just stayed in the wings and watched Gene McCarthy try to take him on.

Then on March 12, 1968, something completely unexpected happened. The largely unknown senator from Minnesota, whose grass roots campaign had been largely run by a group of underfunded student volunteers, made a truly significant showing in the New Hampshire primary, and it proved to be a shocking upset. 

Lyndon Johnson, who had the powerful name recognition of the incumbent, was well-funded and well organized with a huge staff of seasoned supporters. But he won only 49.4 per cent of the vote. And incredibly, McCarthy won a remarkable 42.2 per cent, which really took everyone by surprise. Suddenly it became obvious that the anti-Johnson, anti-war sentiment in the country was far larger and deeper than anyone had calculated.

Overnight, the equation had clearly changed and Johnson was not as firmly in the driver’s seat as he seemed to be. And as you can imagine, the outcome caught Senator Kennedy’s attention as well.

Now, there have been several biographies about RFK written over the years and many of them have examined the evolution and inner growth that led him up to this time. He had traveled extensively throughout the entire country and his views on the makeup of the American culture had broadened deeply.

 I remember watching some of his speeches and noticing that there did seem to be something different about him, like a deeper level of empathy and compassion was emerging, especially for the underdog. And he seemed to have let his hair grow longer as well, maybe to emphasize his youth. Not that he needed it - he was only forty-two years old, afterall.

Anyway, it didn’t take him long to make up his mind.  And just four days after the outcome in New Hampshire, on March 16, 1968, in the same room where his brother had done it eight years earlier, Robert F. Kennedy announced his intention to run for president of the United States.

Of course, his move was met with mixed reactions. Many people in the anti-war movement called him an opportunist, coming in only after McCarthy had courageously paved the way. But somehow, it seemed much bigger than that, like he was on a completely different level from the rest of the prospective field and was capable of producing the major change in the county that was so desperately needed. 

“It is a time of difficult choices, a time of danger and opportunity,” he said. “It is a time for all of us to choose whether we will stand for what we believe in, or whether we will be silent.

“I believe that we can build a country where every man, woman, and child has the opportunity to live up to his or her full potential. I believe that we can build a country where every person is judged not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character. And I believe that we can build a country where the pursuit of happiness is not just a dream, but a reality.

“But in order to do that, we must first have the courage to change,” he continued.  “We must have the courage to stand up and speak out for what we believe in. We must have the courage to demand better from our leaders, and better from ourselves.

“That is why I am here today. That is why I am running for President. Because I believe that we can do better. Because I believe that we must do better. And because I believe that together, we can build a country that is worthy of the ideals that we hold dear.”

So that was it. Wherever you stood - like it or not, with him or against him, anti-war or pro-war, Bobby was in the race. The game was on. And suddenly everything had changed completely. This was an enormous development, as well as a major surprise to a large portion of the country. Suddenly, the idea of serious opposition to the war in Vietnam had reached an entirely new level, to the delight of the entire anti-war movement.

Of course, Senator Eugene McCarthy of Minnesota wasn’t happy about it. He had personally approached Kennedy five months earlier, arguing for an anti-Johnson initiative and urging him to run, but Kennedy had squarely turned him down, saying he said he didn’t want to challenge Johnson at that point in time.

A lot of other people in the anti-war movement were skeptical about Kennedy as well, feeling that he was an opportunist who only found the courage to run after McCarthy had bravely paved the way. But Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., who had been standing firmly against the war for nearly a year, felt otherwise. He felt that RFK’s entrance into the field was a real help because it made the case against Johnson even stronger. As he stated, “I think both Mr. Kennedy and Mr. McCarthy represent the kind of competence, dedication and relevant thinking on the basic issues that confront us today, that they are the kind of men that present the alternative that I think we need.”

But it really didn’t matter how you looked at it - the race for the presidency had suddenly and radically changed because Kennedy had now entered it.  Besides his enormous name recognition, on a deep level he also represented the JFK Camelot mythology to a large portion of the general public, and his announcement had an immediate impact on the entire country. He quickly began active campaigning, targeting the key primaries that were the closest on the schedule. And when it came to managing a presidential campaign, he was a true expert, for he had overseen every aspect of his brother’s incredibly successful race.   

Over the next few weeks, things began to settle into the new political normal and then, toward the end of March, suddenly, President Johnson’s office requested airtime from the three TV networks. He wanted to make a major speech regarding the status of the war in Vietnam. His appearance was scheduled for Sunday night, March 31 and at 9:01pm, the president began to address the nation.

He started by giving an extensive overview about the state of the war in Vietnam. He discussed troop levels and urged Hanoi to consider a recent US initiative for peace, after which he went on about the real chances for ending the war and praised the US determination to bring the situation to a successful conclusion.

After going through these topics for over an hour, he began to discuss his actual role in the process, “I have concluded that I should not permit the Presidency to become involved in the partisan divisions that are developing in this political year,” he stated. “With America’s sons in the fields far away, with America’s future under challenge right here at home, with our hopes and the world’s hopes for peace in the balance every day, I do not believe that I should devote an hour of a day of my time to any personal partisan cause or to any duties other than the awesome duties of this office - the Presidency of your country.”

Then at that point, with no warning, he suddenly shocked the world.  “Accordingly, I shall not seek, and I will not accept, the nomination of my party for another term as your president,” he said. Then he quickly ended his speech.

It was a major bombshell and absolutely nobody had seen it coming, not even the closest members of his cabinet or staff.  He had kept his decision completely private, but suddenly, here it was - Johnson was out and the presidential race was now wide-open.

Almost everyone believed that it was RFK’s entrance into the field that did the trick, but years later, it came out that Johnson’s health had been seriously deteriorating and he didn’t think he was physically up to the callosal demands that would be facing him. He had pretty much made up his mind several months before the McCarthy/Kennedy phenomenon had even begun to emerge.

But none of the reasons why he did it mattered. All that mattered was that he was stepping down, it seemed like a whole new era had begun, and suddenly, things seemed incredibly bright. With Bobby Kennedy, Gene Macarthy and several other key players emerging into the forefront, a true change of direction for the war, as well as for the entire country seemed imminent.

Although I don’t remember a whole lot from that particular time, I do remember that night very well. The next day, our entire campus seemed elevated. Who knows? Maybe the summer of love and the sudden emergence of flower power had something to do with it. But it really didn’t matter. All we knew was it was it seemed like we were in the Wizard of Oz; black and white had turned into color and we weren’t in Kansas anymore. April had begun, spring was about to dawn, and there was no telling what the future might bring. It was a great feeling.

Suddenly, this elevated mood seemed to light up the world. And although major challenges were still plentiful, a new sense of optimism had begun to set in and it was truly a magical time. But unfortunately, it didn’t last long, for only four nights later, on Thursday evening, April 4th at 6:05 pm in Memphis, Tennessee, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was brutally murdered. 

Now, details traveled much more slowly in those days. Don’t forget, this was still a dozen years before the idea of 24-hour news coverage had even begun. I do remember hearing that Dr. King had been shot, but the next morning, the enormity of what was happening really got driven home. At my first class, the professor announced that school was immediately closing and that basically, we should all get out of town as quickly as possible. The best thing to do now was to just go home.

By that evening, I was on my way back to Philadelphia in a friend’s car and as I looked back at DC, I could see that the clouds in the dark sky were flickering red, lit by the color of burning flames. It was clear that some truly disturbing days lay ahead.

So, let’s let this terrible news mark the end of this episode. We’re entering into a tough time now, but as always, keep your eyes, mind and heart open, and let’s get together in the next one.

As the last episode ended, we had begun to examine the speech that Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had made as he publicly came out against the war in Vietnam. He talked about his lifelong commitment to non-violence, saying he had been compelled to speak against the war effort because the United States had become “the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today.”

He went on to link the war to the nation’s economic injustices, arguing for a fundamental moral shift in the country's priorities. He called the festering US involvement in Vietnam, “some idle political plaything of a society gone mad on war.” And he declared that “America would never invest the necessary funds or energies in rehabilitation of its poor so long as adventures like Vietnam continued to draw men and skills and money, like some demonic destructive suction tube.”

Indeed, he found that the amount of money that had been spent in producing such meaningless destruction, was simply obscene. Total expenditures had surpassed $252 billion by end of 1967, while over 25 million Americans were still living below the poverty line.

And don’t forget, our troops weren’t a bunch of volunteers fighting for a cause that they considered to be worthy. Far from it. This war was being fought by draftees. The country was under a mass conscription order, and if you were a male between the ages of 18 ½ and 26 and you didn’t have a deferment, you were either going to fight or you were going to jail.

On top of all these other issues, the number of black soldiers fighting in the war was out of proportion. You had nearly 80,000 black soldiers being forced to fight a war that was 8,500 miles away, while their families were largely treated as second class citizens back home.

But given all this, on a larger level Dr. King still had a sense that a major change of some kind was beginning to take place in the world and he stood squarely behind it. But it was going to take a lot of sincere effort and prayer. As he said, “Perhaps a new spirit is rising among us. If it is, let us trace its movements and pray that our own inner being may be sensitive to its guidance.”

“Somehow this madness must cease,” he continued. “We must stop now. I speak as a child of God and brother to the suffering poor of Vietnam. I speak for those whose land is being laid waste, whose homes are being destroyed, whose culture is being subverted.

“I speak…for the poor of America… I speak as a citizen of the world… as it stands aghast at the path we have taken. Then he concluded, “I speak as one who loves America, to the leaders of our own nation: The great initiative in this war is ours; the initiative to stop it must be ours.”

Today, this is considered to be one the greatest speeches of his lofty career. But things were quite different back then, and to say that his decision about the war wasn’t well received would be quite an understatement.

But Dr. King was well aware of the probable opposition he would face as he went into the church that day. The idea of standing against the war had presented quite a difficult conundrum for him because it meant standing against President Johnson, who had been an enormous ally of the Civil Rights movement during the course of his entire presidency. He had been a powerful force of positive change in the lives of black people throughout the country, and the idea of opposing him on the war was rife with significant difficulties.

And indeed, it proved to be so. A large portion of the Civil Rights movement was shocked that King chose to oppose Johnson and the NAACP called the speech a “serious tactical mistake.” But the opposition in the mainstream press was far stronger than that.

 The editorial board of the New York Times said that King’s position was an oversimplification and that when it came to the Civil Rights Movement and the War in Vietnam, "linking these hard, complex problems will lead not to solutions but to deeper confusion." The Washington Post said that King had "diminished his usefulness to his cause, his country, his people."  And Life magazine said his speech had been “demagogic slander that sounded like a script from Radio Hanoi.” But Dr. King stood strong and began stepping up his antiwar efforts.

As I mentioned earlier, there were three powerful events that happened in 1967 that would have a significant impact on the American involvement in Vietnam. Dr. King taking a stand against the war in April was the first. The second happened on June 20, 1967, when the controversial, yet enormously respected world-famous boxer, Muhammed Ali, was sentenced to five years in prison for draft evasion. And just to be sure that everyone understood where the government of the United States stood on the issue of the war, on the same day that Ali was convicted, Congress voted 337-29 to extend the draft for four more years.

          Finally, on November 30 of that year.  Eugene McCarthy, the astute senator from Minnesota, formally announced that he would oppose Lyndon Johnson for the Democratic party’s nomination for president.

          At the time, it seemed like a relatively minor event. McCarthy was basically unknown and even though Johnson’s popularity had begun to dip a bit at the time, it was common knowledge that he had a secure hold on the party and that there was no way he could be defeated for the nomination. McCarthy’s announcement seemed largely symbolic.

          Now, let’s go back to January of 1968. But before we get into what began to unfold politically, let me give you a very quick overview of what I was doing at school, once I returned from winter break. The reason this will be so quick is because I was doing very little at the time, unless pledging a big fraternity and partying your brains out can be categorized as an accomplishment of any kind.

 I wasn’t paying much attention to anything outside of the realm of my own little world and I barely paid attention there either. As far as the war was concerned, I rarely thought about it. I had a solid college deferment through to June of 1971 and the whole mess would certainly be over by then, so I had nothing to worry about. Other than that, I guess I had forgotten that I had come to college to learn anything, at least not scholastically. I was busy developing the attention span of a common house fly, along with the clarity and depth of a thin layer of mud. It’s not necessary for me to add any concrete details here. Just let your concept of absolute cluelessness fill in the blanks.

          So, back to the political world. Shortly after his announcement, to everyone’s surprise, even though it was still relatively small, Senator McCarthy’s campaign began to gain some traction. It seems there was a little more anti-war sentiment in the country than most people had noticed.

At one point, it became generally known that, along with a few other groups, McCarthy had privately tried to convince New York senator Robert F. Kennedy to run against Johnson in the primary. But RFK was quite hesitant about it. Although he was unquestionably opposed to him, he felt that Johnson was in a totally secure position and that opposing him would be a bad choice for both the party and the country, as well as for his own possible future plans.

          It’s important at this point, to step back a little and take a look at RFK or “Bobby” as he was generally called, who was in a completely unique position in the country at the time. To start with, he was probably one of the first major figures in the United States to be routinely referred to by just his first name.  Whenever TV or news reporters mentioned “Bobby” everybody knew exactly who they were talking about.

And that’s because, as many of you know, he had become a major figure in America ever since his older brother, John F. Kennedy, had been elected president in 1960. As his tenaciously brilliant campaign manager, Bobby had overseen every aspect of the successful win. And then, as Attorney General, he became the most trusted member of the cabinet. Indeed, someone once asked JFK if Bobby was his number two man in Washington and he said that not only was his number two, he was also his number three, four, and five as well.

Then, during the horrible ordeal of the JFK assassination, Bobby was center stage with the family throughout the entire nightmare. In the months that followed, he rarely made appearances and when he did, the scars of agony and grief were deeply etched upon his face. But nine months after the assassination, something truly remarkable happened at the Democratic party’s national convention in Atlantic City on August 27, 1964.

It was the final day of the proceedings and they were going to show a film commemorating the life and accomplishments of JFK. The auditorium was packed and the program was being carried live on all the TV networks. Bobby was scheduled to give a very brief introduction to the film, and after a few preliminaries, he was finally introduced.

As soon as he walked onto the stage, the entire auditorium spontaneously erupted into a massive standing ovation. For the first few minutes, it was overwhelmingly powerful, but it quickly turned into something much more, as the crowd simply would not stop cheering. Even though he tried to speak several times, they wouldn’t let him and the standing ovation just went on and on. It seemed that a huge wave of emotion had been spontaneously released and was being showered upon him, as though the whole country was holding him tightly in a fond embrace.

It had not been organized, there was no demonstration of any kind and no accompanying music. It was just Bobby standing in front of several thousand people who were expressing their deep admiration and affection for him and what he stood for, including those golden days of Camelot that had been brutally stolen from the country.  It went on like that for over twenty straight minutes and it was truly extraordinary.

A few months later, RFK decided to return to public service and was elected the United States senator from the state of New York. From 1965 on, along with being a major figure in American politics, he became an effective and widely respected United States senator as well.

Now, this is a perfect place to end this episode, as Senator Kennedy was about to make a political move that would have a major impact on the country. So, as always, keep your eyes, mind and heart open, and let’s get together in the next one. 

We ended the last episode with a quick look at the groundbreaking Beatles album, Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, and the powerful effect it had on popular music and on Western Culture in general. For many reasons, the album, which was released on May 26, 1967, seemed to elevate the mass consciousness of a significant segment of society to a new and higher level. And then a month later, on June 25, 1967, the old Fab Four took things up another notch.  

On the first internationally broadcast television program to be beamed simultaneously around the world by satellite, the Beatles introduced their classic masterpiece, “All You Need is Love,” which became an instant anthem for those amazing days.

They had invited a bunch of guests to be on stage with them as they performed the song, including the Rolling Stones, the Who and many others. It turned out to be an incredible celebration and along with the music and the expanding tenor of the times, a new form of appearance had come into the world as well. It was the hippy look and it quickly became known as the uniform of the counter culture. It’s hard to describe because of its individualized, free and unencumbered, styleless style. But one popular phrase of the times sums it up - you just “let it all hang out.”

And the Beatles, along with everyone else who joined them on the stage, all wore it well. Now, there was nothing subtle about what was going on. They were clearly making a statement and the entire Western world reacted.

Shortly thereafter, the remarkable summer of love got under way, with its happenings, be-ins and other mass gatherings, boldly celebrating the emergence of this newly liberated way of being. The concept of Flower Power had been born and spread like wildfire, verifying the old adage that, “Nothing is more powerful than an idea whose time has come.”

          Now, I haven’t mentioned anything about what I was doing personally back then, but it was a pretty incredible year for me as well.  As a senior, I was elected president of our high school, (which was a relatively big deal for its time and place), I had also met and fallen in love with my high school sweetheart, Sally, and we had our own magnificent, teenaged summer of love. And to top it off, the basketball team that my father had founded only a few years earlier, the Philadelphia 76ers, won the NBA Championship.

By the way, that high school romance of ours is still in full swing. We went on to get married, had a wonderful daughter, and as Sonny and Cher sang long ago, “the beat goes on.”  However, for the purposes of this podcast narrative, what’s important here is that from my little perspective, everything seemed right with the world.

Finally, the endless summer came to an end and I soon departed to Washington, DC and entered American University. One of the very first things that happened to me there presents an accurate picture of both the nature of the times and of my personal state of mind. I was living in a dorm and on one of the first nights, we had a meeting of the residents of our floor. There were about sixty of us and it went on for over an hour.

Towards the end, the floor supervisor summed up the dorm rules and then added, “So when it comes to alcohol, as long as you’re not too drunk, you’re going to be okay. If you are too drunk though, you’re going have to go before the disciplinary committee. Okay, so I guess you’re asking – “What is the definition of being too drunk?” he asked with a smirk.

“Well, if you get on the elevator and you’re too drunk to remember what floor you live on, or if you’re too drunk to remember what your room number is, or if you’re so drunk that you pass out in the hall before you even make it to your room - then you’re too drunk. If you’re less drunk than that, you’ll be fine.”

Everyone had a good laugh, like hey, we didn’t know college was going to be this much fun. But then, his entire demeanor changed and, sounding like a tough cop on the beat, in a curt, strict tone, he said, “Of course, if you’re caught smoking marijuana, you’re immediately expelled. We have no tolerance for that here.”

There was dead silence in the room and I thought to myself, “Who the hell is going to come to college and smoke marijuana?” It seemed like the most absurd idea in the world. “Why would anybody do that?” The mixture of college and marijuana seemed completely incongruous.

As you might deduct, at eighteen and a half years old, to coin an old phrase, I was as straight as they came. I had never smoked anything at all and had never had an alcoholic drink of any kind in my entire life. And that was fine with me. I had other plans. I was enrolled in the School of Government and Public Administration and following graduation; I would go to law school and then join my brother in the law firm my father had founded.

Anyway, it turned out to be a terrific opening semester for me. I went home for winter break to enjoy some sorely missed, extended time with Sally, and as the year came to an end, the only bad thing that I have to say about 1967 is that it turned into 1968.

So, here we go. But this takes us into some rather dark territory and intestinal fortitude becomes an absolute must. By now, you probably know that the first place to start talking about this year is with the ever-deepening quagmire of Vietnam.  Although I hadn’t been particularly aware of it, besides everything else that had happened in 1967, it was also the year that a small, but significant portion of the American public had begun to question our involvement in that war.

Through it all, Lyndon Johnson kept reassuring the country that even though the financial and human costs had been high, our effort in Vietnam was proving to be more than justified and things continued to go quite well for us over there. However, his rosy picture darkened considerably when something called the Tet Offensive broke out at the end of January of 1968. Without warning, the North Vietnamese launched a massive, well-coordinated attack throughout the entire country, including the South’s capital city of Saigon.   

As the brutal fight continued to rage on, it became an enormous blow to US public opinion in two significant ways. First, it showed that the optimistic spin that had been put on the war was deeply flawed. And secondly, it prompted something revolutionary in TV news. Due to enhanced technology, all of the networks began to cover the war in graphic detail, and kept it in the lead position of their major broadcasts.   

This constant exposure brought the bloodshed home in a way that had never been seen before. Horrible images, filled with violent battle scenes brought the war into the living rooms of the American public on a nightly basis, which was deeply disturbing to the entire country. Suddenly, Lydon Johnson began to seem like a major liar and his approval ratings, which had always been robust, began to tank.

At its peak, his approval rating had been 74% with only a 15% disapproval. By the end of February 1968, primarily due to his mishandling of Vietnam, his approval rating had sunk to a dismal 41% with a seriously significant disapproval of 48%.

On a personal side note, I used to take the train to Philadelphia on a fairly regular basis to visit Sally, who was still in high school. I would travel to and from Union Station in Washington DC and I began noticing something eerie. On every trip. I would walk by a restricted area where there would be about 20 – 30 rather small, flag draped metal boxes with a military official standing nearby.

Soon, I became aware that these were coffins carrying the bodies of US soldiers coming back from Vietnam, and the human toll of it all began to dawn on me. I soon realized that these weren’t just some metal boxes in the hallway of a train station. No. In a very short time, each one of them would become the sad focus of deep mourning, as the family and friends of the fallen would try to make sense of their dear young ones taken far before their time. All of this death! And what was it that what we were we fighting for again? 

At this point, to set the stage for what was about to come, it’s important to look back to 1967 once again, at three events that were to have an impact on the anti-war movement. The first one took place on April 4, 1967, when something truly extraordinary happened. After months of agonizing deliberations, and in a move that was incredibly controversial for the time, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. firmly and unequivocally announced his staunch opposition to the war.

In order to understand the significance of this, let’s remember that there have been very few people in American history who can match his moral and ethical standing. Of course, he is mainly remembered for his groundbreaking actions in the realm of Civil Rights, but as lofty as those accomplishments were, they are only a small part of who he really was.

For in essence, he had always considered himself to be primarily a preacher who had dedicated himself to doing God’s work. And as such, he stood for peace, equality, and dignity for all people, everywhere, not just for those aligned with the American point of view.  

In a major address before a packed house at the Riverside Church in New York City, Dr. King meticulously outlined his reasons for taking his anti-war stance.

He then began to address the issue of non-violence. Throughout his life, King had been deeply influenced by the work of Mahatma Gandhi and had espoused the path of non-violence in everything he did, especially in the inner cities of America. And because of that, he now couldn’t justify the hypocrisy of not opposing this massive war effort.  “I knew that I could never again raise my voice against the violence of the oppressed in the ghettos without having first spoken clearly to the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today -- my own government,” he said.

With those deeply striking and incredibly powerful words, let’s let this be the end of this episode. We’re just beginning this part of the story, so as always, keep your eyes, mind and heart open, and let’s get together in the next one.

In the last episode, I briefly described my grandfather, who was a lifelong mystic, and his reactions to the dream I’d had about my father and his ring, which was followed by its mysterious disappearance. I also mentioned another unusual incident concerning the ring that took place about twenty years later, when a friend told me about a vivid dream he’d had where my father had given him a message for me, saying that I should “remember the ring.”

Now this wasn’t a childhood friend, he knew nothing about my father, and had no idea if this message was going to mean anything to me at all.  As you can imagine, the fact that it had come through a completely objective third party and had happened a full twenty years after the original incident made quite an impact on me.

So, that completes this part of the narrative. In summary, even though my life had been turned upside down by the sudden death of my father, which had been accompanied by two inexplicable events that had defied all logic, I put it all behind me, or so I thought. I continued with my eleventh-grade life, which basically meant that I returned to my everyday state of constant activity.

          Now, as I’ve mentioned a few times earlier, this podcast narrative focuses on the massive evolution of consciousness that began in the early1960s, as experienced through my own individual lens, which brings us now to the middle of 1966.

On a larger level, at this time two huge influences were beginning to shake American society to its core – First, the enormous evolution of the Beatles and their profound impact on popular culture, and second, the war in Vietnam.

          With the Beatles, as we mentioned in the last episode, at the end of 1965, they had come out with their revolutionary album, Rubber Soul, which George Harrison said was the first music they made when they were all regularly smoking marijuana. It had enormous appeal and was having a major effect on all of popular music.

          By the way, their old friend Bob Dylan was breaking some new ground of his own. In March of 1966, he brought out a radical new song that caught everyone’s attention. Its free-wheeling, raucous sound was far more in the style of a New Orleans Dixieland band than of rock and roll. And in the wild chorus, with his background musicians singing along in high hysterics, he kept repeating the signature line, “Everybody must get stoned.”

The song was over four and a half minutes long and got a ton of airplay on almost every pop radio station.  So, on a daily basis, with a clever twist of words and a message that was unmistakable, millions of music fans would listen to Dylan constantly urge them to try marijuana. It was quite an advertisement.

          A few months later, the Beatles took it all one step further when they released their groundbreaking album, Revolver. Again, according to George Harrison, while Rubber Soul was the first album they made under the influence of marijuana, Revolver was the first one they made under the regular influence of LSD.

          The easiest way to describe this remarkable collection of songs is that it was incredibly trippy. One song, “Love to You” followed the form of a classic Indian raga, complete with sitar and tablas. Nothing like it had ever been heard in the west before. Another major breakthrough was the soul-stirring “Eleanor Rigby,” which brought an entirely new level of depth to the Beatles repertoire. All the other songs on the album became instant classics as well, but one track, “Tomorrow Never Knows,” deserves some special attention because it was specifically designed to boost the evolution of consciousness.

          Apparently, John Lennon had been influenced by a book called, The Psychedelic Experience: A Manual Based on the Tibetan Book of the Dead, by Timothy Leary, Richard Alpert, and Ralph Metzner. The book claimed that under the influence of LSD, it was possible to shed the limiting nature of constant ego identification and emerge into a higher, more enlightened level of awareness. And it gave step by step instructions on how to do it.

          Supposedly, after Lennon bought the book, he took LSD and followed the instructions to a tee. Soon after that, he wrote the song, with the psychedelic nature of the music combined with the mind-expanding lyrics. He said he wanted to sound like the Dalai Lama chanting on top of a mountain, as he enlightened the public to the message of possible God realization that underlies the LSD experience.

“Turn off your mind relax and float downstream,” he sang.  “It is not dying, it is not dying. Lay down all thoughts, surrender to the void. It is shining, it is shining. That you may see the meaning of within. It is being, it is being. That love is all and love is everyone. It is knowing, it is knowing…”

Some years later, George Harrison offered an interesting perspective on the song as well as on their evolving perspective at the time. “From birth to death all we ever do is think: we have one thought, we have another thought, another thought, another thought,” he said.  “Even when you are asleep you are having dreams, so there is never a time from birth to death when the mind isn’t always active with thoughts. But you can turn off your mind.

“The whole point is that…the self is coming from a state of pure awareness, from the state of being. All the rest that comes about in the outward manifestation of the physical world. . . is just clutter.” Then he concluded, “The true nature of each soul is pure consciousness. So, the song is really about transcending, and about the quality of the transcendent.”

Of course, this understanding about the higher nature of our consciousness was extremely advanced for its time. And whether the public understood it or not, the message was still pouring out to millions of people on a daily basis, subtly or not so subtly affecting their consciousness.

The innovative album caught on in a flash and the influence of psychedelic music began to grow significantly. Over the next few months, the Grateful Dead, the Byrds, the Jefferson Airplane, the Moody Blues, Pink Floyd, Traffic, Jimi Hendrix and the Doors all gained enormous popularity, along with many, many other groups.

A new idea of a higher, more evolved state of being was clearly being born in the culture. And speaking of the culture, in a larger context, something called the “counter culture” was beginning to emerge, which not only challenged the mainstream norms and values, but also advocated for social change. Embracing ideals of peace, love, and unity, it was all vibrant, inspiring, alive, and unmistakably - young.

But at the same time, another enormous, yet rather sinister influence was in the early stages of taking over the consciousness of the country as well. As you probably know, it was the ever-broadening tragedy of the war in Vietnam. 

Even though no one seemed to be paying much attention to it, like an undiagnosed cancer, it just kept metastasizing. President Lyndon Johnson continued to insist that the constant build-up of US troops was the right thing to do because at all costs, we had to prevent communism from taking over the Pacific Rim. And the costs were getting pretty serious.

 In 1964, we spent $53.4 billion on the effort in Vietnam. In 1965, we spent another $54.5 billion and in 1966, it escalated to 66.4 billion. That’s a total of $174.4 billion. Not that anyone looked at it this way, but in those three years, instead of being used for warfare, that amount of money could have abundantly fed well over a billion people.

And the human costs were building as well. The US troops which had numbered 23,300 in 1964, grew to 184,300 in 1965, then onto 385,300 by the end of 1966. And with that, the truly horrible number - how many people actually died there – kept swelling. In 1964, 216 US soldiers died. It grew to 1,928 in 1965, then onto 6,350 in 1966.

Now that’s just US troops. When it comes to how many of the North and South Vietnamese people died, no one really knows for sure, but an estimate of 10-1 is used as a conservative approximation. So here are the basically revolting numbers related to those three years of war - $174.43 billion just plain wasted on destruction, with a total of over 96,000 human beings needlessly killed.

Even so, at that point, there still was very little opposition to the war and President Johnson stood resolute and strong. Afterall, he wasn’t about to let the Pacific Rim go communist. And on a side note, he was damned if he was going to be the first US President to ever lose a war.

So that brings us to 1967, which would go down in history as a truly magical year. Many volumes have been written about it and there’s not a whole lot to say that hasn’t already been said. On the grim side, the US involvement in Vietnam got much worse, to nobody’s surprise. We went up another 100,000 troops to a deployment of a staggering 485,600 soldiers. And US deaths went up an additional five thousand to 11,363. That’s 17,713 families who buried their young sons and daughters who had died trying to protect the Pacific Rim from going communist. Not that any of us even knew what that concept meant.

So. the dark side had gotten darker.  But incredibly, the light side was about to get much lighter. On May 26, 1967, the Beatles released what was probably the most monumental album of their entire career, Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band. This major phenomenon, turned the pop world completely upside down.

The album was filled with references to transcendent states of consciousness that were being now being experienced by millions of baby boomers around the world.  It featured the most psychedelic song anyone had ever heard yet, called “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.” The music was absolutely hypnotic and the mind-altering lyrics broke radical new ground on many levels. The initials of the title happened to be LSD, but according to John Lennon, that was just a coincidence. However he always said it with a smile.

George Harrison took his Indian raga theme one step further in his song, “Within You, Without You.” It was what is called a “Satsang Song” in the Indian tradition because it expresses some of the deeper truths of their ancient wisdom. “Try to realize that it’s all within yourself, no one else can make you change,” he sang. “When you see beyond yourself you may find that peace of mind is waiting there. And the time will come when you realize that we’re all one and life flows on within you and without you.”

Meanwhile, on the very last song of the album, “A Day in the Life,” after a mind-blowing journey through some seemingly random news of the day, to mesmerizing music played by a 40-piece orchestra John hypnotically repeats the stanza, “I’d love to turn you on.” By then, several million people knew exactly what he was talking about.

Now, I still wasn’t one of them yet, but that part of the story is coming up soon. Which makes this an ideal place to end this episode. As you might guess, things keep on evolving, so as always, keep your eyes, mind and heart opened and let’s get together in the next one.

As the last episode ended, I had given a quick overview of my grandfather, who was a lifelong Orthodox Jew, but was also a mystic with his own set of metaphysical understandings, especially about what was happening in modern times.

Among his teachings, he used to tell us was that there are always highly evolved people living on Earth, who are here to help bring about the Divine Plan for the evolution of humanity. In the ancient tradition, such a person was called a Kal-El, which means “vessel of God.”

As a brief note about that term - when I first started reading Superman comics at about age eight, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that Superman’s real name on his home planet of Krypton was Kal-El. I never gave it much thought and figured it must have been some kind of coincidence until several years later, when I learned that Superman had been created by two Jewish guys, Jerry Seigle and Joe Shuster. I guess they thought of him as a vessel of God doing good, so naming him Kal-El was no coincidence.

Also, when it comes to comic books, surprisingly, my first introduction to the idea that human beings could evolve into a higher level of consciousness came from reading about it in a comic book. I was around twelve and I still remember the moment when the concept first hit me.   

After years of being devoted to Superman and Batman, I had gotten introduced to a new company called Marvel Comics and its highly innovative, new characters began to expand the horizons of my imagination. It still featured action stories, but they dropped in some extra tidbits. Like in one episode of the Fantastic Four, there was an alien named “The Watcher,” from an advanced race of beings, who had become friends with Reed Richards, the leader of the Fantastic Four.

One day, Richards wanders into The Watcher’s laboratory when he isn’t there and picks up a baton-like device. Suddenly he’s rooted to the ground, can’t move and his head begins to morph into a much larger size. The Watcher suddenly bursts in, grabs the baton out of Richards’s hands and brings him back to normal.

Once Richards is fully restored, The Watcher explains that the device he was holding was a “consciousness enhancer.” In those few seconds, it had moved him forward a thousand years and he had actually become a highly evolved human being of the far distant future.

As a fellow scientist, he asks Richards what the experience had been like. Richards says he couldn’t retain the details, but he could remember that he had become fully merged with the creative power of the cosmos and the inherent joy of being in that heightened state of awareness was indescribable. 

The only thing I can say about being exposed to that idea is that it completely blew my mind. It was several years before that expression became popular, but that cosmic comic book really did it to me.

If it was possible for human consciousness to evolve to a significantly higher level, as an extrapolation, I began to wonder if it were possible for me to do it. And could I do it in this lifetime? A certain ideal seemed to take root deep inside my mind, almost like a trophy had been placed on some distant shelf in time to remind me to take up the quest to approach this noble goal at some later point in my life.  

Anyway, let’s get back to my grandfather and his belief that the modern technologies, including television, were being used by God to expand human awareness and that there are always Kal-El’s or vessels of God on earth, helping to further his work.

Remember that Zayde, my grandfather, was the absolute spiritual head of our extended family and one day, to my sheer delight, he decided that the TV character, the Lone Ranger, was in reality, a Kal-El.

This basically changed the workings of our family because now, whenever the Lone Ranger was on TV, my grandfather had to stop everything and sit and watch the entire episode. Whatever was happening around him, lunch or dinner, party or celebration – it didn’t matter. He had to stop and watch the show.

Now, this was a terrific development for me because the Lone Ranger was my favorite TV program, and if it had something to do with God, it was all the better. Because in my book, watching the show was a million times better than sitting in Hebrew school for an hour and a half.

Zayde would watch each episode with total focus, and after it ended, he would give a short teaching on the moral of the story. Here’s one shining example that is still enshrined in my memory.

An hourlong origin special about how it all began was being shown, and we watched it together. As it started, the Texas Rangers were ambushed and left for dead by the bad guys. Tonto, the Ranger’s future Indian companion, comes upon the scene, realizes that one of the Rangers is still alive, and nurses him back to health. Since he’s the sole survivor, Tonto calls him the Lone Ranger.

A few weeks later, they find a big white stallion lying near a bush bleeding to death, apparently gored by a bull. The Ranger and Tonto spend weeks caring for it.  Once it fully recovers, they tie a rope around its neck and lead it into an open pasture.

“Your horse was killed, and now Great Spirit has given you a new horse,” Tonto says, appreciating the synchronistic workings of the universe.

“He’s not my horse yet, Tonto,” the Ranger replies.

As they stand in the field, the horse feels its strength returning, and with its nose twitching, senses the call of the wild. The Ranger pats it on the head and slowly removes the rope. Then suddenly, he gives it a sharp slap on the rear.

The horse bolts forward and breaks into a mighty gallop, charging full speed to the top of a hill.  It rears back on its hind legs, neighing in triumph, standing tall against the sky.

But when it comes back down on all four legs, a change comes over it. It tilts its head to one side, and then, as though sensing a call beyond the wild, it trots back over to the Lone Ranger and just stands there next to him.

 “There, there, Big Fella,” the Ranger murmurs to him, gently stroking its muzzle. Then he turns to Tonto, and in a clam voice, filled with  absolute certainty says, “Now he’s my horse.”  

The show went to commercial and Zayde turned to me, his face glowing like he had been staring at a burning bush.

“You see?” he asked me. “It’s all about free will. God will never force you. He’s just waiting for you to choose to be with him. You can do it whenever you want, but it’s really up to you. God’s in no rush. He has all the time in the world. And more.” 

Then, as always, he quoted some Hebrew or Yiddish phrase that I didn’t understand. “You know what that means?” he asked me. I never did.

“It’s simple. ‘In the dark, you’re blind. But in the light, you can see. So, stand in the light and open your eyes.’” Then he touched the middle of my forehead with his index finger. “There’s a lightbulb in there. But it’s up to you to screw it in and turn it on. Understand, Davy?”

So, that’s a brief introduction to this deeply esoteric man. Now let me tell you what happened when I told him about the incident with my dream and the disappearance of the ring.

As you may recall from the last episode, I had experienced a vivid dream with my father. At the end of it, I gave him back his ring and it dissolved into white light. Then, the following morning, after my first period gym class, I was shocked to find that the ring had mysteriously disappeared out of my wallet, which I had securely locked in my locker.

A few days later, during my regular weekly visit to him, I told my grandfather what had happened and he was completely transfixed. Every detail seemed to tell him something special. The fact that it took place in the lobby of the synagogue, the fact my father seemed younger and had a healthy-looking tan, the fact that he chuckled when I told him that he died and said that it wasn’t real, that it was just a trick…all these things amazed and delighted him.

Then, when I got to the part where the ring had dissolved into a white light which filled the room and that I felt a happy presence in the light, he got quite still and didn’t move for a few moments. I didn’t quite know what to make of it, so I went right into telling him how the ring disappeared out of my locker the next morning. After I finished, he seemed deeply moved.

“So, understand, Davy, that you were shown a lot here, especially at such a young age,” he said. “All that you need to grasp at this point is that this life is much more than it seems to be. Try to keep that idea in the back of your mind as you grow, because take it from me, it will always be true. Now matter how much you know, there will always more to learn. That’s just the way it works. As a path to infinity, it’s an infinite path, and it’s always more wonderful than you can ever understand, especially at your age. So, just keep opening up to it.”

He broke into a warm smile and said, “It gives you a lot to think about and there are a lot of maybes here for you to consider. The ring turned into light in the dream, then it disappeared the next day in real life. Maybe that means there’s a deep connection between the two realms,” he said. “Much more than most people know.”

“Also, Dad said there’s no death, that its just a trick God does to get people to think about him. So maybe you should give this whole thing a lot more thought. I’m sure that you will, over the years.”

“And you said that you both stood there, holding the ring and it felt like a bridge between you,” he continued. “Maybe he’s telling you that the bridge is real, that it’s still there and that you’re still connected, even beyond death. Maybe you’ll always be.”

“And you know what else? The ring turned into light and you felt yourself get pulled into it. What was that like?” he asked me.

“It was incredible,” I said. “It had a presence that was filled with comfort and joy and I don’t think I’ve ever been that happy.”

“Exactly,” he agreed. “Maybe, that light took you into Shamayim (heaven). And maybe he wants you to remember that feeling. Remember what that taste of heaven felt like. Don’t forget, the reason we came here in the first place is to find our way back home, so maybe you should enshrine that feeling in your heart. and maybe it can help you get there somehow.”

“Now look, this whole thing is just like a lot of other things you run into in life. Maybe some of it was real. Maybe none of it was real. Or maybe all of it was real. Who knows? I do know one thing, though - you have the rest of your life to figure it out. And that probably won’t be long enough!”

His eyes were twinkling, and he gave me one of his glowing, impish smiles. He did this kind of thing all the time. He’d use the word “maybe” in the tradition of the great Talmudic teachers he’d studied for years. They don’t tell you things. They just plant seeds and inspire you to help them grow.

So, that’s the end of what he had to say about my seemingly metaphysical experience with the dream and the ring. But there is one other quick story I’d like to add, which took place about twenty years later. 

One Saturday night, I was at a big party and out of nowhere, an old friend who I hadn’t seen in quite some time came over to me. He said that he’d had a strange dream recently and he needed to tell me about it.

In the dream, he was in a crowd of people and a platform rose up with a stranger standing on it. The stranger looked at my friend and said, “I am David Richman’s father and I want you to give him a message for me.” Then he lifted up his hand and my friend could see he was wearing a ring. Suddenly, the ring started glowing with light and the man said, “Tell David that I said to remember the ring.” Then he repeated himself. “Give David Richman this message. Tell him I said to remember the ring.”

My friend finished and looked at me quizzically for a moment. “I don’t know if that means anything to you, but I just felt I had to tell you.” You can imagine what an intriguing shock that experience was for me!

Well, there’s nothing more to add to this part of the story, so let’s let this be the end of this episode. As always, keep your eyes, mind, and heart open, and let’s get together in the next one.

In the last episode, I described a most unusual dream that I had. My father had been dead for almost six months and I dreamt that he appeared to me, looking alive and happy. He told me that his death wasn’t real, that it was just a trick. And he went on to explain that there really isn’t such a thing as death, it’s just a public relations stunt that God came up with to get people to think about him.

Then he noticed that I was wearing his black star sapphire ring. He told me he didn’t want me to wear it anymore and, in the dream, I gave it back to him. At that point, a tremendous light appeared and everything dissolved into it. The light carried a wonderfully warm sense of happiness and joy in it and I woke up in an extremely elevated state of mind.

Let’s pick up the story there.

I began my day as usual. As I drove to school, I reflected on the dream from a psychological perspective. My second semester of psychology was almost over, and the mysterious workings of the mind were really starting to fascinate me.

As I thought about it, I was quite impressed with this dream as it had been a perfect mental placebo for me. In the theater of my mind, my father looked great. Healthy and smiling, he said he had never really died, and that it was only a PR stunt. He called it a gimmick, which I loved. It was a term he used a lot in the early days of the team, but I had forgotten all about it. Yet it was exactly the way he used to talk. Indeed, everything about him was familiar, comforting and reassuring. In short, he was just the way I would have wanted him to be if he were alive.  

And there was also a strong God theme running through it, which made perfect sense because I was getting so much religious exposure every day. As the dream ended, I had seen this beautiful light, filled with an essence of peace, happiness, and contentment. I felt like I was finally coming back home and experienced an overwhelming love. Then I merged into it. It was all classic heaven stuff.

I didn’t know what to make out of my father’s ring though. I had given it back to him and it had turned into light, which started the whole heaven part. It probably had some subconscious meaning and I figured that I’d bring it up with my psychology teacher.

Anyway, as far as dreams go, it had been a real beauty. And if my mind’s purpose was to comfort me and bring me a little happiness and peace, it had certainly done its job. I felt great in the dream. And as a matter of fact, I was still feeling rather elevated from it as I drove along. 

When I got to the school parking lot, I took the ring off and looked at it. I liked it, but I always felt a little odd wearing it. I had just turned seventeen, and it was the type of thing you’d see on a fifty-year-old man.

I didn’t care, though. It was his, and I was going to wear it for the rest of my life and give it to my kids. I put it back on and went into school.

                                                        ***

It was a Friday morning, and I had gym first period. When I got to my locker, I followed my usual routine. I wore two rings, a gold initial ring, and his black star sapphire. I took them both off and put them carefully inside my wallet, next to a ten-dollar bill I had brought because I was going to buy a new basketball after school.

I took off my wristwatch, wrapped it around my wallet, and put the whole thing in one of my shoes. Then, I put my books on top of my shoes and locked my locker. I double-checked the door and the lock to make sure it was all secure.  I had been doing the same routine twice a week for five years and I was confident that it was as tight as a drum.

It was a beautiful May morning, and I played touch football with my friends, a bunch of jovial, eleventh-grade jocks. After gym ended, I took a shower and got dried off. Then, I opened my combination lock, swung open my locker door, and put my clothes on. I took the books off the top of my shoes, took out my wallet, removed my watch, and put it on my wrist. Then I opened my wallet to put on my rings, and the world stopped.

To my extreme shock and disbelief, my father’s ring was gone!

Everything else was exactly as I had left it. My gold initial ring and the ten-dollar bill were still there, undisturbed. But his black star sapphire ring, the one I had given him in the dream just a few hours earlier, was gone. It had disappeared without a trace.

All I can say is that suddenly, reality didn’t make any sense. What had just happened, quite simply could not have happened. It just wasn’t possible. My head started spinning and I felt disoriented. I sat down on the bench in front of my locker and tried to pull myself together. To make sure I wasn’t losing my mind, I went over all the details again to see if I had made a mistake. But I hadn’t. I remembered everything precisely.

“Somebody must have stolen it,” I thought for a second, but obviously, that wasn’t the case. The locker had clearly been undisturbed when I came back after my shower. The combination lock was still locked, and the door was untouched. And besides, why would someone steal just that one ring and leave the wallet, the watch, and the gold ring, not to mention the ten-dollar bill?

I thought about the dream again. It was now nine in the morning and I had only been awake for a couple of hours, so everything was still completely fresh in my mind.

I realized how strange the whole thing had been. I didn’t remember feeling drowsy at all or ever falling asleep and then, all of a sudden, I was back in the synagogue chapel. And there had been nothing dreamlike about it at all. Actually, I had never felt more awake in my life. And on top of that, unlike my usual dreams, it hadn’t faded one bit. Normally, I forget my dreams before I even start breakfast. But this time, I could remember every single detail, especially my father’s tan, smiling face.

He said that he hadn’t really died and that it was a trick. Then he had me give him back his ring. When we held it, it turned into a brilliant light. And now, just a few hours later, in real life, it had vanished into thin air. What can I say? What had just happened just wasn’t possible.

Still dazed, I sat in front of my locker for a few more minutes and then the bell rang. I knew I had to hustle because my next class was all the way on the other side of school. There was nothing left to do but get on with my day.

My logic had hit a brick wall and as I got up and started walking, I still felt completely out of sorts. But as I hurried along, I noticed that everything felt just a little bit lighter, as if the old bounce was starting to come back into my step.

                                         ***

A few days later, it was time for me to go visit my grandfather, my father’s father, and I couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say about the dream I’d had, followed by the seemingly otherworldly disappearance of the ring.

We had always had quite a deep relationship, but it got much deeper after my father died. He and my grandmother lived about twenty minutes away and for one reason or another we would see them at least once a week.

After I had my first strange dream experience, where I had the precognitive dream that my father had died and it all came true the next day, I told the experience to just a few family members and some very close friends. Along with all the sadness we all felt, many people also felt a little extra sympathy for me because I was the youngest, and most of the ones I told about the dream just shrugged it off, as something that either didn’t happen, or at least not the way I had remembered it. But not my grandfather. He believed every bit of it, completely.

Now, before I tell you his reactions to the dream-ring-disappearance sequence, let me fill you in a little bit about him, as he was quite a unique individual. Although I haven’t mentioned him in the podcasts very frequently, he was one of the main influences on me in the younger part of my life, and is a central figure in “Wilt, Ike & Me,” the memoir that I’ve written about those early days.

We all called him Zayde, which is the Yiddish term for grandfather. Although he was still the patriarch of our extended family, my father, who was his eldest son and a prominent attorney and businessman, had assumed most of the family’s worldly responsibilities. But still, Zayde remained the undisputed spiritual head of the family. That respected position never changed.

And on the spiritual side, he certainly had the credentials for it. He had grown up in Lithuania as an orthodox Yeshiva student and as a gifted singer, he was being trained to become a cantor. In the Jewish tradition, the rabbi leads the service and gives the sermon, but the cantor is the one who actually sings the prayers. And ideally, he should sing them with so much understanding and feeling in his heart, that the prayers go straight up to heaven.

Zayde could really do it, but he had to give up his lofty profession when his family fled to America. His young wife had gotten pregnant, and he had to make a living, so he became a wallpaper hanger. Eventually he opened a paint and paper store in South Philadelphia and he and his family lived in the small living quarters above the store. He still remained true to his orthodox religion though, carefully practicing all of its customs and traditions. But on top of that and somewhat secretly, he was essentially a mystic, with a deep understanding of the more arcane elements of the faith.   

You could see it whenever you looked at him. There was a twinkle in his pale-blue eyes and he always seemed to have a funny look on his face, like he was learning some kind of deep lesson and was ready to burst out either laughing or crying, or sometime,  a funny kind of combination of both.    

Along with all his training, both traditional and esoteric, he had evolved some of his own theories about the cosmos, as well. He said God was always pulling humanity closer and closer to him, and the new communication technologies - radio, movies, and TV, were all a part of a great divine plan. Bear in mind that none of them had existed in his early life, not even electricity.

He had seen them all develop and to him, they had been created to help teach humanity profound lessons, enabling it to achieve its highest potential.

Now, this is actually a great place to end this episode. Of course, there’s a lot more to come, so, as always, keep your eyes, mind and heart opened, and let’s get together in the next one.

As the last episode ended, I was beginning my return to normal life after the unexpected death of my father. The unanticipated event had turned my entire world upside down.

After remaining home for a one-week mourning period, when I returned to normal life, everything was exactly the same as it had been when I left it. Same classes. Same teachers. Same friends. Everything was the same. Except nothing was the same and it would never be again. It’s a terrible feeling and everyone who has experienced the early stages of deep grief is painfully aware of it.

However, there was one thing that was radically different in my new daily routine, which was that I was now going to synagogue every morning and every night and would be doing it for eleven months. The same held true for my brother, who was eight years older than me.

It was a big eight years at that age because while I was in the middle of high school and living the life of a teenager, he was in his last year of law school, had been married for a few years, and his wife was about six weeks away from giving birth to their first child.

But even so, we had always done everything together. We even lived in the same room in our house until he moved out for college. So naturally, we started attending the daily service together.

Very early in the process, I came to understand that while the ritual of saying the mourner’s prayer is ostensibly to honor the dead, in reality, it provides a tremendous benefit for the living survivors. It was an enormous help to me on several key levels, and the most important one for me was that the rabbi of this particular synagogue was truly a spiritual giant. We got to spend an enormous amount of time with him and became extremely close.

So, that new way of life began for me in the second week of December of 1965. Let’s jump ahead almost six months later to the end of May of 1966. As I’ve said, we have an enormous amount of resiliency at that age, and even with all the trauma around the death, I was still having a great year at school.

My brother, Mike and I had been attending services every morning and night. We never missed a service and we intended to keep it that way, but suddenly something came up that was going to be an insurmountable problem for him.

His last year of law school was coming to an end and soon, it would be time for him to take the bar exam. A two-day cram course was being offered that went until nine each evening and he was going to have to miss services for two nights.

It was upsetting to him but there was no away around it and it absolutely had to happen. The first night came and I attended the service without him. It really was no big deal and I didn’t pay any attention to it.

It was a normal night. I ate dinner with my mother, went to the synagogue and said the prayer, came home and did my homework and eventually got washed and went to bed. Then, one of the strangest things that has ever happened to me took place

For some reason, I didn’t feel tired at all and thought I was going to have some trouble falling asleep. I was just lying there, and the next thing I knew, I suddenly found myself back in the chapel of the synagogue once again. It was a strange sensation because I felt like I had actually gone back in time. The events that had just happened a few hours earlier started happening again. It was like watching an instant replay, but instead of just watching it, I was living through it.

Everything happened exactly as it had, just a few hours earlier. Services ended, and I walked out of the chapel. But this time, when I entered the main lobby, I heard a sharp sound. “Psst! Psst!” It was clear to me that whatever that replay had been was over. I knew I was in new territory because nothing like this had happened earlier.

The sound came from my left. I looked over at the dark corner near the sanctuary doors and suddenly, my father stepped out of the shadows. 

Amazed, I walked right over to him. As I got closer, he gave me a warm smile and I was struck by how great he looked. He was wearing a gray suit with a purple shirt. The collar was opened, and he had a dark, healthy suntan like he had been in the Caribbean or Hawaii for a few months. He also seemed a little younger, with slightly more hair, which was slicked back. In short, he looked tremendous.

“Where’s Michael?” he asked, as soon as I got close. 

“Oh, he couldn’t come tonight,” I said. “He has to study for the bar exam. They’re having a cram course, and tonight’s the first class.”

“Oh, right, right. That’s good,” he said, sounding like he knew exactly what I was talking about. “He’ll pass it. He’ll do fine. He’s going to become a lawyer, and he’ll go right into the firm. Everything’s going to work out well for him.” Then he got a little serious. “But, watch out for your sister, though,” he said soberly. “She’s not doing so great.”

“Sybil?” I wondered.  “What’s the matter with Sybil?”

I didn’t say anything, but as I thought about it, I remembered that she had never shown any emotion after he died. She had been extremely stoic, always stone-faced and never crying or even shedding a tear. Maybe that had something to do with whatever it was he was talking about.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “She didn’t show any emotion after you d—”

I was just about to say the word died, when the impossibility of what was happening hit me like a ton of bricks. Suddenly I remembered the actual truth of the matter – that he was, in fact, dead.

I guess I had been so glad to see him, I hadn’t realized it at first. But now it all came rushing came back into me. The reason I hadn’t seen him for all this time wasn’t that he had been away on some tropical island. It was because he had dropped dead on the floor of the Boston Garden six months earlier. He was long since dead and buried. Yet here he was, standing in the synagogue lobby, happy and healthy and talking to me like everything was normal. 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here? You’re dead!”

“No,” he said, with a slight chuckle. “No, no. That wasn’t real.”

“What?” I asked. 

“It was just a trick,” he replied. “It wasn’t real.”

“What do you mean, it wasn’t real?” I shot back, a little perturbed. “Of course, it was real!”

How could he say it wasn’t real? It was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. Everything about it was a nightmare. Our family was completely devastated, and since then, we had gone through month after month of relentless pain. I wished to God it wasn’t real, but unfortunately, it was as real as it gets.

 “You died. You’re dead,” I blurted out, even more upset. “It was terrible. There was this big funeral, and everyone was hysterical. It was awful.” An enormous rush of pain welled up inside of me. “It was horrible. You died! We buried you and you’re dead!”

I was ready to break down in tears. But then, just like old times, he made his familiar gesture and held up his right hand, signaling me to calm down and listen to him. Just seeing him do it made me feel a little better.

“It wasn’t real,” he said, calmly. “It was just a trick.”

 “What are you talking about?” I asked, bewildered.

“A trick. You know a stunt, a gimmick.”

I still had no idea what he meant, but I didn’t say anything. 

“Listen to me,” he said, sympathetically. “There is no death. It’s just a public-relations stunt God does to get people to think about him. That’s all it is. It’s not real.”

I didn’t know what to say. There was absolutely, positively no question about the fact that he had died. It was irrefutable. And yet here he was—alive and well, telling me it was all just a stunt. As confident as ever, he certainly looked like he knew what he was talking about. He looked great. In fact, I’d never seen him look better.

“See?” he said, with a smile. “It’s all just a trick.” Then he added, “Some trick!” 

At that point, my mind went blank. I don’t think I could think anymore, and frankly, I didn’t care. It was just such a relief to be with him again and listen to him explain something to me. It didn’t matter if I understood it or not.      

As I looked at him, I realized I had forgotten how much I really missed him. I hadn’t seen him for six months. It had been an eternity of constant pain and I had gotten used to it. But now, alive or dead, we were back together again, and the pain was gone. I was happy and felt like my old self again - two long-lost and long-forgotten feelings.

He looked at me with a warm smile for a moment. “I see you’re wearing my ring,” he said, looking down at my right hand. He used to wear a black star sapphire pinky ring that he got when he went to the Japan Olympics to sign Luke Jackson to the 76ers. My mother gave it to me after he died, and I wore it every day.

“Listen,” he said somewhat soberly. “The stone in that ring has a vibration that’s bad for your body. I don’t want you to wear it anymore.” I didn’t say anything.

Then his face lit up.  “Hey! I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Since I never really died, why don’t you give it back to me?”

Without giving it a second thought, I took the ring off and held it up between the thumb and forefinger of my right hand. He reached up and held it exactly the same way. I thought he was going to take it, but he didn’t. Instead, we both stood there, holding the ring between us, like a statue.

After a moment, I felt it start to vibrate. Then, like an instrument being tuned to a higher note, something within me quickened. The ring began to glow, getting brighter by degrees until eventually, the whole room was filled with a brilliant light.

But it was more than just a light. I could sense a happy presence to it, a warm beauty that was extremely comforting. And it felt familiar to me as well, like I knew it from somewhere - another time and place from long before my memory began. 

 I felt myself being slowly pulled into it, as though it had its own field of gravity. It got stronger, like the current of a river nearing the ocean, and the light got even brighter. The more light I saw, the lighter I felt, along with a deep sense of happiness and joy. And finally, an all-encompassing love enveloped me, and I lost all contact with space and time.

I have no idea how long it lasted, but I finally began to regain awareness of my body. There was a gentle transition, almost like the physical world gelled into reality around me and I found that I was laying in my bed, wearing my pajamas. It took a little more time, but I soon realized it had all been just a dream.

Soon, I was completely back in the real world. Obviously, my life was unchanged, and my father was still dead. Naturally, I was disappointed. As fulfilling as the experience had been, I quickly understood that the whole thing had been just a fantasy that my mind had created in my sleep.

Even so, it had been a deeply wonderful experience to feel happy again. It was the first time since the night he died, that the heavy burden that I constantly felt was lifted from my heart. For those few moments, I had gotten to be my old self again and realized that I had completely forgotten the way life used to be, before the road had turned, and I had come upon the Vale of Tears.

Now you may be thinking, “OK. So what’s the big deal? You had a happy dream that your father was still alive. Why is that one of the most amazing things that has ever happened to you?”

All I can say is, we’ll get into that in the coming episode. For now, keep your eyes, mind, and heart open, and let’s get together in the next one.

The last episode ended on the evening of December 3, 1965 when my father suffered a massive heart attack and died instantly during a nationally televised NBA game between the 76ers and the Boston Celtics.

As I have mentioned previously, this podcast series examines the enormous evolution of consciousness that began to take place in the western world during the 1960s, as well as looking at what happened to me personally during those turbulent times, which led to my life-long commitment to the greater realization of human potential.   

It also seeks to present you with some fundamental ideas that you might find useful as you grow through your own inner evolutions, which is something we all do, whether we’re aware of it or not. That’s just the way our intelligence works.  

So, even though the events surrounding my father’s death were extremely traumatic, this is not an autobiographical look back at them. Rather, I am going to describe some of the realizations I experienced that began to open a pathway to my own inner growth.

Looking back, I can see that without having the slightest awareness of it, I had been living my life with two basic assumptions that I had been taking for granted. As naïve as they may sound, these assumptions were simple - everything was going to stay the same and I would live forever.

Of course, I knew intellectually, as we all do, that that these ideas are ridiculous. In reality, everything here ends and everybody dies. But as we all must learn sooner or later, there is a vast difference between believing a theoretical concept of something and experiencing the actual reality of it. And that’s especially true when it comes to death.  

For me, the aspect of sudden death was a powerful and rather rude teacher. It felt like having to learn how to swim because the luxury cruise ship you had been traveling on suddenly sank. The next thing you know, you’re in a freezing cold ocean and you notice a dark fin sticking out of the water that keeps circling around you. Of course, that’s just a metaphor, but that’s kind of what it felt like.

But the death itself was also accompanied by an additional, mysterious factor. On top of the shock and grief, I had to ponder the series of cryptic omens that had preceded it that were particularly unnerving.

As you may recall, along with several less intense events, I had experienced a jarring, recurring nightmare for three consecutive nights, followed by an incredibly vivid dream that my father had died. Then in the real world, the dream came true the following night, exactly the way I had dreamt it. In metaphysical terms, this is called a pre-cognitive dream, which is more of a prophecy than a premonition.

So, under the surface, there was always this other element that I had to deal with, which was the uncanny experience that I had somehow foreseen the future. It had been incredibly strange and I had to ask myself – “How could that have happened? How could you have seen something in such detail the night before it happened? And, what does that say about time and the nature of life itself?”

There was another deeply troubling aspect to the experience as well.  In real life, when I began living through the events of the dream, I knew exactly what was coming next and I wanted to change the events. But to my severe shock, I found that I had no control over anything whatsoever.

The incredibly odd fact was that I had absolutely no volition. Nothing that I thought, felt, or decided made any difference at all. I was awake. This was real. But it was like I was walking through a movie that had already been made. I knew that nothing could be changed because somehow, I knew that the present had already happened in the past. It was all too overwhelming to even try to understand.

Some years later, I came come across a profound quote from Einstein that seemed related. “The distinction between past, present and future is nothing but a stubbornly persistent illusion.” Of course, I found the idea fascinating, but in trying to grasp it, all I could come up was that my understanding of my life in the world was incomplete, and that there was a lot more that I needed to learn, to say the least.  It’s like you’re living your adult life learning your lessons and something unexpectedly alters your reality. Suddenly you feel like a preschooler enrolled in a babysitting club at an advanced university. 

Everything had changed so fundamentally for me that I felt like I didn’t know this world anymore. As boxer Mike Tyson once put it, “Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the face.” And believe me, it was quite a heavy punch for this 16-year-old kid to take.

At the foundation of it all, the basic impermanence that underlies all of life had become abundantly clear to me. My father had been an incredibly powerful person, the central figure not just in our family, but in the entire world around him as well. And in less than five seconds, he was gone for good. Vanished without a trace.

So, it quickly drove home the fundamental impermanence of life. Nothing here lasts. Everything ends. Which brings up some deeper questions. Why does this creation even exist in the first place? What are we doing here? What is the real purpose of my life, if there even is one?”

Suffice it to say that I eventually put all these thoughts and questions aside and got on with living the new version of life that had been presented to me. And it picked up pretty quickly. After all, I was in the middle of my junior year in high school and we are blessed with a tremendous amount of resiliency at that age.

As soon as I began to return to my normal school life, a nice little coincidence happened for me. You may remember from a previous episode that my father had made me promise that I would say the Kaddish prayer for him after he died. I made that vow on a Saturday and eight days later, I said the prayer for the first time at his graveside. Amazingly, I had completely forgotten about that promise until those first words came out of my mouth that day in the cemetery.

 I started attending the synagogue near our house twice a day and I had to get into the routine of getting ready to go there every morning and night. A new Beatles album had just come out and I got into the habit of listening to it as I prepared to leave.

Like all their other albums, its songs took up permanent residency in my mind almost immediately upon hearing them.  The album was called “Rubber Soul” and it was quite a departure for the band. Many years later, once the Beatles had become history and were being studied from a cultural perspective, this album came to be viewed a major turning point in their career.

Listening to it was giving me quite an emotional boost and one day, I heard a deejay say that the release date for Rubber Soul had been December 3, 1965, which was the exact day that my father died.  Now, all my life, I’ve been one of those people who are always on the lookout for “signs.” It’s hard to explain exactly why, but if you happen to be one of them, you understand.

Anyway, for me, this information meant that somehow, everything was in synch. As insanely disruptive as the death had been, on some level, it all made sense and in some way the universe was still in good working order. I might very well have been grasping at straws, but who cares? The fact that the dates were identical made me feel a little better. And no matter how small, I needed all the “feel better” I could get.

Importantly, from the larger standpoint of the evolution of the times, the group had a distinctively new sound. Later this would be understood to be the very beginnings of psychedelic music, and the songs were mainly written and recorded while the band was under the steady influence of marijuana. If you listen to the song “Girl” you can hear someone inhaling a joint, and George Harrison once commented that the album was “the first one where we were fully-fledged potheads.”

 But the songs had a new level of depth to them as well. Remember that Bob Dylan had once told the Beatles that he liked their songs, but the trouble was that they weren’t about anything. John Lennon said that he took that comment in on a profound level, and when you listen to him sing “Nowhere Man,” it certainly sounds like it.

“He’s a real nowhere man. Sitting in his nowhere land. Making all his nowhere plans for nobody.” Those words immediately got me. At the time, it sounded like he was talking about everyone, myself included. He continued, “Doesn’t have a point of view. Knows not where he’s going to. Isn’t he a bit like you and me. He’s as blind as he can be. Just sees what he wants to see…”

In the present day, the song is looked at as an absolute classic and we take it for granted, but back then, it was truly incredible to hear these kind of ideas expressed in a Beatles song. In another cut, “Norwegian Wood,” George Harrison played the sitar for the first time ever in western music, which was truly a sign of things to come.

And finally, there was the song, “The Word.” It’s a song about love, but it’s not a standard love song because it’s actually about universal love, which is a theme the Beatles would expound upon seriously over the next few years. “Say the word and you’ll be free. Say the word and be like me. Say the word I’m thinking of. Have you heard the word is love? Now that I know what I feel must be right. I’m here to show everybody the light. Give the word a chance to say that the word is just the way.”

So, at the end of 1965, big changes were underway. The Beatles had evolved into a new level of musical genius and don’t forget, they were the leading force of cultural change in the entire word, so the larger world of popular music was changing in an enormous way as well.

And as difficult as it had been for me, I had gone through the first truly major change in my life, and one of the key parts of it had been the fact that I had gone through an experience that had defied science and logic. But something even bigger was waiting for me just around the next corner.

Let’s take that up in the coming episode, so as always, keep your eyes, mind and heart open, and let’s get together in the next one.

In the last episode, we looked at two disturbing events that happened to me during the last week of November of 1965. In the first, I was sitting in synagogue with my father and toward the end of the Saturday morning service as the rabbi was announcing the prayer called the Mourner’s Kaddish, with a sudden sense of urgency, my father had me swear a solemn oath before God that I would say this prayer for him after he died. Surprised at the completely unexpected request, but taking no serious note of it, I made the vow.

Then a few nights later, I had a harrowing nightmare where I was being chased by an invisible killer. I ended up standing before a huge wooden cross that clearly represented death to me. A hooded monk who was standing next to it, telepathically said to me, “You have come upon it.”

Then to my extreme dismay, the dream turned into a recurring nightmare, as I had it on the following two nights as well. Now, as you may sense, we are beginning to approach some rather dramatic territory and before we start, I would like to mention a couple of key points, by way of introduction.  

First, the events that were about to unfold would alter not only my entire life, but more critically, my most basic understandings about the nature of existence itself.  Foundations were being laid that would lead to the massive inner revolutions I would grow though during the deeply turbulent times that were about to follow.

Secondly, the main reason that I am recounting these events is to provide some possible encouragement to anyone who may be facing some hard times and might want to explore the deeper sides of human intelligence and the potential that lies within each one of us.  So here we go.

The next part of the story begins on Thursday night, December 2. My father was leaving for Boston the next day for the big 76ers - Celtics showdown in the Boston Garden. It was still early in the season, but the stakes were already enormous.

For me, the day had flown by as any standard eleventh grade day normally did.  After dinner, I finished my homework, goofed around a little and finally went to bed, but I never got sleepy.  I was much too agitated.

My mind seemed to be spinning around about my social life, my schoolwork, and of course, the gigantic upcoming game with the Celtics. But I knew that none of that was what was keeping me awake. The real reason I couldn’t fall asleep was because I was too afraid that I was going to have that horrible nightmare again, and I just couldn’t face the prospect of going through it all one more time. 

I don’t remember getting tired or drifting off to sleep. I was just lying in bed with my eyes closed and the very next thing I knew, I felt a funny sensation in my stomach, like I was in a moving car that had just come over a hill and was on its way down. I opened my eyes and saw my hands resting on the steering wheel of a car. I looked over them at the hood and realized I was driving my father’s Cadillac. 

I came down the hill on Spring Avenue and turned left onto Heather Road, as I had done a million times before. Our house was on the corner.

With slight concern, I noticed that there were a few cars parked in front as I drove by, which was out of the ordinary. I made a right turn into the driveway, pulled up, and got out of the car. I walked around back and came in though the kitchen door.

My mother was on the phone with her back to me. She didn’t turn around. My father’s younger brother was standing in front of the stove with his arms folded across his chest. He kept staring down at the floor, as though I wasn’t even there.

I went into the main hall, and up the stairs. I turned left at the top and walked up to my sister’s room. As usual, her door was closed. I put my right hand on it, and stopped for a moment. Starring at the back of my hand I thought, “Well, this is it.”

I pushed the door open. Sybil was standing in the back of the room with a few friends. She looked up at me. “Daddy’s dead,” she said. “We don’t have a daddy anymore.”

“This is terrible,” I thought to myself. “But why are you talking like this? You’re twenty years old, and you sound like a four-year-old.”

I didn’t say anything and walked out of her room, down the hall, and into my room. I sat down on my bed, and suddenly got overwhelmed with an intense anger at God.

“Why did you do this?” I thought. “Why in the world did you have to do this?” I closed my eyes and smashed my fist down on the large end table next to my bed. As soon as my fist hit the table, I opened my eyes and felt completely disoriented. I was still in my room, but instead of sitting on my bed, I was lying in it. It took a few moments for me to grasp that I had been asleep and as real as it had seemed, the entire experience had only been a nightmare.

Of course, I was relieved. I had just gone through the horrible experience of having my sister tell me that my father had died. And now, thankfully, I realized it had all been just a bad dream. Still, on a deep level, I was profoundly shaken because in truth, there had been nothing dreamlike about it.  

I was happy about one thing, though – I hadn’t had a repeat of the horrible dream with the killer and the cross. At least that recurring nightmare seemed over. 

***

Now, it was Friday morning, December 3, 1965. I picked up my good friend Marty and drove him to school. But as soon as he got in the car, I felt compelled to tell him all about my dream. I felt like I should tell someone because if it happened to come true, I didn’t want to be the only one who knew about it in advance. It seemed like the kind of thing that could drive you nuts if you didn’t handle it right.

We only talked about the dream for a quick minute as we drove, and then switched to our plans for the upcoming weekend, which was packed with social events. The school day flew by in a flash, and the next thing I knew, it was Friday night.

There was a big party and I was going to drive across town, pick up my girlfriend, and bring her with me. It was a half-hour ride each way, and when it came time to leave, I suddenly didn’t feel like driving by myself. I called Marty and asked him to come with me. He agreed if we didn’t take my Sprite, which was only a two-seater.  He was six-one and didn’t want to be cramped-in for that long.

The 76ers – Celtic game was going to be on national TV and my mother was getting ready to watch it. My father had flown to Boston with the team.  I asked her if it was OK for me to take her Pontiac. “You better not,” she replied. “Sybil has a bunch of friends coming over, and she may need it.” She turned on the TV and sat down on the couch. “Take the Caddy,” she said, nonchalantly.

Without giving it a second thought, I hopped into my father’s car and picked up Marty.  About twenty minutes into the ride, I suddenly felt like hearing some music. “Let’s listen to the radio,” I said and turned it on. I hit the middle button, but there was no sound at all – just dead silence, which was very strange. That button was always set to our local rock ‘n roll station, and a loud-mouth deejay, a pop song, or some annoying commercial was blaring all the time. But now I heard nothing, and the ongoing silence was absolutely deafening.

It lasted long enough that I thought the radio was broken. Then, finally, someone in a solemn voice came on and said - “We have just received a report from the Boston Garden that the owner of the 76ers, Ike Richman, has collapsed at courtside.” It paused. “His condition is unknown.”

I quickly turned it off. I didn’t want to hear any more. We drove to my girlfriend’s house. As soon as we got there, I called home. My sister answered, and she sounded perky and happy, like she was having fun with her friends and everything was fine.

“Sybil, what’s happening?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing,” she replied lightly. “Everything’s fine. Listen, Mommy is leaving for New York soon, and she wants to see you before she goes. She’s waiting for you, so come right home.”

“Sure, I replied. “I’ll be right back.

“Great,” she said, cheerfully. Then in a slightly different tone, she added, “Come home now, David. Just come right home.”  It was a minor change, but I heard it in a major way. 

“This could be anything,” I said to Marty as we drove back. “It could be indigestion. Or maybe he fainted from the lack of air in the place.” I paused, then said the obvious. “Or he could be dead.”

Finally, we got to Spring Avenue, came over the hill, and as I started driving down it, I got a funny feeling in my stomach. I looked at my hands resting on the steering wheel and gazed at the hood of my father’s car.

That moment began one of the strangest experiences of my life. As soon as I felt that odd feeling in my stomach, my dream from the previous night began to come to life, in front of my startled eyes and it was uncanny.  As I lived through it, I knew exactly what was coming next. I turned left onto Heather Road and drove past the cars that were parked in front of the house. I felt they were not a good sign, just like in the dream.

It was kind of like having a déjà vu, but very different. Déjà vu means “already seen,” and you feel like somehow, you’ve already lived through the experience that you’re currently having. It’s like remembering the present. But it’s usually quite vague, and only lasts for an instant.

There was nothing vague about the experience I was having. Quite the opposite. It was crystal clear. And it didn’t vanish at all. It just went on and on. 

As I drove along, one part of my mind was normal, with regular thoughts and feelings. But another part knew exactly what was coming and wanted to change it. As I was about to turn into the driveway, that part said, “Park on the street. Don’t turn into the driveway. You know what’s coming if you park in the driveway. Don’t do it. Do something else!”

That seemed logical, so I decided to park on the street. But then I made a deeply disturbing discovery: I had no control at all over what was happening. Even though I had clearly decided to park on the street, I robotically turned into the driveway, shut off the engine and got out of the car.

“Don’t go in the back door. Go around front,” I told myself as I started walking. “Just go in the front door. Do not go around back. Don’t do it!” I thought about whether I had the key to the front door with me, but I knew it didn’t matter. I knew I would be going in the back.

It was like was watching a movie that had already been shot, but I was now living through it.  And now, not only did I know what was coming, I also knew I couldn’t change it.

I got to the back door and walked into the kitchen. Sure enough, just like in the dream, my mother was on the phone with her back to me and never noticed me. Neither did my Uncle Ray, who was standing in front of the stove with his arms folded across his chest, looking down at the floor.

As I walked out into the hall, I knew it was time to go upstairs and face the news. And I knew it didn’t matter what I thought or did. What was coming was coming.

I got to the top of the stairs and looked down the hallway at the door to my sister’s room. I could see that it was closed and I walked over and put my right hand on the door. I looked at my hand and had the same thought I’d had in the dream. “Well, this is it.”

I pushed the door open. My sister was in the exact spot she was in the dream, surrounded by a few friends. She looked up at me and said the exact words from the dream. “Daddy’s dead. We don’t have a daddy anymore.”

And then I had the same thought that I had had in the dream. “This is terrible. But why are you talking like this? You’re twenty years old, and you sound like a four-year-old.”

I walked out into the hall and down to my room. I sat on my bed and became overwhelmed with the same intense anger at God.

“Why did you do this?” I thought in a rage of anger, confusion, and despair. “Why in the world did you have to do this?” And just like in the dream, I smashed my fist down on the end table next to my bed.

In my dream, at that point I woke up. This time, when my fist hit the table, the bizarre state of reality I had been in came to an abrupt end and I was snapped back into normal life. Except there was no such thing as normal anymore.

Instead of waking up from a nightmare and realizing it had only been a dream, my horrible nightmare was becoming reality. And the  devastating truth of it was unmistakable. This was no dream. This was real life. And my father was dead.

Although it may be a bit abrupt, this is an ideal place for us to stop.  So, as always, keep your eyes, mind and heart open and let’s get together in the next one.