Back in the Seventies, when I was living in Los Angeles, I attended classes in psychic and spiritual development at a place called the ESP Laboratory. There I met a woman who was to be a close companion, almost a sister, for years afterward. I was "learning" to be a psychic, but Jeannie was a natural, amazingly accurate in 80% of her predictions, which is pretty good for any psychic.

Unfortunately, psychics have a problem when trying to "read" for themselves, and in order to learn the future are obliged to consult other psychics; therefore, Jeannie and I read for each other. We also visited various other readers from time to time, and one of these times we learned that a very well-known and popular psychic was holding a huge "read-in" (my term) and would give a free reading to everyone who attended. Naturally, we had to go!

The hall was huge--it was also packed. We couldn't imagine how the man would be able to give readings to so many people in just one evening, but we had faith in his reputation as well as his abilities. To begin the session, the psychic asked everyone who wanted a reading to place a personal item of some kind on the platform he used as a stage. I placed my wristwatch there, and Jeannie offered a bracelet.

There were no seating accomodations, so we stood for the first hour or so, mentally willing him to pick up our articles and read them. After another hour, which seemed like days, Jeannie's bracelet was selected and she got her reading. I was so numb by that time I don't believe I even heard it. I had begun to lose faith in this man, and in psychics in general--I just knew that my watch would be the very last article left on the stage. That had to be a psychic insight on my part, because it later proved to be 100% correct.

At the end of the third hour of waiting, I held my breath as the man picked up the last item, my watch, and spoke to me:

"I see you surrounded by children. They are very important to you."

I had no children, didn't know any children, had no idea what he was talking about, and told him so, then waited for him to continue--which he did with:

"I can only say this to you--George is buried in Boston."

That was it! He handed me my watch, and Jeannie and I left the hall. I had no clue who George was, and didn't care where he was buried. I was fuming--all that waiting for nothing! Later, and for years afterward, Jeannie and I would dig George up and laugh about it. To this day I still have no idea who George was, or how he got into my reading.

In case you're wondering who the psychic was, you may have seen him in a TV commercial recently--he is apparently doing big business as a reader, and has his own psychic empire. His name is Kenny Kingston.