The Psychic Cop

BALBOA PRESS

Chapter One

Early Signs

Like most young children, I was afraid of the dark. There were scary figures hiding in the closet. I would hear movement under the bed and imagine all kinds of spooky things. My older brother, Fred, loved to further terrorize me with his many antics at bedtime. I always felt that these fears were real and that there were people hiding in my room. I recall seeing dark shadowy images moving around with no distinct features.

At the age of five, my grandmother, who lived in Wales, came to see us in Florida. On the first night of her visit, I was awakened and frightened by a group of people standing around my bed, looking down at me. I could hear them talking, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. They spoke too quickly; it was like listening to a radio that was not properly tuned. It was like looking at real people in a darkened room. I clearly recall recognizing heights of each individual. It was easy to distinguish male from female.

My grandmother was watching television and came into my room when she heard me scream. She took me with her into the living room to comfort me. A late night movie was starting, and she told me that I could watch it with her. A few minutes into the movie, she slyly asked me why I was frightened. I told her about the figures standing around my bed, looking down at me. She then asked me how many figures and if I could describe them. As I did so, she let me know that she knew each of the apparitions. She told me, "I knew one of the grandchildren would have this ability. Chucky, you are very special to have this gift." Throughout her visit, I carefully listened to see if she told my other brothers and sisters that they, too, were special.

I didn't learn until much later in life that both my grandmother and mother were gifted in the same way. They quietly shared their abilities with their closest friends. Acceptance at that time was not like it is today.

About a year after the incident with my grandmother, I recall playing alone in my backyard, pretending to be a policeman. I sculpted a police badge out of aluminum foil, but got very frustrated and started to cry when I could not get it to stay on my shirt. I then heard a man's calming voice say, That's okay Chuck; one day you'll wear a real badge. The voice was not one that I could recognize. He sounded crystal clear, just like a radio announcer. I ran into the house, afraid to tell my mom for fear that she would not believe me.

Twenty years later I was standing before the Mayor of the City of Salem, Massachusetts while he pinned a real badge on my chest. I, admittedly, had a flashback of my childhood and the tin badge. With all the major undertakings in my life, I've only heard that voice several times. Usually it will speak to me when I'm deep in thought or contemplating a major decision.

Mom was a Medium

At dinner one night, my mother let out a gasp and buckled to the floor, holding her chest, saying, "My heart, my heart." Dad called for an ambulance, and as mom recovered herself, she started crying and said, "It's not me, it's my dad." My grandfather had died at that exact time, halfway around the world, in Wales.

Dad never talked about the afterlife. He was of a manly world, and the display of feelings and tears were not manly. I've always felt that he was harder on me than he was on my siblings because I was so sensitive.

After surgery for an appendectomy, I was awakened in my hospital room and saw my mother standing at the foot of the bed. Her arms were outstretched with palms up and her head tilted back. I saw a beautiful bright, white light silhouetting her entire body. I called out to my mom and asked what she was doing. I remember her saying that she was praying for me to get well. When I asked about the white light, she did not answer.

Then, as in later years, she seemed not to want me to continue on this path. Paranormal things would happen around me, and I would have premonitions that would later come to fruition. In those instances, mom would make light of the matter and claim that it was simply my imagination. Her choice was to keep her abilities private for the same reason she wanted to discount mine; she feared our gift would be ridiculed.

Fascinated with Communications

I have always had an interest in communications. Around age ten, I was intrigued by the concept of a radio antenna sending out voice and music through the airways without wires. I remember taking apart my dad's favorite table-top AM radio and removing parts from the tuning device. I was able to hear strange transmissions such as ship-to-shore radio and other broadcasts not normally picked up by AM radio.

I was hoping to go beyond standard broadcast frequencies and discover that there really is other life form out there. I would spend hours listening to white noise and would hear fragments of voices where there should have been none. In later years, my fascination with communication led me to earning an amateur radio technician's license with the FCC.

Studying for a ham license required learning Morse code at a rate of five words per minute. The code consists of a series of audible dots and dashes that represent the alphabet. A seasoned ham operator can communicate at over thirty words per minute. Nick, a neighbor and friend of mine, whose "keying" speed was around fifty words per minute, communicated with contacts around the world on a regular schedule.

Nick had a brother living in Ireland with whom he spoke every day using code. The cost of conventional phone service would have been prohibitive. To my untrained ear, it sounded like a series of meaningless pitches and tones. To Nick and his brother, it was a normal conversation. Nick could simultaneously talk with me while hearing and interpreting the faint radio messages in the background.

Spirit communication can require the same concentration as hearing Morse code. Words can be very fast to the untrained ear. With practice, the messages are more easily understood. The communication goes better if you are on a regular schedule with spirit. They look for opportunities to connect with us. When a reading is scheduled, they almost always show up, as if they were anticipating it.

Anchors Aweigh

During my last year of high school, the Vietnam War was going strong. My older brother joined the Navy, and I was struggling just to stay in school. One night I had a vivid dream that I was standing in front of three red brick buildings. I recall seeing the American flag. The sun was just coming up, but it was very hot in the dream. I was standing in the front row of a military inspection, and the Sergeant was in my face. I awoke after he screamed at me for not shaving close enough. I was sweating, and the dream seemed quite real. I went into my mother's bedroom and told her what had happened. As usual, she said that it was just a dream and to go back to sleep.

Even though I had no thoughts of going into the Navy, one month later I found myself standing in the front row facing that same Drill Sergeant, surrounded by those same red brick buildings and the American flag. It was hot at boot camp in Orlando, FL. I was in the Navy now! My hand was shaking as I wrote a letter to my mother that afternoon telling her that the dream had played out exactly as I had experienced it. Mom never did reply to that letter.

After boot camp, I was assigned to the aircraft carrier Shangri La, the same ship...