Chapter 3 

Facing my Apparent Demise

In the mid 1960s, I was an investigator for a company that provided information of any sort requested by commercial customers, insurance companies, employers and the like. It was a fascinating employ. I did surveillance work for insurance companies, investigated the accuracy of insurance claims, and once even investigated a murder – not to solve it, but to confirm it was a homicide and not an accident, as a homicide carried a double indemnity payout. 

My wildest investigation began very straightforward and simple: provide information on a fleet of trucks owned by a chrome plating business in the worst part of East St. Louis. They wanted me to report a fairly long list of information, the number of vehicles, how they were used, who drove them, their condition, and more. I arrived at the business and asked to see the owner. When he appeared, I told him that I was there to confirm information regarding the vehicles used in his business. The owner said, 

“I ought to punch you in the mouth!” 

Shocked is too mild a word for my reaction. I got ready to defend myself. I was a lot younger than him and I guess he thought better of that, because he pulled a chrome plated (naturally) pistol out of his overalls and pointed it right at my nose, not six inches away, and said, 

“I ought to shoot you, you SOB!”

The barrel of that pistol looked like a cannon.

At that moment, my thought process shut down. The switch flipped to off. There were no thoughts of any kind lighting up any sort of neuronal activity. A calm settled over me and I felt no fear, apprehension or anxiety. I merely stood there, silent, looking at him. After what seemed like an hour but was probably only a few seconds, he became obviously uncomfortable  and said, 

“Well, what was it you wanted, anyway?” 

I told him I needed to know how many trucks he had. He told me, and I made a hasty retreat. I said in my report to the insurance company that I couldn’t complete the report because the insured threatened me with a gun. I have a feeling he didn’t get the insurance. 

I am convinced that being silent and completely still saved me from a very bad ending to the affair. Anyone deranged and angry enough to shove a gun in a total stranger’s face and threaten to shoot them is quite possibly deranged and angry enough to do it.

This experience added to a growing number of what I believe were spiritual messages: “You are guided and protected everywhere, all of the time.”

However, I must have been spiritually dense and still didn’t get it, because Spirit upped the game in my next confrontation with the Grim Reaper in a small motel in the Deep South, near Atlanta, Georgia.