Erik Weisz And Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle

   "Arthur, my friend," said the five-foot-six-inch balding American immigrant. He was talking to his friend from England, a mustached, stout, six-foot-one-inch fellow, of immense stature.
   They had been friends for many years, but recently, the now, American citizen, who went by the name of Harry, had been grieving so dishearteningly about the death of his mother, that Arthur was looking for a way to ease the pain his friend was feeling.
   "Arthur, my friend. Do you really believe this will work?"
   "Of course, Harry," he replied. "Lady Jean is renowned for her work as a medium here, in Atlantic City."
   Arthur smiled at his friend in a consoling way, and continued. "Do you believe I would have sailed across the Atlantic Ocean with my family, if I did not believe this woman could help you?"
   Harry looked up at Arthur, forced a smile, and said, "Okay, I will be there tonight."
   It was just before midnight when the two friends were ushered in to see Lady Jean. The men were told to sit in a semicircle with her, at a round table.
   The electric lights were turned off and candles were lit to set the mood.
   Lady Jean, in the middle of the two men, grabs hold of one hand from each man. Then, soon after bending her head down, starts chanting incomprehensible sounds, as if she is being channeled by a spirit from the beyond.
   Popping her head up and rolling her eyes to the back of her head, Lady Jean begins to speak.
   "Harry? Harry, is that you?" she says in a gravelly, elderly way. "Can I talk to my boy Harry? Are you there Harry? Please talk to me."
   But Harry is angered by the woman's obvious attempt to swindle him while he is in such a state of vulnerability. He feels that this woman in this seance is endeavoring to exploit his grief and loss of his Mother, for her own gains.
   He stands up and yells, "You are a charlatan, woman, and I will expose you to the world." Lifting his right hand up and pointing his index finger into the air.
   Harry then pounds his way out of the room, with Arthur in quick pursuit.
   "Harry, what is wrong?" his friend asks.
   "Arthur," he says in a calmer mood, when the two reach the out-of-doors, "My Mother, Cecelia, never once called me Harry. My real name is Ehrich. She always called me Ehrich. And she certainly never spoke to me in English, because she only spoke German!"

I would call this

Historical Fiction.

Some of it is

Fact,

but the sequence with

Lady Jean,

Harry Houdini,

and

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

is of my imagination.

But,

Cecelia

never did call her son

Harry,

and only spoke broken

English.

This is,

Channeling Ehrich Weiss,

Pronounced Erik Weiss,

Through A Medium Of My Own Choice.

Beer!

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“Life is but an empty dream”
- Ehrich Weiss -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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