It was late July.

The summer mangoes had dropped from the trees and were lying rotting on the ground, ripped open by feasting bugs and birds.  Their intoxicating sweet smell mixed with the heaviness of the night blooming jasmine.  This languid perfume created a thick, rarefied atmosphere that at times made breathing difficult.  In Miami, nature is often a mix of colorful abundance and dark decay.

This evening, I was walking home from a friend’s birthday party.  We had listened to the new Rolling Stones’s album, Aftermath, then turned off the lights and pretended to make out with the nearest girl.  Some party.  But then again, this was 1966 and I was only fourteen.

It was long after eleven.  I should have been home hours ago but was having too much fun to leave the party.  As I approached my father’s house, I realized that I had forgotten my keys.  The porch lights were on, my father’s car was parked out front but the house was completely dark.  He must have gone to bed early.

Not wanting to startle him, I knocked somewhat timidly.  A tornado of mosquitoes brought on by the summer rains swarmed around my head.

I knocked again, this time louder.   “Pop, it’s me, open up.”   No response.  Not hearing any movement from inside, I became concerned that something was wrong. I decided to walk back to my friend’s house to use his phone to call my father. As I turned to leave, I heard the front door’s deadbolt click open.  Relieved, I spin around ready to greet my father and apologize for coming home so late.

As I stood there, the front door remained closed.  I was wondering if the sound I had heard was just a very loud cricket or a buffo toad looking for a mate.  Then, ever so slowly, like in some black and white horror movie, the door began to creak open.  From the shadows emerged a tall man with grayish skin.  I had never seen this guy before; he had the stature and demeanor of Lurch.  Without any introduction, he looked at me with a cool stare and said in a flat robot-like voice, “We are currently in communication with the master souls of the eleventh plane.  Your father is deep in trance and cannot be disturbed.”

Lurch began to back away and close the door.  He then paused and asked, “Why did you even bother to knock?  After all, you are your father’s son.  Haven’t you learned to walk through walls yet?”

Your new book, Walking Through Walls, is about a psychic interior decorator…sounds like a gay science fiction novel.

What a great idea for my next book!  You are partially right.  The book is the true story of my father who was a high-society interior decorator with clients like the Presidents of Cuba and Haiti as well as assorted mobsters and rich ladies.  Then one day in the late 60s  he suddenly discovers that he can talk to dead people and heal the sick.  Overnight our house became like Lourdes with sick people lining up for their miracle cure.


For real?

You can’t make this stuff up.  In fact, my father tape recorded his healings and his phone calls which I used as source material for the book.  If you go to www.WalkingThroughWallsTheBook.com you can see his healing tools, actual letters from people he healed and his psychic dictation.

Psychic dictation?  What’s that?

Every morning around 4 AM my father’s spirit guides would wake him up and start teaching him new methods of healing that no one had ever seen before. Or, they might give him advice on how to treat a particular patient.  He would then write down exactly what the spirits told him.  Over the years, he wrote over 5,000 pages of this spirit dictation.  It was like a correspondence school on how to be a psychic healer from another dimension.  The spirits often spied on me when I was doing bad things and would tell my father during these dictation sessions.  I discovered some of those when I was working on the book.  I was shocked by what they knew.  By the way, he never charged for any of his healings as he felt that this was a special gift that he needed to share.


So, let me get this straight, your father was talking to invisible spirits and healing people from terminal diseases while you were a kid.  How do you know that he really healed people?

My father usually asked anyone he helped to write a letter describing their condition and what happened after their healing.  When I worked on the book, I went through boxes and boxes of these testimonial letters that are quite impressive.  I’ve posted several on the website so that people can read them for themselves.  Don’t forget, back in the 60s it was before MRIs and CAT-Scans.  So if you went to the doctor and he said you had congestive heart failure or lung cancer, you basically went home to die.  My father helped a lot of these people live much longer lives.  He could accurately diagnose people living in another country in a matter of minutes.


What was it like growing up in a supernatural environment like this?

For me, TV shows like I Dream of Jeannie or Bewitched were like reality shows for me.  I could totally relate to them whereas I had a bit of trouble believing typical family shows like Leave it to Beaver or Father Knows Best, they just didn’t ring true to me.  It was not easy growing up with a father who is psychic.  As a teenager, I did what every teenager is not supposed to do and didn’t want anyone to know.  Yet I would come home and there was my father telling me in detail all the things I had just done.  I ended up being a very honest person.


How did the kids at school react to you have this unusual father?

They never knew.  I couldn’t discuss this with anyone.  As soon as I left the house, I became a different person.  The police and the FDA were always chasing my father because they thought he was “practicing medicine without a license”  even though he never touched anyone or gave them medication.  It was just plain harassment.  As a result, I knew that I could never tell people what happened at home otherwise the police would show up in the middle of the night.

How did your mother react to this?

She was very supportive but after a while it was like living with an emergency room physician with people knocking on the door in the middle of the night with their sick baby or sister.  We never got any sleep.  Eventually, my father moved next door.

How has the book been received?

Aside from the fact that I have not yet been invited to speak at any gay science fiction conventions, I am amazed and actually quite honored by the thousands of emails I have received from people reading the book.  Many people enjoy the book as one of the most bizarre family stories ever told whereas a lot of people find that the book opens up their minds to possibilities that they always suspected were there but needed confirmation.  My father was basically 100 years ahead of his time and his work is now being recognized as being a part of the future of medicine.  A lot of doctors have read the book and their comments are impressive as they rethink how they practice medicine.


Do you do any of your father’s work?

He spent years teaching me much of what he did.  A lot of his ideas seem to show up in my paintings.  I believe that this is how I continue my father’s work.


This sounds like a great movie.

I am delighted that there has been serious interest in the story.  Because it is my father and mother, I want to make sure that their stories are told with care.  They are both one of a kinds.  I’m very lucky to have been born to them.