Family Weekly j February S, 1963
- When this reporter rvent
seer-hunting with a hidden
tape recorder, her findings
included some amusing
phonies plus a few
About Fortunetellers rZ
By marya Saunders " were eerily accurate
The Truth
I'M fascinated by fortunetellers in
fact, most women are.
Ah a result, fortunetelling is a 100,000,000-a-yenr
business in the United States. In my city
alone, there are such diverse practitioners as a
psychometrist who locates lost objects, a medium
who locates dead relatives, and a woman who
reads feet '
"But do people really believe in fortunetellers?"
I have asked friends. "Can occult powers actually
shape our lives or tell us who we are?" At some
time or other, we have all been told about seers
with unaccountable knowledge of one's past and
amazing predictions about one's future which
have come true. These stories of "marvelous"
fortunetellers have been repeated so often and so
convincingly that FAMILY weekly assigned me
the job of trying to find out the truth.
I arranged to visit a series of well-known for
tunetellers as a typical customer. The only dif
ference would be a small tape recorder hidden in
my purse wnich would preserve an irrefutable
transcript of each encounter.
A celebrated palmist was first on my list.
"Shake hands with me, my dear. I can tell a lot
from your handshake," she said after -e met and
nut down at a small table in an exclusive restau
rant. "Are you in your twenties?" I nodded yen.
My mouth was dry with nervousness ; I was
afraid she would discover the recorder.
"Now relax, my dear, and put your big purse
on this chair. Your fate is in your hand, you
know, and you have nothing to worry about."
she said soothingly. She turned my palms up and
examined the iiihra under tile itiet-tl tl'ww tit Iter
flashlight. "I see you are a mature, realistic young
lady and sensible and kind to people. Are you
married, dear?" I shook my head no.
"Well, you will be. And you'll make a good wife
and mother." She explained that the lines on my
left hand showed my possibilities at birth, while
my right hand showed what I had done with my
life. Apparently, my right hand was filled with
good things. "You are quiet and efficient," she
told me. "You'd make a fine nurse. Do you have a
job, dear?" I answered no.
Swiftly, she considered this reply and switched
to a new line of predictions. "You know, you're
quite an artistic young lady creative and versa
tile. You would do well in some branch of the
applied arts." I tried to kick the chair holding my
purse closer to her. She was saying 'so many
things, and I wasn't sure the tape recorder would
pick it all up.
"May I take notes?" I asked.
"No. You can remember the high points."
Here was the key to her success, I decided
later when I played back the tape of our conver
sation. Most customers would remember the ad
jectives that appealed to them and forget the
inconsistencies in the prognostication. I was fun
loving but reserved, an idealist but practical, I
got discouraged but not too discouraged. Her
encouraging words added up to a lovable char
acter for every client. It was a "marvelous"
formula. I left the restaurant glowing happily.
A ftraphotoglst Sounds Off
Still glowing the next morning. I opened my
mail and read, "Per Miss Saunders: You are
rebellious, emotionally undisciplined, and unrea
listic about yourself and life." The stinging words
were part of the answer to a letter I'd written
to a world-famous graphologist. Graphology is
the study of handwriting and claims to see your
character in the way you dot an "i" or cross a "t."
"You arc basically not suited for wifehood or
motherhood," continued her analysis. "You are
irritable and resentful, and you don't like peo
ple." When I finished the letter, I felt stunned.
The graphologist was a widely acclaimed teacher.
Could this really be me? Had the palmist been
so wrong?
For the rest of the day, I brooded over my
faults. Only late in the evening did a friend
finally convince me that I wasn't really such a
terrible person. "Look," he said, "the graphologist
may have been in a bad mood the day she wrote
this. She probably only saw the dark side of your
handwriting. Why don't you write her again,
sign a different name, and compare the results?"
"Well, perhaps it's rationalizing," I said, "but
maybe you're right Perhaps she was tired and
needed a vacation. I'll write a second letter."
My next stop on the soothsaying circuit was
a visit with a reputedly "brilliant" numerologist
A small, sprightly lady with frizzy red hair, she
asked my birth date, counted the letters in my
name, and began to scribble down numbers. It
took her several minutes of adding and sub
tracting to find my life pattern. Finally, sne
looked up, pleased.
"Your ego number is six, a feminine number,"
she announced. "Your emotional genie is number
five, and your lower mind or sixth sense has great
uniting power able to reduce discord to harmony."
For three hours, she talked while I stared in
myaii'tiatiuu. Some of the more comprehensible
things she told me were that I would have six
children and that I gave people siv chances. At
one point she said gentiy, "I usually don't give
the bad news until the end. But you must be
careful. Your present name attracts fly-by-night
people. It would be better if you added a middle
name or at least an initial. 'S' might do."
She then gave me a chart containing my life
pattern and a handful of mimeographed daily
lessons which, when followed scrupulously, would
assure me a happy life. I could feel her genuine
concern for me. She was worried, for example,
about my groping blindly in the universe. I was
so young and had so little time in the pat to
4
family W !. February J, I ft)