Travel & Adventure

Posted in: Travel & Adventure
American Notebook: Getting into the spirit of things
By Mitch Traphagen
Nov 13, 2008 - 10:24:48 PM

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On the (artificial) corner of Spiritualist Street and Mediumship Way is a house that is almost certain to be the home of a Medium in Cassadaga, Florida. Photo illustration by Mitch Traphagen

CASSADAGA, FLA – There was a weird vibe to the place. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t anything that put out warm fuzzies, either. Unsettling, perhaps, is the word to describe it.

Cassadaga is a tiny community that lies 30 miles east of Orlando, Florida, just off heavily traveled Interstate 4. But it is a galaxy away from the hustle and bustle of the overly well-lit artificial reality theme park atmosphere of the city. It is safe to say there is no place like it in Florida. There are probably few places like it on Earth. There are, almost inexplicably, hills and ravines in the tiny hamlet in a state not known for such things. There is little in the way of neon, most of the signs are hand-painted. Cassadaga is on the far opposite end of the spectrum from the theme park down the road. And that, apparently, is by design.

It is a far cry from “normal” Florida. Walking past two cement posts proclaiming the entrance to the “Cassadaga Spiritual Camp” is somewhat like entering a different time.

There are narrow streets with 1920s style homes – all with front porches. There is the Cassadaga Hotel - another relic from the 20s - that is said by some to be haunted. There are a handful of small shops catering to the esoteric and a few small bookstores. Many homes have signs out front offering their service – basically a group of communications companies connecting to the “Other-World.”

But for run of the mill tourists, there is nothing. Rooms in the Cassadaga Hotel are said to be spartan, lacking even television sets. There is the Lost In Time Café for lunch, but you may well be on your own for dinner – and you may well be driving into nearby DeLand to satisfy that earthly need. The streets are quiet and there are no nightclubs. But there is, to me at least, a weird sort of energy about the place.

As I sat on the porch of a small bookstore across the street from the Cassadaga Hotel, I tried to determine why I felt slightly unnerved. Perhaps it was the inexplicable psychic power of the 25 or so Mediums who call the small town home. Perhaps it was the fact that I was waiting for my own appointment with a psychic – a first for this Midwestern, small-town boy.

Fidgeting, I got up to scan a community bulletin board. In some way it was like any found at a neighborhood grocery with hand written notices and advertisements. The advertisements, however, were of a far more metaphysical nature than those that might be found at the Big G in Marengo. And in amongst the ads for psychic services was a more common bulletin board sight – a notice for a lost cat.

I returned to the wooden bench on the charming porch of the bookstore and said to my wife, “I wonder why I feel uncomfortable? And I wonder how in a town full of mediums there could be a lost cat?”

I am a skeptic. I have always maintained a rather rational, Einstein-ian view of the future: Basically, no one can see it because it hasn’t happened yet.

But that view was about to be significantly challenged.

According to the legend, a New Yorker named George Colby was told during a séance that he would one day be instrumental in founding a spiritualist community in the South. In 1875, he fulfilled that prediction by purchasing land with "uncommon hills" in the wilderness of central Florida.

In 1894, that land became the home of the Southern Cassadaga Spiritualist Camp Meeting Association. The camp consisted of 57 acres and today has 55 residences. In 1991, it was designated a Historic District on the National Register Of Historic Places.

According to the Cassadaga Spiritualist Camp Website, it is a community of like-minded people who live, worship and work in harmony with their beliefs. And while the residents may own their homes, the founding church has retained ownership of the land. According to community literature, the residents actively avoid creating a theme park and/or tourist atmosphere but they welcome believers, the curious and the skeptical equally.

In Cassadaga, finding your own psychic is easy. There may not be much in the way of neon, but there are plenty of signs. Mitch Traphagen Photo

Albert Bowes lives on one of the original streets in the community. I called him on the recommendation of one of his previous clients and we scheduled an appointment for the next day. He requested that I bring up to 10 photographs or other artifacts on subjects that I would like to ask about. He also requested that I not tell him anything about myself other than my first name.

But I held no such restrictions for myself – I wanted to know about his background. It turns out that Bowes is, apparently, an ordained minister who had, in the past, taught a parapsychology class at the University of Florida. According to the information I gathered, he has provided his service to missing person cases, to archeological expeditions and even to local television programs.

I arrived at his office – a small house in Cassadaga that was filled to the rafters with all sorts of stuff (he was preparing to leave for a video safari in Montana) and we sat down in a cluttered room with books and photographs and a thousand other things. Again, Bowes requested that I not tell him anything about myself. I was careful not to – with one exception: I told him that I was skeptical.

“You should be skeptical,” was his response.

Suddenly he stood up, told me to place my photographs face down upon the desk and then walked out the door. He returned a few minutes later - the room, of course, was the same but the atmosphere was suddenly entirely different.

He abruptly began by uttering a short prayer. He ended by saying, “Amen,” and then sat in silence with his eyes closed. I don’t know how long the silence lasted but when he began to speak, my down to earth view of things took a bit of a jolt.

With his eyes still closed, Bowes began to describe my childhood and career in a way that even my closest friends could not. During the first half of my session he told me that things come to him almost like a memory. In other words, it wasn’t like my whole life in detail was flooding upon him – but it was very much like describing what he had once seen.

When he finished, he paused briefly and then said, “Questions?”

I was somewhat taken aback but managed to ask a few things about what he said. Over the course of the next hour or so, Bowes accurately described my wife, her mother, my mother, my father and my career. He described other people in my life and also the problems and dilemmas that I am currently facing.

In a few instances, there was a small but significant detail mentioned – a name or description – but for the most part, it was fairly general. But not a newspaper astrology column kind of general. It was very much like someone was describing an overview that came, perhaps, as a memory.

At the end of the session, he again uttered a brief prayer and told me I could leave a donation if I felt his service was worthwhile. I left more than the suggested amount. And as I walked away from his office, I realized that somehow I felt lighter than I had in years. Somehow, someway, it seemed I wasn’t alone with the problems and concerns inside my head. I came to the conclusion that the session I had experienced was approximately 60 percent client-centered therapy and 40 percent completely beyond explanation. It was, for lack of a better word, remarkable.

My career is based on noticing detail in people and places – it is also based on fact. And despite all that, I have no explanation for what happened in that cluttered office in Cassadaga.

“Your mileage may vary,” is a saying that is appropriate for a visit to Cassadaga. As such, I can’t really recommend that anyone make the journey that I made. It is home to an industry that likely has more than its share of charlatans. In fact, I had always assumed that it was made up entirely of charlatans.

Perhaps I heard what I wanted to hear, perhaps Albert Bowes is an incredibly perceptive man who accurately reads non-verbal clues – or, perhaps, he has a gift that allows him to tap into some inexplicable power in the universe.

I don’t know the answer – but I do know what I believe.

American Notebook is an occasional series celebrating the people and places around America.

If there are places you’d like to read about, let us know. Email editor@eiherald.com or send a letter to P.O. Box 336, Victor, Iowa, 52347.

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