by Mabel Love

The taxi driver, becalmed in a New York traffic jam, fell to thinking about his own personal problems: should he sell his house in Bellcrose, take that job in Detroit—things like that.

“Don’t give up your job, son, your wife would not be happy out there,” a hearty voice boomed from the back seat of his cab.

“What the—what goes on here?” Shaken, the driver turned to size up the smiling middle-aged woman who seemed to have read his thoughts so accurately.

“You a mind reader, lady?”

“Something like that, only my gift is called extrasensory perception.”

“Sounds like double talk to me,” said the driver, wagging his head, “and if it’s all the same to you, lady, I’ll let you out at the next corner and you won’t have to pay me a cent, either.”

“Well, thanks for the ride, anyway,” said his passenger as she backed out of the cab, more amused than chagrined by the ungallant dismissal.

The lady with the mental Geiger counter built in her skull was Florence Sternfels, a nationally famous sensitive, whose powers have been recognized by a number of scientific bodies engaged in the study of psychic phenomena.

“I’m not a fortune teller, as some people think,” insisted Florence, as she was known professionally. “And I’m not a spiritualist medium, either; in fact, if I ever saw a real ghost I think I’d faint from sheer fright.”

Certainly there was no suggestion of the mystic about this comfortable, motherly woman. She was held in high esteem by Chief of Police Edward Pickering and Mayor Henry Wissell of Edgewater, New Jersey, where she lived in a kind of storybook house overlooking the Hudson River. Her kindly deeds and rich chuckling laughter were familiar to almost everyone in the friendly little town.

The gift that Florence exercised was rare. She did not contact the spirits of the dead, nor did she predict the future by looking at cards or a crystal ball. What she did was called psychometry, and consisted of receiving impressions or messages from small inanimate objects. A pen, a piece of jewelry, a pocket knife, or any such object that belonged to the person in question, seems, with a few gifted persons, to arouse thoughts and knowledge about the owner of that object. Miraculous? Yes, it was. But did it work? A list of the problems she solved by this method will speak for itself.

Florence had been called in by police of other cities to assist in certain baffling investigations. Refusing to accept a fee, she explained, “As a good citizen I am glad to cooperate with these men who constantly risk their own lives to protect the public.”

“It isn’t always that the police are stumped when they call on me,” said Florence. “Sometimes they just want to save the time that would be involved in a long drawn out investigation.”

That is not the way grateful officials of York, Pennsylvania tell it in describing the assistance Florence once gave them in connection with a difficult murder case.

The crumpled body of an elderly woman had been discovered under a bridge, where it had been hidden after the victim had been strangled and robbed.

Identified by the police as Mary Jenkins, a person of orderly habits employed as a housekeeper, the victim had made it a rule on her day off to visit the bank where she deposited most of her weekly wages. Suspects in the case were Bingo Kane and his girlfriend Sadie Tole. Kane, an unsavory character, spent much of his time hanging around a tap room where Sadie was employed as a barmaid. Sadie was known to the acquainted with the victim and familiar with her thrifty habits.

Their watertight alibi, accounting for their movements on the day of the murder, had made it impossible for the police to make an arrest.

Felix S. Bentzel, at that time Mayor of York, being familiar with her work, decided to send for Florence.

“First of all, I’m going to have a nice little chat with Sadie,” Florence announced on arriving.

Detectives Farrell and Pinkerton, assigned to the case, agreed to wait outside while Florence confronted the glowering barmaid, who the police had described as being “hard as flint.”

“It will be a miracle if you get anything out of that tough baby,” Florence was warned.

“Honest to God, I don’t know a thing about it,” Sadie protested at first, beginning to crack, however, as Florence, exerting the full force of her psychic powers, described every detail of the murder including a description of a third character who had not been previously linked with the crime.

“All right,” Sadie finally admitted, “I went with two guys. It wasn’t worth it, either, having to split $35 three ways.”

With the guilty trio behind bars one hour later, Florence made her departure in the grand manner, after receiving a citation from Mayor Bentzel and a note of thanks from the entire police department.

Nor did the matter rest there. Mayor Bentzel wrote a warm letter of appreciation to Henry Wissell, Mayor of Edgewater, thanking him for recommending Florence and telling of her successful efforts in obtaining the confessions of the three.

Another police official who ranked high in Florence’s regard was the chivalrous Captain George F. Richardson, former assistant chief of police of Philadelphia.

Requested by the police of a city in Pennsylvania to aid them in locating two missing boys who had run away from home, Florence had informed them that the boys could be found in Philadelphia, even naming the street.

With their faith in her prophetic powers dimmed by the discovery that no such street existed in the city, the weary police with good reason gave up their search and returned home in disgust.

Nettled by what she regarded as a challenge to her ability, Florence made a trip to Philadelphia at her own expense.

Arriving at City Hall she happened to run into Captain Richardson, to whom she related her tale of woe.

“That street name sounds familiar to me, may have been changed,” remarked Captain Richardson. And so it had been, as a study of an earlier map revealed.

A car and police escort were placed at her disposal and Florence rode off in fine style in quest of the missing boys.

They were there, all right, and in a mood to return home, having all but exhausted their funds in a riotous round of movies, ice cream, hot dogs, and soda pop.

Florence’s first psychic experience occurred when she was a child of eight years, living in Winston, New York.

On her way home from school, she liked to wander through an old cemetery, where she often copied names engraved on the tombstones in an effort to improve her writing.

One day, standing beside an unmarked grave, she wrote down the name Thomas Burns. Just then the old caretaker came hobbling down the path. “What are you doing, little girl?” he wanted to know.

“Practicing writing names,” she told him.

“But there’s no name on that grave.”

“I know,” faltered the frightened child, “it just came like a flash, Thomas Burns.”

“That’s the name, all right,” grumbled the startled caretaker, “and now you get out of here and don’t ever come back again.”

As time went on Florence learned to keep silent about her psychic abilities.

At home it was different, with her understanding family of English stock who trace their ancestry back to Admiral Horatio Lord Nelson, Great Britain’s outstanding war hero of all time.

Incidentally, early records show that Lord Nelson’s intellectual curiosity once led him to consult a West Indies seer who predicted accurately along with other pertinent information that he would reach the peak of this career at the age of forty.

If there had been any doubt in the minds of her parents it would have have been dispelled by an incident which took place when Florence, as a teenager, foretold the loss of an uncle who lived in far off South Dakota.

“Your uncle is coming to visit us next week,” her mother had said at the dinner table, but Florence’s short-lived delight died as she suddenly stiffened in her chair, her eyes glazed as she stared into space.

“Uncle Ed is not coming,” she pronounced her words in a dull, measured fashion. “He will never come here again.”

Her words proved true with the arrival of a message announcing the death of her favorite uncle.

An early marriage and devotion to home and family did nothing to lessen the psychic experiences she made futile efforts to suppress.

Her flashes of thought from other people’s minds continued to perplex her until she learned that this was nothing to fear.

The part Florence played in solving the mystery of the murder of the seven-year-old daughter of a Marine officer stationed at the United States Marine Base, Parris Island, South Carolina, was never officially recorded at the time it occurred during World War II.

Now it can be told as Colonel Arthur Burks, retired Marine, reveals the events connected with the kidnapping and brutal slaying of little Dolly Miller.

“Dolly was a great favorite with everyone,” recalls Colonel Burks (then Major). She had the run of the barracks and it was unthinkable that any of the 17,000 men on the island would molest this little girl.

Word of her abduction was made known by an excited group of Dolly’s playmates, who told of a strange man who had induced her to follow him into the woods with the promise of toys and a real live pony.

A search party was immediately organized by Burks and the men were flung out in a skirmish line, covering a tortuous trail of copperhead-infested underbrush until ordered back to the barracks at 2 A.M. in order to get a few hours’ sleep.

Burks, who was a close friend of the distraught father of the child, remained with him and a few civilian friends who continued the search all through the night. Among the most active of Miller’s civilian friends was young Joe Keller who although just about exhausted, refused to rest or eat as he pushed on, shouting Dolly’s name.

Standing in the eerie half-light of early morning beside the turgid swampland which surrounded most of the west side of the island, Burks suddenly recalled the suggestion he had received before starting out in the fruitless search.

“Get in touch with Florence,” someone said. “Send some of the child’s clothing to her so she may become in rapport with the situation, and since Florence has an affinity for metal be sure to include something, such as jewelry Dolly worn, or if not available, then send in an old shoe with metal eyelets.”

Burks, to whom the name Florence had no real meaning, was willing enough to grasp at any straw. Besides, his mind was receptive to the experiment since as a hobby on his own time he had been making a study of psychic research in his home.

Fearing the ridicule of his fellow officers he made quiet contact with Florence who agreed to cooperate provided she was requested to do so by some qualified official.

“I told her that I felt qualified to make the official request,” Burks relates.

So, within a few minutes after receiving the air mailed package containing little Dolly’s garments, Florence had made a map of the area where she said the body would be found, giving directions by air mail letter.

“I am certain,” says Burks, “that Florence had never been there, yet we found Dolly’s pitiful little body floating face down in the swamp, just where she said it would be.”

Fearing his fellow officers would regard him as a crackpot, Burks had not mentioned his contacts with Florence, but now felt forced to do so and to his surprise and relief learned that the Post Intelligence Officer and several others connected with the investigation were also interested in the study of paranormal psychology.

Weeks of intensive investigation followed with no clue to the identity of the murderer established. Burks, who is acclaimed as a brilliant writer of novels of adventure, science fiction, and factual accounts of travel adventure, admits that nothing he has ever written or known can parallel the mystery which continued to protect the fiend who had caused little Dolly’s death.

“Once again, I felt impelled to call on Florence for assistance,” he recalls.

In the message he received from Florence shortly after the contact he had made by telephone, Burks learned to his great relief that the killer was not a Marine but a civilian who turned out in the best tradition to be Joe Keller, the active young man who had never ceased calling Dolly’s name during the night of the hunt.

Florence’s description of the murderer and his actions was so complete in every detail that he readily confessed and is now serving a sentence of life imprisonment.

A recent flash of the mind sent Florence on a trip outside the state, after a frantic husband enlisted her aid in an attempt to locate his missing wife.

“The police have been working on the case for over a week, and they finally suggested you might be able to help,” the man told Florence. He said that the only thing to mar their happiness had been the agonizing pain of migraine headaches from which his wife suffered.

“She did say on the morning she disappeared that she was afraid that if she did not find relief she would have to end her life, but I did not really take it seriously,” said the worried husband, “I was advised to bring some of her jewelry with me to help you establish rapport with her movements,” he sheepishly said. “It sounds odd to me but see what you can do.”

As Florence related it, she was seized with such a blinding headache she was almost unable to project her mind in the direction the woman had taken, as crazed with pain, she had for three days wandered about.

“I got the name of a town,” Florence said, naming a town that was miles away from the girl’s home. It was there they found her in the city morgue, where her body had been taken by police after it had been recovered from the river. They had been unable to contact her family since she wore no identification of any kind.

“Tragedies such as this sometimes make me wish I had never been born with this strange gift,” said Florence, who regarded her clairvoyant power as a mixed blessing which set her apart in a skeptical, sometimes even hostile world since childhood.

However, the late Dr. Hereward Carrington, director of the American Psychical Institute, who was engaged with other distinguished authorities in research on psychic phenomena, learned of her ability and contacted her with a request for permission to test her powers of precognition.

Dr. Carrington, an experienced psychic researcher with an impeccable reputation for integrity, had never been afraid to expose fraudulent practices in paranormal psychology.

However, he recognized and showed respect for Florence’s psychic abilities after an extensive study over a period of several years. In his conclusions (reduced here to brief form) he said, “I am convinced that Florence is possessed of remarkable psychic abilities and of her complete honesty and sincerity.”

The head of Metropolitan Detective Agency, Harry Levin, made an appointment with Florence for a client he described as a key witness involved in a pending murder trial.

Arriving that evening with his client and a couple of friends, Levin was gratified by Florence’s success in supplying the needed information.

Just as they were about to leave Florence gave a cry of dismay.

“I see an accident. Please return to the city on a bus,” she entreated the lawyer, but the men laughed uneasily and then were off, with Florence calling to them to be careful when they came to the bend near Fort Lee.

Minutes later their car collided with another. The lawyer was killed instantly as he attempted to jump from the car, although the others escaped unhurt.

On two occasions, following her appearance as a guest on Jack Paar’s and Long John’s radio program featured on WOR, Florence was overwhelmed with visitors, who swarmed all over her lawn, telephoning and ringing her doorbell at all hours of the day and night until it got so she was unable even to eat a meal without being interrupted.

Mail arrived in enormous sacks; many of the letters requesting information also contained checks, money orders, and bills of varying denomination.

Living alone after the loss of her husband and only son and the marriage of her daughter, Florence sent for her brother Nelson, a retired business man who cheerfully interrupted his travels to make his home with her as he took over the task of bringing order out of chaos, first of all returning all mail containing money.

His help was a godsend to Florence, who seemed to be as poor a business woman as she was a good psychic. Then anyone who wished to consult his sister on minor matters was obliged to make an appointment. Exceptions were allowed to attend an open meeting, where Florence served refreshments and attempted to solve the problems presented to her.

“She was never happier than when helping others,” says Nelson, so they considered it well worth the trouble.

As an example of what sometimes occurred at these sessions, a young woman recently told of her father’s loss of a thousand dollars he claimed had been taken from his bureau drawer that morning.

“Go home and tell your father to take his money to the bank first thing in the morning,” she was advised. “Remind him he changed his hiding place yesterday.”

“Human squirrels, that’s what half the people are who come here with complaints of being robbed,” laughed Florence.

About an hour later the daughter telephoned to say the money had been found in her father’s tool box; he remembered having put it there because it had a stronger lock.

Of course, Florence could not solve every problem that was brought to her. Often her guests were forced to go away shaking their heads, as her hints shed no light on their particular dilemma. However, in the cases when she did hit the mark, the results were sometimes amazing. In one remarkable case she found some lost documents and incidentally earned kudos from one of the nation’s largest business organizations, the Bell Telephone Company.

The telephone company, in an effort to protect their subscribers against any kind of fraudulent practice, does not permit listings of so-called psychics, and when Florence applied for such a listing in the New York and New Jersey directories her application was rejected.

Some time later, however, a worried official was advised to consult Florence with regard to a set of valuable documents which had disappeared from the files of the business office.

Although apparently skeptical, he agreed to contact Florence.

“I’ll be at the office in less than an hour’s time,” she offered, and ten minutes after exploring the file cabinet which had contained the papers she succeeded in locating and restoring the folder.

As it turned out, they had not been stolen as had been thought, but had been placed by mistake in a collection of papers which had been stored in another building.

The payoff came when Florence reminded the grateful officials that the company had once refused to list her name with the designation of “psychic” in their directory. Convinced of her ability, they agreed to comply with this modest request, so she was finally listed in the Manhattan and North Jersey directories as “Florence, psychic,” followed by her telephone number.

Excerpt from True Experiences In Telepathy