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Dream Believer
by Katy Kane
Submitted to the National Dream Center
8 May 2014
It was a moment I shall never forget. The year was 1967, and I was visiting my favorite aunt in her mid-century home in Louisville, Mississippi. Suddenly, I heard a voice singing—a voice so beautiful I thought it couldn’t be real. It sounded like something right out of heaven.
It happened like this: my cousins and I had been invited to play at a neighbor’s house—a magnificent old building with white columns in front. I was the youngest, so I tagged along at the end of the line as we passed through the door and traipsed down the hall. Then I heard the voice. I was unable to move and could barely breathe. I just stood there on the carpet runner, listening, mesmerized by the harmonies emanating from the unseen record player.
The other kids said this singer was on a TV show, so I was looking forward to watching his show when I returned home to Tupelo. My parents wouldn’t allow me to, so I sneaked next door to my friend Cindy’s house to watch it. After all, even an innocent 6-year-old child recognizes the lure of forbidden fruit. Cindy and I would heat up vanilla wafers in our Easy-Bake Ovens and sit on her family’s 1950s couch to wait for the program to start. The show opened with a song, which began with a drum roll. It was so exciting. No matter how many times I saw the show, I was always completely unable to speak. The sights and sounds on the screen mesmerized me. I also had a silly smile on my face. I really felt a kinship with the little man on the screen, who I felt was probably just my size. This was the beginning of my weekly Monday night ritual of enjoying watching him on TV and listening to his record at Cindy’s house. I had a secret wish to meet him someday.
The years rolled by, and there was little mention of him in my life until 40 years later. He was scheduled to perform at Epcot in Orlando, Florida, so I thought I might finally have my chance to meet him. I arrived hours before the show, and there was already a huge line to get into the America Gardens Theater. When I finally sat down, exhausted, but feeling lucky to have gotten a seat, I noticed an elderly couple sitting next to me—an old woman with a walking cane and her husband, hooked up to a portable oxygen tank. I asked them if they were on vacation, and the woman said no—they only lived 4 hours away. I asked why they were at Disney World, and she said they would never miss a chance to see this performer. I looked at the old man, who was nodding his head up and down, smiling and agreeing with her. I was astounded at their response. They had health problems and had driven 4 hours to see the pop idol perform.
As the lights went up to thunderous applause, the pop idol emerged from the wings. I was absolutely aglow and had a silly smile on my face, just as I did when I saw and heard him a child. Even thought the venue was full and overflowing, I felt I had a personal audience with this man. I looked at the people around me, and from the looks on their faces, I sensed that they probably felt the same way. While performing a favorite song, he stepped down onto the main floor with all of us, and a tall, robust woman wearing a full-length muumuu completely lost control. She excitedly jumped up out of her seat and ran down the main aisle. She picked him up in her arms, hugged him, and twirled him around as if he was a little boy. He never missed a beat, even as security removed him from her arms. He joked that during his heyday in the 1960s, they’d called him a heartthrob, but now that he was in his 60s, he was just a coronary.
The show was full of energy; he still sounded and looked wonderful. I felt a sense of great satisfaction that I had finally been able to see him perform live. I made an attempt to go backstage to meet him and get his autograph, but was stopped by the security guards. They said it was impossible, as so many people wanted his autograph that he would not be ready for the next show if they let anyone in. Nevertheless, I was glad I had at least made the attempt. I hoped that I might get another chance to meet him someday.
That chance came in 2009 during a particularly difficult time in my life. My husband had been deployed to Baghdad for a year, our youngest son had been diagnosed with a devastating autoimmune disease, and our other son was struggling to find work. In other words, little was going our way. Both of our sons lived in California, so I decided to visit them. At the same time, a Hollywood Show Convention was taking place in Burbank. When I saw the slate of stars that would be appearing there (my pop idol in particular), I decided to go. I thought it would lift my spirits. When the man whose voice took my breath away all those years ago walked into the room at the convention, there was a great buzz of activity. Flashbulbs were lighting up the room, and people were shouting and racing to get in line. I felt weak and my arms were trembling with anticipation as I moved up the line. As I approached his table, my heart was in my throat. I desperately wanted to avoid saying something stupid. After all, this was my one and only chance to say a few words to him. When I timidly approached the table, he smiled and stood up. I was pleased to see that he was just my size, both of us standing at 5’3”. We spoke for a few moments, he gave me his autograph, and we posed for a photo together. He was extremely kind, just as I had always imagined he would be. As we stood together, face-to-face, I noticed something unusual in his eyes. Being a nurse, I saw evidence of a health condition I had seen before called arcus senilis. It can sometimes be an indication of heart disease. I must have been mistaken, as he appeared to be the picture of health, so I let it go. As I turned to leave, he pressed a card with his contact information into my hand.
For hours after meeting him, I could not get the silly smile off my face. I wasn’t sure if I would ever stop smiling. I lingered there and watched him interact with other fans. Over and over again, I watched this sweet man make other people happy. With every fan, he smiled, signed an autograph, said a few words, and posed for a picture. He seemed to make each and every fan feel as if he’d been waiting all his life just to meet him or her. This seemingly endless supply of mutual gratitude was one of the most amazing human exchanges I have ever witnessed. I thought about the tremendous potential for good that human beings have, and about how this man embodied that ideal. The smattering of flash photos illuminated him, giving him an ethereal glow as if he was some sort of a heavenly being. He was like a good luck charm, too. Within months, my husband got a promotion and came home from the war, my youngest son went into remission from his illness, and my oldest son got an internship. Some tough life challenges were behind us, and my family was charging forward again.
In 2011, I decided to go back to school at the age of 50 and was accepted into the graduate school at Atlantic University. During my class on dream work, we were encouraged to record our dreams in a journal every morning. In the fall of 2011, I had a bad dream—one that was very different from any other dream I had ever had. In my dream, I clearly heard someone say the name of my pop idol, and that he was dead. I saw an ambulance taking him away. I felt tremendous sadness in the dream, and I awoke feeling the same way. While writing the dream in my journal, I thought it was ridiculous. The man had seemed pretty healthy when I had met him, and he was still young. I recorded the dream anyway, because that is what we were instructed to do in the class. I hoped that the true meaning of the dream was not what it seemed to be.
On February 29, 2012, about 5 months after my dream, I was walking down the hall at home when I heard the news. The TV commentator said the pop idol was dead and had been taken away in an ambulance. The cause of death was apparently a heart attack. I was stunned. I was mentally catapulted back to 1967, and once again, I was standing in a hallway, unable to move or breathe. This time, however, I was engulfed with sadness. It was overwhelming—a dark cloud hovered over my shoulder. I felt tremendous guilt for not saying anything to him about his health. I had seen two cases of arcus senilis during my time as a nurse, and both of those patients had died of heart attacks. I should have suggested that he see a doctor when we were standing face-to-face, but I didn’t.
My grief left me quiet and listless for the rest of the day. I took out my autograph and the photo I had taken with him, and the little card he’d pressed into my hand fell out. I looked closely at it and realized that he himself had actually given me an additional chance to verbalize my concern. The card listed his home address. He had been living less than 3 hours away from me. I do not know if he would have listened to me if I had suggested that anything could be wrong with his health. He might have even thought I was a stalker. Nevertheless, the shock and guilt were overwhelming.
Because of his death, a favorite part of my childhood was gone. I remembered the house where I’d watched his TV show so many years ago. It is abandoned now. The wind whispers as it blows the weeds in the front yard. As I write this, the songs are echoing in my mind. In 1967, a youthful, idealistic kid could truly believe there was a chance that this man and his band mates might actually come “…walking down the street…”or “…may be coming to your town…” as it said in their theme song. I had had a strange, unexplained connection to this individual for nearly 45 years, and I believe that is why I had the precognitive dream of his death. He had always been deeply rooted in the memories of my childhood—the best ones. I shall never forget the euphoria I felt as a 6-year-old girl when I first heard his heavenly voice and the sadness I felt when I heard he was dead. My childhood “white knight on a steed” was gone—Davy Jones, dead at the age of 66.
References:
Dolenz, M. (2004). I’m A Believer. Cooper Square Press. New York, N.Y.
Jones, Davy and Green, A. They Made A Monkee Out Of Me. Dove Entertainment Inc, 1988. Audiocassette.
The Monkees: Season One. Writ. Peter Meyerson and Robert Schlitt. Dir. James Frawley. Eagle Rock Entertainment, 2001. DVD
Todeschi, K. (2003). Dream Images and Symbols: A Dictionary. A.R.E. Press. Virginia Beach, VA.
Monkees. Daydream Believer. Colgems, 1967. LP.
Monkees. (Theme From) The Monkees. Colgems, 1966. LP.
Comments
Dream Believer — 3 Comments
by Katy Kane
Submitted to the National Dream Center
8 May 2014
It was a moment I shall never forget. The year was 1967, and I was visiting my favorite aunt in her mid-century home in Louisville, Mississippi. Suddenly, I heard a voice singing—a voice so beautiful I thought it couldn’t be real. It sounded like something right out of heaven.
It happened like this: my cousins and I had been invited to play at a neighbor’s house—a magnificent old building with white columns in front. I was the youngest, so I tagged along at the end of the line as we passed through the door and traipsed down the hall. Then I heard the voice. I was unable to move and could barely breathe. I just stood there on the carpet runner, listening, mesmerized by the harmonies emanating from the unseen record player.
The other kids said this singer was on a TV show, so I was looking forward to watching his show when I returned home to Tupelo. My parents wouldn’t allow me to, so I sneaked next door to my friend Cindy’s house to watch it. After all, even an innocent 6-year-old child recognizes the lure of forbidden fruit. Cindy and I would heat up vanilla wafers in our Easy-Bake Ovens and sit on her family’s 1950s couch to wait for the program to start. The show opened with a song, which began with a drum roll. It was so exciting. No matter how many times I saw the show, I was always completely unable to speak. The sights and sounds on the screen mesmerized me. I also had a silly smile on my face. I really felt a kinship with the little man on the screen, who I felt was probably just my size. This was the beginning of my weekly Monday night ritual of enjoying watching him on TV and listening to his record at Cindy’s house. I had a secret wish to meet him someday.
The years rolled by, and there was little mention of him in my life until 40 years later. He was scheduled to perform at Epcot in Orlando, Florida, so I thought I might finally have my chance to meet him. I arrived hours before the show, and there was already a huge line to get into the America Gardens Theater. When I finally sat down, exhausted, but feeling lucky to have gotten a seat, I noticed an elderly couple sitting next to me—an old woman with a walking cane and her husband, hooked up to a portable oxygen tank. I asked them if they were on vacation, and the woman said no—they only lived 4 hours away. I asked why they were at Disney World, and she said they would never miss a chance to see this performer. I looked at the old man, who was nodding his head up and down, smiling and agreeing with her. I was astounded at their response. They had health problems and had driven 4 hours to see the pop idol perform.
As the lights went up to thunderous applause, the pop idol emerged from the wings. I was absolutely aglow and had a silly smile on my face, just as I did when I saw and heard him a child. Even thought the venue was full and overflowing, I felt I had a personal audience with this man. I looked at the people around me, and from the looks on their faces, I sensed that they probably felt the same way. While performing a favorite song, he stepped down onto the main floor with all of us, and a tall, robust woman wearing a full-length muumuu completely lost control. She excitedly jumped up out of her seat and ran down the main aisle. She picked him up in her arms, hugged him, and twirled him around as if he was a little boy. He never missed a beat, even as security removed him from her arms. He joked that during his heyday in the 1960s, they’d called him a heartthrob, but now that he was in his 60s, he was just a coronary.
The show was full of energy; he still sounded and looked wonderful. I felt a sense of great satisfaction that I had finally been able to see him perform live. I made an attempt to go backstage to meet him and get his autograph, but was stopped by the security guards. They said it was impossible, as so many people wanted his autograph that he would not be ready for the next show if they let anyone in. Nevertheless, I was glad I had at least made the attempt. I hoped that I might get another chance to meet him someday.
That chance came in 2009 during a particularly difficult time in my life. My husband had been deployed to Baghdad for a year, our youngest son had been diagnosed with a devastating autoimmune disease, and our other son was struggling to find work. In other words, little was going our way. Both of our sons lived in California, so I decided to visit them. At the same time, a Hollywood Show Convention was taking place in Burbank. When I saw the slate of stars that would be appearing there (my pop idol in particular), I decided to go. I thought it would lift my spirits. When the man whose voice took my breath away all those years ago walked into the room at the convention, there was a great buzz of activity. Flashbulbs were lighting up the room, and people were shouting and racing to get in line. I felt weak and my arms were trembling with anticipation as I moved up the line. As I approached his table, my heart was in my throat. I desperately wanted to avoid saying something stupid. After all, this was my one and only chance to say a few words to him. When I timidly approached the table, he smiled and stood up. I was pleased to see that he was just my size, both of us standing at 5’3”. We spoke for a few moments, he gave me his autograph, and we posed for a photo together. He was extremely kind, just as I had always imagined he would be. As we stood together, face-to-face, I noticed something unusual in his eyes. Being a nurse, I saw evidence of a health condition I had seen before called arcus senilis. It can sometimes be an indication of heart disease. I must have been mistaken, as he appeared to be the picture of health, so I let it go. As I turned to leave, he pressed a card with his contact information into my hand.
For hours after meeting him, I could not get the silly smile off my face. I wasn’t sure if I would ever stop smiling. I lingered there and watched him interact with other fans. Over and over again, I watched this sweet man make other people happy. With every fan, he smiled, signed an autograph, said a few words, and posed for a picture. He seemed to make each and every fan feel as if he’d been waiting all his life just to meet him or her. This seemingly endless supply of mutual gratitude was one of the most amazing human exchanges I have ever witnessed. I thought about the tremendous potential for good that human beings have, and about how this man embodied that ideal. The smattering of flash photos illuminated him, giving him an ethereal glow as if he was some sort of a heavenly being. He was like a good luck charm, too. Within months, my husband got a promotion and came home from the war, my youngest son went into remission from his illness, and my oldest son got an internship. Some tough life challenges were behind us, and my family was charging forward again.
In 2011, I decided to go back to school at the age of 50 and was accepted into the graduate school at Atlantic University. During my class on dream work, we were encouraged to record our dreams in a journal every morning. In the fall of 2011, I had a bad dream—one that was very different from any other dream I had ever had. In my dream, I clearly heard someone say the name of my pop idol, and that he was dead. I saw an ambulance taking him away. I felt tremendous sadness in the dream, and I awoke feeling the same way. While writing the dream in my journal, I thought it was ridiculous. The man had seemed pretty healthy when I had met him, and he was still young. I recorded the dream anyway, because that is what we were instructed to do in the class. I hoped that the true meaning of the dream was not what it seemed to be.
On February 29, 2012, about 5 months after my dream, I was walking down the hall at home when I heard the news. The TV commentator said the pop idol was dead and had been taken away in an ambulance. The cause of death was apparently a heart attack. I was stunned. I was mentally catapulted back to 1967, and once again, I was standing in a hallway, unable to move or breathe. This time, however, I was engulfed with sadness. It was overwhelming—a dark cloud hovered over my shoulder. I felt tremendous guilt for not saying anything to him about his health. I had seen two cases of arcus senilis during my time as a nurse, and both of those patients had died of heart attacks. I should have suggested that he see a doctor when we were standing face-to-face, but I didn’t.
My grief left me quiet and listless for the rest of the day. I took out my autograph and the photo I had taken with him, and the little card he’d pressed into my hand fell out. I looked closely at it and realized that he himself had actually given me an additional chance to verbalize my concern. The card listed his home address. He had been living less than 3 hours away from me. I do not know if he would have listened to me if I had suggested that anything could be wrong with his health. He might have even thought I was a stalker. Nevertheless, the shock and guilt were overwhelming.
Because of his death, a favorite part of my childhood was gone. I remembered the house where I’d watched his TV show so many years ago. It is abandoned now. The wind whispers as it blows the weeds in the front yard. As I write this, the songs are echoing in my mind. In 1967, a youthful, idealistic kid could truly believe there was a chance that this man and his band mates might actually come “…walking down the street…”or “…may be coming to your town…” as it said in their theme song. I had had a strange, unexplained connection to this individual for nearly 45 years, and I believe that is why I had the precognitive dream of his death. He had always been deeply rooted in the memories of my childhood—the best ones. I shall never forget the euphoria I felt as a 6-year-old girl when I first heard his heavenly voice and the sadness I felt when I heard he was dead. My childhood “white knight on a steed” was gone—Davy Jones, dead at the age of 66.
References:
Dolenz, M. (2004). I’m A Believer. Cooper Square Press. New York, N.Y.
Jones, Davy and Green, A. They Made A Monkee Out Of Me. Dove Entertainment Inc, 1988. Audiocassette.
The Monkees: Season One. Writ. Peter Meyerson and Robert Schlitt. Dir. James Frawley. Eagle Rock Entertainment, 2001. DVD
Todeschi, K. (2003). Dream Images and Symbols: A Dictionary. A.R.E. Press. Virginia Beach, VA.
Monkees. Daydream Believer. Colgems, 1967. LP.
Monkees. (Theme From) The Monkees. Colgems, 1966. LP.
Comments
Dream Believer — 3 Comments
- Katy Kane on May 9, 2014 at 7:39 pm said:
Congratulations Katy,enjoyed your story
Proud of you as always.
Mom & Pops
- Kate Goodall on May 11, 2014 at 1:38 am said:
Hi
Katy, I remember you telling me about this dream shortly after you had it and before, Davy Jones died. I am glad you wrote it down. You have a great flow in your words. So obviously written truth from your heart. I would love to read any more of your work. One thing I have learned on this life journey about precognitive dreams is that we are not always meant to do anything about what we see in our dreams. That is why sometimes we see stuff, but we do not know date and times etc. You should not feel guilty that you did not mention what you thought you saw in his eyes. You were not responsible for his medical condition.
- Leslie Watkins on August 20, 2014 at 1:32 am said:
Katy, Thanks so much for sharing this with me!!! I too would love to read and know of further things you write! I am proud of you for channeling your gifts and talents in such positive and productive ways!!! I hope it all has helped you recognize what you have always known as “normal” ~ is a true gift!!! I actually know you well enough that you will never forget this story and the regret it caused. I hope you will not dwell with the regret, but propel into action when it happens again. I also know it will happen to you again because you not only have the gift of the dreams, but an incredible gift to connect with people and them see things purely— as if you had a pair of glasses that gives you only the pristine view, blocking anything else. Keep using your eyes & heart to show you those things! Then go ahead and let people know— then you will have done your part & cannot control their response for their part.