Dr. Frederick Jacobs and Father Pat Harris sat in the same Boston pub they’d been frequenting since their college days: Jacobs studied psychology and–prior to Harris dropping out to go to a seminary–he, too, studied psychology. The pair met in class and became inseparable.
I joined the venerable gentlemen on August 16th 2006 to pick their brains, so to speak, as they were celebrities in the pub. I, myself, had a particular interest in the juxtaposition of the men’s dynamic; I wanted to know how the pair had remained such good friends for so long–despite one’s career being of the old world and the other’s being of the new.
My name is Terrence Kelly, I was majoring in journalism at the time when I served as the sole audience member to a story that has haunted me ever since. The following is that story:
I pressed record on my digital recorder: The men consented beforehand to the documenting of the interview. As well as the recorder, I took copious amounts of notes–I was wise to do so as the recorder began to malfunction right from the get go: making our voices sound utterly monstrous and unintelligible when played back.
The conversation started off rocky, but in the realm of normality.
“How have you two remained friends for so long?” was my opening question.
The pair knew what I was getting at.
“Because of how differently we view the world; there’s never a shortage of arguments, it makes things interesting.”
The doctor had brilliantly answered my question, but due to the hubris that accompanies youth, my follow-up was an attempt to be clever.
“Those arguments must be very one-sided.”
My comment didn’t offend my intended target, Father Harris, but it did offend Jacobs. The esteemed psychologist slammed his glass down.
“Nip that in the bud this instant, or we’ll enjoy our drinks somewhere else!“
The interview was stopped for several minutes so I could apologise and smooth things over before we continued. I also used this respite to better hide the prejudice I held against religion. The interview would proceed; although, I’ve been asking myself, for the years that followed, if I would have been better off had they stormed out after my first slight.
I brought the next round of drinks to our table, got seated and recommenced the interview.
“Father Harris, what made you join the seminary?”
“Before I tell you my reasons, you have to know about my background: I come from an Irish-Catholic household, who would’ve guessed, right? But I bet you wouldn’t have guessed that I wasn’t exactly a believer as a young man. I thought my parents were fools for believing in such antiquated fairy tales–then, something happened: A neighbour of mine began acting odd, this neighbour was as clean-cut as it got, and yet, he would wake me up from his screams in the dead of night. His screams were in Latin the first night, Mandarin the second night and Urdu the third night–he was clean-cut, yes, but an educated man, he was not.”
At this point, I felt compelled to interrupt.
“I’m sorry, but are you suggesting that your neighbour was possessed?”
Following this question, I recall the old friends sharing a troubled look.
“What do you know about demonic possession?” Harris asked.
“Only what I’ve seen in movies,” I replied.
“That’s typical. So, let me ask you this: How many movies about demonic possession can you name that were made before ‘The Exorcist‘ ?”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“That’s alright. There weren’t many and they weren’t big hits… There’s a reason I bring this up: If demonic possession wasn’t in the collective consciousness of the American public, then how did my neighbour know how to perfectly imitate someone who was possessed–in the year 1957?”
“I would like for Dr. Jacobs to answer that question,” I said, hoping for some rationality.
“Did you know that most cultures believe in some form of spiritual or demonic possession,” said Jacobs, “The prevalence of it in our culture stems from late 16th to early 17th-Century France. One of the earliest recorded cases of demonic possession is that of Martha Brossier. Despite being a barely-literate peasant, she began speaking different languages in a harsh voice and contorting her body—essentially giving us the tropes that we are so familiar with today.”
“Do you believe she really was possessed?” I asked.
“No, I don’t believe she was. After all, her father took her act on the road, touring across France and getting priests to exorcise her before a crowd. King Henri IV tore her little act to pieces when he assembled priests of his own to carry out an exorcism on her: Martha thought she was being doused with holy water and that the Latin the priests spoke were from religious texts–she was mistaken, the water was just regular water and the Latin were poems by Virgil.”
“Excuse me, Dr. Jacobs, but would you mind telling me how you came to know so much about the demonic possession?”
The men once again shared a look.
“I’d say it’s about time we shared our experiences with an arbitrator, young Terrence here may be the perfect man for the job,” said Father Harris.
“An arbitrator for what?” I asked.
“To decide whether or not there are demons in this world.”
I turned to Dr. Jacobs. He was looking solemnly back at me–these men were serious.
Nothing could have prepared me for what the old men would go on to divulge.
