When Michael Jackson died, I was genuinely sad for about a day. After that though I just found myself enjoying his backcatalogue. I went out and bought more CDs, including one that spanned his entire career from Jackson 5 to his most recent work. I wondered why Invincible (his final studio album), a perfectly wonderful pop album, didn’t receive a bigger reception when it was released. I wondered too what it was about death that made us reflect upon an artist’s works, and why living artists were only as good as their most recent offering… What could we, as artists, do to better represent not just our most recent work but our entire repetoires?

When John A. Keel died, or rather when I found out about his death a week later, I became very ill. It was some time later that I brought myself to reflect on his life and death. As I sat there musing over the first Keel book that fell into my possession, the book that spurred a passion and an obsession, something occurred to me that had never occurred to me before. That first white covered trade paperback movie tie-in edition of The Mothman Prophecies did not have the elaborate cover artwork of other editions or the feel of the hardcover first editions. But there was something special about it. Something that confused me at the time and something that I promptly forgot about after encountering it for the first time. The paperback edition had an Afterword penned by Keel in August 2001. This effectively meant this edition of the book contained Keel’s most recently published thoughts.

An unexpected consequence of my need for information on Keel’s death was that I discovered a book that I didn’t know existed. The Best of John Keel is a compilation of articles Keel wrote for FATE magazine. The book arrived from Amazon this morning. (Interestingly it is described as ‘Volume 1.’ I wonder if subsequent volumes are planned?)

I guess the conclusion I have reached is that in a practical sense these people are as real to me today as they have ever been, because my relationship with them has roots in their works and their works live on beyond them. And I guess the impetus to actually create has never been more apparent to me. In the same way that you can’t edit a blank page, you can’t be remembered for a work you never completed.

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At a former workplace we were at one time inundated by moths of a curious size. Standing outside with a work colleague surveying the potential business on a Sunday afternoon, he looks at the moth thoughtfully before parsing his lips to speak. “Have you seen The Mothman Prophecies?” he asks. “It’s really creepy and it’s based on a true story.” I admit that I have not seen this movie. I don’t really think much of it until another work colleague poses the same question and description almost verbatim. I am intrigued. I don’t particularly know anything about this movie, but the expression on my workmates’ faces as they talk about it spurs me to learn more. Eventually I borrow the movie from a local DVD store. It is creepy and it is – apparently – based on a true story. What is this story?

I imported a paperback copy of The Mothman Prophecies with a white movie tie-in cover from the United States. That poor paperback became batted as I thumbed my way through it, first at home and then interstate while on holiday. It was fascinating and disturbing. The flying humanoid terrorising residents of Point Pleasant, West Virginia, circa 1966-1967 had apparently existed. But it was only the tip of the iceberg. There were even more sinister and oddball things covered in the book that the movie didn’t even make reference to. But even more than that it introduced me to John A. Keel, the author, who was thoughtful and intelligent. He had a deliciously wicked sense of humour. He had a rich sense of voice on the written page. He seemed to genuinely have a lot of respect and compassion for people, especially people who had unusual experiences (people who were frequently ridiculed and dismissed by others). The simple truth was that before reading The Mothman Prophecies I thought paranormal subjects were purely the domain of wide-eyed crackpot ‘true believers.’ Keel’s book was a refreshing revelation.

But more than anything the book excited me and instilled this strong feeling within me that I was doing something wrong. I mean why would anyone answer phones for a living when you could be sitting on far off hills watching strange meandering lights (UFOs), interviewing people and writing incredible books?!

I located a copy of Keel’s first book, Jadoo, in Sydney and had it shipped to me. Keel had been fascinated with ‘sleight of hand’ magic tricks from a young age, and Jadoo is his foray into the Orient and the Middle East to find ‘real’ magic. The things he details on his travels are truly fascinating, from the black market trade for mummies in Egypt to an invitation to live with bonafide devil worshipers, elaborate trickery with snakes, and even individuals who have themselves entombed only to come out unscathed. As I read of far off lands and ancient mystical practices I also learnt much more about Keel himself. I took great comfort in the knowledge that he too feared the blank page. I learnt about his Keel’s parents and home, his desire to write, how he had changed his name. I clung to each page as he struggled to sell articles of his adventures to magazines and as he systematically sold off his camera equipment just to make ends meet.

I was completely in awe of this man and as I ordered another of his books and it would arrive I would abandon the one I had been reading in favour of the new title (eventually going back to finish all the books). Soon I had multiple copies of many of his books, different editions. I snapped up cheap books whenever I encountered them, determined to share them with friends. The Eighth Tower (also published as The Cosmic Question), UFOs: Operation Trojan Horse, Disneyland Of The Gods, Our Haunted Planet, The Complete Guide To Mysterious Beings (also published as Strange Creatures From Time and Space), The Fickle Finger Of Fate (Keel’s lone piece of published fiction). I even discovered in my research a collection of short stories for school students that included one by Keel about the Great Houdini.

I was able to track down some recordings of talks he had given at FORTEAN events and these only endeared me to him further.

JOHN A. KEEL
March 25, 1930 – July 3, 2009

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