THE LIMITATIONS OF MADAM PALM ON THE PADRE ISLAND HIGHWAY

Clairvoyance has long been an interest of mine.

When I was 13, my dad allowed a homeless family to stay in our home.

The father of the family approached me about visions in his head, claiming "You are the only one who could understand."

Even at that age, I recognized that as bullshit flattery and pushed back on most of what he said.

My dad happened to walk by as the man was claiming to see a demon.  He called Uncle Russ, a preacher, who, after talking to the man, assessed him as an "evil influence," ordering him out of our home.

Years later, now living in Brownsville, I stared with curiosity while driving past the home of Madam Palm on the Padre Island Hwy, just beyond four corners.

It was 1966 and many homes in Brownsville, including Madam Palm's, were boarded up for Hurricane Inez, kicking it up in the Gulf of Mexico.

Each night in bed, I put the radio to my ear tuning in to Radio Belize in British Honduras.  Nightly, a female announcer talked about the movement of Hurricane Inez, giving the current coordinates.  

With that distinctive British accent, she reminded us about requesting a free hurricane tracking map from the station, but she never gave the station's address.

The hurricane appeared to be on a direct course for the mouth of the Rio Grande, but, at the last instant, curved south.

Every time I drove past Madam Palm's house on Hwy 48, noticing the still-boarded up windows, I wondered about her actual ability to predict the future.  She should have known the hurricane would not hit and not waste money on boards and labor protecting her windows.

I pulled my '59 VW into the driveway and knocked on the door.  After a few minutes, an attractive young woman with long hair and dark eyes answered the door.

"Are you Madam Palm?" I asked.

She said:  "No, I'm her daughter.  She won't be back for a couple hours.  Do you need a reading?"

"Oh, no," I answered.  "I just wanted to ask a question."

"Maybe, I could ask you," I said nervously.

"Oh, you can ask me anything!" she said flirtatiously.  

"Well, if your mother knows the future, why did she have your home boarded up for Hurricane Inez.  She should have known it would not hit us."

The young women's eyes looked weird and glassy and her head jerked back violently:  "Oh, Jesus God!!!" she shouted.

She came back to normalcy, but did not answer my question.  Twice more her head jerked back involuntarily.

"Why are you here calling on a married woman?  Do you want to come in?  I'm cooking."

"No, I just wanted to ask that question."

The next year, 1967, Hurricane Beulah hit Brownsville hard.  Some did not board up their homes remembering the false alarm the year before.

Power was off in Brownsville for exactly one week and one hour.  Roofs were torn off.  Branches were down everywhere.  The mosquitoes were gigantic and in search of blood.