The Way I Heard It with Mike Rowe - 175: His Brother's Keeper

Episode Date: October 27, 2020

A spooky tale of an ordained minister and a demonic possession. 

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This is the way I heard it. Hey there, it's Mike Rowe. This is the way I heard it, the only podcast for The Curious Mind. With a short attention span. This is episode number 175, and it's called His Brother's Keeper. His Brother's Keeper, it was written where I'm sitting right now at my kitchen table, staring across at my old pal chuck, who some of you may know as an indispensable cog in the machine over at Mike Rowe works, and who others may know as the indispensable producer of this humble little podcast.

How are you, old friend? I'm very well, Mike. How are you? I'm great. And when I say old friend, I mean it in every sense of the word. Chuck is nearly as old as I am, which is old by any definition. And I've known him 41 years. 41 years, yes.

Old high school, buddy. And we've stayed in touch over the years and over the last couple of dozen years. it seems. You know, I don't know that we ever really lost touch. No. No, we didn't. We didn't. We never lost touch. There were times where we didn't see each other as much or didn't talk as much, but always, you know, I don't think we ever went six months without talking. No, we never went dark. It's a bit like stepping in gum with you, honestly. I get that a lot. You look down. There he is. Now, Chuck has been a dear friend. it's such a kick to have you up here now you i mean i'm asking questions i know the answers to of course but you have to ask in this day and age how you're weathering the pandemic very well

uh isolating quite a bit you know i drove up here instead of flying so that that was uh safer didn't want to get any you know covid on freddie or anything so no yeah leave my dog out of this okay he uh he's got an agent now he has expectations there only so many mentions we can do a Freddie before I get a bill. Sure, sure. I understand it's awkward. Maybe you have a friend like Chuck, somebody who you talk to when you go on walks. Chuck and I started walking like in earnest seven months ago back in March.

And the boy has lost. What have you lost? 30 pounds. 30 pounds walking and talking with me. Yes. And now here you sit. in my home. Anyway, that's Chuck. He is a producer of this podcast. I wanted you to hear his voice today because in the future, you may be hearing it a bit more. What do you think of that as a tease?

That's very exciting. It is exciting. The podcast is called his brother's keeper. I wrote it because a lot of people on the Facebook page asked if I would be reposting the Edgar Allan Poe piece I put up last October. And the answer is sure, but it also occurred to me that in the spirit of work ethic. Perhaps I could write a news story something a bit more original than the telltale heart. And that's a story I'm about to share with you. Chuck, you have listened to the story. Indeed, you have lightly edited it as you often do without overselling it. What are your honest thoughts on it? Quite possibly the best episode ever.

Come on. Really? Oh, it's up there. It's definitely up there. And we did a little something sassy in it, too. We did something just a little sassy. We did. We put a light, effect. I don't want to say too much, but a light effect in the story. This is a very exciting for us because, you know, the only production

value in this podcast is really that little guitar sting. Right. And, you know, we always wanted to keep it simple and straightforward. And now here we are dabbling with special effects. It's crazy. Don't want to oversell it, but it's called his brother's

keeper. And it is, as always, the way I heard. Long before, he became an ordained, minister, Daniel knew there was life after death. As a boy, he had seen with his own eyes the many spirits that haunted the farmhouse where he was raised, oftentimes during the seances his parents held in the parlor. Thus, when his older brother began acting like a man possessed, Daniel assumed a demonic infestation and planned for an exorcism, an exorcism that he would conduct himself. Preparations for the ritual took place in Daniel's office in Midtown Manhattan, where he and his brother had once worked together.

There, he recalled the exorcism of Roland Doe, the 14-year-old Maryland boy, whose demons were expelled in 1949 by an intrepid team of Jesuit priests. Daniel knew the case because Roland Doe's story had inspired William Peter Bladdy to write The Exorcist, the most terrifying book that Daniel had ever read, which in turn inspired William Friedkin to direct The Exorcist, the most terrifying movie that Daniel had ever seen. A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled the scene where 12-year-old Reagan McNeil violated herself with a crucifix

and vomited green slime all over that poor priest moments before her head spun around, 360 degrees. That particular exorcism had only ended when the demon jumped out of Reagan's body and into Father Karas, who promptly dove out the second-story window, sending the demon back to hell, but ending his own life. A happy ending for Reagan, but not so great for the priest. On the bookshelf over his desk, between the Holy Bible and the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe, Daniel found a tome of sacred texts, a collection of exorcism spells, sanctioned by the Catholic Church. At the top of the very first page were the words, warning, to be read aloud only by priests.

Daniel began reading anyway, Adugorte, spirites nequessime, per diem omnipotentium. Adugureth, spiritis nequecestime, per diem omnipotentium. Adu jorte, spiritis nequessime, per diem omnipotentium. I juror thee, most evil spirit, by almighty God. A juror, of course, is just a fancy word for command. And what followed were many other commandments, and many other Latin phrases buried in dozens of ancient prayers, all intended to be strung together and repeated over and over by a

consecrated priest in the course of conducting a church-sanctioned exorcism. Daniel considered these sacred texts very carefully. An ordained minister is not the same thing as a consecrated priest. Did Daniel dare utter these holy words aloud in the name of Jesus Christ? Might he do more harm and good, relying on words that he was not qualified to utter. Perhaps he should call an actual priest. After much deliberation, Daniel closed the book of sacred texts and returned it to the shelf. Then he took a seat behind his typewriter. Holy water, rosary beads, and crucifixes were one thing, but when it came to words, Daniel decided he would use his own. He would create a new kind of text, specifically for his brother's situation, a text not in accordance

with the rules of the Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church, but rather in accordance with his own belief that a man could vanquish his demons if he heard the right words. And Daniel believed he knew the words his brother needed to hear. After a few weeks of typing, Daniel was optimistic. So too was Judy, his brother's wife. The new text was shaping up nicely. But Daniel could only write so fast, and his brother was getting worse every day. Like the demons who possessed Reagan McNeil, these devils offered no quarter.

Day and night, they tormented their host, hollowing him out, turning him into something unrecognizable. Reports of his brother's deterioration made their way back to Judy, who called Daniel at his office with growing alarm. I'm scared, Danny. He can't fight this alone. We have to get him back to New York. I know, Judy. I know. I'm writing as fast as I can. He doesn't even sound like himself anymore. He needs to be here where we can help him. Don't worry, said Daniel. When he sees what I've written, written. He'll be on the next flight back. I'm sure of it. Who knows? Maybe it would have worked. Maybe Daniel's unorthodox text would have inspired his brother to come home, where his real friends

might have helped him battle his demons. Alas, it was not to be. Daniel was nearly finished the text when the phone rang. It was Bernie Brillstein, calling from a modern-day Gomorrah. 3,000 miles away. It's over, Danny. We found him this morning. He's gone. I'm so sorry. Sick with grief, Daniel leapt to his feet and ran to his brother's brownstone in the West village, desperate to reach Judy before the press got a hold of her. There, he held her hand and broke the tragic news as gently as he could. Her husband was dead. His demons had won. cocaine and heroin, often do. Daniel sat with his brother's widow as she grieved for the loss of her husband and he for the loss of his best friend. The best friend he still refers to as his brother,

the older brother, who had joined him just a few years earlier on a mission from God and might have joined him again in a role that was written just for him. The role, the role. of Peter Vinkman, a non-traditional exorcist, on a mission to rid the big apple of its many unwanted demons. A role played to perfection by Bill Murray, but written for John Belushi by his younger brother, his younger blues brother, who hoped to save his best friend from the demons he could not shake, with a text he could not ignore. A text for a movie called Ghostbusters, dreamed up by an ordained minister named Dan Ackeroid.

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