The Search for Jack London

By Jerome V. Lofgren

The Search For Jack London is a first person account of an investigation into a possible past life as Jack London.

As the narrator revisits a Klondike cabin in the winter of 1898 fresh insight was gained into the life and times of Jack London that could only be known by London himself. Seeking clarification the narrator requested a life reading from Anne Puryear, a psychic living in Scottsdale, Arizona. The narrator was informed that in a previous life he'd been Jack London.

Just being told by a psychic source that he had once lived as Jack London wasn't good enough. When he asked for objective proof he was told to seek and he'd discover the truth. Anne gave him three instructions to guide his search.

The first was to seek out a Canadian psychiatrist who was skilled in past life regression. The fifteen hours of hypnotic regression were recorded on what became known as "The Jack London Tapes."

The second was to seek out all the primary sources of Jack London material and to read all the books about Jack London. The narrator went to the Huntington Library in San Marino, California and the Jack London Foundation in Glen Ellen, California in search of primary source materials.

The third was to write a book about his search.

The book has brought extreme reactions of praise and condemnation. Defending the validity of the experiences has proved to be the greatest challenge of the narrator's life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 13, 2001
• ISBN: 9781469755953

Jerome V. Lofgren

Jerome V. Lofgren lived and wrote in Poulsbo, Washington. His work, "The Search for Jack London" won International EPPIE 2000 Award for the best non-fiction book published in the year 2000. Writing primarily in the historical format he has written a total of six books as well as a collection of short stories. He passed away on January 16, 2014.

Book preview

The Search For Jack

London

Jerome V. Lofgren

Authors Choice Press

San Jose New York Lincoln Shanghai

The Search For Jack London

All Rights Reserved © 2001 by JVL Alaska, Inc.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any

means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the

permission in writing from the publisher.

Authors Choice Press

an imprint of iUniverse.com, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse.com, Inc.

5220 S 16th, Ste. 200

Lincoln, NE 68512

www.iuniverse.com

ISBN: 0-595-17368-3

ISBN: 978-1-4697-5595-3(ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

DEDICATION

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CONCLUSIONS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DEDICATION

Dedicated

To the

Memory

of

Russ Kingman (1917—1993)

and his wife and partner

Winnie

Who were my mentors, teachers, and friends Without

whose loving and generous encouragement this work could

never have been undertaken,much less completed.

They knew the meaning of being On Trail.

Lone Wolf II

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

In the long period of researching and experiencing that led to the writing of this book many helpers flowed in and out of my life. I want to acknowledge some of the key players in my personal drama.

I am grateful to Lennart and Louise Augustsson who provided a wonderful room in their home at Suquamish, Washington where I could digest my experiences and write my story. The rising of the Sun and Moon over Pudget Sound, as viewed from the deck of their home, helped to bring forth the deepest of memories.

Mere words can not convey my heart felt thanks to Russ and Winnie Kingman who remained my faithful supporters throughout the years.

I wish to thank my daughter Paula and her husband, Charles Peach, for their continued support while others remained non-believers and scoffers. They also presented me with a wonderful companion in the form of my grandson Zachery who kept me company during the quiet days of writing. The grandson grandfather bond was a very precious gift.

I am grateful to my spirit guides, Magnus and Kurt, and my angels Ichthanai, Nife, and Nife without whose assistance this story would have remain but another buried memory.

I wish to thank Ralph Amok, my Inupiat Shaman, who sought me out in my great distress to guide me through the early phase of my search. It was he who set my feet on trail in The Search for Jack London.

Once written the manuscript needed the copy editing of Dr. Paul Roland, Barbara Sexton, and Ellen Barnes for whose assistance I’m eternally grateful.

Jerome V. Lofgren

Poulsbo, Washington, January 2001 http://members.home.net/jlofgren4/

INTRODUCTION

WHO IS JACK LONDON?

Jack London (1876—1916) continues to be acknowledged the world over as the most popular and most read of America’s authors. Eighty-three years after his death, his books are still in print throughout the world.

The fabulous adventures of Jack London began with his early years as a ‘gamin’ of the San Francisco waterfront earning his living as an oyster pirate, working in canneries, jute mills, and laundries for starvation wages. At the age of seventeen, he went to sea as an able-bodied seaman aboard a three-masted sealing schooner that took him to Japan and the North Pacific seal islands. In 1894, he rode the rails to see the country and spent a month in the Erie County Penitentiary, Buffalo, New York on the charge of vagrancy before returning home to enter the University of California at Berkeley.In 1897, at the age of twenty, he hiked across the famous Chilkoot Pass en route to the Klondike gold fields. In 1902, he lived in the east-end slums of London. In 1904, he covered the Russo-Japanese War for the Hearst papers. He built a ketch and sailed the South Seas for two years, from 1906 to 1908. In 1912, he covered the Mexican Revolution as a war correspondent.

In the end, he had climbed out of poverty to find himself America’s best-selling author caught in the grinding struggle to maintain that position against failing health and the ever-increasing demands of his ranch.

The most significant thing about his life was not his adventures but the quality and diversity of his literary production. Modern classics such as The Call of The Wild, The Sea Wolf, White Fang, and Martin Eden flew from his pen. Over a period of sixteen years, he authored fifty-two books consisting of essays, short stories, juveniles, novels, plays and sociological studies.

He was a master of the short story. High school students are still thrilled by such Klondike pieces as To Build A Fire or his personal favorite, The League of Old Men.

Jack London’s writings were the embodiment of the lusty, brawling Horatio Alger spirit of turn-of-the-century America, the America of the vanishing frontier and of the last generation of rugged and desperate individualists who sought to win their fortunes in the hostile wilderness.

Over twenty biographies have been written. Still, the elusive Jack London the man remains an enigma—until now.

We will learn that the steadying hand on the wheel of Jack’s ship was his wife Charmian whom he met in 1903. This love story has gone untold for nearly 85 years.

After reading my manuscript, Russ Kingman, the leading Jack London scholar, told me that you have succeeded in capturing Jack and Charmian (London) with the touch of the master. I have nothing but praise for everything you have done with Jack and Charmian. You completely caught their love as no one has caught it before and it is wonderful. You made Jack and Charmian real people, and even the most critical critic will be unable to accuse you of putting halos on their heads. They come out as humans in love. And that was the way it was.

CHAPTER 1

January 12th arrived as predicted as did the annual banquet celebrating Jack London’s birthday. One-hundred-and-ninety members and friends of the Jack London Foundation gathered as they had each year in the Sonoma Country Club. Among the distinguished quests were the top Jack London scholars in the world, Earle Labor, Milo Shepard and of course, Russ and Winnie Kingman.

My book had just been published and was starting to get some play in local bookstores. I was in San Francisco on a promotional tour when Russ Kingman invited me to the banquet.

The dining room was a turbulent sea of people flitting to and fro. When I entered, I sensed a stillness come over the crowd like the stillness before the breaking of a storm. The rising hum of whispers and the turning of heads followed it.

I stood in the doorway searching for a friendly face or two but discovered only curious eyes that looked away upon meeting mine. Then I saw Winnie waving from across the room. She beckoned me to join them at the front table. Her smile was like the flashing beam of a lighthouse to a sailor locked tight in a winter storm. It guided me to a safe moorage.

My name had not appeared in the program so following the meal when Russ took command of the podium like the Southern Baptist preacher that he had been, he caught me by surprise.

Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight we’re going to have a little fun. Beside each place setting there is a slip of paper with the question, ‘If you could ask Jack London one question, what would it be?’ If you haven’t yet written down your question, why not take a minute or two now while the tables are being cleared?

Plates clattered and chairs scraped as people hurried off for last-minute visits to the restrooms or quick smokes outdoors.

Quiet fell upon the audience when the lights dimmed and the podium came alive in the spotlights. All attention was focused on Russ as he, like a sea captain stepping onto his bridge, took possession of the meeting.

His commanding presence drew instant respect from the audience.

Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a surprise that is not on the program. You’ve no doubt read, or heard about, a new book just published that is written around the idea that Jack London is reincarnated.

When derisive murmurs moved through the audience, Russ raised his hand for quiet.

I know that some of you give no credence to the concept of reincarnation; and after reading the book, you might want to throw it in the trash as so much rubbish. Others, who are open-minded about the concept, will find the book a sheer joy. Whether you reacted with anger or joy, I’m pleased to introduce the author, J. V. Lofgren. I’ve not asked him but I’m sure he will be gracious enough to respond to the questions that you would’ve asked Jack himself. Mr. Lofgren.

My guts churned as I stepped onto the platform where I stood silently for several moments, my hands gripping the edges of the podium, slowly looking over the quiet audience. A man’s cough reverberated through the quiet room like a thunderclap.

I jumped straight to the issue.

"What did you expect to see when Russ introduced me? Did you expect to see a Jack London impersonator wearing a gray Baden-Powell hat, a floppy white silk shirt with a wide, dark tie hanging loosely from my neck? Perhaps some of you might have expected me to wear tan riding breeches with black leather leggings on my calves, and that I’d saunter up with the roll of a deep-sea sailor and talk with the slow pace of a sourdough? And perhaps you expected to see a cigarette in my left hand.

But I’m not a Jack London impersonator. Successful impersonations must meet the projections of the audience. Tonight I’m sure most of the projections of Jack London will not be matched. Before I respond to your questions, I would like to read a short statement. This statement was drawn up to satisfy some concerns of the Trust of Irving Shepard.

I read the statement slowly and carefully.

"‘I, Jerome V. Lofgren, make no claims against the Trust of Irving Shepard for any Royalties, Dividends, Copyrights or any other financial benefits derived from the estate of Charmian K. London.’

"The Trust had wanted me to add that my story was a piece of creative fiction, the product of my imagination. Since parts of my story are beyond my ability to prove objectively, I used the factional-writing style that Irving Stone used so successfully in his biographies. The closest I could accommodate the trustee’s concern was this statement: ‘Searching For Jack London contains subjective elements for which I cannot provide objective proof.’"

Russ stepped to the microphones.

Now, let’s hear some of your questions.

Russ pointed to a woman’s hand raised in the back.

Clarice Stasz, a thin, pinched-face woman, with her metal-rim glasses slid forward on her nose stood at a center table. Her medium-length brown hair streaked with gray was pinned tightly to her head.

I’ve read your book. And I want to state here and now that I don’t believe you’re the reincarnation of Jack London.

The audience froze in shocked silence.

My answer came slowly, Whether my soul ever energized the body of Jack London or not is important only for my personal self-understanding. That was then. Now is now. I’m satisfied that my soul once lived a life as Jack London not because of what others have said, but because of my personal remembrances.

And what remembrances they were!

I’ve always been aware of Jack London. He has been like a shadow person in my dreams whom I never saw but knew was there, waiting to be invited into the light. There was the time when, as a lad of nine or ten, I was sitting on a lonely Minnesota hill with my dog Spot beside me watching the fading sunset. A melancholy mood came over me, as I became aware of another lad with his dog sitting next to me looking at the same sunset yet in another time, in another place. He invited me to get away and see all those places beyond the horizon just waitin’ for us to see. He shared his restless spirit, which was never content to stay long in any place. He was in a rush to be under way.

I did not begin my search for Jack London until after I had climbed my personal Chilkoot. I had laboriously packed my grubstake, load after load, up to the summit where at last I stood with the Promised Land, filled with wealth and power, stretching out before my eyes. I was pleased with my accomplishments.

But my joy was short-lived. Suddenly, with the force of a breaking avalanche, my world dropped out from beneath my feet, and I was thrown down into a swirling mass of forces beyond my control, swallowed up in a crushing darkness that pressed in upon me as I was flung against one rock after another. I felt that I was being flushed away like a piece of garbage.

The particulars of how I came to rest in Anchorage, Alaska, on a bitterly cold, winter night in January 1982 are not relevant to my story. Alaska was to become my Siberian Gulag and, like my Russian counterparts, my Gulag would change my life.

From my bedroom window I had a view of the Anchorage winter skyline. It was filled with frosty mists and barren of life. Buildings were bundled tight to shut out the sub-zero temperature and to keep the unseen occupants warm. The only movement was the gray-white smoke from the chimneys which spiraled straight up into the still air, up, up, until dissipating into the blanket of haze that hung over the Anchorage bowl.

During the day as I walked the icy trails, I was overwhelmed by the sense of being alone, separated by thousands of miles from all that had been important in my life. I walked alone. I thought alone. Alone, always alone, with no vision of a future. I was paralyzed by this aloneness. The whys went unanswered. The purposes remained shrouded by the mists of the future.

A few weeks after my arrival, Bob Hartwig, my brother Wayne’s general manager, called to invite me to lunch at a nearby restaurant.

How are things going? He asked.

I dolefully recounted my rounds of employment agencies and job interviews, the usual things but no likely prospects.

How about coming over to the terminal and giving us a hand?

Doing what?

I’m sure we can find some use for your talents.

That’s how my new life began.

Bob helped me get into the computer consulting business. TOK Distributing, my brother’s trucking company, needed to improve its cash flow. We decided to put the receivables on a small computer. That led me to Terry Belisle, manager of Team Electronics, and soon to become a dear friend of mine as well.

In 1982, Apple computers were hot sellers. Team Electronics was a discount electronics store that wanted volume sales without the hassle of technical support.

It was Terry who said, Why don’t you get some business cards printed up? I’ll have our salesmen give them out to our customers. We sell the boxes, and you follow up by helping them set up and get started.

Terry was good to his word and referred my services to his customers. He was relieved of technical hassles, and I found employment.

The summer of 1982 was also boom time in Alaska. Everyone was prospering. Oil money flowed through everyone’s pockets, including mine. The sun was high in the sky over Anchorage. The new dark clouds had not yet appeared, but they were forming just over the mountains.

I felt great. My life was starting to turn around. I looked into the bright blue sky above and thanked God for my rebirth. But as I looked into the sky, I noticed a halo around the sun. At first I thought it was the increased air pollution from the influx of nearly 2,000 people per month to Anchorage. But the haze remained at night when I watched television. Now that I was looking at computer screens for many hours every day, my eyes were feeling the strain. It was time to get them checked.

There’s a trace of a cataract in your right eye, Dr. Grendahl said.

He assured me there was nothing to be concerned about. It was more noticeable on bright days because of the restricted iris. The condition could remain stable for many years.

Eventually everyone develops cataracts if they live long enough. It’s part of the natural aging process, he said.

Dr. Marvin Grendahl, M.D., ophthalmologist, entered my life briefly in late July only to return with a vengeance six months later.

What happened? Were you in an accident?

Doctor Grendahl rapid-fired the questions as he re-examined my eyes through several kinds of instruments.

I don’t know what happened. But I wasn’t in an accident.

Were you hit on the head?

No.

I’ve never seen such rapid eye change. You say it started toward the end of November?

Yes.

What was going on then?

I went back to Seattle to move our furniture out of the house. I did a lot of packing and lifting.

Well, that could help to explain the cross-venial lesion in the right eye. But the cataract in your left eye has matured in less than two months. Something extraordinary must have happened.

I explained that I had been under great stress, two bankruptcies, lost my house, moved to Alaska, started a new career, and it looked as though I had a divorce coming up. Just when things were starting to turn around, I went blind.

All that stress on the body takes its toll. I guess your body has decided to concentrate the effects in your eyeballs.

What’s the prognosis, Doc?

Your blindness is complete, isn’t it?

Yes, in the left eye it’s like being caught in a white-out. All I can see is milky fog.

Maybe some shadows?

Yes.

There was nothing he could do for my right eye until the hemorrhaging stopped. Only time would tell whether sight would return to that eye. Sometimes it happened, but usually the blindness was permanent.

What about the left eye? I asked.

There, we have some options.

In recent years, a procedure had been developed called IOL, intraocular lens implant. The cloudy cataract lens is replaced with a plastic lens. Vision is then corrected with normal prescriptions.

There’s really not much choice is there?

I’d recommend the IOL route. We’ve had great success with it.

Recovery period?

You’ll be able to see immediately but full vision will take about six weeks. Meanwhile, you can’t lift anything heavier than five pounds.

Let’s do it.

His nurse checked the schedule as I went out. The operation was scheduled for the second week of January.

During the period of my blindness, I joked and kidded. I was proud of how well I could remember the placement of objects around my apartment. I didn’t need any help. I remembered that the bathroom was four steps down the hall and on the left, the living room was on the right. It was easy in familiar surroundings. My recall was precise. I could even continue to support some of my customers over the phone. I talked them through their problems while I brought up their computer screens on my inner screen.

But it was all a front. I was terribly afraid. The most terrifying times were when I lost my orientation.

We’ve all experienced sleep walking at night. We suddenly wake up in a strange dark room. The doors, the windows, the furniture, nothing is familiar. Nothing is where it’s supposed to be. We are terrified and disorientated. We freeze with fear.

A blind person continually lives on the edge of that fear.

I missed being able to read the most. I enjoyed the audio portion of the TV. The radio, records and tapes were great. But not being able to read a book or a newspaper were my greatest privations.

During that period, I had a dream in which I entered a pyramidal-shaped structure. There was an inner room and in the center of that room, Jesus was sitting on a large rock. Light from the apex flooded over him. Around the outer edges of that room, shrouded in deep shadows, monk-like people were sitting. They were chanting in languages I did not understand. I had the feeling that I had something to do with those hundred or more people. I found myself standing before Jesus, not daring to speak until he spoken to me. He did not speak. He just turned and smiled at me.

The dream repeated itself until I finally discovered its meaning. And that was when my life became fixed on a new course. But I’m rushing my story.

During the period of my blindness, I got the opportunity to emotionally walk in the moccasins of the blind. I learned to empathethize with them. I also learned many other things.

Our physical bodies are marvelous mechanisms. When one sense is shut down, others are enhanced. I could hear sounds I never heard before. Music was richer and fuller. New smells were revealed. Feeling, tasting all brought me new discoveries.

The why of my blindness would be answered a little later. Meanwhile, I learned something of great importance.

As we encounter situations that test our very souls and as we search for an explanation, those very conditions help us to realize the deep, abiding joy and peace that can be found by being still in the presence of God.

Being still comes easily to a blind person. It is amazing how much noise the human body makes as it moves about.

I would be dishonest if I suggested that when my life hit bottom, I immediately bounced back and regained my old enthusiasm for life. At the time, I really did not understand what was happening in my life.

We think from a reference point in the conscious present. We don’t realize that our larger being is far greater than our present thought. What we regard as significant on one level of our awareness is really humorously insignificant when viewed from another awareness.

It’s quite confusing to discover that our real world is Alice’s Wonderland. We’re the Mad Hatters and the Queen of Hearts engaged in a nonsensical existence. At least, so it sometimes appears. But even the confusion has its purpose, as I discovered.

Night and day have little meaning to a blind person. I grew to cherish the quiet times when everyone else was asleep. I’d sit in my recliner, turn on my inner TV and see things I never gave myself permission to see before.

The reality of the inner sight was graphically demonstrated to me by this experience.

When I’d allow myself to relax and concentrate, scenes would appear on my inner screen. At first, they were scenes relating to my present situation mixed with memories of recent past, but gradually I saw scenes from my distant childhood. I enjoyed this free-association recall. I did-n’t try to program what appeared on my inner screen. I just flitted from one scene to the next as we do in our dreams. Perhaps it is the same process only I was awake.

Then I began to see other things, other places where I’d never been, and other people I did not know.

CHAPTER 2

I’ve always been aware of my ‘Others.’

Sometimes I’m drawn to a period in history with such force that I find myself blurting out, That’s me! I lived during that time!

Intuitive experiences were not strange to me. My success as a computer consultant was partly due to a gift.

When computer access codes were lost or stolen, I was called in to recover the system. At my request, I would spend the night alone in the computer room. When management arrived the next morning, I would have the system up and running with the access codes recovered.

They’d ask, How did you do that?

All I could say was, They told me.

When pressed as to who ‘they’ were, I could just shrug my shoulders and smile. My clients thought I was being protective of some professional secret when, in fact, that was not absolutely the truth. When I was alone in the computer room, I would place my hands upon the keyboard and ask my ‘Others’ for their assistance. Then they would give me the access code. Sometimes I heard it spoken, but usually I would open my eyes and the code would be on the screen, typed by unseen hands.

When I told Charlie Frankson about my ‘Others’ he understood. He was an Inupiat healer from Northwest Alaska.

Modern people have lost their awareness of spirit people, he said. "I’m always surrounded by those whom our people call the Elders.

They’re spirits of wise village leaders who have died and now live in the spirit world. But not all spirit people are good. Some are evil and must be resisted."

I met Charlie while working as a computer consultant for Tigara Corporation of Point Hope, Alaska. Charlie became a very special friend to me. It was natural that I would seek his help. He understood that sort of thing for he had the gift of spirit-vision. He was a modern day Shaman who practiced and taught the ways of the ancient ones.