The Grateful Dead

It was the night of a full moon and a representative at Brentano’s bookstore had just said to a crowd of about 200 people, “We’re all going to die,” when the spiritualist James Van Praagh appeared.

I would like to tell you he floated down from the ceiling, his dark cape flowing and his eyes a window on hell, but that would be wrong.

Instead, he bounced into the room like a balloon, said “Hi!” as though he were a Mouseketeer, stood on a stool and began to talk. I guess not all spiritualists are creepy.

If you are not familiar with Van Praagh, let me tell you he is the hottest act in town, speaking as he does to the dead, and he has a new book out, “Reaching to Heaven.” His last book, “Talking to Heaven,” sold about 600,000 copies. The guy is bigger than Deepak Chopra or even Howard Stern.

He signed “Reaching” the other night, that full moon night, in the Century City Brentano’s. When Cinnamon Mason, who introduced Van Praagh, said, “We’re all going to die,” she wasn’t threatening the audience but simply setting the stage for the 40-year-old psychic. What she actually said was, “We all have something in common here, we’re all going to die.”

The reason for that sort of introduction is that Van Praagh talks about death a lot and chats with the dead on a regular basis, being a sort of Oprah Winfrey for the necromantic set. And he can put you in spiritual touch with your grandma no matter where she is, in the grave or in Philadelphia.

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Van Praagh is bouncy and not very tall and reminds me a little of Mary Lou Retton, who won gold for bouncing in the 1984 Olympics. He began his talk at Brentano’s by saying, “I’m a medium, which means I talk to the dead. Just like Whoopi Goldberg in ‘Ghost.’ ”

He worked the audience with the skill of a stand-up comic, which is not too unusual because he once aspired to be a sitcom writer. In the beginning, a friend at the William Morris Agency introduced him to a spiritualist who predicted that he would one day be able to talk to the dead, which is not too dissimilar from pitching to a network executive.

Death has always intrigued Van Praagh. As a kid back in New York he created his own pet semetary, I mean cemetery, for everything from dead pets to road kill, and once saw the fiery hand of God in his room. His future, you might say, was arranged by God and the William Morris Agency.

Writing books was something he didn’t particularly want to do, Van Praagh told his adoring, book-buying audience, but a spirit ordered him to. “No one wanted the book,” he said. “I said to one publisher, ‘But this is going to be a No. 1 bestseller,’ and he said, ‘All writers say that.’ I said, ‘You don’t understand, I’m a psychic.’ ”

The book turned out to be as big as he predicted, which either proves Van Praagh’s merit as a psychic or the incredible need of book buyers to believe in a hereafter. I hadn’t realized until now how profitable talking to dead grandmothers could be. I’m rethinking my priorities.

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Van Praagh was too busy for an interview the night of his signing, but we did speak later by phone. I asked if he could put me in touch with my evil stepfather who was somewhere in hell, but he said that wasn’t possible, adding, “It’s hard to concentrate when you’re in the middle of a mall.”

Under better circumstances, he explained, he could even contact our dead dog Hoover, asleep somewhere in the clouds, but not from a phone booth surrounded by shoppers. Thanks to him, a woman was once able to see a beloved kitten that had long since gone on to heaven, or wherever the despicable little things go. Both the cat and a dead grandma appeared in a misty light.

Van Praagh doesn’t see his ability to talk to the spirits as a special power. He believes everyone has intuitive abilities. His are just more refined. When I referred to his presentation as an act, he bristled. “I don’t do tricks,” he said. “I demonstrate there’s life after death.”

He went on to say that he doesn’t like proving the existence of an afterlife and dislikes the pressure to perform. Then why do it, I asked? “It would be a sin not to,” he said magnanimously. He’s doing it . . . for us.

Well, OK. Who am I to doubt a bestseller? Van Praagh is today’s king of the book world, the darling of talk television and a spiritual evangelist to the spook-minded. “If you want to know what heaven is like,” he announced grandly to the crowd at Brentano’s, “read my book.”

That’s an intriguing prospect, but I think I’ll wait.

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Al Martinez’s column appears Tuesdays and Fridays. He can be reached online at al.martinez@latimes.com